#ahit fanfic

[nasubeenwithcat]

What if conductor and dj groove switch bodh??

A Golden Holiday in the Hell

DJ Grooves certainly likes the color golden. But not so much that he wants to be a bird with golden feathers. Nonetheless, he became the Conductor one morning. Where is that noisy bird? ＿＿＿＿How cruel is the golden sun without sunglasses?

words:19,000 over (It consists of a total of 8 sections.) Attention:Some grotesque descriptions/vomiting(if you don't like dark descriptions, I recommend skipping section 4)/Machine translation(checked as much as possible, but not perfect.)

What an interesting idea!!! So this is my answer. Sorry, trying to write about them always makes it heavy and dark. But I promise you a happy ending.

1. It was the most violent morning he had ever seen.

DJ Grooves woke up among many blankets. All of the colorful blankets were heavy, thick, fluffy, and had a good to bad feel. He felt suffocated and unconsciously kicked them all off and dropped them all on the floor. He was also sweating. His winter loungewear, which was as thick as the blankets, was deathly hot and annoying.

Winter loungewear? He put his words in his beak again. Winter loungewear. He asked himself if he would have had such a thing, even though there are no seasons on a sunless moon. He thought as he fingered the fluffy fabric. If he thought about it, this mass of blankets, the crazy heat, and the intermittent shaking sensation he'd been experiencing since a few minutes ago were all strange. It's as if he's riding in a car. But the wind doesn't seem to be blowing much. ＿＿＿＿Grooves looked away from the loungewear, and it was only there that he noticed something unusual about the situation.

His perspective was larger than usual.

There were many things that should have been more strange, but that was the first thing he noticed. The blanket seemed bigger and his senses were narrower than usual. Anyway, everything was so big that for a moment he thought he might be wearing glasses or contacts that were too strong for him.

The room, as seen from his position just a little higher than the floor, was filled with all sorts of strange things. There were movie posters in bad taste, stacks of illustrated books, model trains, a small closet, an old TV, a tired one-person sofa, and a few pieces of plain furniture. The strong light streaming in through the window turned them a golden color. The room was supposed to be full of wooden furniture, but everywhere he looked, there was glittering gold. Perhaps it was because the large stand-up wall mirror near the closet reflected the light coming in from the window toward the center of the room, keeping the intensity of the light as it was. And it kept swinging in and out in time with the loud, random rhythm coming from the bottom.

Grooves had no idea where he was, though. All he knew was that it was not the moon, that it was not winter, and that he was in a vehicle of some kind. He lay on the narrow bed, unbuttoning each button that was fastened tightly to his throat, trying to organize his thoughts. But a sound too loud and uninterrupted interrupted his reasoning. Frustrated, he unbuttoned all the buttons as if tearing them off halfway and took off his jacket. ＿＿＿＿As he did so, his eyes were suddenly struck by a golden color that was too strong and unsuitable for this faded room.

What is this?

For a while he just looked at that golden color with an empty head. It was not sunlight or any other transparent thing. It had substance and definite detail. Of course, he could see it whenever he wanted to. The gold that shone in the sunlight was the very feathers of a bird, and they were all over his flippers, neck, belly, and body. They were ticklish to the touch, beautiful but somewhat lack luster. The texture was firm and longer than average. The feathers were golden, not starry white or blue like the summer ocean.

He recovered from his shock and tried desperately to make sense of it. Gold. He loves gold, but he doesn't love it enough to dye all the feathers on his body. He was proud of those cool, fantastically colored feathers that moon penguins had, and he had never thought of ruining them by dying them. Had someone dyed his feathers while he was sleeping, or, as much as he hated to believe it, had he done it himself? For example, what if he never woke up from his drunken stupor last night, and in that foggy state of consciousness, he dyed his own feathers with paint?

He closed his eyes and pressed his ear to the pillow, trying to remember what he did yesterday. Indeed, yesterday he had drunk more than he normally would have. He had a problem at business, and on top of that he didn't handle it well. He made an amazing series of small mistakes that he normally wouldn't make, and even made mistakes in the troublesome interactions that occurred as a result. Not even Grooves himself knew why he made such mistakes. All he knew was that he had been unfocused and distracted at the time, that it had been going on for about a month, that it had finally reached its limit, and that as a result he had made a series of trivial mistakes.

It was not my day, nope. Although those around him ended the day with a bitter smile, at least Grooves was disappointed in himself. It was the first time he realized how inadequate he was as a stardom, that he couldn't even host a TV show, let alone cover. There was no way he could make a movie in such a state, so he came home earlier than usual and ran to the wine cellar as if he were jumping out of his skin. He drank spirits, whiskey, and even a bottle of amaretto, which he did not usually drink, at random. ＿＿＿＿From that point on, he had no memory of what happened after that.

But he clearly remembered drinking a lot of not-so-good liquor with that thought in his head, if only he hadn't been a moon penguin. Grooves opened his eyes. The vibrations that broke through the sheets and shook the pillow were so intense that his chest itched. Had he deliberately, in the heat of his drinking last night, dyed those star-colored feathers, the trademark of moon penguins, a golden color?

It was not out of the realm of possibility. He has plenty of home colorant, although he doesn't use it often because it hurts his feathers and it's cleaner to have it done by a professional. Besides, he had been screwed up and looked crazy last night, so it would not be surprising if he had done such a thing.

"I wouldn't be surprised what I did."

He muttered as if scolding himself. It was only recently that he realized that he was more ambitious than he thought he was. Grooves had made a conscious effort to avoid competitions since he had come to realize that he was a selfish jerk, even willing to kill a child for a trophy. He hadn't made many movies in the past few weeks.

But that does not explain the beauty of these feathers.

The feathers were golden in color, and there was not the slightest indication that they had originally been white or blue. No matter how hard he tried to find a trace of the original color, he could not find any unevenness in the color or any paint residue. From the tip to the root, from the surface to the depths of the fibers, everything was the same golden color. Even if he had made a bath out of paint and soaked it for three hours, he would not have been able to stain it this beautifully.

He got out of bed and walked over to the wall mirror to tried finding a green or ivory color in this strange gold. As expected, he should not have changed to the color of his face, and if he had, it would never be as beautiful a golden as the color of his body. The area near the eyes and beak is sensitive and difficult to dye, even for professionals. If Grooves really did dye all of his feathers himself in a drunken stupor, it can only be described as a miracle or a coincidence. If that is the case, he should not be a DJ or a movie director. He should start studying for his beautician's license.

Grooves got close enough to get a good look at the mirror.

And yet, he was nowhere to be seen.

He reconsidered the possibility that this might not actually be a mirror, but for all intents and purposes, it was a mirror. It was an old design, and the mirror surface was not very well polished, but it was a mirror.

Despite this, DJ Grooves was nowhere to be found. Instead, there is the Conductor. He looked a bit younger looking than in the studio, perhaps because he wasn't wearing a uniform.

Only the space cut into that vertical rectangle seemed to be a virtual reality or something. Grooves raised his right flipper, and the Conductor in the mirror also raised his right hand. When Grooves laughed, the Conductor laughed too. When Grooves jumped, the Conductor jumped too. When Grooves sang, the Conductor opened his beak but did not sing.

He turned his eyes once more to his own body with trepidation. It was still covered in gold. The color of the Conductor's feathers was also like this. A coarse yellow, like a child's raincoat. Now they were glistening golden in the sunlight. When he stroked it, the color of its feathers became even more complicated. ＿＿＿＿Then Grooves spotted it.

It was a hand stroking the feather. It was not a flipper, but a small hand with fingers.

Grooves looked again at the mirror. A startled and frightened-looking the Conductor was looking at him in the exact same pose as Grooves. Is this a mirror? Really? Of course, beyond the shadow of a doubt it is a mirror itself. This is not virtual reality, this is the real thing itself. He ran his hand over his face, intending to touch his little beak, but the protuberance he sought was too big as he expected.

"AAAAAAHH!!"

Grooves screamed and backed away to get away from the little hand. The shaking of the room did not relent, and a large tilt to the right sent him tumbling. His body swung backward and hit a dirty wall near the window. The impact caused some of the pictures on the wall to fall to the floor. From there, the view outside was easy to see. Gold. It was gold. Gold as fine and rich as this feather, and it went on as far as the eye could see. Desert. His room was running in the desert, that's why it was so hot.

He was so confused he couldn't think about anything, didn't want to think about anything. He abandoned himself and stood there for a good ten minutes with the desert in front of him. Every now and then he saw a green cactus or a large brown rock, but the color didn't really matter. The sun was shining on them, overriding their colors and making them look golden. He tried to put his hand on the window with his small, sticking fingers, but it was too hot to touch for even a second. The pain proved that this was no dream.

"No way," Grooves mumbled, trying to calm down. "It's not true." But the voice was unmistakably not his.

The room shook again, and his body was once again pressed against the window area. From there he could see the too-strong light, the dead desert full of life, and steel. Grooves was almost fully aware of what had happened to him enough to realize that it was the railroad tracks, but he refused to admit it.

Train. The Owl Express. He laughed bitterly. The posters all over the room were of movies featuring the train. The annoying noise must be the wheels rubbing against the tracks. That's why the vibration is so intense. He had never been on a train, did not know what it sounded like, or how it shook. He had seen them, but they always seemed to stop uncomfortably on the tracks. He had never known it to move so violently, so he stared blankly outside, feeling betrayed and hopeless. Abruptly, the Owl Express entered a tunnel. The windows, which had been full of light earlier, darkened instantly.

His face reflected in the car window, staring sadly at Grooves. He wanted to say sarcastically, "Darling, you can make a face like that," but he couldn't speak. His nose was pinched, his chest was blocked, and his throat was sour. He wanted to blame it all on someone else, but who was to blame? He sat curled up in the corner of the room and stared listlessly at the wall mirror. The Conductor was there. And he too was looking at Grooves with a look of despair on his face.

2. "Why is this happening to me?"

He muttered again over the noise. "…Why is this happening to me?" It was obvious it wasn't his own voice, and it sounded familiar. It was that vile, ugly voice that always criticized and laughed at Grooves. His voice sounded somewhat peculiar, perhaps due to his profession, and it was easy to hear it through the noise. Grooves frowned and thought about pretending he had not noticed the possibility. But of course, he couldn't do that. He had to face reality. In the end, he went lazily to the sink to get ready for the morning.

A vanity was dull and not very clean. It smelled of mint, but that was all, and other than that, it was horribly empty. Grooves hesitantly looked in the mirror.

There he stood, as expected. He was neither moon penguin nor musician, but the Conductor of the Owl Express. His stand ears, tiny fingers, golden feathers, and large beak were all Grooves' now. The Conductor also looked at him with a somewhat awkward expression, which annoyed him.

He had lived his whole life thinking that he would never want to be a bird like the Conductor, and yet there he was, literally there, being the Conductor. Grooves tapped the edge of the vanity with his usual habit. He was even more depressed when he heard the sound of his nails, sharper than usual, i.e., hard instead of soft flippers, hitting the china. He could never scratch a disc with his hands like this. It would require a much different technique than playing with his flippers.

DJ Grooves fearfully touched his face. He looked in the mirror and gently stroked his beak to see if it moved properly. Every time he moved, the golden feathers rubbed against each other, making a soft sound. But as he felt earlier, it was not as smooth as it looked, and it was dry in places. His feathers were in such poor condition that one could tell just by touching them that his cuticles were ruffled. That also irritated him.

Grooves opened every drawer and door on the vanity, looking for a hairbrush, lotion, or treatment. It would take his mind off his bad mood, he thought, and it would be a waste of all those shiny, beautiful colors. He must have neglected his feathers for a month or so.

Appearance is a mirror. It's not about checking one's appearance in a mirror; it's a mirror in itself. Grooves took care and believed in not acting contrary to that statement. He woke up early in the morning and carefully brushed his hair, always making sure that the strands were facing the same direction. He would also use lotion and, depending on the day, he would sometimes put a highlight powder on his face to make it look brighter. At night, he washes his hair thoroughly and dries it carefully in the correct order, and he also massages his facial muscles every day without fail. So he naturally assumed that this deserted vanity should at least have sunscreen, if not an out-bath treatment.

But there was none of that. All there was was a stock of toothbrushes, an old hairbrush, and feather cream. He checked the bathroom to see if there might be more, but only shampoo and body soap were lined up there.

Grooves gently closed the door under his breath. And the fact was so shocking that he was able to forget for a moment the frustration and sadness that he had become the Conductor. How could he work in the desert and not have sunscreen? Surely he doesn't know that ultraviolet rays are bad for himself? Grooves puts sunscreen on his entire body every day, wears sunglasses, and takes great care not to be in the sun for more than an hour, so why wouldn't he do that? And why didn't he even try to get a full line of feather care products in the first place? No face packs, no oils, and the only cream that was available was too soft and obviously not matched the nature of his feathers. He had to choose something firmer than that, or it would mix with the oil and sweat and cause his feathers to become tattered.

He stared at the Conductor in the mirror. (Naturally, the Conductor stared at Grooves, too.)

Grooves sighed to let his anger escape into the air and opened a nearby drawer almost unconsciously, hoping to find some face wash or lotion in there, even though he had just checked to make sure there was nothing in there. Then, seeing the blank again, he snapped his beak nervously and picked up an old, large hairbrush instead of yelling at it. The hairbrush was well used and looked like it needed to be replaced soon. It was tangled with yellow feathers and dust, and he exhaled several times while he used it to orient the feathers.

But the problems did not end there. He opened the heavy wooden closet to change his mind about the grooming, which had finished much earlier than usual. Even there he had to be surprised.

There were no clothes in it except work clothes and a ceremonial suit. There were just thirty shirts of the same color and shape, ten pairs of black, unplayful pants, three plain purple ties, two large uniform coats, and one fine but old-fashioned jacket hanging there. Grooves struggled in and out of the closet for about ten minutes, rummaging through the clothes, trying to find another outfit. If anything, he searched every inch of the room, thinking that this was a work closet and that his personal closet might be separate. But there was no other storage furniture that looked like this one.

Once again, Grooves stepped back and looked at it. Nothing but black, white, and purple. There is always the shadow of the conductor there. Not his own, but the professional atmosphere was too much dwelling there. Did he not think it strange? It is crazy to have only uniforms. The Conductor can only be the conductor, and besides, he is not allowed any other choice in this closet. He can't even get off the train as a single owl. It is too grotesque. He couldn't hold back and looked away.

"He must be… sick."

To DJ Grooves, all he could think of was the Conductor was sick.

Grooves spent a good 30 minutes or more just putting on the uniform. He had to tie and untie his tie several times because he couldn't bear to see himself in the mirror looking more and more like the bird he hated. When it was finally over, his face was not at all radiant. Finally, he decided to wear only a plain white shirt and suspenders pants, coat unbuttoned, and no tie, so that he would not look like the Conductor. He did not want to trample on the classics, but he was even more reluctant to be the Conductor himself. He opened two buttons at the neck of his shirt and looked in the mirror again. It was definitely the Conductor, but he was glad he was not dressed like him. The weight of his heavy coat felt awfully lifelike.

Still, how could he have to wear such a thick coat on such a hot day? Grooves fanned himself with a stack of papers lying nearby. (The coat was filled with all sorts of things, and he wasn't sure what he needed for his tasks. Perhaps this was something he had to wear, and Grooves ended up putting his arm through the sleeves of it after some hesitation.) There is something strange about the Conductor. He wears this coat in summer and winter alike. Grooves had thought that he had both a thin coat for summer and a thick coat for winter, and that he wore them differently depending on the weather, but this was not the case. Both coats are for winter. It is not a hassle to wear such a thing in the desert in the middle of summer. He wondered over his breakfast coffee if there was some reason why he had to wear them, but he had no idea.

The Conductor didn't spend any money on grooming, but he kept only the finest coffee beans in his kitchen. From instant latte's to real coffee beans, there was plenty of coffee lined up in the dimly lit pantry. If anything, there was even a moon-brand one. The beans are famous for their savory, rich, and slightly bitter taste.

It felt kind of weird to drink the same coffee he had as DJ Grooves at his home on the moon as the Conductor on the Owl Express in the middle of the desert. Still, the hateful thing was that this coffee was as excellent as drinking anywhere else. The coffee's unique aroma wafted up from the mug and tickled his nose and tongue. It was hard to get a drink out of his big beak.

So slowly, still somewhat unable to believe that this was real, he took his second drink, then heard a discreet knock at the small door at the rear of the train.

"Conductor? Are you all right?"

The voice was probably an owl, but who could it be? Did the Conductor have an appointment with him? Grooves tried to look at the clock, but there was no clock anywhere in the room. He was not familiar with the Conductor's job, but he knew that he was supposed to keep time. It would be impossible for him not to have a clock anywhere in his room, but no matter where he looked, he could not find a single wall clock, table clock, or anything of the sort. He gave up and went to unlock the door.

"Come in." "Oh good, you're awake. Good morning." "Morning, darling."

The owl's face hardened. "…… Excuse me?" Grooves realized his mistake a little too late and hastily corrected himself. "＿＿＿＿Not you! I was talking to the vase over there." The flowers in the vase were completely withered from overwatering. "Oh, I see……Of course, uhh, I'm- sorry."

The express owl that came to visit the Conductor left a bitter smile on his face and strode off without saying what the requirements were. Having made a mistake from the start, Grooves dejectedly gulped down the remaining coffee in his mug in one gulp.

3. A few minutes later, Grooves rushed to the coach having a pair of scissors instead of coffee. It was because as soon as he finished his conversation with that owl, he noticed an old pocket watch in his coat's right pocket.

The watch was pointing to eight o'clock, and it was almost certain from that owl's reaction that the time probably represented a delay for the Conductor. He had not been told what kind of work the Conductor was doing or what his time schedule was, but he at least understood that it was not to have coffee in his room. He hurriedly searched the room for anything that might give him a clue to deduce his work, but there was nothing, really nothing. The only thing he could learn from that room was how lazy and eccentric the bird called the Conductor was. Nevertheless, the long hand that was pointing to eight o'clock had moved ten centimeters from zero, so Grooves had no choice but to give up and leave the golden room.

His pockets were filled with so many other things besides his pocket watch. A smartphone which is quite small compared to Grooves', a few caramels, a staple-like machine (it is called a scissor), a crumpled movie ticket, a stiff handkerchief, a thin notepad, a bunch of keys, a whistle, a card case, and, he did not know why, a ball that fits his hand size well. He tapped and turned his pockets on the way to the coach, thoroughly examining them for anything that would reveal his schedule. And still there was nothing. Grooves wondered how the Conductor kept track of his schedule. He would have no secretary or manager. If there was a possibility, the answer was in his smartphone. But he couldn't use it because he didn't know the password. He thought about putting in his birthday, but he had never been given by him such a thing.

Opening the sliding doors, he saw that the quiet coach was not full of passengers. There were at most five owls in the thirteen pairs of seats lined up in a row, eating toast, reading the newspaper, and doing what they wanted to do. He was relieved to find that no one seemed to be paying much attention to the Conductor's, (in the other word Grooves'), mistake.

He used a pair of scissors to punch a hole in a piece of paper he had torn out of the notepad, and checked it again to see how it was used. There were some scribbles on the notepad, but most of them were too smeared to be decipherable. There were glimpses of something about submitting an alternative to the McGuffin by the end of the day, something 'sparkling and easy to understand(peck neck!)', and so on. His sponsors, it seems, are a bunch of showy, tiresome birds. This suggests that the Conductor reluctantly decided to change the McGuffin alone because they didn't like the storyline of his movie. Grooves suddenly remembered the two movies that Conductor had entered in the 43rd Annual Bird Movie Award. That beautiful time pieces that were the centerpiece of the movies. When he first saw that one, and when he realized that the Conductor would be using it, he felt a strong sense of discomfort. He didn't expect that a bird who loves antiques would choose such a thing as a prop. Grooves thought the Conductor must have copied his idea.

But maybe this was the reason. ＿＿＿＿It's too late to know now. Even though no one knows if this is true or not.

The yellow owl closed his notepad and, in a somewhat nervous voice, addressed them, "Please have your tickets ready."

