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toyybox · 5 months

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Spiderwebs #19: Tape X (Rorschach)

Masterlist

content: lab whump, captivity, immortal whumpee, spiders, hallucinations, bad treatment of hallucinations, briefly implied death of a child, implied child abuse

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“Do you see that?” he asked. “Size of Texas, I swear.”

Heather only frowned in response. By his estimate, it had been two days since the last experiment, if you could call it that. Two days since the paralysis agent. They had gone through several more rounds of drugs, with varying results. He had eaten three breakfasts, two lunches, and two dinners. Or was it three dinners and two breakfasts? Did Heather ever give him brunch? Anyway, some time had passed. It appeared that, at some point in between those languid hours, a spider had appeared in Jackie’s room.

It was a normal spider, all things considered. Not aggressive at all, but it was larger than he would like. About the side of his hand. Black, furry, and completely still. Not quite as fat as a tarantula, but not any less disconcerting. He’d only seen spiders like that in Halloween stores.

Now, don’t take this information the wrong way. Jackie was no arachnophobe. He actually had a grudging respect for spiders—somebody had to deal with all those fruit flies and centipedes, after all. But Jackie was no entomologist, either. That respect only extended to a certain distance. The arachnid was on the wall across from the bed, and the basement was spacious, but that was still too close for him. He was starting to feel more and more claustrophobic by the day. The room might as well have been a closet. His new eight-legged roommate definitely wasn’t helping things.

“What do you mean?” Heather asked, when he didn’t supply an explanation.

“On the wall.” Jackie gestured his head to the spider’s direction. “Right there. The spider.”

For the first time, Heather did not look angry or smug, or even bored, but instead confused. “Spider? What spider?”

The spider did not move. It remained an intimidating, fuzzy black shape out of the corner of his eye. Was Heather trying to mock him or what? Weird way of going about it. “The spider on that wall. Do you think it’s a tarantula? Are there any tarantulas in America?”

Heather glanced at the wall. Then back at Jackie. Then back at the wall. Then back at Jackie. Then back at the wall. Then back at—

“What are you doing?” Jackie snapped. “Haven’t you ever seen a spider before?”

“Are you trying to be funny? That’s a blank wall.”

Alright. He’d play along if it made her happy. “Sure. Can you get it out of here, though? Buy some bug spray. It’s creeping me out.”

There was that self-righteous rage again, though it was less razor-edged than usual. “Don’t lie to me. You know what I’ll do if you lie.”

“Yeah, I know, of course I fucking know, but I’m not lying. It’s right there.” He punctuated this statement with a few curt gestures. “Can’t you see it?”

“No.”

Jackie hesitated.

“There is no spider,” Heather continued. “Are you sure you’re not just…” She didn’t finish this sentence, seemingly at a loss for the alternative explanation.

“Whatever.” It wasn’t a big deal. Spiders were harmless, especially to an immortal like him. “Forget I said anything. Why are you here? Another experiment?”

“Yes, but I don't know if you're… ready to do the experiment."

“Ready?” Jackie should have been delighted by this opinion, but Heather’s apparently genuine worry was making him nervous. He felt the strange urge to convince her otherwise. “Why wouldn’t I be ready?”

And now she was giving him an odd look. The way people look at little kids who don’t understand certain concepts, asking where Mister Whiskers went after getting run over by an 18-wheeler. Something like condescending pity. Jackie glowered right back at her.

“Okay,” she said after a moment’s pause. “Tell me what you see on that wall.”

“What do you see?”

“Just answer the question.”

“It’s—“ He made a few indignant gestures towards the wall. “It’s a spider! Big black thing? With the—it’s just a spider, okay? What do you want me to tell you?”

“Where, exactly, is this spider?” She approached the wall. “Over here? Am I hot or cold?”

“More to the left.”

She shifted. “Is this it?”

“Yeah.”

Her palm smacked the wall.

The spider skittered away—the only motion it had made since its debut—but it wasn’t quite right. Spiders didn’t move like that. It was more the motion of a fluttering cloth, light and liquid, practically weightless. It stopped a few inches from her hand.

Jackie blinked again, hard, as if that would somehow right this visual wrong.

“Do you believe me now?” Heather asked patiently. Patiently, as if Jackie were a live wire that needed calming down. “It’s not real.”

