Fluent Freshman - Part 18
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Weirdly enough the only thing that FF can think of as they head down the stairs is the first Saw movie.
That one happened IN a bathroom right? He kind of watched all of them in a row to prepare himself for whatever Andrew might decide to do to him. But he’s near positive that one happened in a bathroom. It was derelict and he didn’t think it really had running water (or did it? Didn’t the guy wake up in a half-full tub? His memory is hazy in his bathroom related desperation and may be trying to protect him from thinking about water).
All leading to the main thought going through his head as he slowly headed down the narrow stairway to his death.
Would Andrew let him use the facilities before he’s handcuffed to a pipe?
The worst part about all of this is that he is not sure if he needs to take a dump or if he just needs to fart, he knows he has to take a piss. He’s read that when you die your body will relax and it’ll all just flow out of you and Nicky gave him these pants so he feels bad but he also does not want to face his death without pants. If he needs to take a shit then they’re definitely going to be absolutely ruined, if it’s a fart well…Andrew can’t kill him any further? He can mutilate his corpse a little but FF won’t be around to experience it.
No matter what he’s definitely going to piss himself. He had way too much water at Sweeties trying to consume the spicy ice cream.
You may be wondering why FF has not run away from his predicament and is walking down these steps without protest or comment or plea for his life.
First of all he is pretty sure that if he makes any sudden movements he will ruin these pants that Nicky bought for him. Second of all Andrew had already told him once that he wouldn’t accept any pleading for mercy he still remembers how he asked Andrew, “Please give me back my pen?” and Andrew had shot him a look that had his stomach cramp and his fingers itch for the bottle sweet pink relief in his backpack.
“I don’t like that word, don’t use it around me.” He said.
FF ever the pragmatic sort, “Which one?” He had asked because he had said a few, “I don’t want there to be a misunderstanding.” He followed up with when Andrew glowered at him only for the glare’s intensity to increase 10 fold.
“Don’t use the first word of your first statement or the last word of your second.” Andrew grit out and got up to leave without a word.
Message received loud and clear Andrew did NOT like words ‘Please’ or ‘Misunderstanding’.
So FF knows that any pleading for mercy would ABSOLUTELY result in Andrew not letting him take a bathroom break before him and Captain Neil make destroying him into a couple activity. The fact that Captain Neil is here is a bit of a shock but maybe Captain Neil has finally gotten the other Freshman Dealer up to snuff.
Maybe Kevin really did want to dissect him to figure out how Strikers keep passing straight to him?
They reach the door at the bottom of the stairs.
Ah, time to face the music.
At least he’d texted Gran that he was going to die when they had gotten into the club and the bathroom had not made itself readily apparent. Sure it was about his current ‘gotta piss / gotta shit’ situation but he’d been wise to keep his cause of death vague in that text.
The door opens and…
This is the NICEST torture chamber FF has EVER seen. (And after his desperation watch of all the Saw movies he has seen quite a FEW)
“Minyard, Josten, and Guest. Table 6 is yours.” A voice comes from the side and when he looks over there’s a man in quite a nice uniform standing behind a soft-lit bar polishing a glass looking every bit like a bar tender at those high-end places you see in movies. He looks around a bit more and there are some other people down here. It’s not quiet per se but it is a comfortable level of noise in comparison to the IQ dropping noise upstairs.
“C’mon Smith.” Andrew juts his chin towards a table in the back.
FF follows but continues to try and fit this nice little room into his world view.
Do these people watch other people get tortured to death for fun on a Friday night? Unlikely considering the upholstery on the booths and chairs looked like it’d stain if blood got on it. Was this perhaps a trafficking location where Andrew would sell off his organs to the highest bidder? He looked at the other patrons who seemed a bit higher class than the general club scene upstairs but not like they had the money to buy one of his kidneys. Maybe-
“Do not tell Nicky about this place, ever.” Andrew says as they slide into the booth. FF nods but can’t help but tilt his head slightly in an unspoken question, “He would absolutely tell any and everyone about it. Eden’s wants to keep this place a secret from the general public.” Andrew explains.