Hearing this, the majority of the owls put out their own tickets on the desk without even looking at the Conductor. There was a distinction on the tickets between those with berths and those without, but Grooves was too busy punching them in silently to let them know he was upset to worry about such things. Totally inefficient, he complained in his mind. On the Metro, the machines would do everything for him, but on this train, he had to do it all by hand. He wondered if he was really doing his job well.

"Where's your ticket? Put it out quickly."

Finally it was the turn of the owl seated at the far end of the table, but he had nothing on the table. Grooves got impatient and asked one more time, with a stronger tone, "Where's your ticket?" "I don't have it," the owl looked up at Grooves with tears in his eyes. "I think I might have dropped it."

Grooves, still holding the scissors, blanked out, not knowing what to say to this owl, what action he should take, or how the Conductor would handle a situation like this in the first place. Grooves had never ridden the Owl Express before. It was his first ride, and he was suddenly substituting for the Conductor. He only knew about ticket collection because the Conductor had done it in the movie. What will happen to a passenger when the ticket is lost? Can he get a ticket, or is the rule that this owl is to be dropped off at the next station? The latter seemed different. It mean that he could ride for one station without paying. Then maybe he should be allowed to hand over the ticket. If only he could find that ticket. He was at a loss for a reply and could only say, "I see." His attitude was rather brusque and unreliable, and the fact that the Conductor of the Owl Express said so and took no action made the poor owl even more frightened.

"Let me, uh, …let me buy a ticket." "Oh, yeah. Of course."

Grooves, as if to cover his nervous, re-counted the money he had received from the owl and shoved it into his pocket. He wasn't sure if there was any change he needed to return to the owl, but he decided to trust that the owl would naturally point it out if he needed to do so.

And the ticket. He had to give the owl a ticket, but he had no idea where to find one. The yellow owl searched madly in his pockets for a ticket. The coarse handkerchief was all tangled up in his feathers, and the important rectangular piece of paper did not catch on his fingers at all.

"Where do you plan to go from here today?" "Uh, Dead Bird Station." "…Okay."

The small talk was not tongue-tied enough, and Grooves blinked a few times, finding it hard to breathe. It was not that he had never seen Dead Bird Station before. The only thing he could remember about it was that it was very small and white, and he did not know how to develop a conversation about it. The entire building was pure white, so it reflected the sunlight well, and although it was supposed to be a simple structure, it was extremely painful to the eyes. He didn't even bother to go near the place.

His fingers, slightly moist from sweat, stroked the smooth surface. Finally he remembered the card case. Grooves had not thoroughly checked the inside of that plain white case, come to think of it. He took it out as if praying to God that there might be a ticket in there. The contents were almost empty, but there were three tickets with berths and, miraculously, only one ticket with a regular price left.

"Oh my God," Grooves muttered. Hearing this, the owl became anxious again.

"No?" "No, no, it was the last one. Lucky."

He punched in the ticket and handed it to the passenger.

"I'm sorry. I'll be careful next time." "By all means, darling. No, sorry＿＿＿＿"

He couldn't resist punching himself.

Grooves was walking on the train with a mixture of relief and regret, a feeling of lightness and heaviness that he was not sure what to do with. He was like a tourist who had wandered into a foreign sightseeing spot without a brochure.

He went to the cockpit to find out how much time he had before the next station, but again, he did not get any information about his job. Surprisingly, no password was needed, either because the Conductor had forgotten to lock the cockpit or because he did not usually do so in the first place. The only thing he learned was that the cockpit of the train running in the middle of the desert was surprisingly cold, even for a moon penguin. The train is mechanically controlled, so it must have had to be cooled to increase the efficiency of the energy conversion. He wondered if that was why he always wore such a thick coat, but quickly dismissed the idea. No way he would be here all day long.

Eventually he lost sight of his purpose and was left to explore the train like a child.

The train had many facilities, but they were all nothing special. If someone tried to play billiards on the bumpy train, the cue would move on its own and it would be impossible to play the game, and a sauna could not be entered in such a desert environment, at least for him. There must have been other facilities that should have been installed. An ice cream parlor, a theater room, and so on. He left the locker room. The Conductor had to stay in this place for a long time.＿＿＿＿And he has to make a movie in this boring space.

What a hell, he secretly pitied the Conductor. No matter how much free time he has, he is not even free to go out. He spends his days just walking around on the train and writing movie plots to pass the time. That is why he cannot write any story other than a train western. How could a masterpiece come out of such a life? the Conductor himself may take this hell for granted, or maybe he has given up on escaping, but whatever the case, Grooves thought this environment should be improved.

He should have some time to himself. Then he might be able to make movies other than train westerns, and he might be able to correct some of the terrible prejudice against ＿＿＿＿musicals.

The yellow owl opened every single door, and with each one he grew more convinced that the Owl Express is a terribly dry place, and more pitying about the Conductor who manages it. No mirror ball, not enough space, and far from quiet, all day on such a train. He thought he wouldn't have been able to stand it. On the other hand, a vague feeling grew stronger that he could make this train into something more wonderful and attractive.

If Grooves were the Conductor, and if he had the right to change everything, he would start with his immediate surroundings. He would fill his vanity storage with meaningful stuff and repair this golden feather. He would fill his closet with more fashionable clothes, and the style of those clothes would be trendy. The Conductor should know better the convenience of cool summer jackets. The room would have more subdued white lighting and light-blocking curtains, and the furniture would be replaced with more practical pieces. Only the coffee pantry could stay that way, but the kitchen still has room for improvement. Don't forget to bring some greenery into that deserted, dead room by decorating it with flowers and houseplants.

When it is all over, he will first take plenty of long vacations and go travel to different places. He should get to know and learn more about the world outside of the tracks, not just on them. It is definitely better to have a period of time, at least once a month, to nurture inspiration. Then he will understand that a sci-fi musical is much more artistic than a train western.

With that thought, he suddenly found a bit of enjoyment in the change. He wasn't sure how feasible the idea was, but he thought he should at least change the contents of his closet now. If only he had the time, he would go to a boutique and buy two hands full of summer clothes and a brand new hairbrush. Never had he wished so strongly that he could shop online as he did at this moment. He should have asked the Conductor when his birthday was. Then he could have accessed his digital device.

Grooves walked from door to door, and then, to his surprise, found not a bar, nor a sauna, but a soundproof room. He clapped his hands in delight when he finally realized that he could escape this noisy wheel. He returned his attention from his pleasant fantasy to reality and entered the room with great enthusiasm.

The room was larger than he had expected, with a magnificent grand piano, a conductor's stand, and many chairs surrounding it. He was even gladder when he realized that this was where the express band practiced. When there is an ensemble, a clarinet or a trombone or something would sit on one of these chairs and carefully compose a piece of music. It was a lovely space. It made him happy as a musician to see a cool instrument, no matter how much it was managed by the Conductor of the Owl Express, a rival he hated.

He approached the piano, looked around, and then, curiosity getting the better of him, decided to gently open the lid. Taking off the red felt dust cover, he revealed from underneath the pearly whites of the white keys and the black keys, which were as black as obsidian to all intents and purposes. He unconsciously pressed the key of B. The note that set the standard for everything echoed softly through the room. Interestingly, this piano had lighter keys and softer sound than the one he usually played. The keys had higher steps, perhaps because it was designed to be played with the fingers. He wasn't sure if this was the case with all instruments made by the Owl brand, or if this piano was particularly so, but this fact was too much for him to take in.

DJ Grooves played scales. Playing the piano with his hands instead of his flippers was new and exciting to him. He went with the flow and played a cadenza. The chords sounded pleasant and washed away his anxiety. The chords produced by the soft keys were as clear as a spring river, yet somehow contained a sense of incompleteness. Sunlight, morning, and other such words were appropriate for the sound. It was completely different from the Moon brand pianos, but that was beside the point; this piano was beautiful as an instrument. At the same time, he thought it was unbelievable that this cool piano was on such a boring train.

Grooves settled back in the piano chair, made sure his feet could reach the pedals, and now played a short etude. The piece was designed to practice expressions of dynamics, and he was confident that the etude would be perfect for this soft sound. As he had expected, the piece sounded much prettier played on the Owl's piano than on the Moon brand's, which has a harder sound, for jazz. He got carried away and decided to repeat the etude and play it again with an arrangement. He deconstructed and reassembled the chord progression, adding thickness to the notes with tension chords and arranging the rhythm with staccato and slurs in the main melody. Furthermore, he incorporated syncopation to create a passage that evokes a summer night from a springtime noonday atmosphere.

He could not contain his ideas. Before modulating to the same main key, he remade the chords that made up the main melody into triplets, giving them speed as if they were balls running up a hill. His performance became progressively more grandiose as he added even greater differences in the notes connected by crescendos. He told himself that this piano was made for classical music, where the emphasis is on tone, not jazz, where the emphasis is on arrangement, but he didn't stop. It was fun. Leaving himself to the flow of the sound, he temporarily felt as if he were back in the DJ Grooves, and he forgot that he was on the Owl Express. After a few minutes, his music was finally coming to an end. He did not want to end yet and even considered repeating it again and forcing an extension, but playing with unfamiliar fingers was more strenuous than he had imagined. Gasping for breath, he ended his performance by playing a seventh-degree chord as if punching a key. His fingers and arms ached, and his breathing was a little erratic. He crossed his legs in satisfaction, basking in the afterglow of his performance.

"Bravo!"

but soon it had to be interrupted once by a small clap. Grooves fidgeted and looked for the source of the noise. A lone express owl was standing just behind him, smiling and applauding. His wings were of average length, but his fingers looked a bit long enough to suggest that he might be the owner of this piano. He was so engrossed in his playing that he didn't notice him enter the room. Grooves was surprised, but said "thank you" and answered the applause. His playing has been loved by many audiences before, mostly moon penguins, and as far as he could remember, this was the first time an audience of owls had shouted "bravo!" at him. Music is the best language. Even owls can understand this awesomeness.

He was so happy, in other words, that it was inevitable that he would forget that he was not Grooves right then.

"That was a really great performance, Conductor!"

"＿＿＿＿Oh, thanks……"

The smile dropped from Grooves' face. Conductor. That was it. He was the Conductor, not DJ Grooves, the owl, not the moon penguin. He is not a musician, he is a train conductor. Grooves, a musician, would play as the Conductor who was not a musician by profession. It was only natural an owl who knew nothing about it would react in this way. His mood suddenly plummeted, and the heat that had filled his body quickly dissipated.

"This was the most emotionally rich Op.9 I've ever heard. It's kind of like a very new and beautiful image of a night sparkling with fireflies and starlight, not the soft atmosphere that many pianists play. The interpretation of the tones is careful, and the arrangement is very cool! Besides, your technique is also at a high level. You always seem so busy, when did you learn it?" "Uh, …… when I was a little?" "Woww, why did you keep it a secret? If you are as good as you are, you can be a world-class pianist. In fact, even DJ Grooves would recognize you!" "That's …… umm ……" "Maybe you are better than him. Right? I don't think moon penguin, who makes only loud disco music, can play such delicate music!"

Grooves was speechless with surprise. The good feeling he had had for this owl earlier was completely gone, and instead an unbridled disappointment washed over him. 'only loud disco music'? He wanted to tell the owl that he had just beaten him as a musician by that moon penguin.

But when it came time to say something, he realized he didn't have the right words for it. He had plenty to say as DJ Grooves, but he couldn't find anything to say as the Conductor. It was strange for the Conductor to be defending Grooves. But it was still offensive to have his music mocked by an owl who had nothing to do with it, so in the end he muttered, "I guess not," with some bitterness.

The owl seemed to take that as a sign of modesty or something, and said in a rather gentle voice, "Don't worry about it." No, that's not what he meant, and that's not the reaction he wanted him. It all became too much trouble, and after answering vaguely, he left the room as if to escape.

"Hey, can I listen it again?"

An innocent fan's voice shook Grooves' brain. The yellow owl, completely exhausted, returned to the Conductor's own room and locked the door.

4. Smelling the sand, he collapsed onto the empty bed and tried to empty his head.

He picked up a handful of blankets that had been smashed on the floor and piled them on the bed. Looking at the clock, frighteningly, it was only a little past noon. The Conductor would probably still be working or shooting a movie. Despite this, Grooves didn't want to move. He just wanted to pick up the blankets and not think about anything else. This place is boring and irritating. It was natural for Grooves to feel this way, since the owner of this place thoroughly disliked him, but the difference in environment was too much for the penguin, who was still in shock from being the Conductor.

He closed the lid of his pocket watch. The golden sun, still turning the room and Grooves golden, lit up the dirty watch. The dull metallic sheen reflected an even brighter gold. He sighed. The color was exactly the same as the color reflected on the replicas of the trophies that adorned so many of his rooms. It was exactly the same color as when his accessories or other trophies were reflected on those alloy trophies. That color was Grooves' favorite. It made him feel like he was seeing stars within the stars. It should have been, but he wasn't at all happy to see it anymore.

Maybe it was because he was a yellow owl.

"If…" Grooves muttered. "What if the mistake is never corrected?"

As soon as he realized the possibility, he could clearly feel his heart beating twice as fast. The blood rushed to his head, and he could no longer remain calm. He was thirsty and his eyes should have been able to see clearly, but his brain was not handling it well. A soft blanket slipped from his stiffened fingers and fell to the floor. He bent down to pick it up, but suddenly he felt sick and couldn't reach for the floor. What if he had remained the Conductor? What if he had to live with these golden feathers? What if he had to spend the rest of his life listening to nothing but criticism of himself?

What if he had to fight against himself?

Because it would be. The Conductor has been fighting DJ Grooves for a decade, and it's too late for them to mend their relationship. The reason why DJ Grooves and moon penguins don't like the Conductor and the owls is not because racism, but because they don't try to understand the beauty of his ideas.

The yellow owl involuntarily chewed on the blanket. In doing so, he tried to kill the pressure bubbling deep in his chest. He ate the blanket, struggling to swallow the discomfort that was trying to climb up his esophagus and flood his beak. It was hard and bad. Ridiculous. It's a waste of energy to even think about it. He yelled at himself. "I can definitely get myself back into DJ Grooves, and I will, no matter what."＿＿＿＿

Back to DJ Grooves. Wait, fighting Grooves in the first place is unusual. Unless he has a doppelganger, there is only one DJ Grooves. Rather, in a case like this, he should consider the possibility of him being dead to begin with.

The yellow owl's back bubbled and splashed a little. No, no, no. He stuffed the blanket down his throat and tried to fight the physiological reaction. His beak recognized the strange object and his throat moved fast, and with it, his tonsils began to move wildly. His eyes grew unbearably hot and moist, and then the sun shone on them again, refracted light turning them violently golden, even inside his brain. What would he do then? What if Grooves was dead?

Where was Grooves really last night and what was he doing? All he could remember was that he had been drinking, thinking it would be his last drink, but he ended up drinking until morning. And he had no way to prove it. In fact, if this was a dream that was as close to reality as possible, that would be more convincing than thinking that he had switched places with the Conductor. Or, if it is an afterlife or something, and he is answering the many problems and turning points in his life as DJ Grooves through the perspective of the Conductor.

… It’s just alcohol. But, alcohol.

"No way-" Grooves exclaimed. "I can have stopped it before it happened! I knew I might die!"

He shouted it over and over to reassure himself. But his brain was thinking about something else entirely, and it would not listen to what Grooves said. Wasn't it too rarely to take energy drinks and alcohol at the same time and yet still be alive? Did his body really know, even if his brain did, that the caffeine and alcohol would cancel each other out and he would not be able to get drunk, which would result in him drinking himself to death? Wouldn't he have been drinking anyway, even unconsciously? Couldn't the blood vessels in his brain have swollen, causing him to faint, and then burst, or his brain would have been deprived of oxygen and he would have died? Once he experienced the horror of this firsthand. When he had a niacin flush, his body experienced exactly the same symptoms. His blood warmed up, his brain didn't work properly, and his body turned red and splotchy. It was so hot and scary that he thought he would die if this went on for hours. Their odds of that must be much higher than being the Conductor.

DJ Grooves could have died. Maybe he was still at home, intact, his blood vessels ruptured from too much caffeine and alcohol.

The yellow owl's body trembled. No, I am not. I am DJ Grooves. I am the moon penguin. I am still alive. DJ Grooves is a star. When he dies, it will be in the newspaper…

Maybe no one had noticed. Grooves was drinking at home, not in a fancy bar or anything. And even if a star is found dead, the office will decide when it will be reported by the media. This is because there are too many procedures to be completed, too many business contacts to be contacted, and too many other things to be done, so there is no time to deal with the media or onlookers. Therefore, some procedures must be completed before the public announcement, and then Grooves' death will be reported.

Well, then. Ask him. He hurriedly ran, chewing on the blanket, to the phone. Moving his trembling, heated body, he turned the dial with his fingers, which were not working properly, to DJ Grooves' private number. He held the receiver firmly to his ear and waited to hear Grooves' voice with a clatter.

The bird-anxious melody of "ring, ring, ring" shook Grooves' shoulders. He was about to cry. The receiver trembled and was hard to hold. His jaw ached from the strain of chewing the blanket. He blinked nervously.

Soon nothing was heard.

The strength dropped from the yellow owl's entire body. His stomach instantly heated up and ran down his esophagus. The Conductor vomited. His heart was beating loudly and his body was constantly twitching slightly. All his internal organs were being pulled upward, and strong pressure was taking over. The receiver fell with a loud thud to the floor. Grooves just watched the stark white blanket become stained gold.

The sun quickly lit it up again. Everything inside this train is made of gold. The birds that ride this train, the birds that manage it, the anxiety, anything with color. It is so shimmering that there is no need for a mirror ball.

With the gold he loves.

He shoved the stained blanket into the washing machine, and for a while he continued to wail. The yellow owl shed golden tears unceasingly, sniffing and trying to stifle his voice, but he wasn't quite able to.

Could DJ Grooves dead? A single night's mistake must have killed him? And for some reason, might he have to live again as the Conductor? What a punishment. He punched the golden wall as hard as he could, wanting to take his frustration out on something. But his small fist did not even crack the wall, and the pain only made it heavier. He closed his eyes and howled at the sheer volume of his emotions. Why, why him of all? He was jealous of Grooves, and if no one loved him, he couldn't even take care of himself, a pompous, selfish yellow bird. Every time he thought about it, his head was scratched into a mess. The golden light reflected in his tears turned his brain golden.

He couldn't tell the color of the tomatoes that stained the screen. In fact, it may have been the color of 18-karat gold. It is the gold that seems the most golden. It was the color of that gold that filled his room and ate away and invaded. What color was the wallpaper in his room? He would have made it any color he liked. Then what color did Grooves like? Was it gold, after all? What color was his jacket? What color are his sunglasses? The color of his latest movie posters? The color of his favorite cutlery? The color of his album? What is the color of his piano? What is the color of his phone cover? What is the color of the tomato that stained the screen?

What color are the feathers of moon penguins? What color? ＿＿＿＿What color would they really be?

"Blue……."

Grooves mumbled in a trembling voice. "And white……."

He took several deep breaths and concentrated on regaining his composure. It didn't matter what color he liked. Grooves loves gold, and red, and blue, and white. He just doesn't like silver or bronze, so he wants a gold trophy. He stroked his chest and sang his song in a small, encouraging tone of voice.

He is DJ Grooves. Whether Grooves lived or died, and if he didn't know, he just believed he lives. It is not too late for him to decide what to do with his life after the media reported his death. If he lives, he will return to Grooves someday, and he will prove it. He will play the piano as DJ Grooves, much to the chagrin of that owl.

By the end of the song, Grooves felt a little better and decided to leave this horrid room right away. Something was going to go wrong in there. But he didn't feel like working anymore, and he didn't want to play the piano anymore. What should he do then, he thought as he looked out at the train. Does the Conductor always spend his time feeling this way? He couldn't imagine that a bird living in that creepy room, sleeping and waking up every day, is his rival. If this was the reason he had become so aggressive, he honestly felt sorry for him. The influence of environment on birds is something that cannot be ignored to a large extent. Just like a morning glory that grows easily in the sun cannot even sprout in the shade.