He didn’t know how to reply to that. It looked real, but didn’t all hallucinations? Was he hallucinating? Why? He felt phantom touches sometimes, in the gray area between sleep and starting awake, sometimes saw a shadow figure or two, but those brief imprints barely counted as hallucinating. Never an entire spider. Never as realistic as this. Never for so long—two days, if he counted correctly. Forty-eight hours.

Oh well. He’d gone insane. That was the only explanation. It would have happened sooner or later. Really, this place would drive anyone mad. Repeating that routine over and over, stuck in a single room. At least this new roommate would bring a change of pace to Jackie’s life—a spider here and there to shake up the monotony.

“I’m sure it’ll go away,” he finally managed. “Can I have breakfast now?”

“Yes.” Heather gave him a brief nod, although she had a distracted flicker to her voice. “Tell me if anything changes.”

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He waited, glaring at the not-spider all the while. She returned with a plate of French toast and, of course, more pills. New ones. Two pale blue capsules, with a number printed on the side—39 250 mg, whatever that meant.

Jackie wasn’t even hungry. It was just something he said to get her to leave, or at least leave the topic of spiders alone. Asking for food became like chatting about the weather. Small talk, really, something to move the conversation along. What else could he discuss? The gorgeous basement view?

He ate anyway. He needed to eat whenever he got the chance, so the next time she decided to starve him he’d be a little more prepared. Besides, it was a bad idea to rock the boat.

“This is just something to calm you down." She placed the capsules in his palm. "A very mild sedative. I’m not lying this time.”

“Uh-huh.” He curled his palm closed. “And I can trust you because…?”

Heather stood and waited.

Okay, fine. It didn’t matter. Trust was a non-issue. Trust was irrelevant. His compliance was expected no matter what. “I am calm, though. Why do I need this?”

She crossed her arms now, with that impossibly condescending air. She was wearing a neat white blouse today, and her hair was tied up with a thick elastic. Jackie wondered why she bothered to look put-together whenever she visited him. Her sense of style was not at the top of his concerns. Still, he could respect the effort. It made this whole situation a little less abrasive.

He put the pills in his mouth, drank some water, then swallowed.

This was all she needed to see. “I’ll come back soon, alright? Tell me if—“

“I’ll let you know if the spider starts doing backflips, yeah.”

“Okay, then. Bye.”

He waved her off. The door closed. And now, he had to wait.

In one swift motion, he collapsed back into bed. What would this new pill do? Something to calm you down was a vague description at best. With his luck, it would be one of the worst experiences of his life. At least a solid seven on the scale.

What if he threw the pills up? Stuck two fingers down his throat and emptied his stomach into the toilet? He was sure that would work—wasn’t that how you got rid of poison? Someone from his last foster home said so. That was so long ago, though, and he learned to never believe anything shared in a conspiratorial whisper since then. At any rate, Heather would notice. Somehow, some way. She would know.

Maybe she really was being honest. Calm you down. That sounded nice. Maybe it was an anesthetic again. That was nothing to get upset over. He would prefer the painless sleep of medication if she cut out another liver, or a lung, or another one of his arms.

Half an hour passed, by his estimate. The first thing he noticed was the hazy, dim fog that started to seep in. He thought it might just be fatigue—when had he last slept?—but, no, it was not as aching as fatigue should be. Not a bone-deep ache, but a steady and opaque weight over his mind. Seeping, slowing him down the same way mud stops the wiry twitching of hares. Mud, yes—all felt muddy. As if seen through murky waters, rather than the usual roiling, boiling pot. Jackie hadn’t noticed how wound up he’d gotten until the feeling was drowned out.

He was definitely calm. It was a pleasant sensation, he had to admit. All the worries of the material world faded to a faint blur. The metal jaw of fear rusted away at the hinge. He could lay in bed all day and not mind it one bit.

These ambitious plans were interrupted by Heather’s hand on his shoulder.

“Hello,” she said.

He lifted his head and blinked up at her. “Hey.”

“It’s working. Good.” Papers shuffled in her hands, with scrawled notes he could not read, some blotted with wide swaths of black and blue. “Get up. We’re going to do some psychiatry.”

“Psychiatry?” The drugs did not prevent him from giving Heather a short, incredulous laugh, though that appeared to upset her. “Aren’t you a chemist?”

“Biochemist,” she corrected him curtly. “I studied under a psychiatrist once, you know. Besides, how hard can it be? It’s just asking questions.”

“Questions.” He sat up on the bed. The world itself lost some of its sharp focus. All things blurred around the edges. There was no weight or depth to be found.

“Yes. A few questions, that’s all.”