“Nicky currently thinks that there’s a straight swingers club down here.” Captain Neil says with a huff of laughter.
“Eden’s is cool, even though there’s some sick shit in the basement.” Floats through his head again.
What the fuck was a swinger?
His fingers itch for his phone but he’s currently talking with Andrew and Captain Neil so that’d be rude but they’re talking to him like he absolutely knows what a swinger is and he DOES NOT.
“It’s quieter down here. Figured you’d prefer it.” Andrew says as he gets up and heads towards the bar down here where the bartender was aggressively cutting ice chunks.
He and Captain Neil sit in silence for a few seconds before Captain Neil offers him a slight smile, “I know you’d rather be with your grandma and you and Andrew prefer not to say things out loud but we’ve really liked hanging out with you.” Captain Neil says.
????????????????????????????????????????????????
That’s such a nice thing to say to someone.
Especially someone like FF.
Especially especially when they’re planning on killing him?
He hopes his confusion stays off his face as he nods once. “It’s been fun.” It’s not even really a lie. Thanksgiving yesterday had been nice and loud and FF had missed the chaos of a Family Dinner more than he had ever realized. The car ride had been…a time but once he’d asked Andrew to either keep his eyes on the road or let him out Andrew’s hands had stayed at 10 and 2 and the ride had been smooth. Aaron and Nicky’s weight against him had been nice too, a warm memory before he developed a possible life long aversion to whipped cream. He’d gotten to go Black Friday shopping and Captain Neil even helped carry it home for him. Baking bad been nice even if the stress of doing it with his life on the line was less so. The subsequent nap and day spent doing normal college guy things had been…it’d all been nice.
It’s starting to feel like….
“Drink this.” Andrew puts a drink down in front of him.
No Andrew definitely wants his bladder to burst.
“What is it?” He asks instead looking at the creamy looking drink with suspicion.
Andrew rolls his eyes as he hands Neil a fruity looking drink as he sits with what is a few fingers of scotch. “It’s virgin.” Andrew says not answering the question at all and must pick up that FF won’t be drinking it until he gets the full answer because he continues after a moment, “It’s like a Pina Colada but with bananas instead.” Andrew answers.
It’s not that FF hates banana but why in the world would Andrew grab him this? Was it just one of the few virgins options on this place’s fancy menu or-
“Bananas will help get your stomach acid back down.” Andrew says, “Since you’re an idiot and ate that mango ice cream just because you wanted to impress that girl.” He rolls his eyes.
“Impress that girl?” There weren’t any girls at the table and how in the world would him eating that god-forsaken spicy ice cream impress anyone other than Betsy. Even Betsy would only be impressed by the depths he was willing to reach just to avoid what he perceives as an awkward social situation.
“The waitress.” Neil reminds him as if that cleared anything up.
“Yeah,” he says as if he has understood the conversation but he has not. “It was spicy mango.” He says because maybe if he keeps the conversation going he’ll get enough context clues to understand what might be his last conversation.
Andrew let out a huff of laughter and pushed FF’s drink closer to him, “Drink your fancy Banana smoothie Casanova.” He says.
No closer to understanding the conversation he accepts that it might be something that only becomes clear after he sheds his mortal coil and is no longer given a -10 INT debuff by his full bladder and revolting stomach.
He takes a sip.
Oh that’s actually pretty good.
It feels like he can feel it sizzling in his stomach and soothing the discomfort there. Maybe he should look into Banana smoothies as a replacement for what Abby has called a ‘concerning co-dependence’ in regards to Pepto Bismol. No one can put him on a medical watch if it’s just banana smoothies he’s chugging down like they’re going out of style.
“Thanks,” he says, “that was good.” He admits before reaching into his jacket and moving past the Megamind toy and grabbing his wallet. “What do I owe you for that?” He asks.
“We’re even.” Andrew waves away the money.