As usual, the outside of the window is full of gold. So much gold, in fact, that it was almost too much. Just as Grooves couldn't eat a hundred tuna sandwiches even if he liked them, he didn't like the color as much at that moment as he did before. Frankly, he wanted to block it out of sight.

"Curtains," he muttered.

Just then a sharp whistle sounded. The windows were now white, the gold gone from the windows. The Owl Express had arrived at Dead Bird Station.

5. He was running through the streets at full speed, fleeing the golden sun.

The heat and glare of the sun were nothing compared to what he felt from the car window. Grooves ran into the mall, out of breath, and took a deep breath in the thick shade. He was shocked to learn that there were places where just walking around would make him suffer, but he couldn't believe that the Conductor had taken no precautions against it. He had no sunscreen, no summer clothes, no handy fan, and no parasol. Grooves had no idea because he had never tried to understand the Conductor or get to know him until now. If worse came to worst, he would die.

If his knowledge is not mistaken, owls also have an inherent preference for cold things like water and ice. They are nocturnal and sensitive to the sun. The desert owls are the only exception, but even they don't imitate walking in the hot sun without a parasol or hat.

Anyway, he had to somehow bring his condition up to the average level. Grooves entered the well air-conditioned mall and quickly searched for a floor map.

There was much to do. First of all he wanted something to replace this heavy, thick, tacky coat. And he have to get good quality, colorful ties. Next things he had to go to the pharmacy and buy lotion, cream, sunscreen, and a parasol. Then he would have to go to the furniture store and buy a comfortable sofa, houseplants, and light-blocking curtains, as well as other things. He wondered how much the total cost would be, but decided not to think about it. The Conductor made Grooves do this. Grooves was doing it for him because the Conductor had neglected the whole thing. If this makeover would allow him to make a decent movie, he would be able to recoup his losses in no time. He walked on with great enthusiasm.

He first visited a boutique that occupied about a quarter of the mall's ground floor. There were about four mannequins in a large glass display, dressed in the style he had expected. As soon as entering the store, he looked through the men's clothing, checked the sizes, elasticity, and thinness of the fabrics, and then put the items in the basket one by one, starting with the ones he liked best. There were no bright colors among the selections, but only monochrome clothes. However, they were not plain, but rather painted or cut in a unique way, with some sort of eye-catching feature. They are easy for beginners to coordinate because they go with basically any color. He tossed the new clothes into the basket again.

Customers and clerks were all owls, as a matter of course, and the clothes on the line were all made by owls for owls. The buttons were much richer in design and variety than those at moon penguins, perhaps because they were designed to be used with fingers, and after 30 minutes in the boutique, Grooves had abandoned his original purpose and was looking at nothing but buttons. There were fabric buttons with tiny sequins sewn all over them that looked like mirror balls, retro wooden buttons that resembled film prints, and simple star-shaped gold buttons. He picked up those samples almost unconsciously. He was pleased to find that there was good stuff in the owl brand. At the same time, it became clear that the owl brand was not the reason the Conductor had such poor taste.

He should definitely buy one of these. Grooves thought as he stared at the modest gold buttons sewn into his coat.

It is understandable that he has to wear this coat because it is his uniform. However, he could not overlook the tatteredness and inconvenience of this coat. A uniform requires a certain degree of non-individuality, but since he is the only one who wears this coat, he should be allowed to wear cufflinks at least. No one would blame him for that, and of course DJ Grooves wouldn't go out of his way to make fun of him or mock him. No matter how much he dislikes him. He wondered if there was a reason why he couldn't, alternating between the buttons and the coat, but quickly reconsidered that there couldn't be. The Conductor is that kind of bird, as far as Grooves knows. He likes to argue and compete with Grooves even when he doesn't have to. There is no deep reason for it, he thought.

He thought for a moment about buying buttons with fancy designs, but after a little consideration, he put them back on the shelf and decided to go with simple, matte black buttons instead. Grooves thought that this would avoid the reflection of the sun on the buttons.

He was about to go to the checkout with his summer casual clothes and a few buttons in his basket, but on his way there he spotted a section with colorful ties. Behind it, he saw a section of shoes. A pair of sneakers with graphic apple dots caught his eye and it pulled his basket. He wandered over and picked up another basket, wondering how many hours it would take at this rate, but still unable to resist his impulse.

Three hours later, Grooves was finally able to leave the boutique and take the escalator. His plan had been to spend about 30 minutes, but there were more choices than he had imagined, and he had completely forgotten about the time. He was supposed to be able to fit his shopping into one small bag, but he already had two of the biggest bags in his hand.

But DJ Grooves was satisfied. He couldn't have been more satisfied. He was happy to finally get out of that heavy uniform and was simply thrilled to be able to wear his new clothes. His new shoes were a little tight, but it was much better than walking through the desert in that horrible outfit. He bumped his heel against the smooth marble floor, enjoying the hard sound it made.

His next stop was the pharmacy on the second floor. He took a shopping cart and hooked his shopping bags onto its handles. Grooves would probably buy a lot of things there, and he knew that if he did, he would not be able to hold the basket with two large bags under his arms.

That was right. He had no idea what brand of owl they were, so he picked them out one by one based on a rough ingredient list and the feel of the testers, but there were so many that the Conductor needed but did not have that he quickly filled up his basket. He took one of the small parasols and carefully placed it on top of the basket, hoping that buying these items would make the sad washbasin smile a little. The parasol with a white sun-exposed side and a black inner side is the most efficient and hardest to tan under. White reflects light and black absorbs light. It would also be more consistent with his casual clothes. While waiting in line at the checkout counter, he placed vitamins and zinc supplements from a nearby shelf into his basket.

"Um, ……are you sure this is all of them?"

The clerk, who just a moment ago had only had to check out a single perfume, looked at the Conductor with a frightened look on his face. The yellow owl asked back, "Do you have something to complain about? The owls lined up behind him let out a collective sigh.

Seeing three large bags hanging from his cart, and seeing that the cart belonged to the Conductor, the passerby owls were naturally curious. Even on the escalator, they often turned and looked up, trying their best to peek at what the Conductor had bought. Grooves secretly muttered to himself, "See? I knew I am doing the right thing." It was nothing short of the end of the life to be so careless about grooming and he could draw attention to himself just by buying a shirt or a parasol.

"What's happened to him, is he brokenhearted?" "It's the opposite, isn't it? He must have met someone..."

Rather, he is not even at that starting point.

But it looked like he no longer had to worry about more shopping bags. Now all he had to do was buy some furniture, and then he would use the delivery service. Grooves didn't know the Conductor's address or even if he lived in a proper house in the first place, but he knew that writing " The Owl Express" or "Dead Bird Studio" would do the trick.

He thought again as he pushed his cart, "what should I buy?" Curtains were absolutely necessary. Any bird would go crazy if it had to look at that glaring sun for hours every day. If he sat on the tattered couch in that hellhole and tried to write a script, everything he wrote would have a bad ending. He sighed as he thought once more of the light that filled that room.

Grooves basically writes his scripts at home, not in the studio. This is because it is the only place where he can relax and not be disturbed. That is why he seriously designs the feel of the furniture, the color of the lighting, and even the paintings on the walls, always keeping the best possible environment for him to show his full potential as a movie director. He has dozens of different types of ink and playlists so that both his writing materials and the music he plays while working can be changed to match the mood of the story. He types up all of his scripts on his computer, but when he wants to check the overall balance or structure of a story, there is no better than analog way to do it. On his desk is a large monitor, a small keyboard, and next to it a big pad of notepaper, a beautiful pen, and a set of colorful inks. ＿＿＿＿How was the Conductor?

He found the store he wanted and he went straight in. Come to think of it, the only thing on the big maple desk was an illustrated book on guns.

He entered the store and headed straight to the curtain section to check out the light-blocking fabric curtains. Grooves did not spend much time on this step. Because the moment he spotted a dark olive curtain, he decided to go for it. It was a simple solid color and less decorative, but he had a sharp intuition that this was the one and that it would be the best, and within seconds he had finished writing the number, length, and number of pieces on the order form.

He ordered a single sofa in the same color and a small low table to match. Unfortunately, he could not buy anything for the kitchen because he did not know what to do with it due to the difference in food culture, but he was able to buy three pieces of beautiful tableware and one set of cutlery. He handed the order form to the counter with a refreshed look on his face: two palm-sized cactus pots, one modern lampshade, and two bookshelves sized to fit nicely in his room space. Hopefully this would clean up the desk. Now the question was whether the Conductor would make good use of them, but he decided to trust that he would take good care of them since they were indeed furniture that had been paid for with his own money.

He wandered around the entire mall, sliding across the floor with his cart, which was now completely heavy. He had generally bought what he wanted to buy, but he felt like he was missing something. Perhaps it wasn't that, he thought, and he was just excited about this situation where he could spend as much of other people's money as he wanted to shop, but that realization did not make this nagging feeling go away.

He casually took out his watch and checked the time. It was already past 6:00 pm. He had been away from the train for about five hours. He was surprised at how quickly the time had flown by. He rested his arm on the cart and tried to remember what he had eaten, other than the coffee he had had in the morning. But he soon remembered that there was no such thing. He hadn't even nibbled on a cookie, let alone eaten a proper lunch of any kind. From the moment he realized this, his tongue gradually became numb and heavy, and he felt as if he were losing strength. He was hungry, he thought grimly, and started pushing the cart again, looking for something to eat.

Although there were many restaurants in the mall, from his cursory glance, they did not look very tasty. Grooves is not a fan of sweet food, nor is he a fan of greasy food. He doesn't like spicy food either, and he can't eat a lot of dry, waterless food. If he has to eat, he will eat, but he has never wanted to eat on his own. Despite this, all the restaurants he could see had that kind of flavor, and most of them were either meat dishes or raspberry parfaits. He tried to read the menu, but he didn't understand anything, so much so that he was surprised that these words even existed as a single word in the first place. He doesn't like oatmeal or lamb. Realizing that he would probably have a hard time finishing eating them, he slouched away from it.

And after unknowingly circling the entire mall in search of food, he finally gave up and left the mall. With both hands full of shopping bags at once, he no longer had any desire to shop for anything. For a brief moment he thought about stopping at a supermarket, but decided to give that up as well. The bags were heavy, he was hungry, and most of all, he was tired. He thought it would probably be faster to eat at the train's cafeteria, so he took out his sunglasses and parasol and turned back the way he came.

It was midsummer but the sun had not yet set, turning the city a golden tint.

6. By the time the Owl Express began its service, he was exhausted. With his cheek pressed against the extremely cold cockpit, he cooled his completely heated body. His body was sticky and limp, and he could have stayed there all night if the vibration hadn't been so bad. The light was coming in through the large window, more copper than gold, and much redder than in the daytime. Knowing that it was already evening, he felt a sense of sadness, whether happy or saddened.

……Come to think of it, where is the Conductor?

He suddenly wondered how his rival was doing. No way was he able to exist as him at this very moment. Conductor is the only bird in the world, and he wished it were so. One bird is enough for such a terrible bird. Leaving aside the question of why such a phenomenon had occurred, he wondered what would happen to birds without their bodies, that is, if they were only conscious, (and he was a little puzzled that the science fiction movie director would think of something so unscientific and occult,) but now his hypothesis was gradually becoming more realistic. If that were to happen, would the bird be unable to wake up? Even if they were awake, they might not be able to feel it. Because the consciousness would not have the sensory organs to receive the five senses. The instinct may go in search of an empty body.

That way they can get up anyway.

Where is the Conductor now? That is, his conscious part. Was he sleeping in this body now? Or was he also spending his time as someone else? Maybe he was on vacation somewhere, or maybe he was on the moon. If there was a bird whose body was taken over by him, he must be a very unlucky bird. If he were them, Grooves would definitely not want to be a part of it, he said, smiling fluently as he sat in the cold, iron cockpit. If he even so much as drops a cigarette butt on the sidewalk, the phones at home and in the office go dead literary. He is being evaluated in real time. No matter how much money he was offered, he could not allow himself to entrust his body to the Conductor under such circumstances.

If he could choose the body of the bird that would take over, who would it be? He thought long and hard as he rested his rounded back against the backrest. What about another moon penguin? It would be interesting to be a moon penguin that wasn't interested in music or show business, he thought. Maybe that type of bird would have something Grooves had cut off, something he couldn't see.

Or, if that bird isn't the Conductor, he can be an owl. With their big feathers, he would like to fly in the cool sky and touch the stars if he could. In reality, it would be difficult because the stars are deathly hot, but there is romance in their feathers. Although he can't like what they like, he is interested in looking at the moon from their point of view.

If he could be anything that wasn't a bird, how about being a mafia? Grooves had never seen or visited their island, but he knew it was famous for its fish. Besides, he had heard that there were many chefs on the island, so he was sure he would be able to eat a lot of delicious dishes there.

And then Grooves suddenly realized a possibility: some birds might want to become DJ Grooves. If there is such a bird, now is the perfect time. His body should be in stasis now, if only he were not dead.……

……Come to think of it, where is the Conductor?

Grooves only hoped that his worst prediction would not come true. He almost fainted at the mere thought of the Conductor living as Grooves in the unlikely event that he did. That bird would definitely do something. Because even in Dead Bird Studio, he couldn't stay still and docile. There is nothing restricting Grooves, in other words, the Conductor, in that wide street right now.

If he causes any problems as Grooves, and then goes back to Grooves himself, it is Grooves, not Conductor, who takes the blame. There is nothing more germane than the entertainment industry on the moon. Worst case scenario, he might not be able to stay a star. The yellow owl felt a chill run down his spine. He wondered if the bird really understood the frustration of having everything he had spent his life accumulating destroyed, not by him, but by someone else. He doubt it. The only thing he had accumulated throughout his life was trophies from movies. He can always get them back.

"When I can't be a star anymore," Grooves muttered out quietly.

In fact, is it really that bad?

Until yesterday, Grooves wanted to quit being a star, which is exactly why he was drinking until he blacked out. Actually, Grooves might want to quit being a star to become a movie director. Even now he continued his contract with Dead Bird Studio as a movie director, but as the Conductor yelled at him one day, he was still DJ Grooves.

In his words, Grooves seems to have mistaken a movie for a music video or something. He blames this on his crew, who treat Grooves as a musician or a star rather than a movie director, and on Grooves himself, who doesn't even try to be anything more than DJ Grooves. At the time, he didn't take this seriously, saying that he didn't want to be told that he was making a movie while operating a train, but it was only recently that he thought that this might be true. Because while the Conductor is a conductor, at least his crew at Dead Bird Studio treats him as a movie director, not as a conductor on the Owl Express. That much, he could tell. Their round, big eyes are just too honest.

Is this an opportunity? Grooves dropped his gaze. His copper-colored feathers were sweating and stiff.

He had thought that when he quit the star, it would be when the moon exploded. But maybe that's not true. Grooves might have already had to retire from show business ten years ago. If he had done so, would he have been able to make better movies? Had he been mistaken about what he was doing for ten years? Was it not simply a matter of skill that he could not beat the Conductor all those years, but because Grooves was the star? If so, it was really a waste of time. As a result, Grooves almost killed a child.＿＿＿＿

At that moment, the phone unexpectedly rang. The yellow owl freaked out and promptly picked up the receiver.

"Hi, Dad."

An exasperated voice over the receiver pricked the Conductor's ears. Grooves replied vaguely, wondering if she is his daughter. She looked so bad from him.

"Why aren't you coming? The kids have been waiting for you all day!" "What about-......?" "What about-......? What's with that reaction? ......Did you forget us?" "No, I mean, that ......."

Grooves tried his best to keep talking, but he felt sick, as if all the water in his body was evaporating as soon as he opened his beak, and in the end he couldn't say anything. The receiver was still angry.

"So you forgot when is their birthday party."

A voice cooler than the one in the cockpit said calmly, with anger inside. "Enough. Have a good day."

With a clang, the phone went dead immediately. Grooves stared at the receiver's speaker, completely lost in thought.

Children, birthday party. 'Why aren't you coming?'

Perhaps it was the birthday of the Conductor's grandchildren, and the Conductor had accepted the invitation. Poor thing, and he felt sorry for the little owl he didn't see. He tried to calm his upset by muttering that he might have been able to attend if the Conductor's calendar had been analog, but of course such a shift in responsibility would not have worked. Had he prepared a gift, or was he going to have one this morning? It was all irrelevant now.

He would have to apologize, he thought as he put the receiver back in its holder. Grooves had caused trouble as the Conductor before the Conductor had caused trouble as Grooves. The same with the birthday party and the performance. That owl still thinks the Conductor is a musician.

He tried again to dial his private phone number, but remembering that didn't work last time, he now dialed his manager's number. This way he would know in one shot whether Grooves was alive or dead. If he was lucky, he might even be able to talk to Grooves.

He put the receiver to his ear again, desperately hoping he would get an answer. If he couldn't get through to this number either, the only number he would have left would be his work number, but as he recalled, he had turned off his phone yesterday while he had been drinking. He hated himself for what he had done last night. Just as he was about to vow never to drink again, the phone finally connected.

"Hello......" "Good, the phone's working, darling＿＿＿＿"

Just as Grooves was about to continue with his second sentence, suddenly a tremendous crash, as if something exploded, hit him in the ear on the radio waves. The yellow owl rushed to pull the receiver away from his ear and shouted, "What's going on?"

"If I knew what was going on, I wouldn't be riding here!" a dirty voice shouted back. From what he could hear, he was crying as he spoke, and occasionally a sniffling sound could be heard. "I don't understand! Who are you anyway?"

"Let me see..." The Yellow Owl was puzzled, wondering whether he should call himself the Conductor or DJ Grooves. The subtle blank spaces were filled with intense sounds and squeals. "What does it matter? What's Grooves doing!"

"He's watching a movie next to me! While he's driving!" "On the road? I heard you got a meeting today!" "How the hell does a stranger know about that, peck neck!"

The manager's shouts became even louder. The painful sound, like a large truck braking sharply, reached Grooves almost as a noise. He has known him for a long time. He had supported Grooves in many ways from the very beginning of Grooves' performing career. But he had never sounded so terrible, and for a moment he wondered if he had dialed the wrong number, but the voice was his.

"I don't know! I really want to go to work!" "Then go!" "He won't let me go!"

He did not say who, but the answer was almost obvious. Maybe Grooves, meaning the Conductor, was driving somewhere with the manager. Grooves still didn't know if the man next to the manager was the Conductor, but Grooves felt almost certain that he was. He tried his best to deduce why the Conductor was driving, but after a minute's thought, he had no idea. In the meantime, he could hear explosions, brakes, wind, squeals, and laughter, one after the other.

"If ye care so much about yer work, go."

Suddenly, a completely new and different voice said as if singing. The distance was far and the voice was low and muffled, making it difficult to hear, but it was clear that it was not the manager's voice.

"I've been telling ye that for a while now. Yer really not groovy." "Then let me go home! Where are we? How long are you going to keep running!?" "Yer a lad of many orders. Why should I, a star, have to pick up and drop off other birds I dinna care about? I'm not a kindergarten bus driver, laddie. Take a walk. Maybe you'll make it in time for work tomorrow." "Quit joking, please! Really, please, go back! Grooves, you're going to get caught if you keep going like this! Do you know what you're doing?" "What is that, a threat? A moon style joke? We're just watching a movie." "Driving under the influence, driving the wrong way, over-speeding, going through all red lights! You just committed four crimes!" "Hmmm...... oh my-, the ashtray is falling!" "Geez! No!!"

Grooves stood there and just listened to the conversation. Crimes? If it was as simple as dropping a cigarette butt, but had the Conductor violated the traffic laws? His mind went blank.

Perhaps the other voice, the one watching the movie, was unmistakably that of DJ Grooves, albeit with a liquor burn. Hearing his own voice from a third-party perspective through TV or radio is a daily occurrence, so it didn't seem too strange to hear his own voice from the phone, but it was still more than a little shocking to hear his own voice saying, "Yer really not groovy."

"If you go home now, I'll forgive you! I'll let bygones be bygones for being AWOL from the radio, for kidnapping me, and for drinking alcohol! Please go home! If you won't do it, All our work will be lost!"

"All our work will be lost!" Grooves' voice amusingly mimicked the manager's shout. It was not at all like him, but it was clear to Grooves over the phone that it contained a distinctly derisive nuance.

