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kiruuuuu · 3 years

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Smoke/Mute in which ten cups of coffee change Mute’s life. (Rating T, slice of life/fluff/budding romance, ~5.8k words) - written for none other than @nutbrain for being a remarkable human being and an even better friend 💖 Please enjoy!

Mark eyes the shopfront before him with suspicion. His safe haven apparently gone, a flashier version has taken its place some time during the semester break, keeping nothing but the location and the proffered goods. Instead of the old-fashioned, thick-cushioned chairs and dim lighting, the new café shines with an open-floor concept, simple wooden furniture and an overall dark look with specks of gold to brighten it up. Leo Coffee, reads the sign next to a golden logo displaying a roaring lion. What big cats have to do with coffee isn’t obvious to Mark, but he overcomes his initial distaste and steps inside nonetheless.

As visible from outside, the place is deserted. The previous coffee shop was frequented by businesspeople and students alike, located halfway between the campus and Mark’s dorm – on rainy days, people often took public transport and bought their coffee elsewhere, but even on those occasions, it’s never been as empty as this.

Not that Mark is complaining. If the coffee is good, he’ll continue frequenting the new shop, and being able to work in peace would be an added bonus. He is quite fond of Julien and Timur, but even so, they’re not the… easiest to live with. To say the least. A quiet place would be very welcome.

He sets his books down on the table furthest away from the counter, slings his bag over the back of a chair and approaches the empty void where an employee should be standing. This is when he notices another curiosity: there’s no menu board. There isn’t even a menu card by the counter or anywhere, really, only a glass case with a handful of baked goods inside, most of which look like a child made them. So far, the only redeeming quality is the delicious dark smell of roasted coffee beans lingering in the air.

After another minute, still nobody has appeared, so Mark checks his phone for reviews. If the place has less than four stars – alright, three, he’s giving them the benefit of the doubt purely because of their convenient location and quietness –, then he’s out of here. He can’t even remember the last time he had to wait this long to -

“Are you going to order or what?”

Nearly dropping his phone in the process, Mark jumps at the sudden gruff voice and looks up to find himself face to face with a grizzled man. The black apron is all that betrays him as an employee as the unimpressed glare and casual attire do nothing in his favour. “Uh”, he replies eloquently and vows that he’ll never set foot in this place again if this is how he’s going to get treated.

The old man’s expression melts into friendliness. “I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting anyone. Welcome to Café Leo – it’s your first time here, so have a loyalty card, lad.”

Mark accepts the piece of paper without thinking, still thrown off by the bloke’s sudden appearance (how does he move completely silent like that), and at least has the presence of mind to inspect it. Its contents are so absurd that he forgets to ask how the man opposite him knew he hadn’t been to the shop yet. “‘After 10 coffee purchases, you’re eligible for a free wish’”, he mumbles, reading the text printed white on black aloud. “‘This offer is not transferable.’ What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that only you can redeem your reward, not anyone else. Would you like some coffee?”

He blinks at the bearded man, trying to ascertain whether he’s being serious, and is met with an almost bored stare. Weighing his options, the scales are only slightly tipped in favour of staying, but only because he knows Julien has a ‘visitor’ over today and there’s no other place he can study – the library is overrun by frantic procrastinators who left finishing their coursework assigned over the break to the absolute last minute, and Manu is coming back tomorrow. Apart from her and his roommates, there’s no one with whom he’s comfortable enough to invite himself over.

Especially not him. God knows why Mark even considered him for a brief second.

Looks like he’ll have to deal with this awkwardness if he wants to get any work done whatsoever. “Alright then. What do you sell?”

“Coffee”, comes the curt answer.

Mark rubs his eyes in exhaustion. He’s beginning to understand why there’s no other customers here. “Sure. Yes. A coffee, then.”

“That’ll be…” The employee trails off while frowning down at his wristwatch. “…um, about £7.92.”

“For one coffee?”

“It’s free refills, son.”

Oh, so maybe this is an American chain. That would explain quite a bit. Mark considers whether he’s staying long enough to get the most out of his money, but seeing as the bloke doesn’t seem the chattiest type and he’s unlikely to get interrupted, he decides it’s worth it. Still, there’s something he simply can’t let go. “… what do you mean, ‘about’ £7.92?”

“Are you paying cash or card?”

Alright then.

The next ultimatum: if the coffee turns out dogshite, he’s never coming back. He’d rather travel an increased distance to a normal coffee shop than to have to deal with this nonsense. Wordlessly, he sets down a £10 note and scoops the change into his wallet before watching the obviously American guy (and maybe the chain imports all their workers, who knows) pour a cup of the darkest coffee he’s ever seen. He unceremoniously sets it down in front of him and makes no indication of mentioning neither cream nor sugar. He’s lucky Mark prefers his energy supply as-is.

“Ta”, Mark mutters and scurries away, glad to escape that hard stare. To make sure he’s not being scammed, he takes a quick sip of the fragrant liquid and is surprised at how pleasant the taste is. Minimal bitterness, a gentle, almost floral note, and just strong enough to satisfy his craving.

Well, crap.

Looks like he’ll have to come back after all.

~*~

“Did you guys know the old coffee shop closed?”, Mark voices his thoughts into the middle of a medium-sized food war between Manu and Timur involving entirely too many packets of salt.

“The one on campus?”, Manu asks and accidentally elbows Julien in the ribs, causing him to actually look up from his phone for once.

“No, the one halfway to our dorm.”

“I was there last week”, Timur pipes up, making him furrow his brows. A week can’t be enough to refurnish the entire café, let alone switch owners completely. “Is it closed now?”

“There’s a different one instead. It was dead when I went, but the coffee’s good. The bloke serving me was weird.”

“Look at you, stringing multiple sentences together”, Julien chimes in, grinning. “Something novel must’ve happened for you to even bring it up. Was the dude hot?”

“Because that’s the only reason anyone would ever get excited about anything”, says Manu drily. “We can check it out if it’s good, even if the employees suck. Not like we have to socialise with them.”

Mark shrugs and regrets mentioning the café in the first place – it feels somehow personal, whether it’s to do with the odd experience overall or the fact that he ended up staying more than three hours. His productivity was through the roof, the calm atmosphere helped immensely and the thought of his loud friends – as much as he appreciates them – invading his newfound hideout isn’t one he particularly enjoys.

It turned out that the employee wasn’t so bad after all: as soon as Mark considered asking for more coffee, he appeared right by his side and filled his mug again, without bothering him at all. Still, Julien would complain about him and Timur might agree and Manu is likely to judge his impolite manner, and Mark wouldn’t be able to defend him. Even if he doesn’t mind the silent company.

For the moment, he needn’t bother with these thoughts as his friends are wholly occupied with arguing over some internet memes (and Mark remembers vividly how they all had to talk Julien down from nibbling at their laundry detergent pods), so nothing could be further from their minds than sitting down and actually studying for their degrees.

Not that they’re bad students, quite the opposite, they’re just not as… ambitious as Mark. Some have called him obsessed, yes, and he can’t quite refute it, but he prefers to call it ‘determined’. There have been few who are able to keep up with him, which is probably partly the reason why he’s made friends with people from completely different departments. He tends to be a loner in most classes, which suits him just fine.

Well. Most classes.

“I would give my left bollock for you.”

Mark certainly doesn’t appreciate the imagery. He hands over the photocopied sheet to the bloke nearly bouncing in delight before shuffling after his fellow students into the lecture hall. Closely followed, of course. “Make sure to change enough details”, he repeats the reminder, earning a scoff.

“I’ll make it illegible, babe, don’t worry.” James plops down next to him, stretching and taking up too much space. “You’re the only reason I’ll actually get credit for this course.”

Oh, Mark is very aware of this fact. He lets his seat neighbour prattle on as he takes out his materials, lines up his pens, and waits for the lecture to start. If he were pressed to explain how he ended up in this position, with a chatterbox glued to his side too lazy to do any of the coursework, he wouldn’t have a concise answer. Other than his inability to say no.

The problem is that James knows exactly who to befriend. Mark is naturally drawn to the overachievers in each class and carefully selects his group for projects, going by people who do put the time and work in to get a good grade – anything where students are meant to collaborate is 30% actual work and 70% politics. The right people tend to listen to him whenever he knows better, because they’re interested in improving and learning, they tend to go along with his division of tasks, because he distributes them fairly and suited to everyone’s skills, and they tend to work best independently, so they can get it done even without excessive communication.

And James? He follows the same strategy as Mark, except that he’s a leech. He latches onto the teacher’s pets, chooses the easiest tasks, always volunteers for presentations (meaning he’ll just have to regurgitate what his group produced), and bribes his groupmates so they don’t throw him out. Whether it’s snacks or drinks after class, whether it’s attention and compliments, or playing matchmaker: he knows how to make himself useful in all aspects other than his studies.

He’s a clown. He makes everyone laugh and worms his way into their hearts so they would feel bad about calling him out. Not having to do any work is his reward for asking questions everyone’s thinking but doesn’t dare ask for fear of looking stupid in front of the prof.

Obviously, James has latched onto him ever since they crossed paths in chem last semester, and Mark considered dropping the current class when he found out that he was in it as well. Even worse, James began asking him for homework, giving excuses like having had no time, not being able to write it down concisely, and so on – and though Mark initially refused, classmates approached him and gently nudged him towards sharing his results with James. Just to be nice. Just to help him. He’s such a good guy after all.

So Mark’s homework gets copied and passed along. And James’ fondness of him only grows.

During the long, meaningless rant interspersed with an impressive amount of curse words, he perks up at a quiet: “Wait, this one doesn’t make any sense.”

His pride won’t let him ignore it. “Which one?”

James points at one of Mark’s answers, a complicated equation. “Shouldn’t that be on top?”

“The denominator?”

An uncertain glance. He points again. “This.”

“You mean the bottom fraction? That’s the denominator, yes. And it is where it should be.”