“You bought the stuff for breakfast, those brownies, and the pie tomorrow.” Neil says and FF blinks surprised to hear that they were talking about the pie he didn’t think he was going to get the chance to make.
“You don’t need to buy a spot with us.” Andrew says and FF leans back slightly at the intensity on Andrew’s face as he says it. “I invited you here because I wanted to. The brownies were good but if you don’t feel like making the pie tomorrow? It’s not like I’m going to drive you back to Palmetto and leave you on Abby’s doorstep.” He says.
FF feels gears start to turn in his head.
“It’s good pie.” He hears himself say.
“I didn’t even know about the pie when I invited you.” Andrew says and…
Andrew and FF sit in silence but honestly it’s not like Andrew’s sharpening his knives. The two of them mostly just do their own work or read. FF has been getting his German literacy up to snuff so that he can read the language when he goes there to visit Nicky’s fiance next year. He likes how serious Andrew is about learning it so that he doesn’t have to ask Captain Neil a thousand questions and it’d be nice if Andrew wasn’t obviously planning on murdering him.
Andrew brings dried apples and sends Captain Neil along with probiotic yogurts to their meetings. Both of those things tend to soothe his stomach and the yogurt that had been unflavored before was now vanilla which he liked a fair bit. It would have been a really nice gesture if it wasn’t for the fact that Andrew was making fun of his tummy troubles.
Andrew will put his foot down in practice sometimes when Kevin is getting too demanding wanting to know exactly how FF intercepted his passes to Neil. Kevin always backs off and Andrew will do the same when Jack starts to get a little too personal in his attacks at FF or when Sheena decides she’s going to be a bitch. It’d be nice if it wasn’t Andrew staking his claim that he was the one who was going to make FF’s life miserable.
Andrew drove FF around for an hour after Greg had shown up. He found out later from one of his friends that Andrew had threatened Greg after he had power walked away into the building. Andrew had driven him around and had only started heading towards the tower when FF had relaxed. It would have been nice if Andrew wasn’t trying to lure him into a false sense of security.
Andrew had invited him to his Family’s house over Thanksgiving when the bad storm had ruined his Thanksgiving plans. Andrew had threatened Jack to stop him from eating his Grandma’s pie and complaining about it. Andrew had stopped messing around with Captain Neil when FF had made it clear he was uncomfortable being in a car where the driver wasn’t paying attention to the road. Andrew had twice made him go to bed in the last couple hours.
It’d be nice if…
“We’ve really liked hanging out with you” Captain Neil had said.
Andrew was just trying to be nice.
Embarrassment rolls over him like a wave but FF has many years of pretending like he’s not going to die from embarrassment, “Thanks for inviting me. I’ll still probably make the pie tomorrow.” He offers.
Andrew’s eyes change slightly and FF is under the impression that he’s happy to hear that.
“Just enjoy your drink Smith.” Andrew says.
FF does go back to sipping his drink and letting more and more memories of things Andrew had done come to him and lets his embarrassment grow.
He finishes his drink and only then realizes that he is a code red in terms of bladder capacity. The new knowledge that this is not a torture chamber but in fact yet another overture of friendship from Andrew paired with his desperation finally loosens the question from his mouth, “Where’s the bathroom here?” He asks.
“There isn’t one downstairs but just head up stairs and hug the wall to the left.” Captain Neil answers.
“Bring your phone. If Frank doesn’t recognize you to let you back in.” Andrew reminds him.
FF nods and heads out of the club and up the stairs.
He might be doing a bit of a potty dance so he forces himself to become unnoticeable because he does not need cool people at a cool club to see him about to piss himself. Once he enters into a stealth mode that the United States Military would like to talk to him about he hugs the wall and nearly cries tears of relief when he sees a door labelled MEN.
He doesn’t think about the possibility of letting up on stealth mode because he is sure that he is about to make a face that he does NOT want any human being to see when he unzips his pants and starts to take the world’s most life-affirming piss on the planet.
As his bladder empties his brain is able to process the understanding that he had come to down in the basement he had thought would be his final resting place.