"Ye actually think that DJ Grooves became a star because of ye, right? Not only about TV, but ye even meddled in 'my' movie business. On top of that, ye even tried to get me to take you to and from the office right now." "What? Isn't it true? I always work overtime to get the work done, for you!" "Yer a hard worker! If ye want to work hard, work hard on yer own. Don't bother using me, peck neck."

There was a small sound of something opening. "But if ye insist so much, I'll have ye go get a work. Go on!"

The manager's cries became even higher pitched. Apparently, the door had been opened. And since the wind was still howling, the car was probably still running. "I'm gonna fall! I'm falling!"

"What?" Ye started it." "Please! Please! I just want you back!" "But if I go back, ye'll make me work, won't ye? Then I dinna want to." "Well, ......" "I won't let ye go home until ye do at least two less radio shows and one less regular TV show." "............"

All he could hear was the sound of a strong wind. What in the world is going on on the other side of the phone?　No reason at all occurred to him why he needed to go AWOL from the radio, kidnap the manager, and break the traffic laws. Maybe the alcohol from yesterday is still in his blood and that's why the Conductor is so bold in his mind. As an owl, the most he would do is block the doorway to the studio or make a loud noise in the lobby, but as a moon penguin, he is really doing things on a level that is not funny.

There was a jumble of noise, and someone's muttered "but" or "no" came in. Grooves just listened to it silently, worriedly, and didn't know what to say to him.

It's true that lately he hadn't been able to go out and shoot movies properly because of the work he's been doing as a star. Grooves must have talked to his manager about it the other day, but he said irresponsibly, "But I believe you can do it," and instead of reducing his workload, he increased it. No way was he going to reduce his workload without asking for permission, so he took on all of it.

He was vaguely indebted. He knew that he did not feel very well about his making the movie. ＿＿＿＿ From the day the deal with Dead Bird Studio was completed, communication with him started to go a little awry. Every time he received a silver trophy, he said, "Are you still going to do it? If you have time to mind your rival, you should mind your fans." That's true. But he just couldn't forgive his rival. Even when his purpose for making movies changed from dreams to revenge, he still had the clapperboard.

"Darling," Grooves couldn't resist saying. "Give me his time." "Y-you're still here? What the＿＿＿＿"

"Are ye on the phone?" The Conductor entered the conversation, taking a sip of something. "At least it's more interesting than talking to ye. Give me that."

After a brief struggle, the phone connected to the Conductor. "Hello?" A rather languid tone reached his ears over the slow radio waves.

"Darling, I don't know where you are, but you have to come back right now! You'll get caught!" "What? Do you know who you're complaining to? ......No, wait ......."

The Conductor was silent for a moment and later said only, "Are you Grooves?"

"Heh! I'm glad to hear that. I was actually wondering if ye had died somewhere. Ye almost choked to death with a wine bottle in yer beak. That's not good. If yer gonna die, yer have to pay the studio's management fee for the rest of the year before ye do." "Um, sorry about that ...... No, we're off topic! Go back, darling. Now!" "I wish I could. I cannae wait to go home and sleep too. My back and arms hurt from being in the car from morning till night. My throat is kind of sore too, and I feel nauseous ......" "Then do it! Don't ruin my life over a speeding ticket!" "Yer life? It's fine. There was no police car and no one saw us because we weren't on the road in the first place. When he says 'I am sorry', we'll go home quietly, okay?" "Not on the road? Where are you right now?"

The Conductor laughed, as if he had been waiting for that. "We're in the woods. Do ye know? Forests are good. The smell of them is relaxing, it's environmentally friendly, it's free, and it's quiet and comfortable because there's no one around."

That being said, some of the sounds heard earlier sounded like branches and leaves breaking. The tires on his car must be in shreds. "I just had my car serviced," he grumbled.

"Why are you running in such a place? And while watching a movie. It's dangerous!" "What? It's yer fault who installed this feature, isn't it? I was going to drive on a clean, well-paved road without a movie on. But then this lad starts screaming about how terrible it would be if someone saw us, and talking about nonsense, so we're driving through the woods and watching a movie." "Oh, no. ......" "Speaking of movies, ye only downloaded yer own movies? I'm gonna sleep because they're so boring. How am I supposed to download my movies?" "Don't ever touch the screen because it costs money to buy movies! So, will you know how to get home?" "Maybe. Well, if he's not sorry, we'll just run forever. Hey, ......what yer name was, uh, ...manager? What do ye mean ye haven't even opened yer pocketbook? Are ye sure ye wanna go home!?"

There was a sound like something colliding with something. The Conductor must have punced the door. "Please don't do anything to him, darling!"

"He didn't do anything wrong. He was just doing his job!" "Just doing his job? Is it the manager's job to decide everything from breakfast to dinner, to control the type and number of shows you appear on, what ye talk about on the radio, when ye make movies, when ye talk to yer friends, and so on? Is it his job to yell at ye and try to force ye to follow his orders when ye dinna?" "No, I wanna-..." "Oh yeah, whatever. When I told him I was taking off work to go to my grandchildren's birthday party, he hid yer car key. I'm not sure how much he's taking advantage of ye. I had no choice but to give up the birthday party." "Oh, about that..." "Ye couldn't go, could ye? That's fine. If ye ruin their party, I have no face to match them. Don't worry, I'll send them a present later. In fact, I've won tickets to a luxury cruise, and if my daughter will allow it, I'm going to take them on it. Many of them prefer boats to trains, so it will be a great present for them."

The Conductor's, i.e. Grooves', voice softened for that moment. It was such a polite, gentle voice that one could tell at once that he loved his grandchildren. It sounded strange for his own voice to say those things, but it was then that Grooves finally realized that trophies were not the only thing the Conductor cherished. At the same time, he realized that the destination he was looking forward to traveling to would be with the Conductor. He sighed at the thought of being with him again.

"That's why I want to get home early, laddie. I need time to get presents for my lovely grandchildren, and I'd hate to let a moon penguin writes a message card on my behalf. The ticket is not valid forever.......Have ye decided what to cut back on?" "Please＿＿＿＿y-you are drunk now. Let's talk again tomorrow...?"

"What?" "Um, well...I- I just... ＿＿＿＿I'm just saying, ...it's not right! You are a musician by profession, aren't you? But lately you don't write songs, and you don't play! If I didn't bring you musical work, you'd merely be a moon penguin! You talk about movies, ＿＿＿＿movies! You haven't made any achievements at all! Just when I think you've finally started writing your own music, it's the theme song for your movie! No one expects you to get a movie trophy! What they want is your new song and your performance! If I didn't get the work, you wouldn't be doing any of it!"

"So?" "Your popularity means reputation to your firm. You knew that, of course. You became a movie director, and do you know how much that affected my results and my producing operation? I gave you ten years of freedom, Grooves. Because I believed you might have other talents besides music! Your fans still remember the mistake you made in the theater on the moon. Only two trophies are not enough to make up for it. You should make it up for it!"

Suddenly, all sound disappeared as he choked. The breathing, the sound of the wind, nothing could be heard.

Grooves almost dropped the receiver. 'No one expects you to get a movie trophy.' Grooves himself knew that. He wasn't taking the trophy for his manager; he wanted it for himself. But somehow, it was still shocking to hear him say it once. The words of denial from the bird that had been so dedicated and supportive of his activities up to this point was heavy and bitter beyond belief. No one, really no one, saw Grooves as a movie director. They supported Grooves not because they believed he had movie talent, but because they believed in him as a star-

"Is that all? Surprisingly few."

The Conductor said, still with the movie on.

"The reason Grooves can only make crappy movies is because he doesn't have the time to do it. There are more things lacking than that, but at least yer one of the reasons. Do ye know how many months it takes to make one movie? It usually takes six months to make a movie that is less than two hours long. Do ye know what happens to a bird when they cannae spend time on their hobbies and private life? They die of alcoholism.＿＿＿＿Ye almost killed me!" "Uh-uh......ya..." "Ye have something to say to me, right? Don't kill me with yer scummy little squabbles, peck neck. Or rather, don't complain about every single thing I do! Don't forbid me to at least eat chips!"

After that, all that followed was sobbing. When the Conductor made a sound that could be either a sigh or a puff of smoke, the sound of the wind became even higher. Grooves listened with his beak open. As usual, he was still amazed by the Conductor's words and actions. Perhaps he was just trying to scold the manager for not listening to his words, but even so, his words were very kind to his rivals, even considering that they came from the Conductor.

"So, what have ye been doing all day? Ye haven't done anything wrong, have ye?" "What do you mean?" "Did ye make the berth beds? Ye have to change all the bed sheets at eight o'clock. The other birds takes care of the food and baggage, but it's yer job to take care of all the passengers' requests." "Hey, I didn't hear that!" "Peck Neck! Did ye think I just drink coffee on the train? I hoped yer not ignoring all the announcements at every station and not disregarding bringing water and meals to the premier ticketed owls!" "Tell me those things in the morning, darling! You could have called me. You didn't leave your work manual anywhere!" "Of course. why do ye think I do? Seriously, what were ye doing?" "I was shopping! I was buying your clothes, curtains and stuff! There's no way a creepy closet like yours! You were planning to go to the birthday party in that tattered uniform or that jacket, weren't you? Think about how your grandchildren feel for a minute!" "What? Nobody cares..." "No, I care! Appearance is a mirror. If I had a birthday party, I'd want my guests to be beautiful. You know why? It's etiquette, it's a sign of respect. You dress your characters in your movies in new clothes. It's the same thing! If you love your grandchildren so much, why don't you dress them appropriately!" "......W-what? Outsiders should not be involved in this!"

His words lost momentum and took on a tinge of awkwardness. Perhaps he is aware of it. Grooves was relieved that it would not take him long to improve.

"It's a mutual thing. You had three TV shows today, and you skipped all of them!" "That's his fault, isn't it? Hey, have ye decided what yer going to cut back on? Have ye decided!?"

There was a loud rattling noise. The manager choked up and answered in a voice so small they could hardly hear him, "I've decided."

"......All right, let's go home." "And give him some water, please. He'll die of dehydration." "Oh! Water? Hey laddie, all we have is whiskey, but ye drink it, dinna ye? ＿＿＿＿Good, good, ye should drink plenty of it. The only good things to taste on the moon are coffee and liquor. Snacks, steaks, everything tastes so bland." "You just have a bad taste buds, darling."

7. He rubbed his stretched muscles and collapsed lethargically onto the soft bed.

Preparing the berths was more difficult than he had expected. It was hard to see in front of him when he was carrying so many sheets, and they were soiled with drool and sweat, and were so large that putting them in a special net was also a challenge. After that, he had to get new sheets from the linen room and set them on the numerous berths, and the repetitive and simple task of moving around with his unaccustomed body caused him to scream easily. Without help, would he have been able to finish making the beds by the time it was time to go? Absolutely not. Grooves got up slowly and headed for the closet.

Not sure if it's always him, but maybe it's not. ＿＿＿＿The pianist helped him.

"Let me help you!" he suddenly appeared at the bedroom door. Remembering what he had said, Grooves thought for a moment about refusing his help, but he didn't have the strength or energy to do so. In the end, the owl did more than half the work and was able to open the door exactly on time.

His voice was filled with a hint of expectation, "You can't relax if you work all the time, can you?" He knew he was saying this because he wanted him to play the piano again, or because he had found a new friend, but it still sounded very heavy to him. Music, performing, and even shooting movies were all work for Grooves.

He wondered what hobbies he had that were not directly related to his, or his work. For a moment, he thought about whether he had such a thing. He believed himself that there must be a lot of things he just couldn't remember, but even at 8:30, the only answer he could come up with was driving. Even watching movies is almost always a work interview for him, and watching TV is also for his own production strategy. He has never really enjoyed variety shows. He is always thinking about how he should respond when someone makes a bad joke and he is asked to answer it, or how he should react when someone says something that is inconvenient for him. Playing a musical instrument, composing music, and so on, are all work if there is remuneration. The yellow owl took several new ties from one of the shopping bags and carefully hung them on hangers. It is true that Grooves had no freedom or time, but perhaps the manager was not the only cause. Maybe it was his own fault for spending all of his free time not for himself, but for others.

For example, if Grooves had a week off, what would he do? He would compose music on Monday, shoot a movie on Tuesday and Wednesday, watch TV on Thursday, memorize a script on Friday, shoot another movie on Saturday, and prepare for his work on Sunday. That's how he would spend his time. Even today, he should have danced at the club on the moon, never mind the Conductor or the train. Then he wouldn't have vomited. He should have done what he really wanted to do, just as the Conductor cancelled all of Grooves' business and spent the day driving and watching movies while breaking four traffic laws.

As a result, the Conductor succeeded in reducing Grooves' workload. All in all, it was a use of his time that Grooves could never have come up with.

Is that the difference between him and himself? ＿＿＿＿Is that the difference between first and second place, gold and silver?

Once all the ties had been putted away, Grooves went back and looked at the balance of the colors. The strong colors of purple, white, yellow-green, red, and turquoise looked great against the dark wood closet. The pattern was also impeccably gorgeous. In Grooves's opinion, everything the Conductor chooses is too safe. Since his coat and shirt are plain, he should at least wear a tie with a pattern. Not the usual checks and polka dots, but something with a print or embroidery, for example.

He repeated the simple task of arranging and hanging the clothes there again and again. Although he did not want to collect the bed sheets, wash them, and re-set them, strangely enough, it was not hard at all for him to arrange the clothes. Either he liked this kind of thing or it simply suited his nature. He couldn't give him a good answer, even though it was his own thing.

He loves shopping. Especially when he buys a lot of beautiful but inexpensive things, he feels the happiest. When he was a kid, he spent all his money on marbles and sequins and things like that. This is because he didn't have to worry about what would happen to them after they broke. Buying musical instruments and furniture is a little tiring, but clothes and supplies are just pure fun. As the yellow owl brushed his coat, he wondered for a moment if he could call this one of his likes.

If this is correct, Grooves has used about half his time today for himself. If he thought about it, shopping for the Conductor was just one of the good reasons he did. At the time, the possibility that he might not be able to come back as the Conductor was a big one, and he didn't know if Grooves would be alive, meaning he didn't know how long he would spend as the Conductor, so he came up with the idea to go shopping and change his environment. But he would have done so even if he had not. The reason didn't matter as long as he could go shopping.

The yellow owl grinned a little. See, he had forgotten that he had some likes. It is only that he had forgotten about it because he had not done it until now.

The closet was a sight to behold when he finished putting everything together. In the morning there was only uniforms and a jacket, but now there was a traffic jam of clothes, a huge flood.

The same is true of the vanity, which was filled only with old air. It was hard to imagine its owner's tattered feathers from the multicolored containers that now lined them.

After taking care of everything, he looked once more into the well-polished mirror.

The golden feathers glistened softly in the gentle apricot-colored lighting. They were as smooth and fluffy to the touch as they looked. It would take a few more months to see the true beauty of his feathers, as they would not all be in good condition in a day. They were never as strong in color as the reflected light of trophies, but somehow looking at them filled his heart. After all, appearance is a mirror. His feathers looked much better now, when he was happy, than when he looked in the mirror in a terrible feeling.

He wanted him to have continued to take care of him. Grooves doesn't feel good looking at shaggy feathers, and it makes him feel emptier than he should when he thinks about how many times he's been beaten by the owner of those feathers. What to do, he thought, as he settled down on his old coffee-scented couch. Is that bird the kind of bird that will figure out how to do it on its own and make the most of it? No way. If he had such a positive attitude, he would have made more movies in differences. He leaned his back hard against the backrest and turned his head to look at the room. It was then that he noticed for the first time that his neck turned a great deal. He stroked his neck, trying to see where the bones were, only learned that the feathers were smooth to the touch from the treatment. He kept turning his neck from side to side, this way and that, looking for something useful.

But within two minutes, the yellow owl sat up and took a letter set out of his shopping bag. He hadn't expected to use it so quickly, but it was unavoidable. There were no notebooks, pens, or, worse, pencils in the Conductor's room. He must have done all his work digitally. He opened the pen, inwardly mocking his rivals, saying that this is why his inspiration is dead and he can only make boring movies.

After writing out the template, he wrote about the day's events as he thought of them. For starters, Grooves had to apologize to the Conductor to some extent. Of course, it was about the pianist and the birthday party. He did not dare apologize for the shopping. They were absolutely, positively necessary purchases for the Conductor. Honestly speaking, he did not remember how much the total cost was, but it should not have been that much since he only purchased a few pieces of clothing, grooming, and a few pieces of furniture. ＿＿＿＿While writing the sentence, the back of the couch came off and broke. Exclaiming that it was no way, he left the couch and decided to continue writing in the empty coach.

The rearmost coach, the one closest to the caboose, was quiet and cold. He thought it was air-conditioned, but it was not, apparently because the sun was not rising. He buttoned up his coat, sat down in one of the many seats, and spread a letter set on the table. He closed the curtains, turned on the table lamp, and quickly pressed the tip of his pen to the paper.

He tried to be as clear and concise as possible in explaining how to use the many beauty products crammed into the vanity. There were a sizable number of things he wanted him to say or do, but he compromised them to some extent, writing only that he usually applied treatments and that brushing alone was fine.

Grooves knew. The best entrance into anything is not given by others, but by one's own interest. If the Conductor's grandchildren noticed the slightest change in their grandfather, he would take himself somewhat more seriously about his appearance. Anything is fine. For example, a soft feather or a nice scent. If the Conductor strokes them or picks them up, they should notice the change immediately. Whatever it is, if they notice a change in their grandfather and say it out loud, he will start to pay a little more attention to his appearance. The Conductor will never listen to what Grooves says, but he will listen and act on what his grandchildren say.

Speaking of changes, a description of the closet also needed to be written. Grooves bought a lot of ties and non-uniform clothes and stuffed them in there. The ties are all colorful, but as far as shirts and pants go, they are all black and white, so unless you put them together really badly, you should be decently dressed. After he had written all he wanted to write, he stopped holding the pen. There was still space left on the paper even though there was nothing left to write. Grooves was too old to come up with a doodle.

He decided to have something to drink, as he usually did when he was stuck working on a script. He went back to the Conductor's room and looked in the pantry, which was full of coffee beans. It was already night. Not in the mood for caffeine-laden coffee, he looked for packages of tea, juice, and other drinks. Then, among a pile of colorful them, he found an old paper bag. Surprised and dismayed that he was still hiding such a thing, he took it and examined what it contained.

Along with a small bouquet of dried flowers, the paper bag had a message card attached to it. "May everything you want to do go well."＿＿＿＿Whose words were they, and who wrote them in the first place? He felt impatient, as if he had seen something he was not supposed to see. The handwriting was gentle and calm, clearly not that of the Conductor. He opened the bag with trepidation and looked at its contents. It contained several sets of tea bags. They smelled of chamomile. There was only a tiny bit in the large bag, disproportionately small. He returned it quietly to the pantry, shocked.

Eventually, he grabbed his pen again as he sipped the non-cafeined apple flavored tea. As expected, he couldn't bring himself to use that tea bags. It was filled with so much love that even Grooves, an outsider, could tell that he couldn't use it. It must have been made for the Conductor by someone who loved him and gave it to him as a gift.＿＿＿＿And maybe the Conductor knows this, so he is consuming a little bit at a time. That's why the contents were less.

It is not easy to know someone's private parts unless you have the courage to do so. Grooves was a little upset because he had just learned yet another one of his rival's secrets. He downed it with a flavored tea and slowly exhaled air.

A bluish-white light was peeking through a gap in the curtains. It was moonlight. Grooves opened the curtains slightly and looked out the car window at the view beyond.

The desert was white and the sky was black, and many stars were twinkling on it as if they were sprinkled with paint. It was beautiful, he thought honestly. Normally the stars are not visible on the moon, and you cannot see such a magnificent starry sky from Dead Bird Studio, either. It is precisely because it is a lonely desert with nothing bright around that the stars look so beautiful. He looked at it for a while, forgetting about the paper bag and the letter. The cacti and rocks illuminated by the moonlight were all dyed white and looked fantastic. Grooves suddenly looked at his hands. The golden feathers looked white in the bright white night light and blue in the shadows.