James frowns, indubitably not content with the reply but possibly unsure how to voice his dissatisfaction.

“Trust me, it’s correct. Just copy it.”

“But I want to understand it.”

Fat chance. No way did he get any of the previous homework without having engaged with the subject matter at all, so it’s impossible for him to work it out, even if Mark explained it. Which he doesn’t want to. Because he figures it’d be like explaining string theory to a brick wall. He’s saved by the prof’s entry, knowing James at least has the decency to shut up during class, and hopes he can simply slip away afterwards.

It turns out, however, James is fully aware of his biggest weakness. “Do you have a bit of time after? You think you can explain it to me? Please?”

Yikes.

Not only is Mark burning to show him how wrong he is, he’s also entirely unable to refuse a plea for help. And there’s no doubt James knows this. He can’t keep getting away with it, he’s exploiting Mark enough as it is without offering much – if anything – in return, plus it’s obvious the endeavour is futile and doomed from the start. And this is disregarding the possibility of James suggesting more meetings in the future. So, like the reasonable adult he is, Mark replies: “Sure.”

And has never wanted to kick himself more.

If this bloke really is the only employee they have, it’s no wonder the place is dead yet again. They stare at each other, unblinking, and seem equally dismayed about each other’s presence. “Hi”, says Mark after a few seconds of tense silence.

The old man is wearing the same clothes as last time, apron and jeans – even his disinterested expression hasn’t changed. “I’m Sam”, he offers completely out of the blue, surprising Mark with how unexpected the introduction is. “I figured you shouldn’t have to keep calling me ‘this bloke’ in your head.”

“… Mark”, he responds hesitantly.

“Is that a threat?” Sam barks out a brief, mirthless laugh. “I know. You wrote it on your loyalty card.”

He most certainly did not, but only because the card is solid black with white text. “Look, I’m just here to buy coffee.”

“You brought a friend.” Sam indicates James who already sat down by a window and is absorbed in his phone for the time being – and for all his faults, Mark has to admit that at least his (limited) attention is always on the person he’s talking to; he’s never seen his fellow student even checking for messages during a conversation.

“Not really”, he says nonetheless and is reasonably sure they’re out of earshot. “We just have chem together.”

“You have chemistry, hm?”

He wonders if it’s possible to set someone on fire with a hard look alone. “Just sell me the bloody coffee.”

“For the both of you?” Sam turns around and studies the clock on the wall behind him, whispering to himself for a few seconds before announcing: “That’ll be roughly £15.84.”

“Fine.” He holds out a card, scowling when Sam makes no move to take it.

“No complaint?”

“Is it gonna be cheaper if I do? Besides, he’s paying. So I don’t care.”

“Oh. Then it’ll be £22.43.”

“Why is it -” As quickly as his annoyance spikes, it ebbs again. It’s obvious there’s no logic behind all this nonsense, yet he still tries: “If it’s cheaper for me, I’ll pay and get the money back from him.”

“That’s illegal. You’ve already told me he’s paying.”

“I’m not trying to buy liquor, why would it -” Deep breaths. He already told James about how good the coffee is, and if they go anywhere else, someone else might see them. He’s strongly incentivised to stay. “Fine. Here.”

Sam runs the card and, as last time, pours two very unimpressive mugs before, to Mark’s horror, reaching into the display case and pulling out two slices of cakes on their own respective plates. The chocolate one is drooping and threatening to fall over if anyone looked at it wrong, and the sponge cake seems suspiciously wet. There’s no telling how long they’ve been sitting there. “It’s on the house”, Sam says, almost begrudgingly, as if he was the inconvenienced one.

Mark considers asking for forks or napkins but decides that the shorter their interaction, the healthier his sanity. “Ta, mate. Do you need my loyalty card?”

“No need.”

Fair enough, though he’s not sure what the point of it is, then. He carries the coffees and cakes over in two trips and wonders how he’ll get rid of the sickly-looking bakeware without Sam noticing. When James eventually tries his piece and doesn’t keel over immediately though, Mark gives his own a try.

It’s the best chocolate cake he’s ever had. And he’s never been madder in his life.

~*~

At some point, it turns into stubbornness. There’s a few mannerisms, the odd hobby and some of his preferences which started out as either ironic, as guilty pleasures or as things he actively disliked, but the more he engaged, the more he developed the attitude of: you know what? This is mine and I don’t care what anyone says about it.

He’s starting to adopt Leo Coffee. The awkward vibe about it, the indecipherable employee, the delicious food and drinks – it holds its own charm in a way, and he’s stopped wondering about being the only patron. It’s perfect for studying or unwinding, and does wonders for his stressed soul. He’s been returning regularly now, about once a week, and even brought James with him a second time to argue about yet another homework he criticised. The atmosphere renders Mark calmer, more patient, and so he endured the other man’s presence for much longer than he would’ve thought possible. They stayed for almost three hours the first time, even longer the second.

Just to make sure he’s not being a nuisance, he tried to check the coffee shop’s opening hours and wasn’t even sure what he expected to find. They’re listed nowhere, of course, and Sam switched topics the instant he brought it up.

So now the only people he has to drag in here are his friends, who have somehow evaded his efforts so far – but not today. Timur and Julien promised to come even though Manu has to go to some recital or other, meaning she’s excused. For now.

Eyes idly following pedestrians outside, he’s resting his chin in his palm and waiting. Being the only punctual one has always meant boredom, so he’s lucky his mind is imaginative enough to keep him occupied in the meantime. His train of thought meanders through all the topics occupying his brain recently, how the new guy Julien is seeing is basically moving into their apartment, how Timur keeps hanging around the wrong crowd, how unfair it is that Manu aces all her courses with so little effort, how he happened to run into James during his break today and almost suggested spending it together -

His phone buzzes, interrupting his aimless daydreaming and prompting him to check the colourful screen.

I got ambushed, writes Julien and it’s unclear whether he’s being cryptic on purpose. Mark sends a question mark and has to wait a minute or two for the explanation: Sudden date night, looks like Netflix & chill boys ;) sry for ditching you but the shop isn’t gonna go anywhere right?

An eye roll later, Mark responds with a simple TMI.

I don’t think I’ll make it either, adds Timur, a friend wants to yarn bomb the stature by City Hall and they need me as lookout.

This one gets points for creativity at least. He sighs and reassures them with a quick sure, no problem before commending himself for not going home first to drop his bag off. Now he can just study instead. Woohoo.

Another brief vibration, this notification from a completely different group chat, one Mark apparently forgot to leave once the project was done: @Mark: are there carrots in carrot cake?

The number is translated to ‘GirthControl’, so there’s just one person this could be. He stares at his screen. Is that a trick question? Yes, he feels confident enough to affirm to James.

Ah okay. Thanks babe.

This is when it occurs to him: Wait, why did you only ask me?

Silence. Whatever quest James is currently on, it apparently required Mark’s input and Mark’s input only.

He can’t help but laugh at the absurdity and suddenly feels a lot less abandoned. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter whether his friends don’t rank him at the top of their priority list as long as he’s on it somewhere. And knowing that he’s left a lasting impression on James beyond being the lad who supplies him with homework is oddly reassuring.

When he approaches the counter, Sam once again materialising out of nowhere (at least that’s what it feels like – he’s always there when Mark needs him and never at any other time), he’s decided to not get weirded out by anything today. “A coffee”, he orders confidently and inspects the haphazardly thrown together bagels featured prominently in the infamous display case. “And a bagel.” He doesn’t bother specifying, Sam will choose for him anyway.

After peering at the digital alarm clock on the counter, Sam announces the approximate value of the aforementioned items and then squints at him. “Weren’t you going to meet with somebody?”

Mark half-shrugs. “Kinda. They’re busy though.”

“Mind if I join you?” He must notice Mark’s surprise because he adds: “It’s your ninth time here. Would be a shame if we didn’t get to talk before you’ve filled up your loyalty card, don’t you think?”

“Alright”, he agrees and waits until Sam has poured himself a mug as well before they sit down at Mark’s usual table – tucked away in a corner but close enough to the windows to be able to do people-watching if his eyes need a rest from staring at textbooks or screens all day long. It’s the first time he examines the man opposite him more closely: the distinguished features, greying beard, wild mane of hair. He looks too… important to be working in a coffee shop, like he was destined for greatness. Mark can’t picture him angry even if he exudes a bitter, cynical aura which he’s likely to hide behind sarcasm.

“How did you end up here?”, he wants to know, genuinely curious.

“Good question.” Sam takes a few sips of his excellent coffee as he ponders how to reply. “It’s a temporary thing, that’s for sure.” He leaves it at that. “What do you study?”

Mark eyes the disorganised heap of books keeping his bagel company and sighs. “At this point, I don’t even know anymore.”

“Sounds fun.”

“It is”, he emphasises. “I love studying.”

“Where’s the problem then?”

There is none, he wants to say yet his mouth refuses to comply. He stares into the dark liquid, running his thumb over even porcelain and then decides to sod it – he asked, right? And somehow, it’s always easier to unload on a complete stranger. “I feel like it’s all I’m doing.”

“You keep others at a distance on purpose.” He nods, even though it wasn’t a question. “So don’t be surprised if they do the same.”

“I’m not.” The warmth seeps into his palms as he wraps his hands around the mug, providing as much comfort as Sam’s gentle tone. “I just want it to be different.”

“Make an effort. It’s never to late to change. I’m sure your friends will appreciate it. Put some trust in them, they’re your friends for a reason.” He nods again, lost in thought. “Have you figured out what you’re going to wish for next time?”

He scoffs, amused. There isn’t a single thing he can imagine himself wanting from the old man before him, so he’s unlikely to wish for anything at all. “No. Not yet.”

“Well, think about it. I believe in you, son.” With that, Sam downs the last of his own coffee and gets up, ready to walk back behind the counter and only stops when Mark calls his name.