Andrew has been trying to be nice (and succeeding it was all so nice! He feels like an asshole! He is an asshole! Gran always told him that assuming makes an Ass out of U and Me. He had just thought it was funny grandma humor not valuable life advice!)
The night wasn’t going to end with Andrew’s knife in his stomach, it was probably just going to end with Nicky puking on his shoes (which is fine because these are the shoes Nicky was letting him borrow for the club anyways, they’re his shoes to puke onto.)
A secondary relief fills his system. His stomach, soothed by the Banana smoothie and now this, feels like it might actually let him live through the night.
While FF was distracted with a piss that would have made any number of cult leaders jealous with the number of divine revelations he was experiencing he failed to notice a second man enter the bathroom.
There was a reason that FF always ALWAYS became noticeable when he was at a urinal and the man who came to the urinal right next to him was showcasing that VERY reason.
He was trapped here for at least ten more seconds and he could hear the man grumbling distractedly but didn’t really pay it too much attention until…
“Fucking Wesninski Brat.” He grumbled under his breath.
Oh god dammit.
NEXT
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Nothing's Wrong with Dale: Part Twenty-One
It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.
However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.
Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F
AO3: Nothing's Wrong with Dale Chapter 21
[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] Part Twenty-One [Part Twenty-Two] [Part Twenty-Three][Part Twenty-Four] [Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]
You barely contain a sigh of relief as you sit down next to Grandmother.
Perhaps yesterday’s gala’s events were more mentally taxing as you tried to keep Dale’s hands out of sight long enough for the detection colors from Dr. Louisa’s gloves to fade—not to mention the conversation preceding that mess—but today was tiring in an entirely different manner. You’ve been kept on your feet nearly the entire day and you are exhausted. Between inspecting various buildings all over the city for hours to start with and an evening spent dancing, you want nothing more than to be still.
Some of that sentiment must still be evident from your facial expression as Grandmother reaches over to pat your hand. “Have you been enjoying the dancing, dear?”
“Yes, Grandmother, but I believe I am finished for the night,” you reply and she smiles.
“I am glad you have been taking advantage of the vigors of youth while you have them,” Grandmother says. She looks over to where Grandfather is sitting and talking to a musician across the room. “Would that we were able to still dance as you do. Alas, all we have to show for our years are aching joints and lovely children.” She winks at you.
You smile back and gratefully accept the water glass your maid pours for you with a murmured thanks. While you rest, Grandmother bids good night to a number of said children and grandchildren, leaving you longing to follow them. Yours and Dale’s roles as the guests of honor make it unclear when exactly it is socially acceptable for you to depart. You’ve often been staying at least as long as Grandmother and Grandfather, if not an hour beyond them so as to ensure you spoke to all guests and showed your hosts proper respect.
You truly hope that will not be the case tonight because you’re not sure you’ll make it that late.
Dale joins you with Francesca and Charles, his cousins, who then depart themselves having sent their children up with a maid hours ago. Dale sits next to you but talks primarily with Grandmother, chatting about the others he’s been speaking to while you resist the urge to fall asleep in your chair.
A few moments later Dale says your name, rousing you. Straightening, you find you’ve indeed ended up leaning quite heavily against the back and side of your chair closest to him. Heat warms your face at practically falling asleep against Dale at a gala. “Yes?”
“Do you wish to retire for the evening?” Dale asks, his expression kind and nonjudgmental. You can hear the offer to retire as well and are grateful for it.
“I know that it is not as late as some nights have been,” you say, unable to keep from feeling somewhat defensive—after all it wasn’t even midnight yet, though it was close. “But it has been a long day. I am ready for sleep.”
“I agree,” Dale replies easily, he reaches down and squeezes your hand where it sits on the arm rest closest to him. “And we have plenty of errands to run tomorrow.”
He’s right. There are no balls or galas tomorrow. Instead you’ll be taking advantage of the time in the city to inspect the progress on the completion of various wedding clothing, decorations, food and so on to be sent on ahead to the estate. In fact, the only social event is a small dinner at the mayor’s home in the evening which is fine with you.