The template is usually to end these letters with a phrase of thanks, and he didn't know of any other way to end it neatly.＿＿＿＿He still wasn't sure if he should be thanking that thing or not, but for the time being, he decided to say thank the yellow owl after all, since he had more time to make the movie because of his actions. The way he did it was definitely rough, but it was worth it just to know that he wouldn't get less work if he didn't do that much. ……If Grooves had been able to talk to the manager properly, Conductor would not have had to do that. Thinking about that made him feel just a little bit sorry. Then, just as he was about to finish writing the last part, he remembered that he had finally saved his life. If the Conductor had not woken up, Grooves might have choked to death with a bottle of liquor down his throat. He signed his name with mention of that as well.

He folded it neatly and placed it in an envelope. He cleaned his room and organized the scattered illustrated books and novels just to put it on his desk, though he did not seal it, as he was sure it would be opened soon. (Of course, he had no proof of this. He just wished it were. Just the thought of having to ride the train for a week was horrifying.)

So he hoped that one day soon the conductor would read this letter. And he wanted to see again the golden morning when he wakes up not as a train conductor, but the dark morning when he wakes up as a musician of the moon.

He turned off the lights in his room and snuggled into a pile of blankets. The desert at night was cold, and from the moon penguin's point of view, it was no less so than the moon's.

8. A familiar alarm sounded.

Grooves opened his eyes almost reflexively. He was still swimming in a blur of consciousness, listening to the sound of horns and air coming from outside. No smell, no light. But the alarm went off, so it was morning. Grooves staggered up and stretched. There was a bright white carpet, red bedding, an acoustic guitar, an amplifier, and an upright piano on display. He looked around in order and finally caught sight of a cabinet that housed small replica trophies. There was only two Bird Movie Award trophies, and all the others were filled with trophies he had received when he won music-related competitions, that beloved cabinet.

He stared at it and thought, "The cabinet is there." Then, a few beats later, he realized he was a moon penguin.＿＿＿＿Not the yellow owl, nor the Conductor of the Owl Express.

He did not shout, dance, or try to do anything spectacular. This was probably because he knew that somewhere along the way, this would happen. A feeling of relief rather than joy filled him.

He hummed and went to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Then, as he was accustomed to doing, he poured hot water into the instant powder, mixed it quickly, and drank it. It tasted the same as usual. As usual …… But somehow, it seemed extra wonderful to him today. It was good that he is a moon penguin. It was good to be a star. It is good to be a musician, good to love science fiction, good to live on the moon. He thought about it over and over, thankful for everything that made up who he was anyway, from the little things to the big things. It was good that he did not have to lose this.

He returned to his room with his still hot coffee in hand. He soon discovered an unfamiliar sheets of paper on his desk, where he organized.

When he took it up and read it, it was immediately apparent that it was printed. The font, designed to be easy to read with dots, was aligned with the same spacing. It must have been the Conductor who wrote it. He decided to read it, but he was a little surprised to know that he had done the same thing. It started out with an apology. He wrote he was sorry about missing work and about that drive. It also said that he had canceled all of his work for the week because he didn't think this condition would be fixed anytime soon. Then, without a pause, he added a few quips about how to drink. If want to get drunk, he wrote, don't drink expensive liquor at home, buy cheap liquor at a gas station and drink it. Grooves put his fin to his beak, about to say, "I knew it."

Surprisingly, he ended on a thankful note. "I still don't know what kind of things you bought, but I hope they weren't anything fancy." "My grandchildren and daughter might be happier with something you picked out for them than I would be with something I did myself." Satisfied, he read the back of the note.

P.S. I bought 30 movies, or maybe 40, that's about it. Don't try to fight me with your scummy movies. You should watch these and learn how to direct.

He had a bad prediction. Grooves hurriedly turned on his laptop and checked his movie purchase history. The list was indeed filled with movies he had never seen before. The pages that used to be jam-packed with red, blue, and yellow were no longer there, and sepia colors such as brown and black dominated the list. The director of it may or may not have been the Conductor. Perhaps he bought movies he liked. With Grooves' money, of all things. Puzzled, he calculated the amount he had spent from his balance. Old movies were basically expensive, partly because they commanded a premium price. It was hardly much different from the amount Grooves had spent on shopping with the Conductor's money.

^^^^^

Thanks for reading to the end! I was going to make this a more light-hearted and fun story, but... If they switched they would probably act for themselves. However, while Grooves tries to protect the Conductor's life to some extent, the Conductor has no respect for Grooves' life at all. He threatened the manager only because he was a distraction to him, not because he cared about Grooves. However, their actions for their own sake ultimately benefit the rival. Why? Because they are very much alike. Have a good day!!

#a hat in time #ahit conductor #the conductor #ahit dj grooves #dj grooves #ahit fanfic #my fic #my answers

[ravensroleplays]

Official Fanart Contest Announcement

Evenin', Tumblr!

So, I decided to go through with a fanart contest for my AHIT fanfic, 'Sins Of the Fathers'!

I'm not going to pretend that this isn't at least in part because I just want fanart for my fanfic--but honestly? The more I thought about it, given that the story is on hiatus right now, I figured this might be something fun for people to do until I get back to the official fanfic!

And hey, I'm nothing if not a woman of my word, so of course there are going to be prizes for the best drawings.

First place is a fully-rendered and colored drawing:

Second place is a drawing with flat colors:

Third place is a simple black-and-white drawing:

Here's a link to the fanfic for anyone who hasn't read it:

You're free to submit your drawings to either my submission box, or make your own separate posts, but just remember to @ me!

The deadline is April 16th, and if you're not up to participating in the contest, no pressure! Like I said, this is just something I thought might be fun until I get my mojo back, and start working on the main fanfic again!

#mun's fanfic #ahit #ahit fanfic #hat kid ahit #snatcher ahit #fanart contest

[crescentblossom66]

Yellow Bundles of (Pain) Joy

The first of the two fics that I submitted to @anachronism-ahitzine Please check out the other writers and artists.

It was seriously the last thing he needed right now, a brain-splitting headache that spread from the back all the way to the front of his cranium. It had been some time since he had to deal with such an annoyance, if the yellow bird's anger was high before, it was now on par with the force of a raging volcano, ready to erupt at any moment. At this rate his movie would never be finished in time.

His right ear-like feathers twitched before Conductor stood up from his director's chair, yelling 'cut' as he stormed over to the frantic Express Owl whose face was contorted in a mix of pain and panic, as he tried to free the tip of his wing from the jagged beak of a fluffy troublemaker. After the young bird realized that her grandfather was coming toward her, the little owlet let go, leaving a big bruise on the wing of the brown bird that handed the girl back to his boss with urgency.

The relief of the Express Owl was cut short when the Conductor glared and made a noise akin to a low growl “Cannae even take care o' a wee one. I'm surrounded by incompetent buffoons!” Even if the owls were already used to the temper and rage of their very irritable boss, it still caused them to shiver and scurry away in fear. His granddaughter buried her face in his chest, as the Conductor carried her back to the playpen that was kept in a room away from the set to avoid exactly the scenario that had just occurred. Why...Why did he have to watch over the little blighters now of all times? It was only a few more months until his movie had to be finished and that meant that he could hardly spare a minute, let alone days to watch over his grandkids!

When he got close to the door of the room the little owlets were kept in, he felt his anger flare up yet again, as he could already hear that something was wrong. He hoped that the commotion was only caused by the disappearance of his granddaughter that he was returning, but of course, luck wasn't on his side today. The moment he opened the door, his gaze immediately fell on an empty playpen. The owl that he snapped his head toward, looked like he wanted to be anywhere else just not right where he was. “Ye better tell me that ye took the wee ones out fer a stroll, laddie.”

Rather than deal with the apparent rage that the owl could not only see, but feel coming off the director like an oppressive, malicious aura, the other bird quickly stormed past him. “I have no idea how they got out!”, the fleeing bird informed as he sprinted down the hall faster than the Conductor had ever seen an Express Owl run...If only they could run this fast in his movies, maybe then they'd not get singed in explosions all the time.

The young owl in his arms started to twist and turn as if uncomfortable, which made the yellow bird realize that he was holding onto her too tightly in his angry state. “I'm sorry, lassie. I didn't mean ta scare ye.” He felt horrible, he had scared his granddaughter so much that she wanted to get away from him. The girl chirped happily when he cradled her in his arms and pet over her head...He could only hope that no one saw that. “Alright, let's go look fer yer siblings.”

He found the first one of the little troublemakers on the top of the huge barn on his set, just walking on the roof tiles with unsteady steps. Before the true gravity of the situation sunk in and he sprinted off to get the young owl, he briefly wondered how his grandson had even gotten up there in the first place, given that he could hardly walk without falling over backwards. The old bird nearly slipped off the roof himself as a loose tile shifted under him. The things he did to keep them safe...Breaking a bone would still have been less problematic than facing the ire of his beloved daughter though, of that he was certain.

“Ye cannae simply run away like that, laddie, ye worried yer grandpa sick.” He picked up the young boy whose feathers lowered as his grandfather lightly scolded him. Getting down with the fragile baby bird proved rather difficult, but thankfully his incompetent owls used their brains for once and brought over a ladder for him to descend safely.

The yellow bird only had time to thank his subordinates briefly as movement and yellow plumage caught his attention down the hallway, heading to his other set. He shoved his grandson into the arms of the Express Owl closest to him, the disapproval of this action was visible on both, as the brown owl stretched his wings out to keep the toddler as far away from him as possible, while the fluffy baby watched his family member leave while lightly sobbing. The director nearly recoiled when he noticed the state of his normally neatly organized dressing room which now looked like a hurricane had torn through it. All the costumes were mixed together on various piles instead of hanging from the clothes hangers that they had originally been placed upon. “Holy peck!” The Conductor balled his talons to fists, his sharp claws nearly digging into his palm as his eyes scanned the room for the little perpetrator that he found with ease, as a pile of clothes in the back moved and gave away the position of his second granddaughter. The little bird was revealed after he tossed neck scarfs, vest, and purposefully ripped and dirtied trousers behind him. Not noticing his presence yet, the young girl continued to put a ruby necklace on that was intended for a wealthy side character in his upcoming movie. She protested and chirped when he pulled the accessory off and carried her out of the room with a scowl on his face.

“Stay in here, ye got that? I know ye want ta play, but I got a movie to record, I ain't got the time right now.” He informed the three young birds that he had found so far, after placing them back in the playpen.

He was about to head back outside the make-shift kids room, when he noticed a couple of Moon Penguins brusquely walking down the hallway, holding one of his grandsons. The way they held him didn't sit right with neither the owlet nor his disgruntled grandfather as they held the young boy by the scruff on his neck like they were taking out the trash, rather than carry an infant. “Don't leave your little terrors on our side of the studio, a'ight. We're not a daycare!” The penguin that was holding the unhappy toddler, dumped said owlet into his arms and dusted off their flippers. The Conductor would have snapped at them if wasn't for the fact that he needed to calm down his grandson first, who appeared glad that he was reunited with him.

“It's true that ye ain't daycare workers, yer a bunch o' talentless clowns who ain't got no idea how to handle a young owl.” The two birds that had started to walk back, turned around once more, their annoyance shifting to spite. Dealing with their leader's arch nemesis was trying their patience enough already, getting insulted over a problem that the yellow- feathered director had caused himself, only angered them more.

“Hey! We wouldn't even have to come over here if YOU had these mini terrors under control! This one nearly ruined the electricity on our set by playing with the cables!”

The Western director contemplated whether he should scold or praise his grandson for doing that, on one hand, he got himself in danger, on the other, he was sabotaging the set of his rival. Instead of admitting to failed supervision, he smirked at the angered penguin. “As if he could ruin that set, it's already held together with duct tape and glue. I wouldnae even call it a set, more like shabby dump!” The self-satisfied bird watched as the more agitated one of the two Moon Penguins gritted his beak and was pulled back by his slightly more calm coworker. It appeared that the more sensible one of the two tried to deescalate the situation by getting his enraged friend away from the director.

Now he had four of his five grandkids back together, he was only missing one, the one that he secretly liked the most...even if picking favorites was a bit of an awful thing to do. His favorite grandson was nowhere to be seen though, not on his sets, nor in the hallway or even the lobby. The Conductor was cursing under his breath when he reluctantly entered the one area that he hadn't looked yet, his rival's side of the studio. Given that the Moon Penguins had brought back one of the little blighters, it wasn't far-fetched to assume that the young boy was over there as well. He ignored the stares and the confusion on the penguins, that seemed to stop dead in their tracks and ceased what they were doing the moment they spotted the Western director just barge in and walk through the sets and down the hallway. When one brave penguin decided to try and stop the yellow owl, he was met with a death-glare and a low growl, which caused the poor bird to step back.

After reaching the end of the hallway, completely unopposed, the Conductor could hear the happy chirps of his missing grandson...and when he opened the door, he was greeted by a sight that he would never have expected. His grandson was smiling widely and made happy chirps and giggles while being lightly thrown into the air and when caught again by none other than his rival. “Come on, darling, up you go again.” The disco-loving bird tossed the boy, who flapped his tiny wings up and down, as if trying to catch the wind to fly, while seemingly having a lot of fun. Fun was the last thing that his grandpa had, however, as he stomped his way into the room.

“What do ye think yer doin' ta me grandson?!” The DJ seemed to not have heard him enter, being so focused on the baby bird, he gasped and visibly flinched while catching the boy again.

“I'm playing with him, darling, something you clearly neglected to do.” The way the young bird snuggled into the exposed feathers on his rival's chest made his blood boil even more, and caused the Conductor to reach out and grab his grandson, pulling him away from the tall penguin. Unsurprisingly, the tiny bird began to cry.

“Look at what you've done, Conductor, the little darling started to cry!” The owl was shocked to hear his grandson suddenly wail as he was being carried away by him.

“You kidnapper! You stole him from his playpen just to spite me, eh! Ye peck neck!” The penguin rolled his eyes at the accusation, his shades hiding the action from the other bird who tried to calm the little one down.

“I did no such thing, Conductor, he fell out of the vent and thankfully landed in my hair. I was going to return him.” The sci-fi director tried to reach out to the little owlet and the young bird rose his tiny wings out toward him in an attempt to wiggle out of the tight hold he found himself in.

The Conductor was about to just take the missing child back to the others that he had already gathered, but loud noises in the vent above, and the screaming of panicked Express Owls that were shut down by louder yelling from the Moon Penguins, caused him to stop dead in his tracks. When he focused, the yellow owl could make out “Conductor” and “Grandchildren” in the cacophony of voices. The kids must have escaped again!

Swallowing the harsh insults with which he wanted to express his anger and disappointment for the lack of competence his owls displayed, he took a look at the vent shaft that his grandson had supposedly used to get to the DJ's dressing room. Said DJ observed him for a moment and wanted to open his beak to ask what his rival was doing. The penguin couldn't help but laugh when his rival tried to look up the vent and was brought to the ground as four little owlets fell right on him. “Need some help there, darling?”

The ear-like feathers of the old owl twitched as he sat up again. “I donnae need yer help!-” He turned to look at the young birds with rage still present in his voice. “- Come here!” The owlets started to hide behind the flashy penguin, shaking with fear and whimpering. The yellow bird didn't need the disapproving glare from his rival to know that he had messed up badly...He had scared his grandkids. “I'm sorry, I...I should have taken some time off to play with ye.” His voice was uncharacteristically quiet, the confidence in it gone. They only wanted to be with him...and he had just shoved them away.

When the owlets hesitated, the sci-fi director put his contempt for the old owl behind and bent down to talk to the kids. “How about we get you some toys, darlings?” That got their attention easily. DJ Grooves sent his penguins to pick up some of the cheap plastic props from storage. The Conductor meanwhile, had an idea to get the affection of his grandkids back and had his owls set up the big trainset that he had shoved into a corner of his office and put it on his set. Maybe he should have looked at the measurements before buying it.

The young birds played with the small space shuttles that the DJ had brought for them...until they heard the high pitched sound of a train whistle on a smaller scale. The yellow owl watched as his grandkids admired the train and the three carts it pulled. He was a bit worried when they decided to climb onto the carts and ride around on them, but he smiled when he noticed their happy faces and cheerful chirps. Wondering where the kids had went, the penguin checked on his rival's set, finding the old bird in the middle of a small railroad, surrounded by ecstatic owlets. He rolled his eyes when the Conductor noticed him and gave his signature smug smile, the very same one he always had to endure whenever the Western director won the Award. “Did ye think ye could replace me, DJ peck neck? Nae, ye cannae have 'em, I love these wee blighters!”

#anachronism zine #ahit #ahit conductor #ahit dj grooves #ahit conductor's grandkids #ahit moon penguins #ahit fanfic

[astralix13]

Art for my AHIT fanfic Glitched Sands or as I like to call it Snatcher a tale of two princies

#snatcher ahit #snatcher #ahit snatcher #prince ahit #ahit prince #the prince ahit #ahit the prince #ahit #a hat in time #ahit fanart #ahit art #ahit fanfic #my art #glitched sands

[themintman]

yall this has been rly annoying me for the last few days. Do any of y'all remember an a hat in time fic on ao3 and it was like.. about the snatcher and a bunch of other ghosts? It started right after they all dyed thanks to Vanessa, literally every adult ghost apart from the snatcher gets killed off, they go to war against sand n sails (or something like that)????

I have looked through several tags and I can't find it please y'all I'm loosing my marbles 😢😢

#a hat in time #Ahit #Ahit fanfic #Fanfiction #Ao3 #PLEASE IM GOING MENTAL #RHIS IS A RLY BAD DESCRIPTION BUT I KNOW AT LEAST ONE OTHER PERSON HAS TO HAVE READ IT #I WANT TO FIND IT #Sigh #I CANT REMEMBER ITS NAME WAAAAH #THIS ISNT THE FIRST TIME THIS HAS HAPPENED EITHER A SIMILAR THING HAOPED EARLIER THIS YEAR #I just want to reread stuff 😢

[flanaefran]

[ The Prince Master of Subcon Forest ]

\\Snatcher fanart after art block, I couldn’t fit it in the 6fanart template so I separated it. I can’t draw backgrounds yet so have that filler for now lmao.\\

#flanaefranart #art #a hat in time #a hat in time fanart #snatcher ahit #snatcher a hat in time #ahit snatcher #ahit fanfic #sketch drawing #original art

[dj-grooves-simp]

Constellation

Chapter four (part 1) - Son of the Stars AU

"Ok class, now you'll choose your partner for your next assignment"

Joseph sighed, he didn't know much people from his class and since on this assignment the people will choose whoever they want, he'll end up with someone no one wanted to be with either. Waiting for something to happen, someone stand in front of him.

"Are you Joseph Estrella?"

Looking up with confusion, Joseph nodded.

"Oh, yes, it's me... and you are?"

He knew some names of the people in he's class, but he didn't know their faces.

"I'm Amos McConnell"

Joseph thought for a moment.

"Amos? Mmm... Oh! I remember you. You always end up being better than me"

His classmate smiled with pride.

"Oh yes, that's me... Anyway, I think we should do this assignment together."

Thinking about it for a bit, Joseph accepted. Amos was the best option since he was the best of the class and he'd be able to learn from him. Their assignment was to be able to write a cohesive script for a scene between two people. They both thought it wouldn't be that hard until they started working together. They both had very clear ideas and methods for doing their own things, so the fights didn't take long to happen. Even with this, they finally decided to try to listen to each other as much as possible and to take their points of view in consideration no matter what. But, it took them too much time to work well together and it was too close to the deadline. So they decided to see each other in the weekend when they didn't have to work. Joseph didn't usually spend much time with other people other than Terry and his friends, so being with an unknown person was weird, in any way he really enjoyed being with Amos for that time, he was funny and even if his personality was a bit challenging, it was a nice time. When he came back home he hesitated slightly, he usually tried to plan conversation with the stars so that he didn't say anything that could upset them and definitely, new people always bothered them. He could mention that he did an assignment or...

"Hey Jo, do you want to do something together?"

Joseph jumped a little, not expecting his brother to come in.

"Oh, sure, what do you want to do?"

Terry thought for a moment.

"Do you want to write songs for the band?"

He smiled excited.