“Is there someone you care about?”

It’s the first time he sees Sam smile. “Yes. There were two, but I lost one – so I keep the other one twice as close without trying to be suffocating. It’s hard. But remember, Mark, it’s never too late to tell the people in your life how you really feel.” And then he’s gone, disappeared into the back, leaving behind a faint nostalgia tinted with hope.

There’s no challenge from which Mark has shied away in his life, and this one isn’t going to be his first.

~*~

The word fuck on his lips, Mark bursts into the café like a panicked chicken. He’s juggling two bags and his phone, his frantic typing only interrupted by the need to breathe now and then, and nearly drops it when he slams his book bag to the ground at the counter. “Sorry, one sec”, he addresses an unimpressed-looking Sam as he dials a number and curses once more when it’s not immediately picked up. “Can I get a coffee to go?”, he asks, out of breath, as the dial tone beeps in his ear.

“I don’t serve people who are on the phone”, Sam replies, as calm as ever.

Mark mentally increases the number of people who’d be dead if his looks could kill by one. “This is the worst thing to ever happen to me”, he says gravely and hangs up after thirty seconds have passed. “I’m gonna fail this class.”

“An event without precedence, I assume?”

“You have no bloody idea. But yes, a coffee please, I need to go back to the library and get an entire semester’s worth of material because I’m too fucking dumb to read a syllabus correctly. This has never happened to me, I have one day to write this assignment and I’m lacking so much -”

“Can you give me the time?”, Sam interrupts him nonchalantly and stares at the screen of Mark’s phone as he holds it up for him to read. “Thanks. Let’s say £2.63.”

“And I can’t study at home because Timur has his friends over, and Manu is in a panic herself, and I know the library is going to be overrun by people who treat the study rooms like their social media accounts by loudly oversharing all the time, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to do this. Maybe I’ll just accept fate and fail. No clue how I’m gonna tell my parents.”

“Your loyalty card.”

Distracted, Mark fishes it out of his wallet and puts it on the counter. “And the other people in chem aren’t answering or are no help at all, I don’t get it, I’ve done group projects with them and still they don’t have the courtesy to help me out in this. It was a genuine mistake, as stupid as it is, and I’m just -”

“You need to write it down.”

He’s briefly interrupted in his rant to frown at the black paper card. “Write what?”

“Your wish.”

“But you won’t be able to read it. I only have black or blue pens.”

“Doesn’t matter. Write it down.”

With an irritated sigh, Mark takes out a pen and thinks for a second, the majority of his attention elsewhere still. Eventually, he scribbles someone who cares, not that it’d be legible in any way, and hands it to Sam. “That’s it? I’m not sure this reward system is going to pay off in the long term, you know.”

Sam holds the card up to the light as if he was inspecting a bank note and nods, apparently satisfied. “You’re all set. Good luck.”

“Ta, I’m gonna need it.” Mark shoves all his belongings in various pockets, hoping he’ll remember where he put them, and grabs the to-go cup. And then, without so much as a goodbye, he storms back out, steeling himself for an all-nighter certain to mess up sleep schedule for days, if not weeks.

He ascribes it to his flustered state that he doesn’t look up as he exits the coffee shop, and promptly runs into someone, collides with what feels like a solid wall. His coffee gets squished and sloshes over, soaking the front of his clothes – fortunately, it’s not hot at all, more like lukewarm which is odd in and of itself. He swears again, yanking his phone out of his pocket before it gets wet also and it’s only due to another hand grabbing the device that it doesn’t plummet to the ground straightaway.

“Oh bollocks, I’m so sorry”, says the wall he ran into which turns out to be none other than James. Of all people. “Are you alright? Is it hot?”

“No, no, I’m fine”, Mark presses through clenched teeth, the stress slowly overwhelming him. “But now I have to go home and change before I can start on this stupid fucking -”

“Babe. Calm down. What’s wrong?”

He takes a deep breath and ignores the quickly cooling wet patches on his clothes for the moment. “I still have to do the report. I didn’t realise we were meant to -”

“Oh, you haven’t done it? At all?”

“No! No, I didn’t, and everyone else is partnered up so I can’t just join someone else, so I’ll have to -”

“I’m not paired up.”

“Sure, once I’m done I’ll put your name on there, whatever, but that doesn’t -”

“Babe. Mark. Listen to me.” James waves in front of his face with a slight grin. “I did it. It’s almost done. I’ll put down that we did it together and you’re good.”

He stares at James, mouth open, for several unflattering seconds. “Wait – you… how?”

“I can show you, but it’s at my place. My roommate is around your height, he can lend you some clothes. Let’s go.”

And yet again, Mark finds himself unable to refuse. He drinks what’s left of his coffee in one go (and it really is tepid, he must’ve gotten really lucky), tosses the cup in the nearest bin and leaves Leo Coffee behind without a single glance back.

James’ flat looks exactly like Mark would’ve imagined it, only louder. Double bass and epic vocals are permeating every room, and all available horizontal surfaces are littered with stuff. The walls are plastered with posters, some funny, some pretty, some morbid, and it reeks of weed.

A small part of Mark feels right at home, oddly enough.

“Turn the fucking music down!”, James yells at the top of his lungs, throwing him an apologetic look, clearly uncomfortable with the state of it all and ignorant as to Mark’s growing amusement.

Somewhere, a door opens and the shrill guitars become clearer. “Whot?”, someone replies just as loudly.

“Exactly!”, is James’ deafening reply, and a few seconds later, the melodies decrease to a reasonable level. Another bloke joins them, tall and well-built with an unkempt beard and a band shirt as well as no socks.

“Who’s that? Is he allowed to be here?”, asks James’ roommate and regards Mark with suspicion.

“That was Sabaton, wasn’t it?”, Mark inquires back. “Primo Victoria?”

The dude’s entire face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Oh, a connoisseur. He can stay, James, I like him already.”

And while the two of them exchange more words, Mark goes exploring. He ends up in what must be James’ room which is covered in paper, be it books or hand-written notes, and most of it seems related to chemistry in some way. Curious, Mark looks around until he finds a spiral-bound notepad titled with the name of the course they’re sharing this semester. Contrary to his expectations, it’s far from empty – not only does it contain copious lecture notes, it also features every assignment they’d been given since the start of the course.

Solved differently from Mark’s own answers.

Confused, he checks more closely and finds a recurring pattern: equations that are struck-through, calculations lacking several steps in between which wouldn’t be accepted by the prof this way, and very little text. It looks like the writings of someone who certainly understands the material but simply has a hard time putting his thoughts in order, putting his ideas into neat writing.

He’s been immersed for several minutes when James finally joins him, and when he does, Mark holds up his notes and greets him with a simple: “What the fuck?”

James doesn’t seem to realise where Mark’s problem lies and shrugs. “Yeah, I’m a hopeless case, I know.”

“No. No, you’re really not. This is – look here, if you just shift this around, you end up with the correct result. You’re like 95% of the way there, you just didn’t finish it.”

“Oh.” James blinks at him. “I guess. It’s kinda like that with the report. I was hoping you could help me write the conclusion, I’ve got the rest, but -”

“Sure. Yes.” Mark’s agreeableness seems to astonish his host. “That’ll take an hour, maybe two. And I won’t have to pull an all-nighter. James, you have no idea how much you saved me.”

And James, bless his soul, is blushing. “Well. No problem. I owe you anyway. Right?” He suddenly remembers he’s holding spare clothing and vaguely gestures in Mark’s direction. “You, uh, you can change in the bathroom. Don’t mind the cat, she just loves staring at naked people. Dom found out the hard way.”

Twenty minutes later, Mark is reading through James’ report with a ball of fur purring on his lap, faint metal playing in the background. There’s a lot of grammar and spelling to be fixed, as well as phrasing, but content-wise, it’s near flawless. He’s smiling to himself, enjoying the way James turns almost bashful whenever he compliments his work, and remembers Sam’s words from the second-to-last time he visited the café: it’s never too late.

He’s definitely treating James to dinner after he’s saved his arse like this.

The next time Mark passes by that familiar spot, the next time Mark develops a craving for caffeine and some peace and quiet, the next time he plans to go to Leo Coffee, all he finds is the same coffee shop which has been here for years already, the afternoon crowd populating the tables and several diligent employees taking care of the customers.

Somehow, Mark isn’t the least bit surprised.

#rainbow six siege #smoke #mute #smoke/mute #zero #fanfic #oneshot #I combined a few things I know you like and hopefully it's the same with the result #I want to remind you that there is no need to retaliate #but also that'd mean I've won this war

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alittlewhump · 3 years

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Unbidden - Act 3, chapter 9

Masterlist | Previous | Next

Content warnings: minor burn, brief and non-specific self harm mention

Telash was a challenge. He had insisted on speaking with Morgan directly, despite Phaedra issuing him an invitation to the demonstration she was giving. He was also impatient. Eager, Morgan corrected himself. Eager to learn and improve. It just put him in a difficult situation, trying to teach something he knew so very little about to a student who wanted to have already mastered it.

"This isn't going anywhere."

"I told you, I didn't actually teach her anything. We just talked."

"She told me you taught her something new while I was trying to help your frigid friend relax a little. How did you ever get on her good side anyway? Does she just have a soft spot for freaks?" Telash was making a face like he'd smelled something unpleasant. Morgan ignored it.

"I really don't know. Aside from the element, do you have any idea how your magic works in comparison to Phaedra's?"

Telash looked displeased. "No. Well, sort of. I mean, obviously fire and lightning are different. She can be flashier because lightning takes a lot less to sustain. It doesn't need fuel to keep going. But I can do a lot more damage in a single shot."

"How do you fuel it?"

"What kind of question is that? Magic fire uses magic as fuel. Don't you know anything?"

"Not very much," Morgan replied. That was interesting, though. It was starting to sound like this magic was closer to his own. "How does that work? Does it still need air?"