Besides, there’s another reason you want to be well rested for tomorrow. That had been the day marked “SECRETS” on the astrologer’s calendar. You still have no notion as to what that could mean, however, you do expect that you should be well rested for whatever it turns out to be.
“If you young ones are all already turning in, then I shall too,” Grandmother announces. “Dale, your aid, my boy.”
Dale is nearly already standing up to walk over to his Grandmother’s side, picking up her cane along with his own. You try to perk up enough to be helpful, finishing off your drink and supporting Grandmother’s other arm as she gets to her feet.
Grandmother’s maid is sent ahead to prepare her rooms, while the three of you, in addition to your own maid, begin to make your way to the guest quarters you’ve occupied this week in the Governor’s home. You’re grateful he’s allowed you to have an entire, if smaller, wing to yourselves. Such privacy means that any continuing festivities don’t upset your sleep, which given how busy these days have been, is critical.
You’ve made it halfway across the room when Grandfather walks over to you at a pace too quick for how tiring a day this has been, even if he hasn’t danced as much as you have. “Dale, there you are,” he looks triumphant as he continues, “Marquis Tiffin has finally stopped occupying Duke Yoral’s sole attention. You wished to speak to him, did you not?”
Dale’s eyes light up—only metaphorically—before he turns to you and Grandmother. “I did, however…”
“If you wish to stay, dear, do not let us steal you away too soon,” Grandmother says. “You’re a good lad, wanting to accompany me back to my rooms, but your fiance will be help enough. Enjoy yourself.”
“Yes,” you encourage him. “I know you had been attempting to talk to him all evening.” This Duke was the brother of a friend of his from abroad and he wanted to discuss sourcing certain ingredients for more foreign meals with him, in addition to comparing general travel stories as he had helped Dale’s group plan their trip.
“Thank you,” Dale replies with a grin at you both. After resettling Grandmother’s hold to your arm instead of his, he turns to Grandfather, “Are you sure you want to join us? Perhaps even the discussion of certain spices might cause your cough to come back.”
Grandfather elbows Dale in response to his teasing, “Impudent lad. Introduce me to your friend with all due respect and perhaps I shall refrain from sharing tales of your foolish youth.”
They leave in a cheery mood while Grandmother smiles after them. “I am so pleased to have Dale home where he belongs. He went through such a trying adolescence after being away at the capital.”
You hum noncommittally, but Grandmother needs no real prompting to continue to reminisce as you make your way through the quieter and cooler halls away from the main ballrooms. She only interrupts herself when you reach a large branching path before your wing. “Miss Adir, could you please go to the kitchens and see if there are any pasties that can be sent up to my granddaughter’s rooms?”
“Yes, my Lady.”
“Thank you, Grandmother.”
“My eyesight might be going, but I can still make observations. You never eat enough at these events, she fusses. “We shall have to have your measurements checked at the final fitting tomorrow.”
“The food at these events are so rich,” you protest. “Surely there hasn’t been such a difference in only a few weeks.”
“And still we shall verify the truth,” Grandmother insists. “Dale as well, though for the opposite eventuality. I informed those tailors of his ill state, reminding them to leave room for him to return to his healthier weight. I shall be interested in seeing if they listened.
“If there is anything else that needs doing, we must ensure that it is done tomorrow or our next free day in two days time. This is our last week in Connton before we return to the Northridge estate for your wedding,” Grandmother reminded you unnecessarily. “Only two more galas here. A pity, these have been so invigorating.”
You can’t help but shake your head silently to yourself, unable to find these events anything but exhausting, even if you enjoy aspects of them. Grandmother is an entirely different sort, seeming to be rejuvenated by so much activity and people.
Even now, she seems far more awake than you are, easily chatting while you feel as though you’ve used up all your words an hour ago.
