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bluewritesao3 · 3 years

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The Handyman: New House & Pot Noodles

Word count: 2.9k

Pairing: Paz Vizsla X Fem!OC

Warnings: Non other than slight embarrassment and talk of car sex (I’m covering all my bases just in case)

Taglist: @maybege, @legally-a-bastard @gallowsjoker

A/N: for new or old readers this has been revamped as an x reader. simple because I’ve been finding it easier to write x readers than i have ocs recently. So please enjoy it and you can come scream at me if you like but don’t forget to reblog cause it helps more than likes do.

Gif credit: @hanyuume

Masterlist | Posted on A03

“Remind me why people move houses?” You whined into the phone wedged between your shoulder and your chin as your co-worker’s laugh sounded through the receiver. “Seriously Jadu. Meetings with the publishing team are more fun.” You scolded pulling another cardboard box marked with ‘kitchen’ in messy sharpie closer to you. You thought there was something wrong with the house or the neighborhood when you originally saw the shockingly low offering price for the house.

With the heavy cardboard tucked under one arm, You singlehandedly heaved it onto the kitchen counter and sliced through all the packaging tape with a box cutter that was wobbly at best. “It's new and sometimes it’s hard, Y/N/N. Remember college-“ Jadu spilt down the phone regaling you with the tale of how he’d walked into their shared accommodation while you were in nothing but a towel. “There's also that midnight romp-“

“I’m going to hang up if you continue.” You scolded as you began to unpack the kitchen box. “But still. Who thinks that car sex is comfortable? I’m sure the searing wheel was trying to merge with my spine.” You joked remembering how the thing had dug into the small of your back and no amount of kissing and touching could distract you from that. Slowly you floated around the small kitchen storing everything away into its proper place, eventually, the house was beginning to look lived in and to like it had sat empty for what the estate agent had described as years.

Glancing at the circular dining table, it had several boxes piled onto it dangerously. You’d chosen to take the majority of moving and reorganising yourself since the other things you were bringing with you was kitchen, bedroom, bathroom and your office. “Still can’t believe you moved out to the middle of nowhere into an almost fully furnished house for dirt-cheap.” Jadu muttered, taking charge of the conversation and expressing his distaste for the house and ‘energy’ around it. You rolled your eyes, and you disposed of the phone on the kitchen counter and hit the loudspeaker button as you tuned to start flattening the cardboard box out while listening to Jadu ramble on about how the photo’s he’d seen of the house were everything but welcoming and that the energy levels were out of ‘whack’.

You muttered quietly to yourself as you went in search of the crumpled water bottle from your bag leaving Jadu to his ramblings even if he believed his concerns were justified. “Have you ever met your neighbours?” Jadu’s recognisably brash tone echoed through the newly packed away kitchen.

You stopped threshold into the kitchen as you took a more than generous gulp from the water bottle, the question had sparked a memory for earlier in the day. “Honestly I’m surprised the neighbourhood welcome committee hasn’t made an appearance.” You chuckled, picking up the phone and placing it on top of the two boxes titled ‘Bedroom’. “How are things at work anyway?” You asked, seeing as you’d now become part of the growing percentage of people working from home.

You listened to Jadu sigh heavily and began talking about how he was missing out on stuff because the company wasn’t allowing him to have as much time off as he used to but given that he worked with a very picky publishing team then it was expected that his workload was almost never-ending. “I mean someone in publishing is giving me a deadline for editing a manuscript that doesn’t belong to one of their clients. Do you see my issue here?” Jadu complained, sounding as if he was passing through the seven stages of grief and got stuck somewhere between bargaining and anger.

You hummed quietly as you ascended the stairs of the old house with a cardboard box under your arm and the other waiting at the bottom of the stairs for when you made the next trip. “Is it Nyla? She’s department head and might be very aware of how ‘quickly’ you zoom through stuff.” You smirked hearing the hefty huff from Jadu on the other end of the phone, Jadu had a pension for leaving some projects till the last minute and then pushing them onto someone else days before the deadline. “Speak of the devil…” Jadu began and added a hurried ‘I gotta go’ before he hung up the phone. Shaking your head, you laughed a little as you stood in the doorway to your bedroom. Whoever lived there previously had removed the door and hadn’t bothered to replace it. The room was sparsely decorated, missing a door and the pastel-painted walls made you want to throw something but at least the mattress looked like it didn’t have any funky-looking stains or weird smells and the rest of the furniture was intact.

“I have to get a bedroom door.” You breathed, settling on the mattress with the box next to you as you fell backwards and released a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. “I have to get food too.” You lamented the idea of your fridge being empty then takeaway sounded good, but you didn’t know what the local one was. “Guess I need to go to the store.” You huffed checking the time on your phone trying to decide if it’s worth going food shopping.

You revealed in the fact that her local grocery store wasn’t a long trek into town, the small grocery store felt like a glowing beacon in the afternoon of the quiet town. Stepping through the automated door, you immediately hesitated not knowing where anything was and almost scolded yourself for thinking that the store's layout was the same as the ones back home. Grabbing a basket, you set off on a small journey looking for anything that looked like it took the least amount of effort and time.

With time you came to know the store and tried to memorise the layout in case you’d need to make another trip during the week. You wandered through the aisles glancing at almost every shelf looking for the next thing on your list of foodie wants. “There you are,” You muttered as you settled your gaze on multiple packages of hard candy, heart stones, they were lightly spiced with cinnamon and reminded you of home and your grandparents, when they used to sneak you a packet every time they visited. “Wasn’t sure if I’d ever find you here.” You whispered to the packs of candy before hucking a total of six of the fairly small packets into the basket along with the pot noodles.

Pulling yourself away from the shelves you continued down the aisle and tried to mentally tally up the contents of your basket before colliding with something solid, sending you back a few steps. “Oh, sweet Jesus.” You yelped, almost giving yourself whiplash as you took in the tall mountain of a guy you’d bumped into. “Sorry about that. Didn’t see you there.” You apologised smiling brightly, as you readjusted your grip on the basket. The washed-out dark blue sweatshirt with a faded with a washed-out college emblem was the first thing that caught your attention simply because it took up most of your vision then it was the sheer size of the guy, he was almost as tall as he was wide or as your grandmother would have put it, he was built to last.

“You alright?” He asked, looking slightly panicked with a large hand extended almost like he was ready to catch her as if she was going to fall. You nodded, muttering your apologies and glanced over your shoulder at the elderly woman at the other end of the aisle seemingly waiting for them both to move. “No harm done.” He smiled and you had to almost choke on the almost inhuman noises trying to escape you. In your head, you were muttering about how downright adorable the guy’s smile was and how stupid you were for saying you didn’t see him there. He’s probably tall enough to change your lightbulbs without a ladder. “Dude how tall are you?” You rushed out before you could grab the words and push them through a verbal processor. Hearing a bassy chuckle rumble out of the man and you joined in almost embarrassed and awkwardly, feeling a warmth radiating from your cheeks and ears. “I’m sorry that’s weird. I’ll be going now.” You motioned as she stepped to the side and the tall guy followed, stepping in front of her again, you stepped to the right and he almost panicked he swapped sides and you unconsciously followed. They both dissolved into a side-to-side step dance almost everyone did at least once in their life.

Ducking down trying to hide the slight flush warming your skin as you glanced over your shoulder at the elderly woman whose shoulders were quietly quacking as she muttered to the teenage boy holding up the seemingly overflowing basket in both hands. “Attracted an audience, haven't we?” The tall guy observed, and you tossed a half-hearted glare at him as you tried to almost disappear into the shelves. “I’m 6’5 by the way.” He muttered sliding past you and went on his way deeper into the relatively small grocery store.

Almost like you were on autopilot, you wandered back towards the front of the grocery store to pay for your questionable food shopping. You attempted to make small talk with the young 17-year-old pottering about behind the counter, but it wasn’t returned and you marked it up to being wary of newcomers. “Thank you. Have a nice night.” You thanked lifting the plastic bag off of the counter and began the journey home.

“I am so fucking stupid,” You half yelled, and half sang into the silence of your entry hall. “How is that the first thing I say to someone.” You continued tossing your keys on the smallish storage cabinet to your left knowing the Jadu would tease you with the knowledge for eras to some. Muttering to yourself and wandered back into your barely lived-in kitchen and slammed the nondescript shopping bag on the counter and began making one of the pot noodles and tossing the rest of them into the cupboard above your head.

Still feeling the heat of your embarrassment you deflated slightly and leaned against the counter. “Dude how tall are you?” You question yourself again with a hint of disbelief even though you were sure that the guy's hands could easily cover your face. Robotically, you grabbed the kettle and began making your pot noodle, you‘d barely gotten the fork in your mouth when a soft knocking sounded against your front door. “Who in the hell.” You muttered skittering towards your front door leaving the pot noodle on the counter, the small strip of frosted glass on either side of your front door did little to give you an idea of who was standing on the porch.

Pulling open the door, you stood in your socks searching an empty porch for who' knocked on your door. Already you thought the neighbourhood’s kids were playing tricks on you. Moving to step on to the porch almost kicking into something warm and injuring yourself. You glanced down at the warmth on your toes, a Tupperware container sat close to your front door you were surprised that you hadn’t put her foot in it when she stepped out the door. “Um hello?” you greeted the container sceptically as she crouched down to collect it. “Thank you f-for the soup?” You thanked and questioned the container as you curiously tilted the container from side to side watching the soupy liquid inside move with your movements.