She pushed the chair forwards, in front of the bed. There was that tape recorder, as always. When had she brought it out? It lay on top of his nightstand. The spools wound themselves in infinite circles through the small plastic window, round and round, again and again and again. That perfect voyeur. A watcher’s wet dream. He didn’t have the presence of mind to be afraid.

“Look here, Jackie.” Her voice pulled him out of that trance like a whistle. “What do you see?”

He raised his head and saw that she was holding up a paper. A shape was splattered across the front. It was an inkblot—Rocher inkblot, or something that started with R, maybe Rochester? It was inked in black, symmetrical, a wide design branching out like the splash of a puddle.

“That's easy," he said. "I see an inkblot.”

“Take this seriously, please. I’m trying to help you. I won’t know why you’re hallucinating unless—“

“I get it.” He leaned forward a bit and examined the shape. “It looks a bit like a wolf’s head, doesn’t it?”

“Really? I thought it was a butterfly.”

“Butterfly?” He tilted his head at the picture. “What kind of butterfly is that?”

“No, see here?” She gestured to the tip of the drawing. “That’s the wing, and that over there—“ She gestured to the middle. “That’s the body, with the antennae on top. What kind of wolf has antennae?”

“Butterflies don’t have wings like that. Those are ears.”

“Wolves have pointy ears, though.”

“Maybe the wolf is angry. The ears would be flat.”

“Well—maybe—“ She crumpled the paper up. “You know what? No more ink blots. Don’t know what’s the point of these damned things anyway. Bunch of pseudoscience, if you ask me.”

Normally, he’d point out the flaws in that statement, but he didn’t feel quite up to it today. He was perfectly content to just let her speak while he listened, understanding none of it.

“Now,” Heather continued, “I’m going to ask you a series of questions. Answer honestly. Are you ready?”

He nodded.

“Let’s get started, then.” She cleared her throat. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Anything about myself?”

“Whatever comes to mind, yes.”

“Okay. My name is Jackie Rockwell. You kidnapped me. I live here now. I was born in April. I have black hair. I think that’s about it.”

She nodded. “That sounds right. Are you afraid of spiders?”

“No.”

“Have you ever hallucinated before?”

“Not… really.”

“Yes or no, Jackie. I don’t have time to decode your answers.”

“No.”

“Does anybody in your family have a history of schizophrenia?”

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

Impatience flickered across her expression. “What do you mean by that?”

“I wouldn’t know because I never asked.”

“Of course.” She sighed. “I don’t think you’re schizophrenic, anyway. But I’ll keep it in mind. How was your home? Your childhood?”

“What do you mean?”

“Was your home stable? Did you feel safe? Loved?”

He recognized that she was simply covering the surface-level questions—did mommy and daddy love you, did you ever get hit on the head as a baby, et cetera—and it wasn’t meant to be a personal attack, but he still felt a sting of indignation. He leaned back to mask this, hoping for his answer to come off as casual. “Oh, I don’t know. It was fine. Normal.”

“Normal? How would you describe normal?”

“Uh…” It was harder to speak than usual. The drugs were cutting off the connection cables in his thoughts, washing everything out in low static.

“Did… did something happen when you were younger?” Heather leaned forward, narrowing the gap he’d made. There was a glimmer in her eyes usually only seen in curious children and stalking tigers. A sort of hunger. The thrill of the chase.

Jackie’s face fell into a slight frown. “Why would you even need to know that?”

“Listen to me.” She placed her hand on his. “You’re having a psychotic episode. If you don’t get help now, it’s going to get worse. I need to know why it’s happening, or I can’t help you. So, please, be honest. This is strictly for professional purposes. I won’t use it against you.”

He withdrew his hand. “Why do you want to help me?”

“I would rather not have a psychotic test subject. That would completely screw up my findings.”

This was a believable answer, if not a very nice one. He felt upset, but not as much as he should have been—more the upset of spilling a bit of water on the floor, or biting your tongue. Inconsequential upsets. Even though he was sure this answer would have consequences, however small. This moment would shift the delicate balance between them, even if the change was barely noticeable, even if Heather didn’t realize it. If only he had a clear mind. How was Jackie meant to be clever when he could barely remember his own name?

“This is one of those doctor things, eh, doc?” he said. “With the sofa and the clipboard. They’ve always got that chart that they point to. And then you ask me how I feel, or something.”

“I know you’re trying to change the subject, Jackie. But if the sedative works, this should be easy for you.” She tried for a smile that was probably meant to be comforting. “Answer me honestly.”