You roll your shoulders, trying to dissipate the tension in them from so much activity—the danger of hosting a ball and inviting a dance troupe and their sponsors. The fewer candles and torches in this area of the house leave the light sparser and make you feel sleepier, makes the promise of slumber whisper more convincingly in your ears.
Still, you remember exactly what tips you off that something is wrong.
Habit from these last few weeks has you watching every shadow and steering others away if they move oddly, in case Dale has a lapse in control. You’re only reacting on instinct when you see the candlelight flicker dramatically, the shadows pool unnaturally on Grandmother’s right. You pull Grandmother closer to you and quicken your step abruptly, wanting to get out of the way, not wanting her to notice.
It’s the clash of metal the next second, the force and crack of something whizzing by both of you and into the opposite wall that makes you jump, heart hammering in your chest. Your mind catches up with your actions because Dale is nowhere in sight. Who is causing these things to happen? Are you under attack?
“Guards!” Grandmother calls out. Her voice rings through the space with all the command of a general on a battlefield and causes one of the people who are in fact attacking you to curse.
There isn’t any way for you to tell if someone heard your call for help even as she repeats it. Without thinking about what to do next, you hitch up your skirts with your free hand and start to run down the hall with her in tow. More figures come after you from behind and out of the corners of your eyes.
A wordless cry has you stumbling to the side as a person overshoots past you and through a doorway. Multiple people, at least three, dressed in dark clothing have come as suddenly as if they had materialized from nothing—all heading after you.
You dodge another projectile and turn the corner, flattening against the far wall. Frantically you try to remember where exactly you are in this stranger’s house and you realize you missed the turn back towards the more inhabited portion of the building in your haste.
You don’t know what to do, paralyzed with fear and indecision, until the wall at your back falls away causing you to take a surprised step backwards. “Hurry,” Grandmother says, having realized you were backed against a door and gotten it open while your mind had still been trying to understand what was happening.
You turn and both go through, slamming the door behind you as you try to gain your bearings. You can barely take stock of the study you find yourself in before continuing forward as fast as you are able to. Your shoes are thin and pretty and so you feel the stone floor in this room harshly as you race across it. Your palm is sweaty from where it’s clutching Grandmother’s as you steer you both, her having lost her cane at some point and relying on you for that speed of movement you’re desperately trying to gain.
Adrenaline courses through your veins, every instinct attempting to help you to survive, for all the good it's doing. Your mind races wildly, thoughts of escape and who these people could be flickering through. Why are they attacking you? What do they want? Where can you go to get away?
Then all you can think of besides ‘get away’ is the ache in your arm, the burning in your lungs, the soreness in your feet.
Unfortunately, there was no way to lock the door you came through and so soon it’s quickly kicked back open. The sound of it hitting the wall makes you run faster, trying to get through this suite of rooms to the courtyard entrance you spot on the other side, where you can feel the cooling breeze beckoning you to escape—or get somewhere someone would be able to hear you.
Two arrows fly by your head and another causes Grandmother to yelp and falter, nearly tripping as she suddenly leans much heavier on you. You can’t check to see if the arrow grazed her, too focused on trying to get to the other door, when the shadows darken in those billowing curtains. At the last second you turn to the right, propelling Grandmother that way too. As you do so, you see the thinner of these, these assassins appear, daggers drawn and ready to impale you exactly where you’d been running too.
Not that you’re convinced you’ve managed to end up in a better position. You steered the two of you to the other side of the room, hopping for another door out, but the one you pull open in the end is only a closet. You whirl around to see four figures in black, fanned out and blocking any possible escape route. Panting, you brace Grandmother, who you haven’t looked to but sounds to be in worse shape given her age and possible injury. Her heavy breathing has a wheeze to it you don’t like. So does the fact that she’s not speaking up any more.
“Well now ladies,” the tallest man speaks, his voice low and condescending. He’s smug too, like the cat that got the mouse, as he steps forward twirling a dagger. “You don’t seem to have our prize stallion with you as we expected, but I’m certain his filly and granny will make perfect bait.”
[Part Twenty-Two]
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