As you stepped back into your house you wondered if whatever was in the container would keep till tomorrow. Heading back into the kitchen you placed the container on the counter and unfolded the piece of paper taped to the side of it.

‘Hi, I live across the street and since you’re new here. And I guessed your fridge was probably empty, so I made a little extra broth and packed it up for you. Don’t worry it’ll keep till tomorrow just put it on the stove on medium heat for 20 minutes or in the microwave for the same. Welcome to the neighbourhood - Omera’ The note read, and you smiled at the kindness of Omera, a woman you’d yet to put a face to, while stuffing another fork full of pot noodle into your mouth, you tucked the note back into its original place and stored the container of broth away in her empty fridge.

You released a huff as you tried to make yourself taller to reach the bathroom windows handle, the steam from your most recent shower was so dense that it just didn’t want to dissipate and with a tight grip on the counter, you doubled your efforts and finally got the window open. With pride in your step, you wandered into your new bedroom with your toothbrush hanging out of your mouth as a familiar ring tone pierced the quiet of your bedroom. Without looking, you answered the phone and set it on loudspeaker, “Hello, you're on loudspeaker.” You garbled out as you rinsed your mouth out and placed your toothbrush by the sink. “Do you know how many times I’ve called you!” Your mom yelled through the phone and you visibly cringed at the sharpness in your mother’s tone, the woman was a force to be reckoned with when she wanted to be. “Anything could have happened. Are you sure the neighbourhood’s safe enough?” Your mother rattled on worrying about you even though you were in your 30’s with a stable income and living alone.

Smiling at the sentiment you grabbed your phone and climbed into the bed. “I’m fine Mom. The neighbourhood seems safe enough. I mean aren’t the estate agents legally obligated to tell me if it wasn’t.” You muttered as you settled crossed legged at the head of the bed, the weirdly comfortably headboard cushioned your back as you leaned back into it and the pillows to get comfortable. “What’ve I missed first? Is Dad still looking for work?” You asked as you placed the phone on the pillow next to you, warmth filled you as you silently listened to your mom explain how another nameless auntie had a baby, another cousin getting engaged and how your step-dad, Lanth; a man who’d worked the majority of his life, still refuse to take his retirement and you didn’t think he’d ever actually take it at this point.

“You know how Lanth is. Honestly, I’m starting to think I married a 20-year-old in an old man’s body.” Your mom explained you smiled at the warmth you heard in your mom's voice and when you’d originally met Lanth you’d been sceptical as every teenager was of their parent's new boyfriends or girlfriends. “But enough about us. What about you? Hm. How’s the new house?” Your mom asked, sounding as eager as you had when you’d originally agreed to drive out to meet the estate agent and view the house.

Reaching behind you to prop up the pillows a little and pull the clean sheets over yourself, you sighed a little, feeling a wave of tiredness trying to overtake your body. “Nevarro’s housing market hasn’t inflated like the rest of the states but honestly I’ve been waiting for someone to tell me that it's haunted or in a bad neighbourhood.” You stated relishing in the soft fresh scent of your sheets in comparison to the musty old smell the other ones had. Your mom's voice was muffled on the other side of the phone as if she was talking to someone or left the TV on a little too loud. “The pastel bedroom walls make me want to throw something...but what are you whispering about?” You questioned yawning halfway through the sentence as you slowly began to settle down for the night.

On the other end of the phone, your mom sighed heavily, and it was the tell-tale sign that usually came before news that you wasn’t going to like. “Lanth said there's a Mandalorian settlement out that way and that you might want to be careful.” Your mom explained, concerned and a little off as if she was relaying what was being said to her. You hummed in agreement; you knew not all of Lanth’s people were the same, but they were best approached with caution just in case. “Anyway, I’ll let you go. Goodnight. Love you baby.”

“Goodnight. Love you both.” You smiled into your pillow as you heard the baritone of Lanth through the phone telling her to sleep well and to be careful. You watched the screen blink a few times telling you that your mom had hung up the phone, sleep tugged at you as you pulled the sheets up under your chin and glanced around the bedroom one final time to centre yourself. “I still have to get a door.” You muttered staring at the dark abyss of the hallway before rolling over and trying to ignore the unsettling inky darkness but with the bedside lamp on you slowly began to drift off into a slight sleep.

#The Handyman #handyman!paz #blue writes #paz vizsla #paz vizla #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizla x reader

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ohgoddard · 4 years

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Fist of Fire.2.12

AN: Warning, heavy topics in this chapter.

“Court is now in session. On the matter of ‘The State of South Carolina vs Joseph Ellington’ on matters of extreme destruction of public and private property, endangering the lives of the innocent, partaking in heroic actions without a valid license, and conspiracy to destroy the government.” The judge takes a deep breath, reaching up to his face to straighten his glasses.

“How does the defense plead?”

The courtroom was packed. Behind the fencing that separated the legal teams from the people, every available seat was packed with news teams, cameras, and those lucky enough to get in before all the seats were taken. Dozens of eyes were centered at the legal teams, which were feeling the heat of the public gaze. The plaintiffs were four neatly dressed men, the most lawyer people you can think of. In front of them on their table lay briefcases of paperwork, with piles around them as well. This was a legal case they wanted to win. The defense on the other hand, was remarkably bland. Their table had nothing on it, save for a glass of water. But every movement the defense made sent off the camera shutters in the back of the room, and elicited hushed whispers of the news crews. The defense was a huge man, dressed in a custom tailored striped suit, with his hair slicked back. And he had the largest smile yet.

“Yes, the Defense pleads innocent to these charges.” When he spoke, the room exploded in the snapping of shutter lenses and the scribbling of pencils and pens onto notepads. The judge slammed his gavel on his desk, calling for order. The Judge peered over his post to eye up the defense, his eyesight failing him at identifying who it is. “Am I to believe you are who we are prosecuting today? Are you Mr.Ellington?”

The defense laughed and shook his head. The Judge did not like this display of non-professionalism in his court. “Just who are you then? And where is the defendant?”

The large man stood up and did a courteous bow to the Judge. “Excuse my manners, your honor. I am not accustomed to American law. My client will not be joining us today. I doubt he will be walking in anytime soon.” He stands up and straightens his tie.

“As for my name? I am a good friend of Rev-I mean, Joseph Ellington. And I believe I can help him out in this situation. My name is All Might.”

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Jade had been in a violent depression for weeks now. Since the fight in Charleston, the last time she saw Reverse..and his body laying at the bottom the crater he caused. In the following days of the fight, of her scuffle with the golden haired boy, she was in dozens of police stations. She gave the same story, the same details. But they always brushed off one part of her story. How the golden haired boy spoke of Emesh’s plan. How it would happen, regardless of her being there or not. But they were not interested in that. They wanted her to say they saw Reverse destroy the stadium. That he without calling for backup jumped into a fight. That he was a reckless man who did only the wrong.

You killed him.You caused all this destruction.

Then came the chastising. The scolding. The ‘You should have just run.’ They seem to forget she was paralyzed for a good bit of her story. A lot of this though was aimed at her other classmates, who instead of running away assisted in getting the civilians out. Riley, who instead of running away ran to the people who were too slow to get out on their own. John, who teleported to far away places. Emily, who grabbed those under rubble. Seems like there was a good bone in her after all. Ricardo, who managed to cut a hole in the wall for them to escape. Grace, for keeping their captors under wraps. They got the worst of it. They were being hit with all manner of charges with juvenile heroism and such. They would have all gone to prison if not some big shot from the school called in a favor from overseas. Some “Mighty Strength” ass hole.

But her friends being given the slack on their sentences did not alleviate the depression that built up in Jade. In her head a whirlwind of emotion whizzed around, hurling insults and depreciation.

It was all your fault. They came after YOU. Reverse would still be here if not for YOU. YOU CAUSED ALL THIS. After the police were done grilling the teenagers, weeks of testifying and interrogations and interviews, they sent them back home to Atlanta. However, the school could not legally take them into the dorms due to the police investigation going on over there. So they had to go to their parent’s homes. Which, for some like Emily, were good. But then there was Jade.

Jade’s mom lived in an apartment in Boulevard Heights. It was not a desirable neighborhood to be in. The streets still had their usual aroma of spilled alcohol and urine, the streetlights were flickering in and out. Jade was unfortunately the last person to be dropped off by the police, and even then they dropped her a block away from her home and drove off. They must have been scared of her street, the only reason why they must have dropped a teenage white girl off by herself in the middle of Boulevard Heights.The sun was setting too, but this wasn’t the problem. Being out in the dark on her street was nothing foreign to Jade, especially when you had to grow up here.

He would still be here if not YOU. You saw his body. You know he’s dead.

Jade began her walk home, looking around at how her block has gotten worse since she was last there, Whole buildings now nothing but rubble, larger congregations of people around shops.

She sighed deeply and kept walking, keeping her head down. It was like putting on a familiar hat. She melded right back into the place. Except, instead of a hidden bravado and looking for a fight, she was not trying her hardest to not scream and cry. All around her she is reminded of that day.

The flashing of the broken street lights reminds her of the warning lights in the corridor. The humidity of the air reminded her of the restricting telekinetic grab around her throat and chest. The yelling and hollering of people having fun that night only ring in her ears as the cries of people being crushed by falling debris.

Jade’s phone buzzed.She took it out, saw that it was Riley, and put it back in her pocket. It was hard to talk. Especially to her. And especially about this. The missed calls tallied up to seven. The dozens of text messages only given one word replies. She ran her hand through her hair, grabbing it in a faint attempt to give herself any feeling. But there was nothing. Her being sent back to Boulevard would not help her get better. Her outside now reflected her inside. She walked by an old man sitting on a stoop, listening to a radio. The court case in South Carolina against Reverse was dropped. The broadcaster was going on about ‘celebrity judges’ and the swaying of the juries. But all that doesn’t matter.