"It can't be smothered, but it won't work underwater or anything stupid like that."

"Can you manipulate the fuel separately before lighting it, or is it all one action?"

"Haven't you noticed the gestures I use?"

Those were in the list of things to ask about. "What is their purpose?"

"They focus the energy before I activate it," Telash sneered. Again, closer to Morgan's experience. His were more of a mnemonic than anything, helping to visualize the flow of magic when it couldn't be seen, rather than actually shaping it. He hadn't relied on the gestures in some time, having been using it often enough to develop a feel for it instead.

"And you can't focus it in - oh, it's a problem of strength," Morgan realized aloud. Telash's sneer turned into more of a snarl. "You're too strong," Morgan clarified quickly. "The glass can't withstand the power you're trying to put into it. You need to use a more suitable container."

"I want to use glass."

"Then you'll need to find some very thick glass and be very delicate. Why does it have to be glass?"

Telash was frowning, apparently not pleased with the assessment he'd received. "Phaedra uses glass. Can't compare the results otherwise. How is everyone going to know I beat her at this?"

"You are capable of very different things," Morgan said. "Phaedra originally wanted to try to move the earth as I do. I don't think that goal is compatible with her magic."

Telash perked up. "What about mine?"

"Maybe. It sounds like it's closer to what I have."

"Well, show me how to do that," Telash said, grinning. "Bet I can do it, easy. It can't be that hard."

It seemed to be harder than Telash anticipated. He was persistent, throwing himself into the work and trying until his skin shone with sweat. His magic was... not faster, exactly, Morgan could raise a golem in just a few seconds by now. But it didn't seem to want to stay put. Several little furrows in the ground marked failed attempts where Telash had managed to channel his energy into the earth, but not to concentrate it there.

"You have to hold it," Morgan advised.

"I'm trying to hold it," Telash growled, flinging one hand out to point in Morgan's direction. He ducked under the weak jet of flame that spurted toward him. This was just how the other man communicated, evidently.

"It might be easier for you to... hold on, let me demonstrate something." Telash dropped his hands and sat down, breathing hard, but the glare he aimed at Morgan wasn't that deep. He waved one hand in a 'get on with it' sort of motion.

Morgan raised a simple sphere of earth, about the size of a person's head. "This is one way to make a shape. All at once. It's what I find easiest." Next to it, he set about constructing another sphere, this time using a different approach. A strip of earth rose up and curled around itself until the shape was achieved. Telash watched with interest. "This is another way," Morgan explained. "You get the same shape, but you put it together differently. It's harder for me, but it might be easier for you because of the way everything keeps moving."

"It makes more sense that way anyway," Telash said. "You build by starting with a foundation. Should have started with that instead of wasting my time."

Morgan refrained from commenting. People like Telash didn't tend to appreciate being reminded that their difficulties were their own doing. Instead of defending himself, he decided to offer some additional advice.

"When you've caught your breath, you might want to try again from down there. It's-"

"Down there," Telash snorted. "Because you're all the way up there now, aren't you, small fry? Enjoy that while you can."

"It's easier if you're touching the earth directly," Morgan continued. "You don't have to push the energy through the air first that way. It's one less obstacle."

"Air isn't much of an obstacle," Telash grumbled, but leaned forward anyway, placing his open palms on the ground in front of him.

"Try to imagine it like water. Pour it out into the earth, give it a moment to soak in, then move them together once they've joined."

Telash muttered something about water under his breath as he turned his attention to the earth in front of him. Despite his complaining, he seemed to be taking the advice well enough. The ground twitched a little between his hands. He breathed out slowly, and a small hill formed. With another few controlled breaths, a hollow sphere gained shape at the tip of the hill.

"That's very good," Morgan said. Personal attitude notwithstanding, it was impressive that he'd managed to make so much progress so quickly. It certainly hadn't come this easily to Morgan, though with consistent practice it had been getting considerably easier. "You can think of that shape as a container to hold some of your energy. It takes some power to maintain the shape, but it's proportional to the size. It takes more energy to move or change a shape once you've established it."

"Shut up for a minute. I'm figuring it out."

Morgan watched instead. Telash was intensely focused. The orb wobbled, then rolled unevenly down its little hill. Based on the way it moved, it looked like he'd added some extra weight in one spot to achieve the movement. Difficult to control with precision, but it was something. It rolled in a loose, jerky circle. Morgan stepped back out of its path. Telash made an annoyed grunt and the sphere slowly reversed its course to tap against the toe of Morgan's boot. He looked at the other mage for a cue and found him smirking.

"Go ahead, pick it up."

He couldn't imagine the purpose, but Morgan knelt to pick up the orb anyway. It was another opportunity to practice with the golem arm, at least. He manipulated it carefully, mindful that the sphere was likely fairly delicate. If he concentrated, he could feel the slight imbalance in its weight that had allowed it to move. The arm suddenly came alive with a warning, just as it had done with the bottled lightning. Morgan frowned. He'd already been handling the orb for several seconds. There hadn't been a delay previously. What was different?

His answer came in the form of the sphere bursting into flame. Morgan yelped in surprise, the shock again slowing his reaction. Telash had already started laughing before he managed to drop the orb. It wasn't painful, exactly, not like the burn he'd gotten on the wrist of his good hand that first evening, but the way the golem conveyed we are damaged was thoroughly disconcerting.

"Figured out how to hold it," Telash said, looking very satisfied with himself.

"Very impressive," Morgan said. He brought the damaged hand up to take a better look, running the pad of his other thumb along the scorched part. There was no bleeding or swelling, and luckily no sickening smell of burning flesh, but the texture of the construct was interrupted and the continuous warning that it/he/they were damaged was making it difficult to think about anything else.

Repair, Morgan suggested. It was generally much more straightforward to create a new golem than to fix an existing one. He'd tried with moderate success recently, though, managing to extend the utility of a construct that he'd combined with a cold-enchanted mace. It had been pleasant to stand near the gentle waves of cold that had rolled off of it.

This was something almost entirely different. He grimaced as the golem drew a substantial amount of power from him all at once, making his breath catch in his throat. The shadows grew deep, leaping up momentarily at the edges of his vision. But although it set his heart to pounding, the golem carried out the repair quickly and the sense of alarm faded away as he ran his thumb over the newly smoothed skin. A strange aching sensation lingered at the site of the damage. Clearly it wasn't an ideal solution, but it could have been much worse.

"Don't be such a baby about it," Telash said. "Here, take this if you can't even handle a little burn." He produced a vial of reddish liquid from somewhere within the folds of his robes. Morgan was reminded of the last time Telash had offered him a potion. That hadn't gone particularly well.

"I appreciate the offer," he said carefully, "but no thank you. I don't-"

"What the hell is wrong with you? I'm trying to be considerate here. You don't trust me?"

"You did just light my hand on fire," Morgan pointed out.

"And now I'm giving you a potion to fix it, so what's the problem? You think I'm trying to poison you or something?"

"Trust is not the issue. I just don't... respond well to potions." Upon consideration, he actually didn't trust Telash not to poison him. But that hadn't been the basis for his refusal, so it wasn't really a lie.

"I knew it," Telash said, withdrawing the proffered vial with a calculating look. "All those weird scars, like Khaleel used to have. Got yourself hooked on the good stuff, did you? Find it doesn't work the same as it used to?"

"Something like that." Morgan hadn't met anyone by that name, but he had no desire to elaborate on his own situation. Hopefully Telash would accept the vague answer and move on.

"Should have said something sooner. I do know how to play nice; I'm not a monster."

"Phaedra thought you would learn quickly, but I didn't expect this kind of speed. It takes most acolytes at least a full day to reach a complete form like that." To be fair, most acolytes weren't active mages before they started training in geomancy. But that detail wasn't conducive to changing the subject, so Morgan didn't mention it.

Telash perked up. "Phaedra said that?"

Morgan wanted to wrap up the impromptu lesson. There was little chance that Phaedra's demonstration was still taking place, but he did want to more thoroughly examine the repair his arm had achieved. He had intended to flatter Telash enough to satisfy his ego, but he'd seized on the other part of the statement instead. This could still be workable, though.

"Yes. Reluctantly," he added, hoping to play on the man's apparent propensity for conflict. An expression he was beginning to recognize as determination settled on Telash's features.

"I'm going to rub it in her face," he declared. "One night, and I've already come this far. She's going to be furious." He sounded delighted at the prospect. "How far away can you be, before you can't control it any more?"

"That's a personal limit. Your answer will differ from mine." It would also depend on a number of other factors, but explaining those would both delay his departure and likely leave him annoyed.

"Fine, I'll figure it out on my own. Basically what I've been doing all night anyway." He stifled a yawn. "I might as well keep going in private, if you aren't going to be any help."

"I have been as much help as I can."

"Sure," Telash said, getting to his feet. He stared at Morgan for a couple of seconds, apparently coming to some sort of decision. "Thanks," he said finally, turning away. "I'll try to remember about your delicate condition," he added over his shoulder. "No promises, though."

"Thank you," Morgan said, watching him go. He still wouldn't be able to let his guard down, but it was a larger concession than he'd expected. Once the other mage was well out of sight, Morgan took stock of himself. It seemed the repair had been fairly costly. His energy was recovering nicely, but there were physical symptoms indicating that he would need to eat something sooner rather than later. That was unfortunate.

A lot had happened in the space of a single day, much of it interpersonal. Although it might be easier to beg a helping from whatever the communal meal had been, Morgan was nearing the limits of his tolerance for interaction. He set out into the jungle instead. There had been a small grove of fruit-bearing trees not too far to the northeast, nutrient-dense and easy enough to harvest. Then he could probably fit in another hour or two concentrating on his arm before having to rest for another day's work.