But to answer honestly was to jump from the frying pan into a slightly hotter frying pan—that is to say, it would not make him any happier. Even sedated, Jackie knew that. So, he said, “Nothing happened. It was normal.”

That made her slow down a bit. She leaned back in the chair, the glimmer in her eyes dented but not dead. She didn’t know what she was asking for. Curiosity killed the cat, right? She was too bold for her own good, or too naive, because Jackie was sure she would regret ever asking if he told her the truth. Or maybe that freak would relish every last gory detail. Either way, this was already more than he wanted her to know. Was he in a hostage situation or a psych eval? Why couldn't she just leave him alone?

Even if he wanted to talk about it, Jackie couldn't remember much. The unpleasant sensations, a few faint flashes, yes, and whatever images haunted his dreams—but he could never pinpoint the exact location or time or person involved. When the authorities took him in for questioning, they assumed his amnesia for shyness. Maybe shyness played a part, but he would have been as useful as roadkill even without the shame or fear. And he'd been so young—only twelve, if he recalled correctly. Only a kid. A stupid, weak child.

In the end, the cops got their evidence, and those were all the answers they needed. A few photographs, the weapon, and whatever the witnesses told them. What was left of his sister. The blood on the wall. The blood on the sheets. But Heather had none of that, and he intended to keep it that way. God knew she already had too much of him for keeps. Even if Jackie lost every other shred of privacy and dignity, she could pry those memories from his cold, dead lips.

His captor asked nothing else of this subject. Her expression was focused, but not on him. Those gears turned again behind her eyes, like a shadow puppet show.

She knew enough. She knew too much. Did this fall under body, mind, or soul? All three, maybe. After all, one could argue that memory lived mainly in the body, in the repetition of muscles and the psychosomatic.

"Is the spider still there?" Heather asked at last. Her voice was distant. Distracted.

"No."

"That’s it, then. I'll see you tomorrow."

From the corner of his eye, the black shape moved. The spider's legs stuttered, as if caught by the motion of a laugh. A stilted, mocking shudder only Jackie could see.

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🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️ !!!

Taglist:

@theelvishcowgirl

@lthrboy

@whumpy-wyrms

#whump #whump writing #my writing #lab whump #immortal whumpee #Spiderwebs toyybox #we've got the spiders now all we need is the webs #tarantulas actually do exist in North America by the way #apparently even in Washington state

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pan-fried-autism · 7 months

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Lab Accident - Chapter 3

Characters: Swap!Leonid (@bowlerhatwearer), townspeople with no real names sorry

Summary: Leonid arrives in Canada, and asks around about Jack.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Midwest United Airlines welcomes you to New Anderville. The local time is 9:21 am. For your safety and the safety of those around you, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened and keep the aisles clear until we are parked at the gate. The Captain will then turn off the “Fasten Seat Belt” sign, indicating it is safe to stand. Please use caution when opening the overhead compartments and removing items, since articles may have shifted during flight.”

Leonid unfastened his seatbelt, getting up out of his seat into the aisle. He reached up and got his travel bag, and went to start walking... before being rudely shoved out of the way.

Leo looked to see who the jackass that pushed him way-- there was a puppy with her parents.

He grimaced at the sight. The kid had been kicking his seat for the past three hours. The only times she had stopped was when she had to use the bathroom... which never happened.

Note to self: get an appointment with a chiropractor when I get home, he thought.

As he watched the little miscreant walk away, she turned around to make eye contact with him.

Then she grinned and flipped him off.

Leonids grimace turned to a slight glare, and he stuck his tongue at her as she left.

What a brat. No wonder she never stopped kicking me.

Even without the little shit kicking his spine in, the flight wasn't exactly the greatest. To try and ignore the kicking, Leo had went to watch an in-flight movie. However, one of the speakers of the headphones for the movie was broken, and it made the movie 50% quieter than it should have been... So the entire time he was watching Million Dollar Baby, he could barely even hear what anyone was saying, let alone understand it. The strangely bitter peanuts he had been given didn't help the viewing experience either.

The one thing that didn't suck was the old woman he'd been sat next to. The whole flight, she had been going through a big thick crossword puzzle book. At the very least, she wasn't annoying.

Either way, Leonid finally got to walk down the aisle and exit through the loading bridge.

Around 10 minutes later, he got his suitcase from the baggage claim area.

Whilst walking through the airport trying to find the exit, he found the row of small restaurants and gift shops that airports tend to have. A pleasant smell came from one of them.