Because Reverse was dead. And she killed him.

A few minutes later, Jade appeared at her mom’s apartment’s door. She knocked and waited. And waited. Down the hall, the old lady who used to look after her as a child was leaving her room turned to see Jade. She waved happily at Jade, who only replied in a meek hand gesture. Her mom’s door opened and.. She was exactly as Jade remembered from when she was here three years ago. Her bright ginger hair was put up in a messy bun, zero makeup on her freckled face, and a slim frame dressed in a nurse’s scrubs. Her face was one of joy when she saw her daughter standing there. She immediately swept Jade up in a huge hug and gave a yelp of joy. Jade was lifted off the ground for a moment as her mom bear hugged her.

“Oh my Jesus thank God you’re safe!”

“Thanks mom. I’m a bit tired though, from being in the car all day. Can I go to sleep?”

Jade’s mom put her down and let her walk in. The apartment was very tidy, as there was only one very organized nurse living there. Her teenage daughter would not have messed it up in a while. Jade made a bee-line to her room, where she closed the door behind her almost just as fast. She didn’t like doing this to her mom, but she could not talk right now. Her room was just as she left it, posters of mighty heroes on the wall, piles of books on gasoline and petrol. Kinda useless now. And her bed, which was -

Full?

A figure was laying in her bed, and when Jade turned on the lights..It was Riley.

Jade just kinda stood their dumbstruck, as her classmate got out of her bed and walked over to her, looking down.

“If you don’t respond to me, I’m not just gonna sit by and let you do it. I’m gonna track you down, and we’re talking about it.” Riley tried to reach for Jade’s hand,but she snatched it away. Riley took a step back, and gave a look to Jade.

“I’m..I’m sorry. But I can’t talk.” Jade turned her face away from Riley, not wanting her to see her face. Not see her eyes.

“But you can talk. You need to. If you keep all this bubbled up inside you you’re going to do something bad like -”

“Like what?!” Jade turned around to face Riley in a fit, her eyes tearing up and her hands and arms starting to glow. Riley kept her calm composure and slowly walked back to Jade.

“I’m worried about you. You didn’t go through what me and the other teammates went through. You went through worse. I know it was awful. I know it left a mark on you. I saw the way you walked on the way to your home.” Jade took a step back from the approaching Riley, her arms lighting up another level of light.

“You followed me?!” Riley yelled back, “Because you weren’t answering my calls! You weren’t talking to me!” Jade wanted to punch her. Just to vent.

“I DON’T NEED YOU!” she yelled as her arms lit up in a flame,her whole body becoming a blinding light.

She didn’t want to be cared for right now. She wanted to be alone. Be alone with herself. With those violent thoughts. The memories of the corridor fight, and how helpless she felt until her body was overtaken by some golden feeling. The memory of seeing Reverse’s body at the bottom of a crater. She wanted to be alone with those memories. And her thoughts. The ones that told her she killed her teacher, the only connection to her father that wasn’t her mother. The man who had taught her how to use her power better. The man who told her stories about her father that her mom could or would not. The man who was..more of a dad to her than her own father. She wanted to be alone with those thoughts. The ones that reminded her of the extension cords in the closest and the height of her ceiling fan. The ones that told her to do it.

Jade didn’t know when Riley took her arm. Nor when she started crying. Jade didn’t know she said all that aloud. Her eyes were too full of tears and her mind was gone. All that was left was the sorrow and regret. The pain she had been holding onto for so long. The burden she put upon herself to kill her father’s killer. To stop his evil plans and make her father proud. She let it all out, holding tightly onto the arms of Riley and sobbing. She fell onto her bed, whimpering and bawling while Riley calmly rubbed her arm and gave soothing words. Riley rebuked every foul statement Jade made about herself, about her inability to be a hero, her cause of Reverse’s death. She just let Jade get it all out.

And in the morning, when Jade awoke from a night of sobbing and release, she found herself alone in her room.

Then her phone buzzed. She saw that it was Riley. She hesitated. Was she ready to just talk? Talk like it didn’t happen? Maybe it didn’t. Maybe Riley was never here. Maybe Jade made it all up in her head. Was she even in the right headspace? No, no Jade still felt the haranguing pain in her soul that she caused all of this. But, it was not as heavy. And with it came vindication. A drive. A need to turn that pain into something else. To ruin whatever plans Emesh left behind. To avenge Reverse.

She picked up her phone.

“Thank you.”

#FoF:og #creative writing #creativewriting #creative #original #original writing #original story #originalwriting #orignal female character #superhero #superhero story #allmight

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whumpcellarchive · 5 years

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Pouring

tw: suicide mention, torture-y whump stuff, non-con implied but it didn't actually happen

just some self indulgent Roman x Astrid shit don't mind me

Summary: Astrid goes missing, and Roman is giving himself an ulcer trying to figure out what happened. When she shows up on his doorstep in the middle of a thunderstorm, the reunion isn't quite as expected.

[[MORE]]

Roman sighed as glanced at his phone. Two more hours of this thunderstorm, at least. He had left the facility for a few days just to clear his head; was it too much to ask for calm weather? The whole Astrid situation was taking too much out of him, so Dante sent him to a quiet little cul-de-sac house for a reset.

It was the same one that Dante and his sister had grown up in; he'd gotten it in their father's will and renovated with what he referred to as "technological modifications". The same modifications that Roman now used to tap into the traffic cameras around town, in the hopes that he could find some indication of where Astrid had gone.

He was frustrated. Here he was, a massive collection of reconnaissance tools and weaponry at his disposal, yet he had the nerve to sit and nurse a cup of coffee while she was off god knows where, probably getting tortured to no end. Hell, she could even be dead at rate he was working.

He slapped a hand onto the keyboard. "Come on, Cas. Think," he grumbled.

Roman began to consider her last appearance, but he was interrupted by an indicator light on the desktop. The security system had detected movement on the front porch. Probably just the storm, he assumed, but no harm in looking. It wasn't like he was making any headway.

He pulled up the video feed to find a small figure lying in front of the door, face covered, but still being rattled by the torrent of rain and wind. He practically fell on his way over, jetting up so quickly that he spilled his drink all over the floor.

Astrid scrambled to stand as she heard the door open, for fear that she had the wrong house. Roman managed to catch her before she fell down the stairs into the yard, and brought her inside.

"You scared me half to death, love," he laughed, pulling her into a tight embrace that made her groan. It was only then that he realized just how poor of shape she was in.

It seemed that the only clothing she had on was a massive men's undershirt, covered in blood and dirt. Her hair (what little she had) was a mangled mess. He knew he needed to work quickly to get her dry and clean, but he dreaded seeing what injuries had caused such vibrant staining.

Roman guided her to the couch and sat her down while he worked on securing the house.

"Were you being followed?" He asked from the computer, putting in strings of commands that would bring in reinforcing for the windows and doors. She didn't reply.

"Hon?"

Nothing. He ran back into the living room, fearing the worst. Astrid lay where he left her, head draped over the arm of the couch as she slept. He sighed.

"Astrid, dear, listen. You can sleep soon, but I need to take care of your injuries first." He nudged her, and she grimaced.

"Later," she mumbled.

"No, Astrid. Now. You're freezing, and I'm pretty sure there's going to be blood on my sofa when you get up."

"'M okay."

"I'm going to do this whether you're awake or not," he growled, frustration mounting. She was just wasting time, and it could be time she needed to stay alive.

"'M already dead anyways."

He frowned. Just what had she gotten out of?

"Okay, listen, I'm going to pick you up now. I don't know what happened to you, so it might hurt, okay?" He didn't wait for a response as he lifted her up into his arms and started down the hall to the bathroom.

Astrid whined, stubborn tears streaming down her face. "Hurts," she muttered, seemingly to no one.

Once in the bathroom, he sat her down in the tub and carefully removed the shirt, a task made harder by the fact that it was completely soaked through from rain.

She had clearly been in bad hands while she was gone. Her biceps were covered in meticulous, almost ritualistic cuts. Upon further inspection, Roman realized they were tally marks. Her neck and sternum were purpled, and he swore he could make out hand marks. It seemed as though most of the blood, however, was coming from a very long gash just below her navel. It had been sloppily stitched, and the sutures had since broken. His blood boiled at the thought of someone experimenting on her, or worse.

"What happened to you?" it came as almost a whisper.

"Wouldn' let me die," she slurred, letting her eyes flutter open just enough to catch Roman's expression. "I had to. M'self."

It took everything in him not to sob, not to gather her up in his arms and pet her hair and kiss her, tell her he won't let anyone hurt her ever again. She needed him to be strong. He knew this.

Roman carefully worked to clean her up, washing the mud from her hair and her wounds and restitching, properly this time. She quickly fell asleep, resting her head against him as he worked. He listened to the things she said as she slept, desperate to find details, but it was all incoherent. He began to wonder if she were feverish, too.

When everything was done, and she was no longer a shivering mess, Roman pulled one of his own shirts onto her, careful not to touch the bandages he'd wrapped, and laid her down in one of the extra bedrooms.

"Cas," she mumbled as he started for the door.

"I'm here. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. You're safe now."

"'M sorry."

"Just. Just get some rest for me."