He crossed paths briefly with Ormus on his way out of the protected zone. They nodded a greeting to one another as they passed. Ormus took a few more steps, then stopped and turned slowly, an expression that looked like disbelief coming over his face as he lifted his torch for more light. His eyes were fixed on the golem arm as he stepped back towards him. Morgan lifted the arm, carefully bending the elbow to position the forearm for closer inspection. Ormus stared for a long moment, but made no motion to touch or otherwise examine it more closely. Finally, he shook his head with a chuckle.

"And they call me crazy." He showed all his teeth as he laughed, turning back to continue his journey. A reasonably positive reaction overall, Morgan decided, especially with the misgivings he had communicated earlier. He allowed himself a brief smile before he extinguished the growing spark of pride. That was a deceptively dangerous emotion, one he couldn't allow to cloud his judgment. It wouldn't do to lose focus now. They were getting close to their goal, and he was going to need to concentrate on the task at hand. Destroying Mephisto, or otherwise preventing the Prime Evils from uniting, was going to be a challenge. One he would be better equipped to face, now, but still far from easy.

#my writing #story: unbidden #burn tw #self harm mention tw #he's so happy right now

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yfere · 5 years

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Shipping Calculus! Live Updates from C2E65

Why no one started singing the K-I-S-S-I-N-G tree song during this episode, I have no idea. Thank you to @alarnia and @softazelma for helping with data entry. Masterpost here.

+500 to Liam O’Brien/The Sympathy Vote If anything, the investigative report humanized the man, what with his agonized expressions, the hard choices he’s making, the deals, trying desperately to hold onto his friendships. Sam Riegel seems like a robot in comparison, with very long bits. #VoteWithYourJohnson #LiamForPresident

-100 to Marisha Ray/Trustworthiness as the person in charge of the investigation into Liam O’Brien’s campaign, we expect a certain amount of clearheadedness and integrity, which does not include getting high before giving testimony. Fire her from the case! #VoteWithYourJohnson #LiamForPresident

+23 to Jester/Yasha for an adorkable conversation about Yasha’s hard rock harping career, using the imagination to handle hard feelings together, as all good Jester ships should. The offer to wipe Yasha’s memory again if there’s anything she doesn’t want to know or remember #ThatsLove, and Yasha channeling Jester’s slightly unhinged love of animals and peacemaking by speculating they could offer the udak some scritches to quell its murderous impulses. Yasha quoting Jester only about 500 times a day, worshipping the ground she walks on, believing she has the power to heal the grass, and then placing that grass into her pressed flower book to remember the moment with #ArtisticSolidarity.

+31 to Beau/Yasha, with a few Battle Aftercare Points for Yasha helping up Beau after the fight, and for an even more emotionally charged watch conversation that resulted in a Ljore Drop from Beau. Talking about past loves and betrayals, the “types” that Beau prefers. Yasha appreciating Beau’s lack of judgment, Beau only slightly ineffectively wielding her I’m-Horrible-Too trump card, Yasha saying she’s “seen” Beau “a lot.” Floating the idea that it is actually possible to move on from Zuala’s death. Beau offering to help Yasha dig up the body, because that’s not weird at all, That’s Love. Darlings. Points taken away because the focus of the conversation was almost entirely on other people they love and have loved, and Jester, which brings us to…

+10 to Beau/Yasha/Jester, as in the launch of the second major intra-party poly ship in the shipping calculus lab, we have two wlw who spend a substantial amount of their Lesbian Bonding Time just talking about how beautiful and perfect and incredible Jester Lavorre is. Fuck Caduceus, this Literal Saint walking amongst them can heal grass with her spit and her “radiant glow”. With the same logic, we can expect that her toenails cure poison, her kiss brings you back from the brink of death…Also, Jester lending Verbal Support to Yasha’s physical support after the gloomstalker battle, as Beau wrestles with embarrassment over not having done anything

+10 to Caleb/Fjord/Jester as our second poly ship gains points with Caleb saving both Fjord and Jester from plummeting to their deaths and Fjord taking the chance to thunderstep them both up the tree again!

+17 to Jester/Fjord but as usual, Fjord’s contribution to the Rescue-the-Jester operation looks a lot flashier, so he gets more of the Romance Credit. Not only that, but many points for a competitive tree-climbing adventure straight out of a romance novel where Fjord’s Need To Impress The Love Interest gives him enough adrenaline to actually beat out Jester on athletics, swinging her up safely into the branches like a magical green Tarzan. Fjord (and Beau) being lovingly sketched in Jester’s book so she can remember the moment forever. Excellent Battle Couple vibes in distracting and shooting down gloomstalkers while on the moorbounders, not once but twice. Fjord also made an admirable attempt to Rescue-the-Jester during the first gloomstalker attack, but Caduceus got +6 to Cockblocking for immediately assassinating the charmed gloomstalker before Fjord’s spell did any good. Fjord yelling at Nott for not listening to Jester. Plenty of point loss, however, because Fjord is never going to learn to love Jester’s animals, losing his cool and yelling about what her “fucking animal is doing” STOP, Fjord.

+5 to Jester/Caduceus, for the aforementioned gloomstalker assassination, and being #Blessed alongside Yasha and Fjord, but point loss for Caduceus rolling his eyes at Jester’s well-meaning attempt to spit the grass to life and saying “that’s not how it works,” saying “that’s not how it works” about the scrying despite having never succeeded in doing it himself, and for Jester insisting that the massive tree is an evil “vampire tree,” much to Caduceus’ dismay.

+15 to Caduceus/Arts-n-Crafts for sweetly weaving a sunhat for Yasha while everyone else does dumb shit like nearly getting themselves killed, damaging a holy tree and antagonizing the largest bird of prey in several miles’ radius. He’ll probably sit through whatever encounter happens next week continuing to weave that hat.

+20 to Sam Riegel/Heatstroke as he responds to Concerns over his sweating and over-warm getup by putting on more layers. I’d expect a President with some more self-preservation in him, but if he offs himself with poor costuming choices at least he’ll be taken out of the running, am I right? #VoteWithYourJohnson #LiamForPresident

+16 to Beau/Jester They also earn many Battle Points, as Jester sends her nastiest Guiding Bolts (according to Sam Riegel, an expression of love) rocketing towards the gloomstalker attacking Beau. Beau instantly thinking of Jester’s skill with art and asking her to copy the map, and Jester adorably sketching Beau as one of her favorite people up in the tree, besides thinking that Beau’s tree climbing skills are Incredibly Impressive, and sneaking alongside her and Fjord to get a better look at the roc nest. Point loss for Beau saying Jester’s map was “garbage” which, even though Beau meant the map itself and not Jester’s skill in copying it, Jester still took personally.

-10 to Caleb/The Mission as he confesses to “losing faith” during watch with Nott, feeling like they’re failing and they don’t know what they’re doing.

+25 to Caduceus/The Mission as despite the Wildmother telling him Things He Did Not Want To Hear during his Communing session, Caduceus gets a massive, massive sign he’s going in the right direction in the form of Melora’s tree, and a detailed vision of all the places he’s expected to go to when he sleeps that night.

+19 to Caduceus/Nature as Caduceus plays around in the dirt, pokes at some interesting moss for several minutes, and gets to hang out, utterly smitten with a massive tree that is the best thing ever look at it.

+4 to Caleb/Fjord as no one listens to Fjord’s desire for a short rest, and even his puppy eyes directed at Jester is not enough to sway them, until Caleb catches on to Fjord’s plight and uses his #ItPaysToBeADamselInDistress power to say he wants a short rest, and shift the party to his favor. Caleb wanting some light to read his now-apparently-waterproof book for the Tiny Hut, and Fjord eagerly offering to cast a spell to make Caleb and everything around him darker. It’s the thought that counts? Point loss for Fjord ignoring Caleb’s advice against antagonizing the chasing gloomstalkers.

-2 to Caleb/Cat-Shaped Creatures as asking Frumpkin-the-Vulture with his razor claws to knead and drape himself on people is not nearly as comforting as actually having a real-life cat do it. However, +10 to Caleb/Vulture Culture for that and for turning himself into a huge bird of prey to cart Nott around.

-5 to Jester/Cat-Shaped Creatures (also -5 to Jester/Pets) as despite attempting to comfort Yarnball after the first gloomstalker fight, Yarnball remains spooked enough to break formation when they encounter them again, at which point Jester channels Alison Hargreeves vibes by lying and using mind control to get the poor thing back in line.

-4 to Fjord/Caduceus as Fjord gets a special, potentially life-saving visit from the Wildmother in his dreams, delivering him for the moment from Uk’otoa….and repays her by fucking up one of her most sacred places on the planet with repeated wood-shattering Thundersteps. Caduceus can’t watch.

-40 to Fjord/Uk’otoa as Uk’otoa now has a schedule of bothering Fjord every one to two weeks. I shudder to think how Uk’otoa is going to react once the Wildmother can’t protect Fjord anymore, now that he’s escaped from their clutches once.

+1 to Fjord/His Inner Bard for motivational rapping of...questionable quality

+3 to Caleb/Caduceus as Caleb very sweetly refuses Caduceus “wasting” his light spells on him, asks him about his feelings towards the tree. Caduceus looking to Caleb before anyone else to see if investigating the turtle shell is a good idea.

+4 to Nott/Jester as Nott offers some excellent advice on how to get ones’ way—ask the same question over and over again until you get the answer you want, and if that fails, do what you want anyway. Jester being the Most Concerned with Nott’s drinking, and alongside Caleb successfully steering her away from a suicidal (though heroically romantic) standoff against the gloomstalkers. Nott helping Jester and the others float safely down, and instinctively trying to save Jester and Fjord during their first fall. Bonding over an appreciation for big square dicks, which would only, and I mean only count for point gains between these two individuals. Point loss for Nott calling Jester “crazy” and saying she’ll scar Luke for life, which is probably just a deflection but a hurtful one. Jester catching Nott after she fails to climb the tree and just barely managing to stop herself from being negative and saying “Good effort!” instead, because Jester can’t help but feel like it’s her job to Be Encouraging.