"Yes! You know, I've been wanting to write some, but I didn't have much time"

Terry nodded as his brother followed him to the living room.

"Okay, what do you have in mind?"

Terry and Joseph laid down on the floor with a notebook and a pen.

"Mmm we could do something about love."

Terry smiled and hit Joseph with his elbow.

"Oh, who do you like?"

He frowned."

No one you idiot, romance is the thing most people write about."

His brother smirked.

"Sure, anyway, what would you like the song to be like."

Joseph described what he thought could make a nice melody and good lyrics. The story was about two lovers who were destined to be separated. Terry wrote down the ideas Joseph had and his brother concentrated on the musical part. They laughed, shared ideas and spent time with each other. Joseph felt a lot of happiness and he was grateful to have a brother like Terry. When they finished, they checked each other's notes and made some adjustments until they were both happy with the result.

"That was great, Jo, I'm sure they'll love it."Joseph smiled."

Thanks, I had a lot of fun. We should start doing this more."

Terry nodded and looked at the time.

"You should get ready for work."

#ahit #ahit fanfic #ahit au #son of the stars au #dj grooves #ahit conductor #ahit dj grooves

[gigis-ff-blog]

Yippie new Parallel Pandemonium Chapter

#a hat in time #ahit #hat kid #ahit fanfic #ahit au

[tiramegtoons]

GUYS

YOU GOTTA CHECK OUT @frickfracksnatchisback ‘s STORY ITS SO GOOD!!

Not gonna spoil much but it’s so adorable

It put a smile on my face

And nothing is more delightful than a Snatcher doll :3

#Can’t wait to read more in the future #this was like brain candy #frickfracksnatchisback #ahit fanfic #the snatcher #reader x snatcher #I have so much love for this #<3333

[lairde-lampblack]

its finally here... prince of kindling ch 6...

#a hat in time #a hat in time fanfic #ahit #ahit prince #the prince ahit #ahit fanfic #mango made #mango muses

[slime-sandwhich-nom]

I remember I drew this redraw of my 2022 art lol it was 1am enjoy

2022 vs 2023

#ahit #ahit prince #ahit snatcher #ahit fic #ahit fanart #ahit fanfic #reliving an old nightmare

[nasubeenwithcat]

The Ghost Number of DJ Grooves' Fan Club

Conductor has amnesia. But he is even kinder and more sunny than before. DJ Grooves tries to fix him back to previous, but is it really the right thing to do? What will Grooves do when he finds out that New Conductor is a fan of his?

(ɪᴛ's ᴀ ᴛᴡᴏ-ᴘᴀʀᴛ sᴛᴏʀʏ! ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ.) warning: headcanons/ accident/ discotrain(I think? It's little bit)/machine translate(as checked as I can but it is certainly not good sentences)

1. "CUT! "

The director who made no attempt to hide his frustration, his yell blasted the eardrums of the entire crew in the room. Before they had even finished listening to the relentless echoes of the clapperboard, Conductor jumped down from his seat and approached one of the actors without any hesitation. Dropping small footprints in the fake golden sand, he took the plastic pistol from the frightened owl.

"Ye, peck neck! No one is stupid enough to force the sheriff without disengaging the gun safety. Do it with the intention of killing him! "

Conductor threw the pistol back at the owl, who was completely distraught, with a few nasty curses. But the distance was a little short. The robber noticed this and hurried running to catch the prop＿＿＿＿It is not supposed to be a real pistol, but its construction is quite authentic and it can be shot as long as it is loaded. The pistol was loaded with a single real bullet instead of plastic bullets. Conductor believed that acting with feeling the weight of a real pistol would contribute to the quality of the film. The feeble actor Owl could not get used to the sense of irresponsibility responsible that came from the pistol from start to finish. The robber re-holstered his pistol with a distressed look on his face. The owl as sheriff also looked at the robber with pleading eyes. If the robbery failed, the sheriff would soon be dead without a will. Crossing the heavy air, the yellow owl returned to his seat, kicking sand senselessly. He leaned his weight against the backrest and scratched the back of his fluffy head lightly, his face twisting somewhat painfully. This was the 99th take. As a matter of fact, all the owls were tired of the endless recording. Even the yelling Conductor's voice was becoming gravelly. The clapperboard sounded once more with the tired signal.

As soon as the 110th take began, he felt the hot air deliberately produced by the big fan and wanted cold water. At the same time, a tall spotlight set up to the right of the director's seat moaned sadly. It seemed that both the bird and the equipments were tired from the long filming. The spotlight had a loose screw and had been wobbling for quite a while, but it had been left unrepaired because he thought it would add more flavor to the production. Sure enough, the glistening sunlight suddenly howled loudly and spun around wildly. The screw had finally come unscrewed＿＿＿＿Then, Conductor was leaning over to get a plastic bottle that was prepared on the sidetable. He was distracted, wanting to quench his thirst anyway. Just as a person who is tired of being bullied in the harsh environment of the desert can suddenly forget the blazing heat of the sun or the bitterness of the sands the moment someone finds an oasis, and can run through hell with four kilometers to spare, so too Conductor could completely ignore the existence of the broken spotlight for the sake of a mere 500 ml of water＿＿＿＿

The sun fell without any disturbance. It sliced elegantly through the air for five meters and hitting Conductor.

The director's painfully miserable scream signaled the sudden arrival of a silent night in the studio. Conductor was passed out with his head on the sidetable. A few seconds later, someone screamed after him. All the owls looked at Conductor who didn't twitch and they assumed he was dead. The plastic bottle fell to the floor, rolled around, and disappeared somewhere. Roll, roll, roll. The spotlight, completely broken was bleeding. They went blank and just looked at the spotlight and Conductor, stunned, holding their positions as they had been a few dozen seconds before. No one tried to call an ambulance for him. Everyone was so blanked out by the sudden accident that such a thought did not even occur to them. For at least five minutes, Conductor laid down to the chair and sidetable like a bridge in a very precarious pose until a guard owl witnessed the scene.

2. The ambulance finally arrived and Conductor was taken to a clean bed in the hospital an hour after he passed out. For him, that big face is his weakest point. Although he was not in life-threatening condition, he was badly struck. He returned to the studio a week later with a rather large problem.

The automatic doors opened and Conductor appeared at the studio's reception counter timidly. It was a little after noon. The receptionist and the moon penguins, who were enjoying chatting with, were startled and stared at Conductor. At first glance, they could not find any noticeable injury on him. Instead of, they could feel an itchy sense of discomfort in Conductor who had a woozy, uneasy expression on his face＿＿＿＿Like a stereotypical express owls. Conductor had his hands crossed in front of him. He was wiping sweat with his black coat several times, and it was obvious that he was nervous. His beak, which had previously been rigorously tightened, was unreliably open, and his gaze wandered unsteadily. This expression may not suit a mature adult owl＿＿＿but he was like a vaguely anxious child, lost his mother on the way home from the amusement park. When the receptionist was visibly puzzled by the obvious change, Conductor walked forward to the counter.

"Aw, I want to check in… so…"

Conductor has been renting this studio for more than a decade now. Naturally, he had to have exchanged hundreds of times with the receptionist. However, this owl's was very unfamiliar and stranger-like. An awkward atmosphere filled the studio, which had been bustling with activity. The receptionist was a few moments late and asked him to present his membership card.

"A card…?"

Conductor muttered quietly and impatiently took his wallet out of his pocket and began to inspect it. Scattered about the inorganic counter were colorful cards. Most of them were loyalty cards. With a light clatter, a pile of cards formed. Eventually, Conductor pulled out a single red card. It is a membership card. But he either didn't notice it or didn't know it, he tried to pull out another new card from his wallet.

"Okay, okay……"

The receptionist let the machine scan only the red card and returned it to Conductor along with the other cards. He took it, keeping his face down and looking embarrassed.

He moved to the end of the counter along with a stack of colorful cards, trying to get them back into his wallet as quickly as possible. It looked kind of strange. No one could possibly that the yellow owl posing coolly in the poster was the same bird as the poor owl hastily repacking his credit cards and loyalty cards into a jumbled mess. The moon penguins gathered close together, their right fin firmly attached to their tiny beaks, and began talking in whispers.

"What do you think of him?" "To be honest, he is pretty uncool." "He has not brought any of his crew with him. It's not like he's here to shoot."

They looked at him from a distance, not helping Conductor. It was like a zoo. He felt their rude stares, and after putting away all his cards, he ran to the other side of the door as getting away from them. ＿＿＿＿He did not even yell at the moon penguins.

The moon penguin's guessing was spot on. He was by no means visiting the studio to shoot his movie. Thirty minutes later, Conductor reappeared in the lobby. He was pushing a large wagon filled with faded luggages. He carried these, which was packed in several boston bags, to the front of the counter and showed a red card to the receptionist.

"I'm leaving now. I just came to get ma bags."

The receptionist was finally unable to hide his confusion. He took the card and stared at it, trying to calm himself. The moon penguins decided to watch the two of them in silence. But the moment it occurred to him that maybe he was never going to come back to the studio again, the receptionist could not control his curiosity.

"……What is really wrong with you today? You're taking the wrong cards, and you're not recording. DJ Grooves has already done most of the shooting."

Conductor gave a blank look. "DJ Grooves? Who's that?" "Have you forgotten him? He's your competitor who rents the other half of the studio. He's that big moon penguin with the afro. He's got a microphone and star-shaped sunglasses, that ＿＿＿"

He looked down at the small bewildered owl, realizing he was being somewhat descriptive in his tone.

"Have you forgotten everything? You don't even remember why you are renting this studio, or what your profession is?" "No, I know I'm the conductor. I remember that. But I didn't know I am the movie director until ma dauchter told me… I honestly find that hard to believe."

He looked at the brightly lit studio and said＿＿＿＿ He had felt it as if happened to someone not him.

"I'm always busy. I can never find the time to make a movie, and I dinna really know how to shooting. Anyway, I'll probably take a break from directing for a while."

"That's not possible! "

The moon penguins, who had been straining their ears, screamed in unison. Conductor shivered and turned back to them. The moon penguins pressed closer to the owls. The owl, who was supposed to be the director, retreated a few steps, but in no time at all they had closed the distance between them. One of them grabbed Conductor by his neatly glued collar and yanked him down. Conductor's back arched and he stumbled. But just as he was about to fall, Conductor put his right foot forward and caught his balance.

"Enough, you third-rate movie director! DJ Grooves is trying so hard to get the awards back from you, and you're running away from him by pretending to have amnesia! Did you finally realize how bad you've been behaving after everyone in the studio was so nice to you? And you're trying to get forgiveness by acting weak on purpose to reset everything you've done? Isn't that right!?"

In sync with the hot-tempered penguin, the two behind him snapped in stirring up. The pacifistic receptionist furrowed his brow in disgust at the moon penguins, but of course that couldn't stop them snapping. Conductor was taken aback by his rapid speech, not really understanding what was going on.

"Acting…? I dinna go out of my way to do that. I dinna have that much time…"

This moon penguin was one of DJ Grooves' fan club members who was a very committed fan. He knew that Grooves was bothered by the fact that he was having a hard time winning the competition with Conductor. The star behind the LCD always seemed to be in good spirits, but he also sensed that he had been losing his energy lately because of this problem. That year has the 42nd Awards. Grooves had yet to win this competition once, and from his second place position, he always looked at Conductor, who always won first place, with a sense of frustration. Thinking of his boss like that, he couldn't resist checking with Conductor. DJ Grooves wants to win Conductor. But he had yet to accomplish that. Notwithstanding this, Conductor was not even going to participate in the battle. At this rate, Grooves will not even be given a chance to turn things around. As the moon penguin and, above all, member number 2, he could not allow it to happen so easily.

"＿＿＿＿You really have amnesia? Oh no, just a bump of a spotlight?"

But Conductor did not behave as expected, and a deep tinge of uneasiness settled over moon penguin's angry voice. The yellow owl was silenced by the bizarre atmosphere of hostility, but it was clear to all that this is an affirmation. The moon penguin, in disappointment, let Conductor free. He straightened his disheveled collar.

"It's just until ma memory comes back, laddie. Besides, the doctor said it will come back in a week."

Conductor comforted him. The trouble finally reached Grooves' ears after Conductor left.

3. Conductor has amnesia. The newspapers were all over the article, but no one was in any real sense worried about Conductor. Because experts said that amnesia caused by physical shocks is an extremely rare case, but that it is even rarer for it to last for a month or a year. Making the movies would be delayed a bit, but surely he would win again this year without a problem, the movie critics predicted. Grooves frowned for it, not in amusement, and tossed the newspaper he had just finished reading into the trash. The all-too-conclusive sentence, "but surely he would win again this year without a problem," kept going around his head. The newspaper reporters consumed Conductor's accident as entertainment, but they didn't even talk about DJ Grooves behind the scenes. He was simply frustrated and angrily (though it couldn't tell much because the bird's facial muscles were so small) pressed the up button on the elevator. When will he be back here? Grooves suddenly wondered as he spotted a panel of cacti among the grating. The green, too bright for cactus, created a strong contrast in the somber hues. To be clear, Grooves was not too glad about his rival's accident. But he knew it must be said that it was a wonderful opportunity. If Conductor's recovery was delayed and the movie could not be completed in time, Grooves would certainly take the award. ＿＿＿＿But the taste of that victory will be bitter.

Conductor must be screaming＿＿＿＿This award was supposed to be mine! ＿＿＿＿The newspapers must be reporting＿＿＿＿ DJ Grooves won the award not because of his own sense of style or effort, but because Conductor was not in perfect condition to compete.

He was not at ease inside. He wanted Conductor to recover quickly and finish the movies rather than have such unreasonable difficulties.

However, the public's expectations were easily betrayed. Conductor's memory did not return anytime soon.

Conductor did not return to the studio and two weeks had passed. The movie critics, who had been pretending to know the reasons this was happening, eventually began to worry. The bird himself had indeed taken a leave of absence from his job as a movie director, and was working to strictly adhere to the timetable. The Express Owl, famous for being too loose with time, was now never a minute late and simply continued to faithfully transport birds to each station. In case anyone was wondering, it was not without exception. Only once in the past two weeks had the train been delayed. But it was not because of Conductor's negligence or the train. Early in the morning, Conductor found a poor express owl who had missed the train and stopped the train temporarily just for him. In a newspaper interview, that owl said excitedly＿＿＿＿"He seems to have forgotten not only his memory, but the meanest parts of it. Anyway, every day is so much more comfortable! It's like going back to the express owl of 15 years ago."＿＿＿＿This event seemed to be the start of a new trend: owls who had been hesitant to ride the Express Owl decided to buy tickets. "The Only Train In Existence" that had been so empty suddenly became full, and of course Conductor became busier. Where would he have time to make a movie? Reporters finally had to write, "Maybe a science fiction movie will win this year." Some moon penguins mocked the movie critics for missing their predictions, but that depressed Grooves' feelings.

Then another week passed. The month had changed, Grooves' latest movie had been released, and Conductor still hadn't come back. No one talked about Conductor much anymore, but the popularity of the New Express Owl was still going strong. The tent panels were beginning to get a light dusting, and the beloved equipment was sleeping soundly. His contracted actors were helping him with some of his work on the train. They also were eagerly awaiting Conductor's recovery, but at the same time they were beginning to accept the quirky yellow owl. It was clear that it was much easier and calmer to be cleaning and making beds than to be acting out of fear of Conductor with his memory returning and a dangerous pistol. Conductor's transformation was astounding. The constant furrowing of his brow has disappeared completely, and he has become a kind bird who responds to every silly joke with an exaggerated smile. He never scolds or discriminates against anyone. He would tell passengers funny stories if them tipped him. It was definitely a positive change. Even some of the moon penguins began to show a more friendly attitude toward Conductor. The world seemed to have decided that this sunny, steady owl was a different bird from Conductor. In other words, the majority of the birds had grown so fond of this Conductor that they were beginning to fear that his memory would return. By that time, birds like DJ Grooves, who were hoping for Conductor's recovery, were becoming a minority in society as a whole.

Is he going to keep on not coming back to the studio? Grooves groaned in front of the sparkling nap room. The strong, cold metallic sheen vaguely reflected his reflection. To anyone watching, the expression on his face was clearly anguish itself. He took the paper knife, but returned it to its position, and walked aimlessly around the room from corner to corner. He didn't even need to look at the contents of the strangely neat envelope. Thinking is possible without looking at the bill. He considered talking to Conductor once. They had never had anything resembling a discussion, but he had always been open to it, if that was what it took. If the owl could have a constructive discussion, even if it ended up in an argument, he thought it would be worth it. He still hadn't talked to or seen new Conductor, but if he trusted the rumors around him, he thought he could have at least a light talk with him in peace. Grooves had plenty of questions he wanted to ask him, and more than twice as much sarcasm he wanted to say. He checked his schedule for the week and scribbled a short note in ballpoint pen on his completely thin calendar.

4. Three days later, Grooves paid for his ticket and boarded the train in the early afternoon. As he boarded the train, Conductor looked at Grooves with a bit of surprise, but simply smiled and invited him on board. It was just a surprise because of the arrival of an unfamiliar, flashy penguin, but it didn't seem to remind him of DJ Grooves. The behavior was a little too polite for his longtime rival, and he went out of tune. Mingling with the owls, moon penguins, and crows, he entered a quiet car and unloaded his baggage. He chose a seat quite far back to avoid being seen, so the caboose was right next to this car.

There were quite a few birds chatting and waiting for the train at Dead Bird Station. That alone puzzled him, but then there were a few of his colleague moon penguins mixed in with the group. The world had forgiven Conductor more than Grooves had expected. Feeling the wind mixed with sand, he stroked his ticket, feeling as if he were alone and left behind. He appeared as if he were a fan attending an autograph signing for the first time.

He looked around the car. It was well cleaned and the air conditioning was adjusted to a moderate temperature. The smell of soft wood pervaded the air. He closed the curtains to let the excess light out of the train. It seemed that Grooves was the only one so far who had chosen this car. All the other passengers were gathered in the car near the dining room and sauna. Alone and lonely, he took out his laptop and removed the lid from the under-seat electrical outlet tap. He spread out his material without hesitation, monopolizing the table for two. It had been a long time since he had been alone. There were no energetic cronies or rude paparazzi next to him. Nevertheless, the noise of the spinning wheels and the rocking of the seat didn't make for a very conducive environment for concentration, but that didn't particularly matter then.

After about thirty minutes, Conductor finally arrived. He impatiently jangled his punch and asked Grooves for a ticket. Grooves handed the small ticket to Conductor with a slight nervousness.

"Hey, you got a time for me?" "You want to hear my fairytale? Five pons a story."

Conductor returned the ticket to Grooves. He chuckled and shook his head from side to side.

"No, no. It's work. I'm talking about Dead Bird Studio. You and I share a space there, right?" "Oh… I see."

Conductor's face turned suddenly cloudy. He must have been asked about his movie many times by many birds. Anyway, Grooves could guess that this was not a very pleasant topic for Conductor.

"Is that a long story, is it?" "I think yes it is."

Conductor folded his hands behind his back. He might have been nervous as well.

"How long can you wait? I don't get a lot of free time during the day." "I can wait anytime today."

He really wanted to talk to Conductor right now and go back to the studio, but Grooves kept quiet and turned his attention back to the monitor.

The next time Conductor arrived was three hours later, and the next time six hours later. The first time, he only brought Grooves a small plate with coffee and a few small cookies on it for service once.

"Sorry. Please wait a little longer. It's a service, enjoy."

Conductor left his excuses and his tray and disappeared through the door again. Grooves watched him go off in a daze. A big star who always made his fans wait for him at handshakes, waiting hours in solitude for a rival he hated. It was an experience he would probably never have again, he thought. He could have a day like this once in a lifetime. He dunked the tip of his beak into the coffee, which had been deliberately lukewarm to make it easier to drink. He appreciated the thoughtfulness, but was a little nervous about the possibility of the coffee mug falling over and breaking his laptop due to the violent jolts of the train. He drank the contents in one gulp. No one came to this car. Unquestionably, only Grooves was perfectly isolated from the masses.