#my whumpee #roman #drabble #astrid #whump fic #ladywhump

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cookiecutterwrites · 5 years

Text

The Almighty Student Council Does Important Things - How to Save the World in 12 Easy Steps, S1E4

John Smith puts up with student council president Pavlova until he longer can.

Wordcount: ~2000.

INT. SCHOOL HALLWAY - DAY

Close on the STUDENT COUNCIL armband on JOHN SMITH's sleeve. He walks past rows of lockers, clipboard and pen in hand.

It's break time and STUDENTS crowd the hall. Something like every fifth student is decidedly inhuman, but the discordant gossip and palpable energy give the distinct impression that more than a few are hiding their own secrets.

Most ignore John Smith. A couple wave, fewer still say hi. John Smith marks each interaction down on a bit of graph paper knacked to his clipboard -- he’s plotting a curve. The peak smack-dab in the center of the page is labeled ‘NON-REACTION’. This is evidently the most popular response.

John Smith taps at the bottom-left corner and frowns. There’s a gap in his plot between ‘ABSOLUTE NIGHTMARE’ and ‘CRUEL AND UNUSUAL YET CHARMING’.

MARLEY blithely rams into John Smith as they cross paths and very obviously tacks something onto his backpack.

John Smith does the responsible thing and pretends not to notice at first before peeling the note off his back.

JOHN SMITH Hey, Marlon!

Marley comes to an abrupt stop, but doesn’t even bother turning around to face John Smith proper. He couldn't even get her name right, after all.

The note says ‘KICK ME’ in big letters, and then, in progressively smaller letters squashed together as they near the bottom of the page, ‘AND SKIN ME ALIVE AND IMMOLATE ME TO RESURRECT THE RENEGADE GOD BR’KOAZAR’. Marley’s handwriting is horrendously slanted, as if she were desperate to get the words out faster than she could move her pen.

JOHN SMITH (smiling) I’d be honored.

Marley scoffs and carries on her way.

John Smith fills in the gap in his plot and draws a perfect bell curve through all the points in one assured flourish. Because that’s a thing any normal high school student can pull off, right?

INT. CLASSROOM - DAY

A classroom with all the desks smushed together in the center. One of the windows is open. Six students, John Smith included, sit around this mega desk, each wearing an armband. This is the student council. And they all look scared witless.

PAVLOVA, 16, SLAMS her hands against the desk-Pangaea, surveying her underlings with fire in her eyes. She is a ballerina made entirely of candy and marshmallow fluff, and is evidently the student council President. Her voice runs like bubbling butterscotch.

PAVLOVA A dunk tank at the Borealis dance?! What do I say to the people?! This'll ruin me! Who approved this?!

SECRETARY Er, Pav, you did?

Pavlova ignores him. She ignores him so hard, we won't even grace him with a proper name or physical description.

PAVLOVA You there! Events Coordinator! You let this happen!

She points directly at John Smith, who jumps and gulps.

JOHN SMITH The student body asked so I -

Pavlova YANKS down a projector screen, points a clicker. A pie graph flickers into view, one solid color except a tiny sliver which is highlighted: 'PEOPLE WHO ACTUALLY ASKED - 1'.

PAVLOVA You made this graph!

JOHN SMITH Allow me to remind you that she had the rest of our year at literal and figurative gunpoint.

PAVLOVA She said she rigged the kitchens with Tinekta explosives. You told me Tinekta explosives weren't a thing. Why didn't you stop her?!

JOHN SMITH (shrugging) She looked like she was having a good time. Everyone deserves that.

Pavlova face-palms so hard, it leaves hand prints in the freshly-fallen icing of her brow. She points and clicks. The labels on the graph switch to, 'PEOPLE WHO HAD A GOOD TIME', and in egregiously larger letters, 'PEOPLE WHO DID NOT'.

JOHN SMITH Did you just have that ready to go?

PAVLOVA Do you have any idea how long it took me to gain the trust of -- never mind. It's the Borealis, who's gonna -

John Smith opens his mouth but Pavlova cuts him off by pointing the clicker, SEIZING him by the collar and pulling him up. John Smith is instantly paralyzed.

The new slide is a tally chart of 'TIMES JOHN SMITH WAS WRONG' and 'TIMES PAVLOVA HAD TO FIX IT'. It's the exact same impossibly large number on both sides.

PAVLOVA You made this uncannily accurate chart but I'm giving you a chance to redeem yourself. Force the scoundrel to sit in the tank! She asked for it. She'll answer for it.

JOHN SMITH (grappling at his collar) Why must you always go for the neck -

PAVLOVA (hushed, menacing) This is what we do here. Don't mess this up for me. What I say, goes. What happens in this room stays between these sanctified walls. This is how we've always run this show. (normally, dropping John Smith) Meeting adjourned!

She accompanies the announcement with yet another desk smack.

SOUND CUT TO:

INT. SCHOOL HALLWAY - DAY

A door is SLAMMED in Marley's face. John Smith's voice rings out from the room beyond.

JOHN SMITH (O.S.) I'm sorry, can you give me a moment? Someone left the window open and -- gah! Sky rats!

Marley taps her watch and stares down the door. TETRA is there too.

MARLEY You don't have to be here, you know?

Tetra fiddles with her thick scarf.

TETRA I - I'm responsible too. I got you those Tinekta explosives.

MARLEY Huh. So they do exist.

TETRA You didn't know?! Did you take me for a liar? And you were okay with just... lying to 200 people?!

Marley clicks her tongue, smiles and shakes her head.

TETRA Tinekta is a poor translation. It's... extraterrestrial in origin.

Her scarf comes undone and there at the base of her neck is a subtly iridescencing cyan TATTOO of something unquestionably alien, part fire, part clockwork. It shifts and rotates in her grey ashen skin. Tetra quickly covers it with her hand and rewraps her scarf but it's too late, Marley's seen it.

John Smith opens the door, grinning sheepishly. Feathers stick out of his hair.

JOHN SMITH You can come in now.

INT. CLASSROOM - DAY

It's the same room as before. Marley and Tetra sit on one end of the uber desk island and John Smith sits at the other. Marley's gone and crossed her arms, eyes narrowed, self-assured smirk.

MARLEY I won't do it.

John Smith just frowns. They stare each other down. John Smith looks markedly less confident, while Marley glares like she trained with the best of hawks, which she may well have.

In the background, a SKY RAT rams up against the window, bounces off, falls away. Tetra winces.

JOHN SMITH Why'd you do it?

MARLEY Why, spite, of course.

JOHN SMITH TETRA Why spite? That's not what you told me.

Marley laces her fingers together, rests her chin atop the tent.

MARLEY You had the money, no? Your President is corrupt. She's sitting on a pile of money. Isn't it time for a change?

JOHN SMITH Yes it is but -

TETRA You're agreeing with us?!

JOHN SMITH - is holding an entire grade at gunpoint and joking about blowing up the kitchens really the best way to go about this?

TETRA Actually... Actually there was a Tinekta bomb ready to go.

John Smith throws his hands up in exasperation and face palms real hard. It's not a Pavlova level face palm, but it's pretty solid in its own right.

JOHN SMITH Didn't think you could get that stuff here on Earth.

TETRA You can't -- wait, how do you know -

MARLEY - Yeah, not even I knew that.

Silence. John Smith reaches up as if to pull the brim of a cap down over his eyes but upon realizing he just isn't wearing one right now, awkwardly hugs himself instead.

Marley waves his wide-eyed expression away.

MARLEY Why do you let her push you around? Huh? You're obviously smarter than you look, I bet you could do something really crazy if you had the reins to yourself.

JOHN SMITH Stop - MARLEY Who are you really, John Smith?

He slams his hands against the desk, mimicking Pavlova.

JOHN SMITH I'm nobody! I'm just... I'm...

Marley smirks.

MARLEY Check the files. She's taking the money for herself.

JOHN SMITH But why?

MARLEY Oh, I dunno. But isn't fairness and the status quo what you're all about? Can't have the prez running around with such lopsided numbers, can we? (leaning forward) And hasn't she done enough to you?

JOHN SMITH Why are you telling me this?

MARLEY Because I care about you, obviously!

John Smith is silent and tight-lipped.

MARLEY And chaos.

TETRA Ooh, I like chaos!

Marley stands and moves for the door. Tetra follows.

MARLEY I'm not even going to your stupid back-to-school dance but put my name down for the tank anyways. I'll make sure someone else takes the seat for me, I have my ways.

She exits and John Smith curls up, groaning and burying his face in his hands.

INT. SCHOOL HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS

Marley stares at the door to the student council room, takes a deep breath. And then, pumping a fist in the air -

MARLEY PAV JUST VOLUNTEERED TO SIT ON THE DUNK TANK!

STUDENT Really? Pavlova?

MARLEY PAV! The one and only!

CUT TO:

Same hall, later in the day. The final bell rings and students stream out of their classes. JAIDYN and John Smith make a beeline for the student council's meeting room.

JAIDYN You do realize how weird and out of character this is for you?

JOHN SMITH Just do this one thing for me.

They enter the -

INT. CLASSROOM - CONTINUOUS

John Smith raps his knuckles against a filing cabinet in the back.

JOHN SMITH This is where she keeps the transactions.

Jaidyn turns the padlock over in his hands and whips a butterfly knife from his backpack.

JOHN SMITH I don't think -

JAIDYN This is faster than picking the lock.

JOHN SMITH Sure, but it's still personal property.

Jaidyn flips the knife open, messes it up and cuts himself, drops the knife. He jams his finger in his mouth. Grumbling, he plucks a crumpled bobby pin from his bag.