+30 to Nott/Keeping It Together Maybe as she’s totally fine, she’s just going to drink a lot and nearly kill herself trying to stand off against the gloomstalkers and go stealthing alone in the middle of the night and rip the heart out of her enemies—she’s fine guys. It’s all under control

+2 to Clerics/Loneliness, as both Jester and Caduceus are abandoned to take a watch alone. Even so, their love for the others shines through, with Jester phoning up Kiri, and Caduceus preparing breakfast for everyone.

+1 to Caleb/Jester as Caleb tries to gently defend Jester to Nott, a few different times—a difficult thing, to dissuade Nott of anything!

+25 to Nott the Best Detective Agency/Detective Work and Beau/Nerdom as Beau is the one to find the map of the area to have Jester copy, alongside Nott’s excellent vision catching Melora’s tree at a distance. Then, Nott’s investigation of the tree alone demonstrating Admirable Detective Curiosity, while Beau is the only person to recall exactly what the tree is and its significance to the Wildmother and the Calamity. Jester finding their target running his hands along some mountain in the Prenumbra Range, looking for the correct place to put the emblem that he bought from the scout courier.

+3 to Essik/The Mighty Nein as he is “proud” that they’re hanging out cheerfully in the middle of the Badlands. At this point Essik seems to have just accepted that they’re a dumpster fire and has resolved to pat them on the head so long as they do the bare minimum and keep themselves alive. A few days from now they’ll give him a call from the bottom of the ocean, yes yes that’s very good children, we’re very proud of you here and that’s what I’ll tell anyone who asks because it’s not like I staked any part of my reputation on backing you to the Bright Queen or anything.

#fjorester #beauyasha #beaujester #lavorregard #bashter #widofjorester #widofjord #fjorclay #nott the best detective agency #widojest #jestasha #critical role #cr spoilers #clayleb #shipping calculus #late and lacking in jokes because I've been busy feeling sad about pirates #and work #clayvorre

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pyrhiic · 5 years

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traitor au. it all adds up, eventually. not even atlas can hold up the world for forever.

i. his first week as an independent hero, toshinori drags twenty people out of a building & stands by the curb, checking over their pulses & any for smoke inhalation, thinking through the extra training he had insisted on taking because what use was a hero if they saved someone only for them to die ?

distantly, he wishes that the bystanders would put their phones away, make sure emergency services were on the way or that they wouldn’t be caught by the wreckage or anything other than what they were doing.

ii. toshinori smiles at the camera pointed at his face, fighting the urge to frown & berate the people behind it. three injured with the perp himself needing to be intubated, & all the citizens can focus on is him taking them down, appearing on the scene. the perpetrator being unwilling didn’t matter, the victims being children didn’t register, only him showing up.

sometimes he hated that he had become a hero. maybe if he hadn’t, people would treat them less like celebrities.

iii. he had yet to ever see all for one face to face. the man was always obscured behind a screen, gone just as he appeared, masked, hidden. “ you seem tired, all might. are you growing weary of carrying that quirk ? ”

toshinori punches the screen in front of him, sending the decrepit television flying. the warehouse is empty of any leads to all for one, only henchmen & abandoned operations to be found. another failure.

iv. there’s a woman sobbing as the police take her information, rubbing at her face & trying & failing to calm. toshinori sits next to her, a pillar of comfort until she tires herself out, “ it will be alright, ma’am. no one will be able to harm you. you’ll be able to go home to your family soon, ” he wants to draw her in but knows it might not be welcomed. the woman, young girl really, shakes her head, shuddering, “ i-i don’t want to go back, i can’t, they’ll try to force me to marry him --- ” she hides her face in his side, sobbing again.

when he asked the lead officer what would be done, they told him that the she’d be sent back home. bringing up her circumstances garnered him a shrug, & the comment that many of these cases fabricated stories for sympathy.

he goes back to the office that evening sick to his stomach with another lingering feeling of failure. the laws leave no room to help desperate people.

v. toshinori comes home to an envelope sitting at his doorstep.

he’s come to learn over his years serving as a hero that all for one is rooted in everything, though he’s subtle, pervasive. if one dug deep, he can be traced to illegal fronts, legal businesses, drug runs, homeless shelters. his connections run to just about every business imaginable, so long as it influences society in some way.

he turns the envelope in his hands. all for one’s writing: you’re noticing, then. are you open to talking, now ?

hell no. he’d die before ever entertaining the idea, but still — toshinori... doesn’t understand. all for one was supposed to be an evil mastermind, & come to find out he was running programs to keep people off the streets & doing it with no one the wiser. he killed nana, taunted him, ruins lives & then improves others. why the fencing ? does he get something out of it ? is it leading to some bigger scheme he’s not seeing ?

vi. toshinori goes on patrol the next morning to solemn heroes & a city block being blocked off. he doesn’t know what had happened, & asks one of the heroes he passes by what’s wrong.

“ someone jumped earlier tonight, around dawn. got on the roof somehow & leapt. people are saying it’s because they were quirkless. ” toshinori tries to blink through the fuzz in his mind, “because they were…? ” she gives him a sympathetic look, “ i guess you wouldn’t notice since… well, quirkless have the highest rate of suicide in the nation. this isn’t really uncommon, even if they chose a flashier way to go. ” she glances at the tower, “ could have chosen a way that wouldn’t disturb anyone else, at least… ”

“ what is the hell is wrong with you ? ” it slips out before he can stop it, & he winces, covers his mouth as she gapes at him. forces a smile & apology & jumps away. he spends the next nine hours tense & struggling to keep a smile on his face. when he gets home, he reads through statistics, news articles, forum threads debating the point of “them” nowadays before it’s too much & he’s sick, has to close the browser & curl up in his bed.

if he had been born a few years later, would he have gone the same way ?

vii. another envelope. let’s talk.

toshinori sits in his living room. he thinks he finally knows why all for one did it all, why he was so adamant on tearing heroes & society from their foundations.

they kept failing to do what they were supposed to.

all might upholds the image of heroes. without you, faith in the industry would be constantly crumbling. was that a good thing, or a bad thing ? all for one’s words plague him as he absently fiddles with an all might action figure, turning it this way & that, moving the arms.

he couldn’t. could he ? no. he’d never be forgiven. except there weren’t many to beg forgiveness from, not anymore, were there ? nighteye. torino. he didn’t have anyone else. it’d feel like he’d be abandoning them. but it was getting harder & harder to smile during patrols. no one had noticed. media attention had dropped to zero on hero misconduct, societal issues. no one cared. there was another suicide, that morning. no one paid attention.

he crushes the figure in his hand. the plastic snaps like flimsy paper. no. getting rid of the system is just a step in the more extreme direction. no more heroes.

viii. he finally agrees to all for one’s plan after going on patrol & having to break up a fight between todoroki & another hero who had gotten fed up with his attitude, until they nearly burnt down the park around them; after coming home to read the news & seeing that another suicide —

he’s done.

ix. “ do you feel complete now ? ” all for one inquires after a quiet moment, “ at my side, all for one & one for all ? does it not feel right ? ”

“ it’s a complete phrase, ” toshinori replies flatly after some thought, face turned toward the bleeding horizon.

sidenotes !

* all might never kills any civilian with his own hands. think stain & his ideology: he’s out to strictly destroy heroes. at first it’s just about permanently disabling them, but the further all for one twists & breaks him down, he begins killing outright.

* all might still gets injured, but it’s not by all for one. instead, it’s by a group of heroes

* more tba !

#v. atlas fell.#i. drabble.#HHHH IT'S DONE FINALLYYY #i'm still.... a little iffy about it..... but i'm sticking with it for now dlfkgflgk #this is all background/set up info & i'll post more info as i develop the verse more #w people i am. soso excited for this tbh #this is the only way i could think of #all might ever realistically going dark side.... i literally cant bring myself to write him #as a full fledged villain so i thought the morally ambiguous path wld be best #afo & am teamup all of you are going to die #FDL;KGFL;K;#thank u to connor for listening to my rambling & convincing me to go thru w this ;;#pls... plot w me h #suicide cw #ask to tag /

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e350tb · 5 years

Text

Steven Universe: Marooned Together - Chapter Thirty-Four

(thanks as always to @real-fakedoors for proofreading)

Whatever one might say about the general competence of the Human Resistance, they were at least capable of barricading a street.

The main street from the museum to the docks, never that wide to begin with, had been locked down into chokepoints and defensive walls made of scrap and wood. At the end of the street, just before the dockyard itself, the Resistance had set up a machine gun post - it’s position allowed it to practically dominate the entire avenue.

As a result, when Stevonnie and their friends emerged onto the road, they were immediately met by withering gun and laser fire. The fusion ducked down, scampering behind a dumpster.

Slowly, they raised their shield up - it was immediately met by a burst of machine gun fire.

“Okay,” they said, “Not gonna be easy…”

“Argh!”

Peedee slammed into the dumpster next to them, clutching his arm. Stevonnie winced and fought their gag reflex - a bullet had gone into his left arm, and the wound now oozed blood. Peedee seemed almost not to notice - he was tugging on the bottom of his shirt with his right hand.

“Peedee, are you…”

There was a loud rip as Peedee tore off part of his shirt, handing the fragment to Stevonnie.

“Tie this ‘round my arm,” he said, “It’s gonna have to be a bandage for now.”

“Peedee, you can’t…”

“They have Jeff,” reminded Peedee, “So yes, I can.”

Stevonnie nodded, taking the rag and beginning to wrap it around Peedee’s arm.

There was a dull clang as Blue brought the crowbar down on the soldier’s helmet. He didn’t cry out or moan, but fell down like a puppet with its strings cut.

Blue stared down at the unconscious man, a strange sense of exhilaration running through her. Pearls did not fight, especially not against authority figures, and yet here she was, resisting them, standing up for herself. It was terrifying. It was obscene.