By the time the next Conductor arrived, the sun was already setting and the first star was showing its face. If he had known this was going to happen, he would have bought a ticket with sleeping quarters. Grooves' eyes fluttered behind his sunglasses. Just then, a tired yellow owl wandered over to him.

Conductor apologized apologetically, "Oh, I'm sorry, it's so late…" "No problem."

Grooves turned off his laptop. This time really wasn't good, but he needed to talk to him at the moment anyway. Grooves followed him as Conductor opened the door to the caboose and invited him in. The door closed. Finally, the car was empty.

"I dinna knaw where to begin. but……"

Conductor leaned his back against the railing and began to speak. Grooves listened quietly to it on his right.

"Anyway, as you can see, I'm busy, and I dinna knaw anything about movies, so there's nothing I can do if I go back to the studio. Besides, the passengers dinna seem to want me back." "They don't seem to want you back?" "I don't really remember what I did, but I knaw I must have done something because the train was in a very different condition and people war surprised that I was just going about my business as usual…"

Conductor said, rubbing his fingers.

"I've heard from the actor owls that, well… that I'm always in a bad mood and that I've been fighting with you all the time."

Grooves nodded timidly. He is right. The studio lobby was always deadly, a sort of battlefield. DJ Grooves and Conductor had been fighting on the front lines there for more than a decade. It may have been an uncomfortable environment for someone there, but to be honest, Grooves himself did not see his disagreement with Conductor as much of a problem. He believed that the discord was the result of artistic differences, which should not be unnecessarily harmonized for the sake of both of them.

"But they want me back in the studio." he said. "The moon penguins wanted me to go back. I said I didna have any ideas for movies I want to make, and they lent me a couple of movies." "Whose?" "Yers." "What else? Didn't they lend you some of your movies too?"

Conductor shook his head side to side.

"They said I should learn from real art. If I was so into it that I had to stop the train, I guess I was pretty serious about it, too. War these so bad?" "……I don't know."

For a moment, Grooves was tempted to affirm his movie out of pity, but decided against it. He was not very good at praising movies he doesn't like, and he decided that there was no use in doing so if his memory is going to come back anyway.

"Have you seen it yet? No, not yet by the looks of it." "Sorry, I'll try to find time. I'm sure in another week the crowds will die down a bit, so… let's talk about my return to the director's seat next time. I dinna even knaw mysel."

They promised to meet two weeks later and parted ways. Grooves got off the train with even more hazy feelings.

Unfortunately, Grooves also couldn't had believe that that owl and the conductor were the same bird. Conductor he had known was loud, rude, and in all kinds of bad taste, and he was pompous to a fault. But he couldn't feel the same way about that owl, no matter how hard he tried. Moreover, he sensed an atmosphere similar to that shared by his fans. Perhaps it was awe. Grooves clicked his beak nervously. The sound, like a toy castanet, echoed lonely in the studio. He pressed the down button of the elevator with a melancholy look on his face. Lately he always had that look on his face whenever he is alone. The elevator's deafening bell rang and his vision went black. DJ Grooves was scared. He tried to imagine the scene of that Conductor giving him a subtle reaction about his movies. He could see Conductor bending his beak down and sneering at him, but strangely enough, he couldn't picture his own face next to him at all. He didn't know what face to put on it. Absolutely he will not love the musical and sci-fi. Even though he had no memory of it, that was Conductor, even if he was a rotten one. He might not be as direct as he used to be, but he guessed he won't like it anyway, and he was depressed. Laughing it off was also comical, as it seemed to acting tough. That said, he was not such a strong bird that he could honestly accept the criticism of an amateur.

5. DJ Grooves is as busy as Conductor. So the two weeks passed quickly. During that time Grooves searched for anything that might jog his memory, but found nothing at all. He had never had a photo taken with him, nor had he ever received anything from him other than a corny joke. He prayed that Conductor's daughter had the same idea as he did. According to rumors, she showed him photos of her grandchildren. But Conductor only looked happy and could not even recall the names of any of his grandchildren. He got ready and bought a ticket. Even though he was only going to hear a review of his movies, he was as strained as he would have been at his first preview as a director. He turned around several times and alternately checked his watch and the timetable. I'm just going to get opinions from an amateur. He slumped down, suddenly embarrassed. There were holes between the old tiles that looked like ant nests. He did not look at the clock again until he heard the sound of the whistle.

The crowds at Dead Bird Station were much smaller. By this time, the public had already decided that Conductor had no chance of recovery. That owl was officially certified as Conductor. The New Owl Express boom had passed, as it was no longer a rarity. Nevertheless, it was considerably livelier than it had been a month earlier. How many of the birds in that group had bought tickets for commuting purposes? Maybe 50-50, he thought. Even he had bought his ticket to meet Conductor. The said train roared to a halt beside the station. The yellow owl opened the door and stepped off the train to greet the new passenger. Despite Grooves' melancholy, Conductor cheerfully greeted him. He seemed much happier than when he is the director. Grooves would have gladly supported the majority opinion if only he had not been thinking about the award. Grooves waved him back. And he hesitated a little but smiled cheerfully.

"I've seen yer movies. All three movies they lent me…"

First, Conductor said. Grooves stiffened and sharpened his already owlishly good hearing. It was half fear, half awkwardness. Anyway, as long as he didn't get his disc broken in front of him or a tomato or a raw egg thrown at him, Grooves was fine. He didn't think Conductor, a country boy at heart, would understand his works.

Conductor smiled＿＿＿＿ "You are great director!" "What?" Grooves doubted his proud ears. It was the right response. Conductor's review did not end there.

"I dinna watch a lot of science fiction or musicals, but I wisna bored at all. The way the foreshadowing is laid out and recovered was so well done that I didna feel sick after watching it. That is great, isna that?"

Every point Conductor raised was from the audience's side. This Conductor probably doesn't know how to use the camera, so it's not surprising that he had no idea what the production team had to go through. Grooves was honestly glad to hear it. It always feels good to hear a review that is 100 percent positive. It's different from the creepy reviews by self-proclaimed the movie critics who can't tell whether they're praising or damning the movie. And it had been a long time since he had heard such an opinion from someone other than his own fans. But he was also perplexed.

"I especially love yer music. It's pretty hard to choose the right tempo and instruments for the scene. But ye did it! I like the use of percussion instruments, too, not just repeating monotonous rhythms with drums, and I like the way you used the tones."

He was making small gestures, trying to express his feelings that he could not articulate. His little hands were constantly moving in a circle in front of his purple tie.

"That's awesome. Each sound has its awn world. Not many birds can write a song like this."

He was about to answer the favor when he was stunned into silence. He could not believe either the scene in front of him or the sound of the wind in his ears. He even thought that he might be having a very convenient dream. Maybe he was so afraid of meeting Conductor that he was sleeping with the covers over his head. He pinched his cheek, but a dull pain only quieted him.

"…… Don't you think these are childish?"

Grooves muttered to no one in particular. After a few seconds, he realized that this was very rude behavior and laughed to make up for it. He had better have said something before this idiotic soliloquy. Conductor nodded his head.

"Why? Well, the structure mey be a wee simple, but there are plenty of movies like that, arena there? I think it's quite admirable that ye dinna just shove whatever elements they want into the make and make it a mess."

"＿＿＿Thank you……"

Grooves finally got the words out of his mouth that he wanted to say. He was thrilled. The right half of his brain was numb, and it was a little painful. Unable to look Conductor in the face properly, he threw his gaze outside. How proud he would have been if he had been able to make a more thoughtful response. Grooves suppressed the wish to ask more in depth and handed the paper bag in his hand to Conductor.

"Here's yours, darling. These are the movies Conductor wants to make, even if it meant neglecting his own work."

The baggage was strangely heavy. There were six movies in it. The movie packages were all decorated with Conductor and the Owl Express. He looked at the contents and was both pleased and mystified. Maybe he couldn't imagine himself as the movie director. But it was undeniably true and real. Conductor smiled and thanked Grooves. He only nodded. He had yet to get a sense of the distance between him and this Conductor. He was torn between whether he should treat him as a rival or treat him as someone different from that one.

"So,……I should talk about my return."

Conductor said with a deliberate cough. Grooves waited quietly. Actually, He thought it's no wonder Conductor turned him down. Just as this Conductor had been surprised to see his own movie earlier, Grooves could not picture him returning to the studio as a movie director. He didn't seem to have the charisma, or at any rate, he didn't seem to be a very good leader. In the first place, the only reason Grooves is so eager to see Conductor recover is for no other reason than his own. He had paid the pons to beating Conductor. At the root of this desire, of course, is the bad feelings he had toward the old Conductor, but the earlier exchange had made them a little fuzzy. When he felt the hot wind mixed with sand, he suddenly felt that it would be wrong to put the blame on this Conductor. Grooves' course of action may have been to let the yellow owl get down to his main business. Ignore the pompous movie critics. he still can win an award. He can take revenge on the old Conductor when he come back. He will be surprised at how long his winning streak has been broken. That would make penguins smile. But his conflict was needless.

"Recently yer moon penguins have been coming to me a lot and saying. They said that I have too lil' time to come back as a director, and that I should come back as an actor or a cameraman."

It was enough without what Conductor say everything. Grooves was amased and at a loss for words. He finally realized that he would be the one to guide Conductor when he returned to his post as movie director. DJ Grooves, a successful star, does not have that time. So he said, "For now, I want to help Grooves shoot a movie to get a feel for the scene." He wonder what they were thinking when they said that to him. Or rather, why didn't they consult it with him? He had no idea who "yer moon penguins" was, but he was immensely impressed by the overly meddlesome rooting around.

"I have no experience in either, but the actor owls say they'll teach me how to act. What do ye think?"

Conductor continued talking, thinking that Grooves must have known about the offer. Unfortunately, this was all new news to him. But Grooves was too lazy to correct him everything, so he decided to just shut up and think about it on his own. He had two options before him. To add or not to add Conductor to his crew. However, it did not appear to him that he was given much of a choice. It was none other than DJ Grooves himself who first suggested that Conductor be reinstated as movie director. Conductor may have compromised out of consideration for him (or perhaps because of the enthusiasm of those around him). so, it was strange for Grooves to turn down such an offer. He could not be that irresponsible.

"……Okay. Welcome back, darling." "Aye. I'm looking forward to workin' with ye. "

The penguin offered his right fin for a handshake. The yellow owl responded.

6.

In conclusion, it was no exaggeration to say that the choice was quite a great success. Maybe the teacher was good; maybe he had a talent for acting. Conductor never dragged Grooves down. Rather, within the first two weeks of shooting, some moon penguins were asking Conductor for advice. Conductor didn't look like Conductor at all, and most importantly, that owl understood the beauty of Grooves' movies. This is quite important to them. There were still not a few penguins who abhorred Conductor, but it did not take much time for him to fit in with the blue crowd. The yellow color, too bright for the owl, created a strong contrast against the darker blue. The bizarre scene had a considerable impact on the director's complicated state of mind.

One night he happened to find Conductor and several moon penguins in the screening room with a large bucket of popcorn watching the screen. Conductor was sitting in the middle of the front row, surrounded by the moon penguins. They occasionally poked Conductor and told each other what they thought was cool and what the highlights were. In the video, Grooves as the space police was holding a laser gun and pointing the muzzle at the off-screen Conductor. They were watching a movie Grooves had made three years earlier. He suddenly felt a sudden itch of nostalgia, as well as the artist's characteristic sense of shame, and wanted to leave quickly, but he had to go through there to get to the room he wanted. He lingered at the entrance for a moment and decided to turn around. Just then, the video cut to the staff roll.

"How was it?" The moon penguin's excited voice reached Grooves' ears. He stopped dead in his tracks. "It is supreme!"

Conductor gulped down the remaining popcorn in one gulp, tipping his bucket. From the sound of his voice, he seemed to be somewhat excited as well as the others around him. If that's the way he was acting, he's a pretty good actor.

"The CG technology is advanced but not overly reliant on it. He left room for reality in the overwhelming fiction intentionally. And yet, it disna let the audience return to reality. It keeps us immersed in the world until the very end. I think the fact that it's not completely CG makes the final act of the movie more convincing."

Everyone around him agreed. No one noticed him, but Grooves was alone, torn between wanting to disappear from the scene and feeling happy and proud: the key to science fiction is precise world design and just enough reality not to destroy the dream. He knows this, unlike those hard-headed science owls who chew on their papers forever. As far as Grooves knows, there are quite a little such birds.

"You know how good this is!" One of the moon penguins said. "You once called this great movie a childish playground show. You probably don't remember that……"

The movie director heard this and freaked out as if water had been poured on him from above. He finally felt really uncomfortable after being rehashed all the way back to his bad memories, but he still stayed there. He was irresistibly curious about Conductor's reaction to the teasing question. He looked as surprised as Grooves. His reaction delighted the gallery. They loved to see the new Conductor's surprise at every action of the old one. Making Conductor doubt himself, It was the only revenge he could take at the moment.

He put his hand to his beak, looked like he was thinking, and muttered softly, "Mebbe I said that ablo pressure. I said that because I was afraid that my rival's movie became so good that I might not win the next award."

At the Conductor's muttering, the surroundings suddenly became as quiet as if water had been poured over them. The words were too convenient for the former Conductor. Everyone, him and of course Grooves, looked at Conductor with a look of disbelief. No one was smiling, had a blank expression on their face. There was a tinge of reproach mixed in.

The yellow owl realized that the temperature around him had suddenly changed, and he hastily laughed it off to cover it up. ＿＿＿＿Nae, I dinna knaw the truth, because I dinna knaw him very well either. Because it's strange, isna it, some bird would say such terrible things about such a great movie. Richt?

Hearing his explanation, the gallery returned to smiling all at once. It must have been a little bit horror sight, yet Conductor reassimilated himself into the group without seeming to notice the strangeness.

DJ Grooves left there. He was disappointed that the response was not what he had hoped for. The feeling that had swelled so happily just a few moments earlier had squeezed, and he felt like he was about to lose control of his anger, confusion, and frustration.

The reason for criticizing art must always be art. What he said? The pressure?

Could it be that the whole altercation in the lobby was his way of venting his stress? Wasn't he criticizing Grooves because he had his own non-negotiable art form? If what he said was true, how shameful he is. The owl who scoffed at Grooves's hard-earned ideas was also intimidated by the movie critics. ＿＿＿＿It's the same for DJ Grooves!

The moon penguins might have thought the same thing. But they seemed to have decided to treat the murmur as an owl joke for the time being. There was no sign of the awkward atmosphere that had prevailed earlier, and they were back to being friends. Grooves was impressed with the moon penguins' response. If Conductor's memory doesn't return, this anger is a waste of energy. It would be a bad to let the current Conductor hear this kind of complaint. It was the old Conductor who was at fault, not the current one. Besides, what he said was not necessarily true. He murmured in his heart. He should forget about this until the day when he would become Conductor again. He is a different bird from that one, even though he looks like that one. The revenge should be taken on that one, not on him. Until then, enjoy this cozy studio. No one will get hurt. No unprofitable arguments or irresponsible fears can happen here, because everyone is a friend and a team. Until the day Conductor returns to himself.

And such a day should never come......

7.

DJ Grooves in the newspaper proudly responded to the cheers next to a replica of the trophy. Though accompanied by pretentious reviews from the movie critics, they were much kinder than Grooves had expected. "Dead Bird New-Cinema" (often referred to by the media as the bad taste and extremely violent movie genre, led by Conductor. That has been the mainstream for the last nine years.) Its demise. And the first of the new era is DJ Grooves. From the classic, disorganized train western to the unconventional, methodical sci-fi musical. From bad endings to happy endings. From the movie director to the actor. Everything was changing＿＿＿＿ To be better.

Grooves was smiling all the way through the day after the award ceremony. He carefully folded the newspaper and placed it in the corner of the table. In the golden trash he had discarded clippings that had previously adorned the entrance to his room. The all-too-beautiful sentence, "A new era has arrived," added feathers to Grooves' step. Newspaper reporters consumed DJ Grooves' triumph as entertainment, but they didn't even talk about Conductor behind the scenes. He was enveloped in a strong sense of fluffy exuberance (though it couldn't tell much because the bird's facial muscles were so small) and pressed the up button on the elevator. I've been dreaming of a day like this for a long time. And the reality is a hundred times better＿＿＿＿ Grooves thought as he spotted a panel of cacti among the grating. The green, too bright for cactus, didn't catch the eye much because the lights weren't on. It blended in well with its surroundings in the dim gray space. There was no longer a single person on the planet who expect Conductor to recover. Everyone had completely accepted the friendly yellow owl and called him Conductor. His rivals were no exception, of course, and DJ Grooves was finally in the majority.

From that day on, the distance between DJ Grooves and Conductor rapidly grew. The fact that they had more common experiences through their work and that Grooves had given up his vendetta against Conductor for the time being were major deciding factors. And no bird bothered to water them down. Having lost their common enemy, the studio was everywhere quiet and peaceful.

"Woww, I didna knaw this studio had a place like this!"

Conductor looked beyond the elevator and clapped his hands. His eyes were glued to the grand piano set up on the stage. He walked slowly toward the stage to savor the space.

"Do you like the piano? It's quite magnificent."

Grooves followed the conductor and turned on the stage lights. There is a great place in the deepest part of the studio. Grooves had put it there a long time ago because there was not enough room for a large instrument in this place. He also brought in some inexpensive and handy pianos, such as uprights and keyboards, but sometimes, when he felt the urge to play a big piano, he would come here. He used the large hall as his second workspace, as it was quite a distance from the other rooms, making it ideal for recording. Grooves urged Conductor to take a chair and play the piano, but he shook his head.

"No, I'm not verra guid at it. I prefer to listen."

The owl led the penguin to a chair, while he himself carried a small chair for the duette nearby and sat in it. Grooves opened the heavy piano lid and took off the blue felt dust cover. Making a position on the white, glazed keys, he turned his fingers smoothly and played a scale. He hadn't been here for a long time, but there was nothing wrong with the piano's tuning.

"What would you like to listen?" "Whatever ye like best."

He took a deep breath to set the tone and gently tapped the keys. A low bass note walked quietly between them, followed by an arpeggio composed in the middle register that folded in. One harmony dropped and a slow tempo began a six-eighths beat. He prepared a simple chordal accompaniment with his left hand, to which he added a lightly arranged A-flat major scale with his right hand. Only beautiful piano sounds echoed in the too-wide hall. For a while, characteristic, heavy chords developed with staccato and dotted notes. A lyrical triplet slid over it, and just before it hit the left hand, it turned into a deep chord. It modulated to the same major key, B major, adding cheerfulness to the dark and bewitching melody. At once the melody brightened, and it changed to five-fourths time, creating an uplifting effect. Conductor listened with a smile the whole time. The country music he used to enjoy listening to and the moon jazz Grooves was now playing were almost polar opposites. Despite this, he never tired of listening to it. His straightened feathers were swaying faintly in a pleasing manner, indicating that he was truly enjoying this. He ended his performance with a gorgeous glissando. Only one audience stood up and applauded.

"Amazing! That's the best I've ever heard." "That's right. I'm the best musician in the world."

DJ Grooves smiled broadly, his face brimming with confidence. He had been beaten out of the movies by the previous Conductor, but he did not feel he could be beaten by Conductor or anyone else when it came to music.

"Where do you like it?" He turned his body to face Conductor. "I canna pick one! I dare say it's the new rhythm patterns and the guid chord progressions that haena been used up. It is true that what ye just played is jazz, but the whole composition was very listenable, like a classical piece. Even the tone is not monotonous like a machine. It's like the sound has expression!"

His little hands fluttered and danced like butterflies, trying to share the excitement he received as best he could with the best musicians. If only his eyes weren't hidden by his long fethers, Grooves would surely have found them glistening like childlish. The pianist hugged his little audience. A little later, the yellow owl hugged back the big moon penguin. The sensation lasted for a while, as if two hearts of equal size had melted together and become one. The moderate tightness and load with warmth was pleasant. The owl, with its soft flesh elasticity and slightly swollen feathers, was like a teddy bird he had loved as a child. At the same time he thought this, a nostalgic scent somehow snatched his nose. It was a sweet scent that reassured him. He closed his eyes quietly, and happiness swelled many times over and filled Grooves. A heartbeat that was beating a little too fast, a gentle heat like spring sunshine, a weight that resembled a thick winter coat, and small, peaceful breathing that could be heard. Simply he was happy.