John Smith snatches butterfly knife from the ground and flips it open perfectly with practiced ease. He hands it back to Jaidyn, who just kind of balks. John Smith frowns.

JOHN SMITH Is that - Is that not a normal thing high school students do?

JAIDYN No. Not at all. Just... dial it back a bit.

JOHN SMITH ... Noted.

Jaidyn STABS the padlock and miraculously, it breaks into two. He pries the cabinet open. John Smith pulls out a ream of papers and looks them over, sighs.

JOHN SMITH Marlon was right.

INT. DANCE HALL - NIGHT

It's a trendy venue, though not quite big or well-lit enough for the guests. Dressy students mill about taking pictures or crowding the food.

An ACTUAL HORDE of students push an over-dressed Pavlova up to a DUNK TANK in the corner of the hall.

PAVLOVA You can't! You can't! Who approved this?!

STUDENTS PAV! PAV! PAV! PAV!

Pavlova is dumped into the seat and begins shivering almost immediately.

John Smith is first in line, dressed in a dusty slate suit. He tosses the ball between his hands.

PAVLOVA John, you wouldn't...

Some distance away, Jaidyn motions 'NO!' to John Smith. 'Dial it back', he seems to be saying. He didn't even bother getting dressed, he's just wandering around in his casual clothes because he's a cartoon and is stuck with this outfit for the rest of the season.

John Smith shoots Jaidyn a nervous smile. Jaidyn winces and averts his eyes.

PAVLOVA ... John?

John Smith THROWS LIKE A GODDAMN MAJOR LEAGUE PITCHER. He hits the bullseye dead on and Pavlova drops into the water with a SHRIEK.

CUT TO BLACK.

I’m still posting, guys. I’m not dead

This episode’s shoutout goes to @mysterysiria for the oh-so-eloquent ‘SKIN ME ALIVE’

HTSTW tag list (ask to be added/removed!): @esoteric-eclectic-eccentric @maxbeewriting @eyelessfatdragon @glacizata @maple-writes @theforgottencoolkid @delerious-wordsmith @leskinggoddesskittycat @klywrites @quiescentwriting @acedragonwriter @deepestbelieverstranger @beatlesandbards @izzuniiwrites @managingmymuse

Previous episodes: E1, E2, E3

Next time on How to Save the World, Meet Cute!

#s1e4 #wip #htstw #cookie's writing #cookie's stuff #script #screenplay #screenwriting #amwriting #fantasy kitchen sink #slice of life #comedy #writers on tumblr #john smith #pavlova #half these throwaway jokes are building to something #trust me you guys #or maybe they're continuity gags #who knows

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littleredroseonthevalley · 6 years

Text

Red Rose - Chapter 13

Prologue Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8 Ch. 9 Ch. 10 Ch. 11 Ch. 12 CH. 13 Ch. 14 Ch. 15 Ch. 16

Summary: The second day of the Presentation comes, and the girls are submitted to a culinary test. Riley and Olivia find some common ground. Charlotte hides witnesses in Greece.

Rating: M - Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with non-explicit suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, or coarse language.

Notes: Hello, everyone! Missed me much last week? I noticed that I’m now past the hundred followers, and I didn’t mentioned it because I didn’t know how without having to come up with a giveaway. Since I’m poor and overworked, I won’t be able to host one, perhaps when I’m 200 in...

BUT, I’d like to personally thank my hundreth follower, @mythup, and all other 99+ who have graced my tally.

The submissions for the taglist are open! Just hit me up and I’ll add y’all to it!

Athens, Greece, Fall 2015

Charlotte locked the door behind her. She, the two girls, a maid and her driver gathered on the narrow entry hall of the old house.

“This is where you’ll be staying for a while.” The young noblewoman told the two girls in Russian. “While it isn’t safe for you in Cordonia, think of this house as a haven. No-one aside from Ms. Flowers, you and I know of it, much less that you’re here. I expect for you to follow Ms. Flowers instructions to the letter and to dedicate yourselves to your studies. A tutor will be provided for you in the morning.”

“Of course, Ms. Charlotte.” Katya bowed appropriately. “We’re very thankful for your help.”

They moved to the living room, and the girls sat on the couch, backs aching from too many hours hidden inside a car trunk.

“Can we leave the house?” Katya asked.

“No.” Charlotte was blatant. “Not only we do not know whether your former boss has connections in Greece, you were smuggled into European territory. If a police officer asks for your papers, you’ll be deported back to Belarus. Better safe than sorry.

She pointed to the maid and continued: “The cook will make sure you’re fed and clothed, while the tutor will keep you busy starting tomorrow. There’s a small yard in the back, where you can sunbathe if you ever feel the need.”

Zarina looked over the window, restlessly. “When will we be able to go back?”

Charlotte pursed her lips. “I don’t know for sure. Soon enough. We’ll send for you as soon as it happens.”

“Ms. Charlotte?” Katya calls upon her attention.

“Yes?” The oldest respond, facing her.

She handed her a manila file. “The last time I’ve been to the brothel I stole this from the safe. I thought I could use it as leverage to escape, but it’s in Greek, and I have no clue what’s on it. I think it must be important. All the others were stored somewhere else.”

“I don’t speak Greek either, but I’ll take it to Riley. She should know what to do with those.”

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

Early in the morning, Riley sat on the dresser, finishing the last tints of her make-up for the day. It was exhausting to wake up early every day, just so Maxwell and Bertrand wouldn’t see her without it in the morning, but it was necessary.

Back in New York, she made sure to only have night employment, so her looks would be less recognizable, but Cordonia’s social season, contrary to expectations, played out mostly in the mornings.

She was reminded amusingly of Penelope’s complaints, “My advisors said I only needed to look pretty at the balls and flirt with the Prince, but it hasn’t been going that way at all”. It seemed them all were misled about the nature of the tests to become the next Queen of Cordonia.

While putting on the mascara, she received a message from Charlotte, saying Katya and Zarina were safe in Athens. Smiling, she deleted the message, as a security measure.

A knock followed it. “Rise and shine, little blossom!” It was Maxwell.

“Day two of the Feast.” Bertrand announced. “I hope you’re prepared to fight for your time with the Prince, Riley.”

“And all the apples! You’ve made an apple pie before, right? And you’re pretty good at planting apple trees?” Maxwell asked.

“I guess we’re all finding out today.” She opened the door for them to enter. “Good morning, Maxwell, Bertrand.”

“Good morning.” Bertrand said, gruffly. “We’re here to prepare you for today’s events.”

“Very well. What am I supposed to be doing?” She asked, sitting back at the dresser and crossing her legs. Before Bertrand could open his mouth, she interrupted. “No, wait, am I supposed to be dressed differently for some inane reason?”

He narrowed his eyes. “As a matter of fact, yes. The best dressed lady will be crowned the Apple Queen.”

“Which means?” She raised one of her inquisitive eyebrows at him.

“It’s a fun tradition!” Maxwell said. “The people vote on who will run the Apple Court.”

“Yes, you’d get extra publicity, the favor of the actual Queen and the power to boss people around for an hour.” Bertrand amended.

“Interesting.” She said, with a contemplative smile. “What do you have in mind?”

He threw her a dress bag. “Change. There’s no time to lose. Through a series of promises and threats, I was able to procure a historically accurate rendition of a Cordonian peasant’s best gown from the realm’s most prestigious stage production company, available on consignment.”

She shook her head at him. “I’ll write you a check.”

“Cash only.” He smiled wolfishly.

Riley grumbled and took the dress to the bathroom and changed. “How’s this?”

“It’s perfect!” Maxwell whistled.

“You can thank me later.” Bertrand said, arrogantly.

She opened her jewel box, took a stack of hundred Euro notes and threw them at the Duke. “Thank you, Your Grace. You honor me so.” She said, sarcastically.

Vienna, Austria, Fall 2015

“You summoned me, Your Honor?” The slightly-chubby man said, fearfully.

“Good evening, mister Brandl.” Karen greeted with a smile. “Please, come in.”

She was sat on a divan on the sides of a rich and tastefully decorated living room. The windows, with frames typical for townhouses such as that one, opened to the Danube canal just on the other side of the street.

The house was deathly silent, to the point the clacking of porcelain of Karen’s cup and saucer was deafening.

“Sit down.” She motioned to the divan next to hers, in a polite, if commanding, tone.

Brandl obeyed wordlessly.

She put down her chamomile tea on the coffee table in front of her and picked up a paper portfolio laying on that same table.

“This, mister Brandl,” She showed him the portfolio. “Is an invoice from one of my accountants.”

He gulped. “I hope everything is going well with your investments, ma’am.”

“Oh, they are. Exceptionally well, in fact. For every breath I take, I grow wealthier.” She said, dismissively. “Nothing new, but there was a development that concerned, if not pleasantly surprised, my accountant.”

“What was it, ma’am?” He asked, tentatively.

She opened the file and placed on her lap. “Yesternight, an auction was held at the London branch of Christie’s. A painting by miss Valois reached a very high sum. You see, miss Valois always arose fair prices for her works, but never have a painting by her reached one hundred thousand pounds, and yet, this particular work was sold by two hundred fifty pounds.

“I am sure you know I and my children own collectively the most extensive collection of miss Valois works, and if each of them reaches a fraction of that price at any given auction, we would be over thirteen million Euros wealthier.”

“And all that without lifting a single finger. Some would call you very fortunate, ma’am.” Brandl amended.

“Indeed they would, but what concerns me is why that particular painting sold for so much.” Karen pondered.

“The pound is at a bad exchange rate these times, ma’am, and the economic uncertainties favor us at the art market.” Brandl offered.