It was liberating. It was thrilling.

“Mike? What was that noise?”

She heard the footsteps of the other soldier as she returned to the apartment basement. She held the crowbar tighter - just one more. She could do this. Briskly, she slipped behind the doorframe.

The soldier walked in, glancing down at her fallen comrade.

“Mike? The fuck is-”

CLANG.

She fell face first to the ground.

For a few moments, Blue stood there, taking stock of her situation. The terror was giving way, submerged by this strange sense of freedom. If her Diamond could see her now.

No. Not her Diamond. Not anymore.

She knelt down, picking up the soldier’s weapon. It was a short ‘firearm’ as the humans called it - mostly metal, with a big drum sticking out the bottom. An inscription was written on the side - ‘Thompson Machine Carbine.’ She wondered if she should use it.

“Mike? Lauren?”

A voice echoed from outside the apartment.

Yes, Blue thought - it might be worth using.

Captain Franks was marched out onto the dockyard, an eerie sort of finality ringing in the air. Gunfire, shouts, mechanisms moving and destroying - he could hear it all ring out in the distance, dulled beneath his roaring pulse. It kept time with his boots, a metronome of cacophonous pace, like a runner sprinting the last leg of a race with the knowledge the journey was almost over.

His feet fell in sharp steps, disciplined like a soldier.

It was fitting, he supposed, that he would be disciplined like a soldier at the very end, too. He took some pride in it - he knew nobody watching had any respect for him anymore, but he could at least be respectable to himself.

Those human denizens of New Earth that hadn’t joined the ‘renegades’ fighting just a block away had been forced to attend the solemn occasion - the executions of two of the ‘arch-traitors of New Earth.’

There was no applause, no booing, nothing. Those who supported the Human Resistance regarded the sight with quiet approval - those who didn’t turned their faces away, unable to make a sound. The sound of the Captain’s footsteps on the concrete floor was eerie, ethereal, silent but deafening.

Commander Lewis walked behind, flanked by two others, her face set in grim satisfaction as they reached the makeshift stake - really a lamppost. Quietly, her underlings set about tying Franks to the post, while four troopers marched out in front of him, rifles in their arms.

“Captain Lewis?”

Lewis turned. The officer on the left was taking his hand off his earpiece.

“Pro-Gem elements are advancing this way,” he said, “We’ve got them locked down on the main street.”

“Keep them there,” replied Lewis.

She pursed her lips.

“Bring out Fryman,” she added, “We’ll do both at once.”

“You don’t think our men can hold them?” asked the officer.

Lewis shot him a meaningful look.

“Yes ma’am,” he said hurriedly, “Of course, ma’am. Bringing him up now, ma’am.”

He hurried away. Lewis frowned after him, arms crossed.

Perhaps it was wrong to lack faith in her soldiers, her loyal underlings. But as an officer, she’d learned the lessons of experience - and sometimes, that meant showing a little discretion.

Another pillar of dirty water shot high into the air, raining down on the troopers below. Lapis summoned forth another mighty, liquescent fist, ready to slam into the machine gun post - she frowned as it came out much smaller than expected, serving only to drench the crew, not knock them out.

“Come on,” she growled, “Where’s the rest of it?!”

“I think you used most of the sewer water on the museum goons,” replied Jenny, huddled under a crate that had been pushed into the street, “Can’t you gather that gunk up?”

“I could, but it takes time,” replied Lapis, “How long do we-”

There was a long burst of fire - not a ratatatat, but a long ripping sound that made Lapis wince. Across the street, she saw Stevonnie behind a wooden barricade that was barely tall enough for them to crouch behind. The gun fired again, and bullets bounced off the wooden surface - they winced, pushing their shield up to protect their head.

“Stevonnie!”

Lapis bolted across the road. The rip came again, and she heard the cracks of bullets shooting past - crack! Whip! Crack! She dove down next to Stevonnie, huddling behind the wooden panelling.

“Lapis, what’re you doing?” demanded Stevonnie.

“I-I don’t know, you needed help!” replied Lapis.

“You could’ve been poofed!”

“I…”

Lapis shook her head, pushing herself further down to avoid the Resistance’s fire.

“I can’t leave you to get hurt,” she said, “Not again. We do this together, Stevonnie.”

“Lapis…”

“When I said I loved you,” continued Lapis, “I… I meant it! And maybe that makes things different, and maybe this is dumb, but I… I want to be with you, Stevonnie! Because… because…”

Stevonnie nodded, taking her hands.

“...because your my partner,” they said.

“Yeah,” replied Lapis, “And I love you.”

There was a momentary silence, save of course for the sound of battle. Eventually, however, Stevonnie’s face twisted into a grin.

“Lapis,” they said, “Do you trust me?”

Lapis glanced down at Stevonnie’s gem, jaw dropping slightly as she saw it begin to glow. Was this… did they… should she…

Lapis looked back up and nodded determinedly.

“Let’s do it.”

Even for a Lapis Lazuli, gathering moisture from the ground can be time consuming. It’s not hard, not even slightly, but separating water molecules from dirt can be a long job. So it was therefore concerning to the Human Resistance when all of that dampness from Lapis’ first attack simply lifted into the air - or it would have been, had all eyes not been drawn to a far flashier sight.

An amorphous blob of light, swirling and warping beautifully, lifted up from behind one of the barricades. All fire ceased - Jenny, Buck and Peedee gazed up in awe, the Resistance in shock, and Garnet? Garnet was beaming.

The form that emerged was about twice as tall as Stevonnie, with light purple skin, strong, thick arms and legs. They wore a sleeveless high-collared jacket - purple with a thick pale yellow line under the collar and a purple ribbon behind. They had a black belt, and a lighter purple dress over heavy boots. Their hair was poofy and fluffy, about shoulder length, and pale freckles lined their face. Slowly, they looked down at their body, testing their arms, their legs and their face.

They closed their eyes and smiled.

“Beryl,” they said, their voice soft and quiet, “My name is Beryl.”

They looked behind them, at the flowing wall of water slowly rising into the air, and then back to the Human Resistance, still staring in stunned silence. They floated upwards, wings emerging from their back.

“You have my friend,” they said matter-of-factly.

The officer in charge shook his head and pointed at them, his face read.

“What’re you waiting for?!” he thundered, “Fire!”

Beryl threw their hands forward.

The wall of water burst outwards, flying over their friends and down onto the Human Resistance. It swept them aside like bowling pins, sending them hurtling towards the dockyard…

“Ready…”

The firing squad stood before Captain Franks and Jeff, their weapons at the ready. Lewis crossed her arms as she waited for the moment. Franks stared at the floor, unable to meet their eyes - Jeff stared them down, bound fists clenched as crescent moon impressions dug into his palms.

“Aim…”

“You’ll never win,” hissed Jeff.

“Oh, we will,” sneered Lewis.

“F…”

There was the sound of a gate being kicked open, followed by a long burst of gunfire. The firing squad hit the dirt, and Lewis ducked behind a crate.

Blue Pearl stood at the main entrance to the docks, carrying a Tommy Gun. She had just fired it into the air to attract their attention; she wore a somewhat frightened, somewhat wild scowl. She swallowed visibly as the guns of the Human Resistance trained on her, but stood her ground.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” demanded Lewis.

“I… I’m… I’m rebelling,” she replied.

Lewis nodded, clapping sarcastically.

“Bravo,” she said, “Men, open…”

She trailed off, a deep rumbling in the air. The ground beneath her began to shake.

“Oh god,” she muttered, “What the hell, no-”

A wave of brown water smashed through the gate of the dockyard, neatly skipping over Blue and the audience and roaring straight for Lewis and her soldiers. She screamed in terror and frustration, grabbing the sides of the crate as the watery sledgehammer smashed down. For a moment, all was dirty brown - the putrid taste streaming around her nostrils and mouth, the force threatening to tear her free from her only anchor…

Then it was done, and she was lying on the concrete floor, coughing and spluttering and looking up in shock and horror at the figure hovering before them.

Beryl looked down on her, a frown on their face. They seemed not angry but disappointed, even a little frustrated, like a teacher dealing with an out-of-control kindergartener. They crossed their arms and shook their head.

“It’s over, Lewis,” they said, “You’ve lost.”

Lewis scowled, reaching for her gun.

“If you think the Human Resistance is going down without a fight, you’ve got another thing…”

“If you wanna not get shot at with disrupted cannons, I’d recommend you don’t do that.”

Lewis turned around, her eyes wide. A golden ship hovered above the dockyards, its weapons trained on the gathered Resistance. She had seen it once before, in the very, very early days of New Earth - a stolen ship, piloted by a pink human.

The Sun Incinerator.

“God, I can’t believe I’m happy to see Lars.”

Peedee had pushed his way through the crowd to join Beryl, his friends not far behind.

“Never!” exclaimed Lewis, “We will never surrender! We will fight you on the…”

There was a series of clacks, and Lewis looked around. One by one, each member of the Resistance was dropping their weapon and slowly raising their hands.

“...no… no, no, no, no, NOOO!” Lewis bellowed, “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be defending humanity!”

She gesticulated wildly in Beryl’s direction.

“They took everything from us!” she thundered, “They took our home! They took our lives! They took… they took my family! Don’t you care?! Don’t you care about how far down they’ve torn us?! DON’T YOU CARE?!”

“I do.”

Lewis looked up at Beryl. They had lowered down now, and were kneeling down next to her.

“I lost both my dads and my mom,” they explained, “I… I saw them…”

They wiped their eyes.

“I do care,” they said, “I care every day. But then we found each other…”

They glowed, splitting back into two forms, still holding hands.

“I found Lapis,” Stevonnie continued, “And we… we moved on. I’m still sad about it, everyone is, but… we have to move on.”

“But you don’t understand!” shouted Lewis, “You’re a hybrid! A freak! I…”

“Lewis.”

Peedee stepped up, striding purposefully towards Lewis, gun in hand and face set into a scowl.