He looked to see what it was. It was a cafe, with a name he'd never heard of before-- seemed to be a person's name. Perhaps it was the name of the founder? He didn't know. All he knew was that he could smell coffee, and he needed something to wash out the taste of the crappy peanuts he'd been given earlier.

Before he knew it, he was walking away with a coffee and donut in hand.

Eh. That's how they get ya.

Once he finished them both, he headed over to the parking garage-- he had, ahead of time, gotten himself a rental car. The person outside had given him a key with a tag-- Number 8. It would be the number of his car, which would be designated with a sign by it.

... Which he walked up to within the next five minutes. The car was sleek, shiny, red, and a Prius.

Like his own car.

It even had the same fuzzy dice in the mirror.

Choosing to ignore this, Leonid got into the front seat, before speaking into his phone.

"Kape, where is the nearest motel in the New Anderville-Rockymew-St. Eugene area?"

The phone took a second.

"The closest motels in the New Anderville-Rockymew-St. Eugene area are the Erminers Retreat Motel, Western Anderville Hotel, The Baker Hotel, Prestige Resort, The Sand & Stone, Heritage Inn Hotel & Convention Center, The Lazy Boy Lodge, Motel 7, Super 9, Travellers Motel & Hotel, Almona Court, and the St. Eugene Golf Resort and Casino."

Leonid grimaced at the overload of opportunities.

He took a deep breath. "Which hotel is nearest to the New Anderville Area Airport?"

Another second.

"The closest hotel to the New Anderville Area Airport is the St. Eugene Golf Resort and Casino."

Leonid entered the name into Expedia and took a look at the prices.

The lowest starting prices were $169 a night.

Rubbing his temples, he spoke into the phone once more. "Which hotel IN NEW ANDERVILLE is nearest to the New Anderville Area Airport?"

"The closest hotel in New Anderville to the New Anderville Area Airport is Super 9."

Leonid checked the prices again.

The rooms started at about $60 per night. Not too bad-- he had that money.

He looked up the location, then started the car and left the garage.

The radio was on-- a pop station, based on the amount of similar songs that flowed in. He (safely) took in the scenery around him. A sunny sky with few but large clouds, tall and proud larches and firs lining the highway, and a decent temperature in the air.

He couldn't help but feel a little better.

Finally, he got to the town sign.

Welcome to New Anderville! 'Quidam supellectilem latine'

Population: 29 509

Leonid could not understand Latin.

Entering the town, he could tell he was in the more industrial area, signified by the strange tanks and trucks (and the singular gas station). He also encountered a water treatment plant.

Nothing else of note caught his eye until he arrived at the hotel.

It didn't look like a traditional hotel. If it hadn't had the giant sign that said 'WATER SLIDE', he would have assumed it was the Harris family's summer home. It didn't look bad, though-- he simply parked his car and went inside.

The lobby wasn't packed in the slightest, save for an old lynx man reading a book in an armchair (what a crowd, huh). At the front desk, a wolverine was on her phone.

As Leonid walked up, she happened to notice him-- she put on her best Customer Service Smile and put the phone in her pocket.

Her nametag said 'Sabrina'.

"Excuse me," Leonid said, "Do you have any available rooms here? It's just me."

"Let me check for you, sir!" she chirped.

Sabrina went onto the computer at the desk, and typed a bit. After looking at the screen for a few seconds, she spoke again.

"Well, we have a few single rooms available-- an efficiency queen room, two efficiency queen suites, two regular queen rooms, and a king room."

"Hm... what's it like in the regular queen rooms?"

"You have a telephone, radio, cable TV, coffee and tea maker, microwave, safe, private bathroom, and much more!"

That did sound promising.

"What's the cost?"

"$65 a night."

"I'll take it."

....

Leonid looked around his room.

The walls were a beige orange, and the bed had a dark oak frame with a puffy white blanket. Above the bed was a large, beautiful painting of a cabin in the woods. Leonid's bed had a nightstand (with a telephone) on one side and a mini fridge on the other, with lamps attached to the walls above them. In front of the bed was a wardrobe with a TV atop it. Next to that was a wicker chair and a small table.

In one corner there was also a desk. On said desk was the microwave, the radio, and a small coffee maker... and he meant small. It was barely twice the size of his hand. There was a basket atop the microwave full of things like sugar packets, cream packets, small coffee and tea packets, and two hilariously small mugs-- Leo was sure his hand was bigger than them. On the wall next to that was a safe.