She hummed. “Yes, yes, all good points, mister Brandl. Yet, I am unconvinced.”

“Why so?” He stuttered.

“Call it a hunch.” She dismissed with a hand movement. “It was enough, however, for me to issue an inquiry. Can you guess what I have found out?”

He turned blank. “No, ma’am.”

“I assure you it will be most entertaining, but I digress. The seller was kept secret by Christie’s, and you know how protective they are of such information. However, I knew that particular piece, and I knew it had been gifted to a very kind, if simple, lady.

“Regrettably, that woman passed away a few years past, God bless her soul. That painting, then, fell to the hands of her children, whom, without the artistic sensibility nor the emotional attachment to the piece, found it to be a hideous heirloom.

“Imagine their joy when someone offered to purchase that ridiculous painting for a sum of 2.500 Euros. They sold it right away, of course. That person, opportunistic, was purchasing miss Valois paintings scattered through galleries at artificially low prices. They were, after all, works by a moderately unknown artist.

“After he collected a sizeable amount of works, he accidently let out a certain princely family was looking for purchase of miss Valois works, which explained the mysterious surge of demand for her paintings. He, then, offered one of his collected paintings, exactly that one he purchased from those naïve heirs, for auction, believing that would be the one least likely to be traced back to him.”

At every word uttered at a sickly, scary calm by Karen, Brandl shrunk further into the divan.

“You will ruin your back if you keep contorting it like that, mister Brandl.” She pointed out, thin as a knife. “Anything comes to mind with that tale?”

“No, ma’am.” He manages to let out.

“You see, mister Brandl, people look at me and they see just some bored wife of some inbred, aristocratic family that should have gone extinct a long time ago. However, both you and I know that this could not be further from the truth. I am a cruel and ruthless woman. And as such, I don’t leave debts undisputed. You lied to me, mister Brandl, and I do not take lies kindly.” She snapped her fingers.

Her head bodyguard appeared at the door, looking as menacing as always.

“Wh-what are you going to do?” He stuttered, jumping to his feet.

“Restitution, mister Brandl, restitution. You caused me great disservice, running your mouth like that, aside from cheating a poor family out of an opportunity. I will have the money you earned from your pathetic maneuver to its rightful owners, I will have the paintings you bought at my disposition, and you’ll have only the debts you contracted for purchasing them.”

“You cannot do this!” He shouted.

“I can, I want, I did.” Karen was taxactive. Then, turning to her employee: “Now, if you may, escort mister Brandl out, he is becoming an inconvenience.”

The man was forcibly taken out of the living room, and the silence reigned once more.

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

A short walk later, they arrive to the orchard, where the nobles were congregated for the festival.

“Now, Riley,” Maxwell said. “Are you ready to show off your baking skills?”

“No time like now.” She responded, determined.

Maxwell grinned. “Good, ‘cause you’re baking a pie for the Queen!”

“Today’s all about gaining the Queen’s favor. As we draw closer to the Theophany, she’ll be testing all the potential candidates.” Bertrand instructed. “Be careful what you say around her.”

“It’d also help if you won the pie-baking contest.” Maxwell said. “But you won’t be doing this alone! It’s a team event, so you can rely on the other ladies if you need to.”

Riley pursed her lips. “Now, that’s concerning. How can I trust some girl that never even came close to an oven in her life?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Some of them are absolutely amazing bakers!” Maxwell praised.

“I’ll pretend I don’t care how you know that and say it must be some other cutting-edge husband-catching technique.” Riley rolled her eyes. “Speaking of parents in desperation for noble in-laws, where’s Hana? She’d be a mighty asset for this, I’m sure she’d be able to do it blindfolded.”

“Dunno,” Maxwell shrugged. “But maybe you can get her on your team!”

“Okay, let’s do this!” Riley threw her nose to the air and joined the other girls.

“Make House Beaumont proud!” Bertrand commanded.

The two men walk off, leaving Riley with the other women. A minute later, Queen Regina join them.

“Greetings ladies.” She said. “I’m glad to see everyone here again. We will soon be dividing into two teams to partake in the apple pie baking contest. I’ve decided that Olivia will captain one team and Madeleine the other.” Of course she did. “Ladies, please select your teams.”

Again, with no surprise, Madeleine had the first pick. “I choose Lady Penelope.”

The black-haired woman walked cheerfully to Madeleine’s side. “We’ll bake poodle-shaped pie crumpets!”

“No.” Madeleine quickly shut Penelope down.

“Okay…” She retreated into submission.

“Lady Kiara.” Olivia selects, and the tanned-skin woman walks over to her side.

Also unsurprisingly, Hana and Riley were the last pick of the crop. The black-haired controlled an urge to roll her eyes, it was such a pathetic, puerile power play that even teenagers considered it childish.

“Look at the two strays!” Olivia laughed, wickedly. “Come on, Riley, I’ll adopt you. You’re not as mangy as Hana.”

“Oh, no, Olivia.” Riley linked her arms with Hana’s. “We’re a pair.”

“Two undesirables on one team? That’s just vile.” Olivia demeaned.

Riley shrugged. “I respectfully disagree.”

Madeleine resolved the dispute. “I don’t really care. You can have both of them.”

Hana and Riley smiled at each other and marched haughtily to Olivia’s side. As they walked towards the outdoor baking setup, the Queen approaches the black-haired.

“Lady Riley, I hope you’ll exceed expectations like last time.” She said, offhandedly.

“I wouldn’t worry, ma’am. Apple pie, after all, is America’s national dessert.” The younger woman smiled, with a side note of defiance.

Regina did not back down. “I imagine you’ve had some decent apple pies from your homeland. Though I expect that after today, you’ll be saying ‘as Cordonian as apple pie’.”

And with that, she left.

With the arrival of the girls, Olivia and Madeleine organize their teams.

“Riley, Hana, cut the apples.” The redhead commanded. “That should be a simple enough task that even you can handle.” And she walks away before either of them could utter a word.

Riley hugged Hana’s shoulders. “If mise-en-place is what we were given, it is on the mise-en-place we’re going to shine.”

With all the ladies positioned, Queen Regina addresses the crowd. “Let the bake-off begin!”

The ladies jump into a flurry of activity. Olivia slams a basket of apples in front of Riley and Hana.

“Get to work.” She ordered.

They quickly peel and slice the apples.

“Okay, done.” Riley dropped the knife. “The recipe says we should add two cups of sliced apples.”

“But we’re doubling the size of the pie, so we should add four cups.” Hana warned.

“Great, I’ll do the measuring.” She picked up the cup.

“I’ll start getting the spices together.” Hana said and left for the spice cupboard.

Riley takes the four cups of apples and set it aside for the cinnamon mix. “Hey, Olivia!” She called the redhead over.

With no response, she walked over where the Duchess was. When she came closer, the redhead hid two identical shakers behind her back.

“The apples are ready.” Riley informed.

“Uh… good.” Olivia dismissed.

The black-haired rolled her eyes. “Is this the best you can do, Olivia? Y’know, for all that I’ve heard from the Nevrakis, I expected a more seasoned conspirateuse.”

Olivia seems ready to bark, but then sights, checks around for eavesdroppers, and starts whispering: “I’m switching the salt and sugar labels for the other team. Now that you know, you can spare me your moralizing and leave. I don’t have much time.”

“I would, if I didn’t think Madeleine is probably thinking of ways to do the exact same thing.” Riley shrugged.

Olivia seemed shocked. “You want to help?”

“I want to slap that smug smile off Regina’s face.” Riley said.

“That I can agree to.” Olivia nodded. “How about you distract Penelope for me? She’s their guard dog.”

“On it.” Riley said and stealthily walked over to Penelope.

“Hey, Penelope.” She smiled sweetly. “How’s the pie baking?”

The other woman sighed. “Madeleine doesn’t trust me, so I’m ‘standing around and looking pretty’. But, you know, at least that means she thinks I’m pretty.”

“But you’re a noblewoman!” Riley argued. “How many centuries you could trace your lineage back again? Four?”

“Six.” She blushed, self-conscious.

“Six hundred years of high-birth.” Riley emphasizes. “Certainly you can bake a measly pie.”

“If only.” She lamented. “I’ve never even boiled water! Right now I wish I could just snuggle up with my poodle.”

“That I can understand.” The American used a low, emphatic tone of voice.

“Do you have poodles?” Penelope asks, excitedly. “They’re my favorite breed of dog. Did I tell you about the golden poodle statues around my family’s estate? We have one in the atrium, the gardens, the bathhouse…”

Before she could continue, though, a hand patted Riley’s shoulder. “Penelope, darling, excuse me for butting in, but this little sheep has wandered from the herd. I’ll be taking her back now.” Olivia came for her rescue.

“Of course.” She responded, cheerily. “Goodbye!”

Olivia leads Riley back to their team’s kitchen. “Not bad for a beginner.” If only the redhead knew. “But now I need you over by the oven.”

Riley walks over by a wood-fired oven. Hana waves and comes over. “The pie is almost ready to be baked. Want to help me decorate it before it goes in the oven?”

“Only if I can steal some batter.” Riley said, smiling.

“There is leftover filling.” Hana offered.

“Good enough. Let’s go.” She took the Asian’s arm and went over to the table.

Hana presented the pie to be baked. “I want to add a little flair to the pie, so it’ll bake with a pretty design. Though I’m not sure what the design should be. What do you think the Queen would like?”

The first two images that came through Riley’s head was a penis and a red rose. A penis was self-explanatory, but the rose, well, it was a finer print of cruel. Today, however, wasn’t the day for pettiness. She had a contest to win.