“I lost everything too,” he said, “I lost my dad. I lost my brother. I lost my truck. But you know what? All these gems you hate - they helped me rebuild my life. That arch-traitor you want to shoot? He was only light I had for a long, long time. So don’t you dare - don’t you dare assume to know who doesn’t care.”

“Fryman, I…”

Peedee raised his gun, pressing it to her temple.

“Peedee, don’t!” exclaimed Stevonnie.

Peedee stood there, finger on the trigger, glaring down at the pale, shaking form of Lewis.

“You take a ship,” he said, “And you leave. And if you ever, ever come near my husband again, I swear to god I won’t be so hesitant.”

He lowered his gun and turned away.

Garnet had just finished untying Jeff - the mayor of New Earth raced over to Peedee, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Peedee! I thought… I thought I’d never see you again!” he exclaimed.

“Jeff, never scare me like that again, okay?” asked Peedee.

“I promise…”

Peedee leaned forward, pulling Jeff into a kiss. The crowd around them broke into applause as they savoured the moment, losing themselves in sweet, sweet relief.

Shaking his head, Franks climbed to his feet. He looked around at the confusion and wreckage, sighing heavily.

“I think it goes without saying that the Human Resistance is dissolved,” he said.

“Franks,” replied Jenny, “That might be the first smart thing you’ve ever done.”

#steven universe #marooned together #stevonnie #lapis lazuli #peedee fryman #jeff #garnet #jenny pizza #buck dewey #blue pearl #lapvonnie #jeffdee

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driftsetadrift · 6 years

Text

Some Time in the Future...

It’s morning, when Gasket Turns on the open light to their Cafe and Treat shop ‘A Moments Peace’. Already a half dozen mechs waiting outside ready to get a morning snack and a little pick me up for their day. Gasket returns to the counter, ready to take orders as his Mate brings out another tray of fresh pastries, the latest batch for the morning.

“Hello love~” Followed by a little peck to Gasket’s cheek as he passed him on his way out of the kitchen. A common sight inside the little shop as the pair was just as much in love now as they had ever been.

Their patrons for the morning consisted of mostly regulars, used to seeing the sight as they got their morning orders and sat in their favored spots to enjoy them. Outside of the six it was a quiet morning, and Gasket found himself glancing out the window at the botanical garden just on the other side of the shop. Another of his partners projects, though it was mostly run by others now.

It has been years, decades, centuries even since the end of the war, and the last of the firefights. Drift and Gasket had Built a home on the reborn Cybertron to raise their children as their people finally all returned home. It took years for them to come back, and even longer for them to put aside animosities in favor of growth. Some anger and distrust remained in The City but most mecha kept the war in the past, in favor of moving forward.

Drift has used the funds he’s acquired during the war to build his dream and give back as much as possible. The cafe was his and Gasket’s to build, though slow at first and oft poorly received, nonetheless mecha warmed up to the quiet pleasant space.

No fighting or arguing was allowed on the premise, and at the loss of what turned out to be some amazing treats to the local if they ignored the rule, it became a peaceful place for many of The City residents to visit.

Drift had when he bought the land for the shop, bought more than enough, with lots of room for a the Garden for mecha to enjoy. He found, with help, many of the remaining examples of native Cybertronian Flora, as well as healthy non invasive species from other planets. With help he planned out and planted nearly everything inside of the garden while his shop was getting established. Focused on his Shop as it grew however much of the maintenance had fallen to his children and volunteers, until the garden itself, though owned by Drift, was almost entirely volunteer run.

It was beautiful now, containing many of the Crystal Trees Drift was so fond of as well as a small handful of colorful earth trees and others from across his travels. Many visited, taking a moment to revel in the peaceful gardens, surrounded by nature both familiar and strange.

A soft ‘Hello?” brought Gasket back out of his daydreaming though. The patron chuckled, another regular. “Mind wandering again Gasket?”

The patron didn’t even need to order, Gasket knew his prefered drink. “Yes Ah suppose Ah was. That Garden out dere has gotten so beautiful.” Finishing off the drink and handing it over. “Double sweet extra strong energon tea with a shot of copper powder.”

“You know me so well Gasket.” Taking their cup and sipping on it. “Hey I think you’re kids are coming. Those two are... hard to miss.” The customer chuckled and took their seat with a Datapad in hand.

Sure enough the talkative duo stepped up to the door, chittering and carrying on. A ‘Boof’ was heard, before they were greeted by the massive Cyberhound hanging out in his normal place under a roofed building just to the side of the cafe.

“Yes yes Hello Tank! Who’s a good boy? You are! Whos my best boy! Such a good pupper!” Fast Track carried on greeting her childhood best friend.

Flash also gave him an affectionate pat and hug before heading inside. “I’ll go see if dad and Sire can get some things started for us while you continue your love affair with the dog.” It was greeted with a stuck out glossa, to which he rolled his optics and stepped through the door.

“Flash!” Gasket came around the corner to greet his son with a hug and a kiss to his forhelm. “Good ta see ya! An your sister, when she’s done with Tank at least.” Looking through the window as Fast Track was practically laying on top of Tank to scratch his belly. They both chuckled at the scene.

“Yeah I guess she does miss him when she’s on the road. They were inseparable when we were sparklings.” Still smiling at the heartwarming but rediculous scene. “She’s going to have to wash up again, I made her wash the road film and grease off of her frame before we came here, now she’s getting all dirty rolling around with the dog.”

There was a stark contrast between the brother and sister duo. Track’s paint was mostly yellow and white, not overly bright and with small knicks and scratches. Fast Track had gone into racing, As well as engineering with a goal of breaking her idol Blurr’s records. She didn’t much care for appearances, focused more of her downtime on making her, and her team’s frames faster and more efficient, even shaving time off of Velicitron natives.

In stark contrast stood Flash, true to his name he stood in his parents cafe glittering in the light. A dancer by trade, thanks to his parentage he was, incredibly flexible. Mecha came from all over Cybertron to watch his shows. Not bad considering his career started as an exotic dancer just to annoy his Dad.

Long had he known he was adopted, though it hadn’t changed his relationship with his parents in the slightest, it did encourage him to pursue a flashier paintjob. The bright reds oranges and yellows paying homage to the Rodimus he came from, with his Dads signature Finials. About the only thing the siblings had in common. He was draped in fine bits of cloth and jewelry, soft sheer fabric hung from his hips, topped with a belt dangling with flashy golds and silvers, that happened to jingle as he walked.

“Ya know how your Dad feels about the stuff that makes noise in the shop Flash.” Gasket pointed out, to which Flash rolled his optics. “I know, I know. But it is my look.” Shifting from one hip to the other, belt making a soft jingling noise.

“Hey Flash! Drift was out of the kitchen again, replacing the few holes that had already formed in his bakery case. “Alright last batch for the morning!” Setting his tray down and coming around the counter to give his son a big hug.

Flash tried to remain dignified, which immediately went away as soon as his pedes weren’t touching the floor. “Ha haha! Dad come on! Put me down! Daaaaad!” Pedes wiggling and jewelry rattling.

Drift finally set him down, pressing a kiss to his helm and smiling. “Its sooooo good to see you kids! Well, To see you, Track’s out there mauling the dog with affection I see.” She was on the ground covered in dust and with Tank bouncing playfully around her. “You two couldn’t be any more different.” Drift sighed, before pointing to the belt. “Keep it quiet or take it off.”

“Yeah yeah I know Dad.” Removing the rattly accessory and setting it on a table. “You are so weird about this! Its not even that noisy!”

“It is when you’re around your sister.”

“Okay true.” Track, though shorter than Flash, had taken to picking him up and shaking him back an forth just to make him jingle and rattle because she could.

It was about then when Track looked in and waived at them, who were all staring at her as she wrestled herself free of Tank. She trotted back to the door, to which Drift stopped her in the entrance. “Hey Sire!”

“Hello Fast Track. I’m really happy to see you and I would love to hug you, but there is no way you are entering the shop looking like that.” Track glanced down at her now, mostly grey frame.

“Oh... yeah... I’ll go hose off.” Turning around to head to the closest hose.

“Ah’ll get her a towel, you too go ahead and visit.” Gasket disappeared into the back, only to reemerge and follow Fast Track with a towel in hand.

“Never changes.” Drift chuckled and wrapped an arm around his son’s shoulders. “Its good to see you two, especially together. You guys having time to hang out is rare anymore.”

“I know, Track is all over the place with her career and I’m booked so often, but taking a vacation together was a good idea. Get to come see you guys, check on the garden hang out like we used too. I miss it.”

“Well we just opened the shop for the day, We’ll be here for a while, Tonight we’ll all go do something together okay? I gotta go take care of a customer.” Patting his shoulder and heading back behind the counter as Gasket and Track returned.

“Track honestleh, you could have waited to wrestle with Tank until after.”

“But I haven’t seen him in soooo loooong! I couldn’t possibly wait on more second!”

Gasket just sighed and took the towel. “Just stay clean for a bit okay? We’ll bring you two out something to eat in a bit.” Bapping Flash with the towel as he walked by.

“Fiiiiine. But we all go do something later right?”

“Dad already said that was the plan. So we’ll just hang out around here. I can’t wait to catch up finally.”

“Well, not in the cafe all day right?” Track was never one for staying put. “We’ll see how the garden is coming too. Track, you really need to learn the patience thing.”

“Nu uh, Gotta go gotta move. Its the racer way.”

“Its the spazz way!”

“I’m not a spazz!”

“You are such a spazz!”

To which this argument carried on for the next five minutes. Siblings never change, famous or not, they will always be family.

One happy family together again for at least the evening, enjoying their company, and catching up. Though the visit is short, at least they always have a home to come back to and can visit when they please.

Just another slice of life in a happily ever after ending for the family. And they couldn’t be happier.

#drabble #future drift #drifts pastry shop

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