The bathroom was quite nice, too-- peach coloured walls, fancy shower, and free toiletries. No shampoo, though, just headfur wash.

Leonid had read the label of the small bottle-- Fureal Blueberry Acai Headfur Wash-- and had simply shrugged.

"I'll take what I can get," he had whispered to himself.

Leonid had been putting away his clothes when he had stopped, and got back to it.

Soon, all of his clothes were in the wardrobe, and the rest of his belongings were sorted away.

Leonid stood now because he didn't know what to do.

He got to thinking... where could he look for Jack? He had no ideas about his current location, let alone his address. All he knew was what he looked like-- warm brown fur, usually wide eyes, somewhat boring fashion taste-- based on a picture that Mrs. Harris had sent him.

"I hardly think my boy is even capable of doing anything like that, but I'm not one to treat a guest rudely, and you do need information for the case." She had texted after sending it.

Perhaps, though... perhaps Leonid could go into plainclothes mode. Hang around town, blend in, see if anyone around knew him. That could work.

Leonid smiled and confidently walked out of his room, locking it with pride. He hadn't done it in a while, but he knew he could do it!

---------------

As Leonid sat on a park bench in sunglasses, a baseball cap, no detectives coat, and a strawberry ice cream in hand, he felt like the colloquial sore thumb that always seemed to stick out.

There were people walking around in the park-- families, couples, those by themselves, friend groups, all sorts. None of them looked like Jack.

Leo couldn't help but sulk a bit. He was in a big, public area, and no stupid Harris! He briefly thought perhaps there's a chance that he's in hiding, but given what his parents told him, that very clearly wasn't the case. If he was truly in hiding, why would he invite his parents to come see him?

As he thought this, he saw an unusual group of people, at least for the area: a group of business people. They were in business-casual warm weather clothes-- button up short sleeves, ties, some khaki shorts, a couple of knee length skirts, and loafers. They were all talking and chatting away while holding briefcases and purses.

They seemed to be around Jack's age.

Well... nothing ventured, nothing gained, you know?

"Lovely day, isn't it?" he practically announced.

This caught the attention of the last person in the group-- a grolar bear.

"Hmm?... oh yeah, it is! Unseasonably, even." the bear replied in a thick Canadian accent.

Leonid smiled. He seemed nice.

"Hey," he began, sitting up, "You wouldn't happen to know a Jackson Harris, would you?"

The grolar man hummed for a second before responding.

"I do! Why do you ask?"

Leonid was so awestruck by his massive luck, he almost forgot to tell a lie.

... Oh wait yeah, дерьмо. I gotta think of something.

"I... we were... college roommates. And best friends. I haven't seen him in a while and we're... Facebook friends. I wanted to surprise him?"

He desperately hoped his tone was convincing enough.

Fortunately, it seemed to work. "Alright! He's a great guy, I'll tell ya that. Always brings in Tims, loves his wife, helps around the workplace... all that good stuff."

... huh?

"A wife, you say?" he inquired with a fake smile.

"Yeah! She's a bit of a recluse, though... only comes out of the house on weekends. According to her and Jack, she's been like this since an accident."

"Oh, an accident? That does sound tragic."

"Yeah, car accident a couple years ago. Left her without an air and half a tail."

Leonid put his hands to his chest in a show of somewhat fake sympathy.

"How terrible. I feel sorry for her. How.. lucky it is that she and Jack found each other!"

"Yeah, they're great! My cousin Robbie talks with her sometimes, and she once told her about her nicely Jack took care of her afterwards."

"Oh, Jack. How charming! Just as I remember."

Success, he thought to himself.

The bear smiled, before looking to the disappearing group of coworkers.

"Well, I gotta get going now! It's Mead n' Meat Monday at Murray's and we wanna get there early."

"Mead n' Meat Monday?"

"Yeah, over at Murray's pub! All beer, wings, and burgers half off! G'bye now, you!"

With that, the grolar left him.

Once he was far enough way, Leonid quickly took out his notepad and started writing notes, avoiding getting ice cream on it.

'May 19-- Landed. Found out some stuff about Jack... has a house, has a supposedly reclusive wife. Said wife missing an ear and half of tail. Jack might also have friends.'

Once done, Leonid swiftly put it all away, dumping the sad melted ice cream.

"Well, Jack," he whispered proudly to himself...

"I guess all I really need to do now is find you."

#fiction #original story #the north experiment #tne alternate ending #lab accident #swap!leonid #leonid akdow

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