“We should add a Cordonian Royal Seal.” She decided, to stroke Regina’s ego. “It’s a pie fit for a Queen after all.”

“The seal is a bit complicated, but I love a challenge!” Hana said, excitedly.

Riley supposed she should volunteer to help, but decided against. Observing the Asian, she felt she had to comment: “You’re really good at this.”

“You sound so surprised.” Hana laughed.

“As I said to Maxwell earlier, I’m surprised you were taught this. It seems so… middle class, I guess.”

The Asian shrugged. “I never had to cook, and if my parents have their way, I never will. But it’s artistic, refined work.”

Before Riley could answer, Kiara appears from behind them and complains: “Hey! You’re not supposed to…” She takes a look into the work and stops on her tracks. “Whoa… Very nice.”

“You think the Queen will like it?” Hana asks.

Kiara smirked. “She’d be a fool not to.” And then takes the freshly-decorated pie and puts it in the oven.

As they waited for the pie to cook, Riley and Hana take a break. Some ice-cold water was served by the maids of the manor, and the girls had the opportunity to enjoy the late-Fall sunlight filtered through the apple trees.

“So, Hana,” Riley said. “As we were saying, if I was to guess, I’d say baking is yet another thing you’ve learned and don’t really like.”

“It was alright. At least I got to taste test all of my creations, including sneaking in some uncooked batter every now and then.” She smiled.

The black-haired snickered. “What would be the point otherwise?”

The timer went off. Riley put it carefully out of the oven and handles it to Olivia. The redhead snickers, smoothly takes the pie and presents it to Queen Regina, almost simultaneously to Madeleine presenting hers.

“Thank you both.” Regina said, ceremonially. “We’ll begin the judging with Madeleine’s pie.”

The woman looks carefully at the dessert, evaluating its presentation.

“This is very well done. Good work, Madeleine.” Regina appraised.

Riley contained a smirk. “Wait until you taste it.” She thought, meanly.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Madeleine bowed.

Regina then takes a knife, cuts out a piece and places it on a Portuguese ceramic dish. With silver cutlery, she carves the smallest of the pieces and puts into her mouth.

“Oh, my!” She quickly places her napkin to her mouth. “That’s a bit heavy on the salt.”

It was probably as salty as the Dead Sea, but Regina would eat the entire pie with a smile, just so she wouldn’t have to admit it.

“What?” Madeleine vociferate, surprised. And then her fists ever so clench, as she glowers at Penelope. Said young noblewoman shrunk, fearfully. “My apologies, Your Majesty.”

Knowing nothing she said could savage Madeleine, Regina began appraising Olivia, Riley, Kiara and Hana’s pie.

“The design is superb.” She commented. “Who did this?”

“I did, Your Majesty.” Hana said, overjoyed.

Her soft scowl dissipates, as it turned out it wasn’t the handiwork of Riley’s. “You’re exceptionally talented, Lady Hana.”

The young woman bowed her graces.

Regina followed the protocol for tasting once again the pie. She bites and tastes it at length. Finally, she declared: “The perfect amount of apples with exquisite flavoring.” The Queen dabs her moth with a napkin. “After weighting the strengths and weaknesses of each side, I declare Olivia’s team the winner.”

With a barely-noticeable smug smirk in her face, Riley celebrated the victory with her teammates. The girls from both sides of the competition applauded, signaling the end of the event.

“Ladies, if you’ll proceed across the ground for our next event.” Regina oriented, as the cleaning staff swarmed to unassemble the outdoor kitchen.

Riley was walking over the signaled area but felt a small nudge to her shoulder. She turned to see who was it, and it was the Queen. “Lady Riley,” She says. “May I have a word?”

“Of course, ma’am.” She assented, politely.

Regina leads her away from the ladies for a stroll through the apple orchard. When they were far enough for anyone to overhear them, Riley asked: “Pardon my rudeness, ma’am, but what is it that you wish to speak with me?”

“I wanted us to get to know one another better.” She said, with an inviting smile. Riley thought she’d feel more at ease with a sneer. “I’ve been impressed with how you’ve comported yourself so far. You’ve demonstrated grace and composure unlike most.”

“You flatter me, ma’am.” She thanked, gracefully, all in the while she braced herself for the slash.

“But a queen, no matter how graceful and composed, cannot be everywhere at once. You’ll need to appoint advisors and ambassadors to act in your stead.” She said, seriously. “Which is why I’d like to hear your opinion on some of those around you.”

Regina was baiting her, Riley was sure. She remembered Bertrand’s words about being diplomatic, and she was going to take them to heart. “Of course, ma’am. I’m happy to be of service.”

“Madeleine is one of your strongest competitors. What is your opinion of her?” Regina asked.

She forced a snicker away. Regina couldn’t help herself. “Madeleine’s an asset.” Riley answered. “She has the pedigree and the skills to thrive at court, and she uses it to her advantage. She has the potential to be a decisive ally. Or a difficult enemy.”

“Interesting assessment.” Regina considered her words. “Hana has been a competitor since the beginning, and you seem closer than the others. What do you see in her?”

Now that’s a low blow. She’s pulling her friends into her intrigue. “Hana is extraordinarily talented, ma’am. And very kind, as well, she’s helped me find my footing here when I didn’t know where to step.”

“She’s someone you’d like to keep in your inner circle, I assume.” She insinuated.

“Of course.” The black-haired smiled.

“I concur with your evaluation.” Regina said. “What you say about your friends can reveal more about you than about them. And Liam’s commoner friend, Drake?” Riley noticed she could barely dissimulate her contempt. “You’re by his side quite often despite him having very little to do with the competition.”

“Despite his sour disposition, ma’am, Drake’s very reliable. He’s exceedingly loyal, and I cannot help but understand why Prince Liam trusts him. So do I, as a matter of fact.”

“It’s good to surround yourself with people you can trust.” Regina said, somewhat demeaning. “A true queen must have a network of allies she can call upon. It’s clear you’ve been assessing how those around you may help you someday.”

“I try my best, ma’am.”

“You may return to the other suitors, Lady Riley. It’s time I announce the next event.” Regina dismissed.

“Of course, ma’am.” She said, with a smile. “And if I may say so, I quite enjoyed our conversation. If you ever wish to know about me, I’ll be happy to provide the information. You needn’t to corner my aunt for it.”

Regina blanched. “How do you know of it?”

“Aunt Isabel is hardly a simpleton, ma’am. She found most strange for a man with an accent to ask with such determination about her niece she hadn’t seen for so long.” Riley informed, smirking wickedly. “Excuse me.” She bowed and left a somewhat-gaping Regina behind.

At the edge of the orchard, the people of the village congregated once more.

Shortly after, Regina addressed all the girls, completely recomposed. “The festival we throw during the Presentation serves to remind us the growth vital to keeping our nation thriving. Now, as is tradition, we will honor one distinguished, best dressed lady as this year’s Apple Queen. This is a ceremonial position for the people to decide. Last year, it was our very own, Lady Madeleine.”

Riley’s eyes moved round ever so slightly, while Madeleine bowed. “I very much appreciated the honor.”

“As for this year, people of Applewood,” The Queen addressed. “Who do you wish to honor with this title?”

A strong, quasi-unanimous chant of Kókkini Prinkípissa took the crowd by strike. The French-bred ladies looked at one another, wondering about whom were the villagers referring to. Riley knew whom, and Regina’s face showed she did too.

Kókkini Prinkípissa. Red Princess.

“I think we have a clear winner.” Regina said, unable to keep her contempt away from her tone. “Lady Riley will be this year’s Apple Queen.”

“Woo!” Riley heard Maxwell celebrate on the distance. “Go, Riley! Party like it’s 1299! All hail the Apple Queen from the Big Apple!”

Regina rolled her eyes. “Lady Riley, please join me for your ‘Coronation’.”

Riley kneels in front of the actual Queen. She hands her an apple-shaped scepter. “I pronounce you Queen of the Apples. Long live the Apple Queen!”

“Thank you all for electing me to represent you as the Apple Queen.” Riley addressed the crowd in Greek, arousing cheers from the peasantry, usually kept at large from those events. “I’m happy to accept this esteemed position, and I will treat it with the utmost respect.”

“My Queen,” Regina said in a low baritone. “I will serve as your acting seneschal and guide you through the ceremony.”

Riley forced a smirk away. Regina must be loving this, she thought, meanly.

Regina continued: “Before we proceed, we must fill out the Apple Court. These are the courtiers who will parade behind you. Who will be your cup-bearer? This person should be a close confidant you would trust with your life.”

Her eyes fluttered through the crowd. To her right-hand side, in a discreet position behind Regina, stood Liam. It was aligned to the objectives of the afternoon, choosing him, but at the same time, such a choice would come across as aggressive, especially to Kiara and Penelope. Their new allegiance would suffer if she was too conspicuous.

Her eyes fluttered to the crowd. At the forefront, Hana smiled, supporting. Now there’s a trustworthy person, as much as she was valuable strategy-wise. Her counsel was to be taken into serious consideration, not to mention a position in that travesty of a Court would be exceedingly beneficial to her own interests, if nothing else to appease her overbearing parents. However, Hana was also the obvious choice, and that’s neither strategic nor interesting.

Her mind branched to the other girls, she could choose a random girl, but that would bode as mocking the ceremony, and as skeptical she was to the whole ordeal, there was something inherently wrong about picking Madeleine or Olivia. Riley wouldn’t put behind them craving a literal knife to her back halfway through the event.