When a dull numbness ran down their backs from holding the same posture, they finally pulled apart with loneliness. They looked a little embarrassed and quite content with each other. Conductor's pitch black coat was covered with lots of pure white feathers. Grooves chuckled and brushed them off lightly.

"Hey darling, we're going to start shooting a movie in about two months." "Great! Do ye have a storyboard yet?" "No. I just want to talk with you about a few more preliminary steps."

Conductor nodded his head.

"I mean, I want you as a movie director, not an actor." "Oh……"

His movements froze. He seemed to have just remembered that he was originally a movie director, not an actor.

"No, actually most of the work you'll be doing will be assisting me. Of course I know you're a good actor. I'm not saying this to get you off the stage. I'm asking you purely if you would be interested in directing." "Director? I'm interested in it…… But, do ye think I can do it?"

Conductor chuckled jerkily. Grooves took that as an affirmation.

"Don't worry, I'll teach you."

Grooves stood up and took his hand. Conductor followed suit and stood up as well. They walked off the stage to the deformed piano table and round chairs resembled snare drums set up on the side of the hall.

"What kind of movie shall we make? We can make anything."

Conductor smiled hesitantly at the encouraging words.

"Then I'd like to make a big parade. A long band of owls and moon penguins would cheer up the gloomy city with music." "Yeah, that's interesting!"

He spread a sketchbook and several pens on the table. Then he drew Moonstreet easily and quickly, and walked the musicians over the taut electric wires. Conductor also took a pen and began to give each of the musicians an instrument.

8. At least two weeks. For two weeks DJ Grooves was really happy. He was more than happy to be working with his new friends and not with his overbearing rivals. And now he and Conductor were going to get back the award trophies that Conductor had stolen from him. It seemed like an absolute and promised future to everyone's eyes. Grooves quickly wrote a song for the film. The result was good. It had been a long time since he had written a song without fear. The bouncing rhythms and sparkling melodies expressed his hopes. He sent the file to Conductor and waited for his response. They had completely forgotten that this peace had an expiration date.

And its end came suddenly and without warning.

Grooves was driving at full speed. His driving was quite rough, as Moonstreet had given him. The tires were scuffed from the strong friction, and since it was a convertible, small stationery and other light objects frequently flew out of the car. But now, there was no time to stop the car and pick up a ballpoint pen every now and then. The moon penguin's impatient voice over the receiver was going round and round in his head. It replayed in his brain over and over again, even though he hadn't asked for it. His grip on the leather handle only grew stronger.

"Above Conductor, a spotlight suddenly fell. It's the ceiling light. The one that hadn't been used for a long time. Apparently a screw had rotted, and it, suddenly, fell out. He didn't wake up and＿＿＿＿ Oh, now the ambulance finally came!"

Ten minutes later he arrived at the hospital and was ushered to a white bed. Opening the curtains, he found a small, weak yellow owl lying with its head bandaged and its face half buried in a clean pillow. An object hit him in the head and he fainted. It carried more serious implications in his case than in anyone else's. Last time, he had lost his memory along with his injury, and it had not yet returned. Grooves gently cupped his small, completely deflated hand in his large fins. It was still warm. His gaze shifted from the owl to the side table and finally back to the small hand he was eventually holding.

Will he lose his memory again? If so, for how longer? Will he forget not only DJ Grooves, but also his daughter and the Owl Express? To what extent will he forget his family memories, even he has already forgotten his grandchildren? He kept his eyes down. He wanted Conductor to take care of his family. It was something Grooves didn't have, and he understood that it was as important to Conductor as his train. It could not be replaced, and no amount of hard work by others could make up for it. Grooves looked at him helplessly, gave up, and left the room. He then began to stop by the hospital after his show business was over before going to the studio. Such days were repeated about seven times.

On the eighth evening he visited the ward. Opening the white curtains, he found a yellow owl up and reading a book. "Darling!" Grooves spluttered and sat down in a small round chair beside him. "I see you're feeling better." Conductor raised his eyes and looked at the big moon penguin as if he were looking at a suspicious bird.

"DJ Grooves? Why are ye here?"

His face broke out in relief, oblivious to the disgust in the Conductor's voice. He remembers my name. And he knows I'm Grooves. I guess He doesn't have to worry about amnesia.

"If one of my colleagues is in the hospital, I'll at least go visit him. And without you, we won't be able to start shooting the movie anytime soon." "Shooting yer peckin' movie? Why would I ＿＿＿＿ Wait, what date is it nou?"

Conductor took his phone out of his pocket and turned it on. He looked at the lock screen with a curious look on his face and eventually muttered a few words.

"Something's wrong with the calendar. Has someone messed with it?" "No, it's right. We should probably finish our script." Grooves said, peering at the screen from the right of Conductor.

"Don't be ridiculous, peck neck! If that war the case, the award would already be over… Oh no, I've only released only one movie, that's…… that's impossible…… "

After that mumble, as if struck by lightning, Conductor immediately unlocked his phone and opened the browser. With great speed he flicked the screen and moved the search engine＿＿＿＿Then he took down his phone. The little vermilion machine sank into the great white sea. On the screen was that article＿＿＿＿"42 year long streak broken!"

"The 42nd Annual Bird Movie Award…… No, no……"

Conductor covered his face. Then he quietly shook himself and began to cry. It became more and more intense, and he kept breaking down his posture and weeping with heavy emotion. The rain dripping down stained the clean white. He spilled out a series of painful sobs through his trembling beak. The situation no longer needed to be explained. Beyond Grooves' worst fears, things turned out to be even worse. At this juncture, Conductor had recovered his memory as movie director.

Grooves was stunned, not knowing what to say to the yellow owl that had suddenly turned from friend to rival. This was exactly what he had wanted that day though.

＿＿＿＿He can take revenge on the old Conductor when he come back. He will be surprised at how long his winning streak has been broken. That would make penguins smile.

Unfortunately, Grooves couldn't smile. The yellow owl he had hugged that day, the yellow owl crying in front of him, the yellow owl who is his fan, and the yellow owl who is his enemy overlapped and rubbed together to make a mess. It became a great wave of anxiety that engulfed Grooves from head to toe. He was unsure of the attitude he should adopt toward Conductor. Suddenly, Grooves felt a dull pain in his temple. Something had hit him. A cheap plastic cup rolled on the floor and went somewhere. Roll, roll, roll. Needless to say, it was Conductor who had thrown it.

"Get out of here, DJ peck neck! I don't want to see your face! Get out. GET OUT!"

DJ Grooves quickly got up and silently left the room. He should have known this would happen one day, but he was not ready for it. Being betrayed by the friend he had spent six months with made him sad. And he was miffed to realize that the days filled with those silly complaints would resume.

After the Conductor had been pushing Grooves out for a while, he suddenly realized that he was thirsty. It was because he had cried so much earlier. He thought about drinking some water, but after thinking about it for a while, he decided to buy a cup of coffee from the vending machine in the waiting room. He took out his wallet and checked its contents. He was worried that he might have lost a lot of money when he had amnesia, but apparently that was not the case. Rather, the number of bills had increased. What really happened? He inspected his wallet thoroughly and noticed one unfamiliar card. It was a rich sapphire blue card with a shimmering hologram. It was more shiny than it needed to be, and I was sure it wasn't a loyalty card, but I couldn't make out anything more than that. It had a small bar code and four-digit number on the back, so it was probably a practical card＿＿＿＿ Number 4065. Conductor looked at it for a few seconds and put it back in its place. He wish that is a credit card.

---

Most of what I want to write is in the second part so I hope you will wait for.

→Part2

#a hat in time #ahit fanfic #my writing #the conductor #dj grooves #the moon penguin #ahit conductor #ahit dj grooves #ahit moon penguin #discotrain

[ravensroleplays]

Gonna get back to RPs later, but first, here's the first of two new oneshots for the SaSA AU! These stories are about DJ Grooves and The Conductor!

#my ahit au #ahit fanfic #the conductor ahit #dj grooves ahit #fanfiction

[crescentblossom66]

Mafia Party!

The second of the two fics that I submitted to @anachronism-ahitzine Check out the other artists and their amazing pieces.

The gentle noise of waves drifting to shore and the squawking of seagulls that were normally so prevalent among the hardly busy port of Mafia Town, were now being drowned out by the loud honking of three incoming cargo ships, a rarity, as the small port usually only await one ship per day. The Mafia aboard all looked merry, as they slowly docked the ships and unloaded their cargo, working a lot harder than they normally would. The burly men were even humming a song, which would have been ear grating to others due to them being notoriously off-key, but none of them seemed to be bothered by that as they lifted the heavy crates and brought them over to the marketplace. One Mafia Goon seemed to be confused by the word “Kidney” being on the crate that he was carrying and started to make his way toward the black market with it, only to be stopped by his fellow Mafia. “Fellow Mafia is going the wrong way, we bring crates to marketplace.”

“Label says 'Kidney', we don't need kidney at festival.” Another of the men pointed at the other side of the crate.

“Label reads 'Beans', beans need to be brought to kitchen.” With confusion, the Mafia Goon that carried the rather vexing crate turned the wooden box and held the crate with one hand, scratching his bald head with the other.

“Mafia confused. What is crate containing, bean or kidney?” A more active and impatient goon decided to enforce a simple rule that their boss made up 'When in doubt or confused, simply punch the problem', so he did just that and punched a hole into the top of the crate revealing kidney beans, which resulted in a collective “Oh!” from the confused men.

When the group reached the marketplace, the preparations were well on their way. A few Mafia were standing on very puny-looking stools to hang up garlands, others were preparing a pyramid of wooden barrels for one of the main attractions of the festival, which was adequately yet plainly named 'Mafia Arrival Day', which was held every year in commemoration of the day they overtook what was formerly known as the City of Calcite and Adventure, or simply Calcite City for short. A group of them were straining to put up the golden statue of their leader, they had tied ropes to it, and were trying to make it stand upright. Due to their high strength it was fairly easy for them...but what they had in brawn they certainly lacked in brain, as the statue was now upside down, it's feet in the air.

“What is this?! Can't you do anything right?!” The boss of the Mafia arrived to inspect the preparations and was furious to see that they had somehow flipped his statue-self. “Put it upright, now!” He stomped his foot in anger at the incompetence that he had to deal with every single day, not even the jolly atmosphere or the beautiful, sunny day, brought him into a better mood. The Mafia men hurried to fix their error, when the statue landed on its side with a loud clang, he grit his teeth and let out a screech that made the blood in the bald men's veins run cold.

“Sorry boss, Mafia couldn't read instructions because of other Mafia dropped it in water. Ink got very messy, make everything look like chicken-scratches.” One of them explained, but their boss had none of it. Even if their boss was a lot smaller than the other Mafia, he had glare that was piercing their souls. “Don't glare at Mafia, please, Mafia want to keep soul. Mafia not want to end up like victims of eerie ghost in Subcon.”

The boss of the Mafia raised an eye brow in confusion, not really sure what his subordinate was talking about, but whatever it was seemed to have greatly disturbed not only him, as he could see some of the other Mafia Goons shaking. “Pull yourselves together, men! We won't be afraid of some apparition! I- I mean, we, will soon rule the whole planet!” The smaller man flashed a smile and stood rather proudly, his cockiness almost became his downfall as he barely dodged a huge meat one a bone that came barreling down the road and nearly flattened him on its way. “Concentrate, you morons! You'll ruin the whole festival!”

As the sun started to slowly set in the horizon, the marketplace of Mafia Town was finally ready, the garlands were all in place...albeit a little crooked, the barrels were organized, more or less, some somehow ended up on the floating platforms that none of them had access to, and the statue was placed the right way up this time. The majority of the Goons had decided to relax at the beach, one of them even brought a grill to serve grilled fish and hamburgers, he even managed to only burn himself twice this time! Other Mafia have turned in for the night while others were watching their favorite shows on TV. Everyone was relaxing after the hard day of work, but their leader was still out and about, making sure that faucets were all tightly closed, preventing the lava from flowing. It was the one job that he really didn't trust anyone with but himself, given the track record of his rather intellectually challenged men, it was likely a very smart move on his part.

As soon as the sun started to rise the next day, the normally rather relaxed and more or less easy going Mafia Goons rushed to the marketplace to light the torch on the hand of the statue of the Mafia Boss, which signaled the start of the holiday. The festivities were started off with the first of the three activities, the race! The starting point and end were different each year, but this year, the race would start in the back alleys and go all the way to the beach. The Mafia that were not participating watched their boss make his way to the white line to start off the race. If asked why he never participated, it was due to the fact that he would easily win, no question, so he deemed it unfair to his fellow Mafia. (The slightly smarter members of the Mafia knew however, that it was simply because he hated losing) As there wasn't really a requirement to how the participants needed to get from point A to point B, some found rather unconventional means of transportation. One stuck to the original way, opting to simply run to the goal, while the second was using a meat on the bone that he was balancing on top of, while the finally Mafia Goon was using...a rocket.

The Mafia Boss was nearly flattened once again, when he gave the signal to start, and the meat on the bone nearly crushed him. A 'Sorry, boss!' was heard when the Mafia realized his mistake and heard the growls of frustration that came from the short, red-clothed man. The Rocket Goon apparently had trouble starting his risky vehicle and jumped off of it kicking it once and recoiling as he came to realize that kicking solid steel was quite painful. “Stupid rocket, start!” He yelled at it, to no avail. The burly man scratched his scalp, contemplating what to do, meanwhile, the running Mafia and the balancing Mafia were a quarter and half way to the finish line respectively. “Wait Mafia forgot important item Mafia need fire to start rocket.” He checked all the pockets on his person, even his breast pocket which had a pink handkerchief in it, thankfully for the Rocket Mafia, none of onlookers seemed to have noticed this rather unmanly item. In a moment of brilliance, very uncharacteristic of the bald men, the Rocket Mafia realized that he could get a fire easily from the statue! The way to and from the marketplace took the risk-taker so long, that his competitors were already close to the finish line...one at least. Despite going at a moderate 3km/h (1.86 mph), the exhausted Mafia, that was using his own two legs, was still far ahead of the other that had an issue with getting his unconventional means of transportation past a bridge, as the huge piece of meat was way too big to fit on it.

With a loud bang and a cloud of black smoke that left the audience covered in soot and ashes, the man on the rocket indeed became the fastest man alive, gaining more and more speed as he made his way to the beach. 'Mafia fastest man alive, Mafia easily win race!' were the men's thoughts as he tried to smile while trying not to fall off what was clearly the most Mafia of all vehicles! His smile, however, quickly faded when he dashed way past his goal and out to sea. It was at that moment that he realized that his plan was very flawed.

Some of the Mafia at the beach were in awe, watching the Rocket Mafia get smaller and smaller on the horizon, while some of their fellow Goons were congratulating the Walking Mafia on his victory.

Between the first and second major activity was a time to just relax and enjoy the day, enjoying the island that they had forcefully taken away from the previous inhabitants. Some Goons were relaxing by the fountain in the marketplace, chatting while looking at the sloppily placed decorations. Others took the chance to enjoy some food in form of grilled fish, hotdogs, and steaks that had the face of their beloved leader carved into it. Miraculously, not a single man died of food poisoning that day.

The second contest of the day was the barrel throw. It was held on the marketplace and used the barrels from the pyramid they had prepared the day prior. The Goons from the casino had opened a stall, where the Mafia in the audience could place bets on their favored contestant. When the first contestant grabbed a barrel and barely managed to lift it, the audience erupted in laughter. “Come on, son, make Mafia proud!” One of the men shouted from the sidelines, trying to cheer the young Mafia on, before turning his head to the person next to him. “Mafia know son is too weak to win, never strong enough to punch even old lady, but Mafia is trying to be good father. Mafia told son that he has chance to succeed, but Mafia know son never succeeds, son must learn lesson, builds character.”

The young Mafia threw the barrel as far as he could...but only managed to toss the heavy wooden object a meter. (3.3 feet) far. He sighed and hung his head as he walked off, feeling like he had failed his father. Nobody doubted for a second that the second contestant, an average looking Mafia Goon, would easily throw the barrel further. He likely would have done so...if the general clumsiness, inherent to most Mafia, hadn't caused him to trip and drop the barrel right on his foot, which resulted in everyone breaking out into hysterical laughter yet again. A very muscular Mafia Goon, with a comically large torso and in comparison very stubby legs, had easily garnered the favor of everyone present, even the Mafia Boss had placed his bet on the man. He lifted the barrel as easily as one would pick up a small pebble, and readied himself to throw it way out of bounds of the contest. Victory was far from his grasp, however, when a flock of seagulls decided that it was payback time for one of their brethren, that the muscular Mafia had punched for trying to get a fish for their kid. He flailed around as the vindictive birds swarmed him and bit him, causing him to drop the barrel behind him, netting him negative points.

Everyone was quiet for a moment, in utter disbelief of what had just happened, until one burst out in laughter and the others joined...aside from their boss, who was raging and stomped on his hat repeatedly, because he had lost the bet. To his surprise, and even more so to the surprise of his father, the young Mafia was deemed the winner.

As the sun was starting to set, the arm wrestling contest started and Mafia Boss was once again the referee, which caused a lot of nervousness for the participants who were more afraid of his sharp gaze, rather than the brute strength of their opposition. In the end, nobody won as the Mafia started to flee after seeing a slimy space alien that crashed the party.

The alien repeated “Leave the island, or I'll curse you all!” multiple times as it attacked the Mafia, jumping on their heads while snickering. The only one who seemed mostly unfazed was their leader, who chased the alien away with his daggers after scolding his goons for running away in fear from a small and wimpy-looking mud monster. After that small foe was vanquished, the festivities resumed with just a little unease still present, it was visible the most in the Mafia that were lighting the rockets for the fireworks, who burned themselves on the fuse of the rockets each time they were lighting it.

“Alright, men, listen up!” The boss of the Mafia climbed onto a crate to give a speech like every year, his voice reaching even the Goofy Mafia that had been thinking about alien conspiracies up until that point and had been stuck in his thoughts. “It marks three years now since we made this island our new home. Thanks to the continues efforts of ME...and you, we're close to finishing up the improvements necessary to bring our families over here!” The goons cheered after that message.

“Mafia finally be able to see wife again, Mafia missed being nagged at for forgetting to take out trash.” One Mafia wiped away a tear and was consoled by the one next to him, who put a hand on his shoulder.

The boss rose his fist to the air. “Let's work hard on reaching that goal, no slacking this year!” Most Mafia cheered aside from one in the back.

“Mafia wasn't slacking, Mafia was working hard on repairing building while Boss was sleeping on throne.” Thankfully for that Mafia Goon, his boss didn't hear him.

All in all the festival was a big success and once again served it's purpose, bringing the Mafia together, even if it usually resulted in monumental chaos.

#anachronism zine #ahit #ahit fanfic #ahit mafia boss #ahit mafia goons

[jupiterlandings]

What happens when there’s no happily ever after and the monster under the bed finds himself in the role of the hero?

Mood board for the first arc of my AHiT AU fic The Moon Jester which you can check out over on A03 ^^

#my edits #a hat in time #ahit au #ahit fanfic #ahit moonjumper #queen vanessa #the moonjumper #WE ARE FINALLY ALMOST OUT OF THE DANGED MANSION ARC YEAH BOIIIIIII

[britishsass]

Hatricia has always been a quiet kid. However, after her vacation to another planet, she was a lot more talkative than before. Her teacher, Miss Pinclair, has an idea, but it will take the help of the people she's only seen through Hattie's drawings.

Conductor, Snatcher, and Grooves are summoned to the Academy of Time Travelers for a parent-teacher conference. This would be fine, if it wasn't for the fact that Conductor is drunk, Snatcher doesn't want to be here, and Grooves is more than a little confused about why he's included.

~

I decided to make a little fic thanks to one of my friends.

Here’s that fluffy little mess.

#a hat in time #snatcher ahit #conductor ahit #dj grooves #hat kid #bow kid #ahit fanfic #ahit snatcher #the owl writes #i like dumb fluffy fanfic sometimes :3 #i just tend to write more angst!