A solution came from the far back, though. A wicked smile spread through Riley’s face.

“Drake. I pick Drake.” Riley announced.

He came, smiling, trying to fowl her plan to make him miserable. “You know the cup-bearer tastes drinks for poison, right?”

“Yet, this is an apple festival. We’ll be drinking nothing but apple martinis.” She smiled, sweetly.

He grumbled. “I am blessed to carry out your agenda, my queen.”

Drake takes his place at her right-hand side, between Riley and Regina, who was also so very glad to be behind the order of precedence of not one, but two commoners, as fanciful as it was.

The blonde woman takes out a goofy-looking fool’s cap. “My queen, if you’ll name your court jester.”

Madeleine or Olivia? Choices, choices, choices. Riley laughed at her own evil. The reality, however, was less amusing. If she chose either of the girls, it would be an act of open warfare, and she preferred to keep the façade of naïve outsider, if only to an untrained eye.

There was someone, however, who would appreciate the position. “I pick Maxwell.”

Said man pushed his way to the front. “Step aside, plebeians! Three-time jester MVP, coming through.”

“You’re not supposed to enjoy this.” Drake pointed out.

Maxwell, however, was undeterred. “I’m sensing jealousy.”

“Forget I said anything.” Drake aggravated.

The Beaumont spare plopped the jester cap on his head. The bells jingle as they fall down on his face.

“My queen,” Regina said to Riley. “With your court assembled, it is your right to issue an edict before your people.”

“My people,” Riley addressed the crowd, in Greek once more. “Love bind us together. Whether is love of country, love of citizen, love of self. These bonds hold us together. Our differences are insignificant compared to the power of love we share with one another.”

Regina cuts her speech short, summoning a horse and a carriage. “Magnanimous queen, show your generosity and share with us the products of your bountiful harvest!”

Riley got into the carriage and started handing delicately apples to every attendee with a blessing and a smile.

When the apples ran out, Regina led her to an area where Madeleine stood beside an apple seedling. “Your majesty, please honor your ancestor, the previous year’s Apple Queen, and plant a tree for the next generation.”

Madeleine curtsies. “My queen. Happy wishes for you.”

“Thank you, my ancestor.” Riley smiled, diplomatically.

“The labor of your forebears will help you build a better world.” She responded, in a tone of ceremonial neutrality. Lowering her voice, she whispers to Riley: “Not many get the pleasure of being addressed as ‘my queen’. Savor this moments. You may never hear the phrase again.”

“I thought we were beyond petty threats, Madeleine.” Riley smiled at her. “If you want to scare me so, you will have to do better.”

“As you wish, Lady Riley.” Madeleine responds, and step aside showing a hole in the ground for the sapling. “The ground is yours, my queen.”

Riley takes the seedling and place it into the hole and scoop the dirt in around it. She then turns to the crowd and addresses the masses: “The work we do today will benefit future generations. Our children deserve a better world then that we have it today.”

“Thank you, gracious Apple Queen.” Regina said. “As your final honor…” She motioned for Liam to approach.

He comes closer in a confident march, but averting, shyly, his eyes from her. “You are entitled to a kiss, my queen.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “I humbly accept your offer.”

He beamed. “As my queen desires.”

Prince Liam rises. He tenderly leans in and kisses Riley on the cheek.

With that, the festival wraps up and the cheering crowd disperses. Before Riley could walk very far, however, Maxwell comes after her, breaking through the crowd and waving over.

“There’s our glorious Apple Queen!” Maxwell greeted.

“Hey, lord jester.” Riley smiled back. “Thanks for your vote, I heard you cheering out there.”

He turned bashful. “Well, somebody had to do it. Anyways, that’s not why I’m here.”

“What do I owe the pleasure, then?” Riley asks.

“I might be able to get you some alone time today with Prince Liam!” He exclaimed, merrily. “I happen to know he’s in the manor’s conservatory right now waiting for some nobles. I could distract them long enough with offers to donate to their favorite causes.”

“Let’s do it, then!” Riley responded, excitedly.

“The conservatory’s on the other side of the estate grounds.” He pointed her. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

She kissed his cheek. “Thanks, Maxwell. You’re the best.”

He smirked. “Someone needs to think I’m the best to make up for Bertrand thinking I’m the worst.”

Applewood Conservatory, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

Riley walked into the Victorian-style conservatory, and as soon she stepped into it, she was hit with a distinctive citric smell. She couldn’t pass on the irony, apples and oranges.

Liam, expecting company, perked at the sound of the door, bracing himself to an unamusing exchange. The prospect only furthered his joy when he saw who was waiting for him.

“Lady Riley, what a surprise.” He beamed. “And wearing a costume?”

She smiled, self-conscious. “Bertrand says it’s historically accurate.”

“Well, you look fantastic.” He praised.

“You’re too kind.” She says, and on another note, she continued. “I hope I’m not disturbing.”

“I am supposed to meet some of my mother’s friends to discuss the flowers, but I’m very excited to see you instead.” He grinned.

His mother’s friends. Lady Carmela’s friends. The significance did not go unnoticed by Riley.

She knew; however, it wasn’t the time to discuss such matters. Instead, she smirked and said: “Yes, I might have asked Maxwell to entertain them for a while.”

“How courteous of him to have complied.” Liam concurred, with a smirk of his own.

“You’ve been busier than usual lately.” Riley commented.

He sighed. “Yes. Since my father has announced his abdication at the Regatta, I’ve been suddenly overrun by nobles wanting to…” He struggled with the concept he was trying to convey.

“Congratulate you in such fortuitous occasion, all in the while securing their position in the new regime?” Riley offered, in an ironic tone.

“Yes, that’s about right. My ascension seemed like a distant event, but now it’s actually happening. In a matter of weeks, I’ll be King of Cordonia.” He sighed again. “I thought I had more time.”

“Oh, Liam.” She came closer to him and placed her hands on each of his arms. “I trust you are more than ready to take upon this responsibility. Besides, if everything goes as smoothly as they’re going, you’ll have me by your side every step of the way.”

That statement has a dimension Liam had no clue of, but still rung true.

He smiled bashfully. “You make me believe you. We are a good team.”

“The greatest.” She laughed softly.

“It’s just so strange to think that so many people would be counting on me, depending on me.” He confessed.

“Well, even if you were a random man on the streets, people would still count on you. If you were a doctor, many patients’ lives would be at your hands. If you were a lawyer, your clients’ liberties would be on you.” She augmented. “Even if you were a househusband, your family’s life would be dependent on you. Responsibility is a side product of societal life, yours just happen to be… unusual.

“Besides, I know you. You’re kind, responsible, and noble, frightening so. And, perhaps most importantly, you’re always thinking of others. I am sure the realm will thrive under you. Or do you think I’m that off-mark?”

He smiled in modesty. “You say you see me so clearly, but how about yourself?”

“What about me?” She wondered.

He sighed. “I know there’s much undecided, but let’s say you were my selection. You’re such a free spirit, Riley, and I love that about you. But there are expectations that come with being queen. Royal events, palatial life, children. Can you really see yourself by my side as your place?”

“I left home very young, Liam.” She breathed. “I left for college at seventeen, and I never really looked back. There didn’t seem to be my place, it never seemed to be a place to go back to. Nowhere did, really. But now I’m going on thirty, and I’ve seen lots of great things and others not-so-good, and the truth is that I’m tired.

“I want to build something, I want to have something to look at fondly, I want to have a reason to stay. It all begins with finding someone I want to be with, and I want to be with you. So, it doesn’t matter if we’re going to live at the Brigades or at a shack in Montana, or if you’re the King, a high school teacher or a homeless guy, I’m sticking with you.”

He hugged her. “This means a lot to me, Riley.”

“Well, I mean it.” She said, earnestly.

“Meeting you in New York was one of the greatest things that ever happened to me.” He confessed. “You changed my life.”

She laughed. “I’m not even going to mention in how many ways my life changed because of you.”

“For better, I hope.”

“Certainly beats my old gig.” She laughed and kissed his cheek.

“Riley, whatever it happens, know that I am grateful for the time we spent together.” Liam said, feverishly. He pauses in front of a rose bush, picks one out and hands it to her. “I know you don’t like roses, but have you ever seen a Juliet?”

“Only at a public garden.” She said, while admiring the flower. “The five-million-dollar rose.”

He smirked. “It’s rumored that the man who created this breed spent five million dollars and fifteen years on it. It must have been a labor of love.”

“And yet, so less dramatic than a black tulip.” She smiled. “Thank you for giving it to me, my mother would love a picture of it.”

A rose. It seemed so ominous for Liam to seal his promise with a rose, just like hers to Charlotte is also sealed with a rose.

And, yet, it seemed so very appropriate. Sub rosa, she believed she had heard, no light shall ever shed over the secrets sworn by the rose.

Liam, sensing her discomfort, even if he was mistaken about its cause, decided to change subjects: “How did you find the Presentation?”

She smirked. “Lord, you people really love your apples! It was all fine and good, but I swear I could kill for a banana.”

“In the future, I’ll make sure you get a reprieve from all the apples.” He smiled back. His gaze lingered at the girl, and his smile fell only so slightly. “I don’t know how much longer Maxwell is going to be able to stall the nobles. He cannot entertain all of my appointments.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Have you even met Maxwell? He would at least try, if nothing else.”

Liam scoffed, good-naturedly, and wrapped the girl on his arms. She could smell his perfume, fougère, oakmoss and coumarin. His fingers delicately traced a line through her cheekbones, while the other hand, allotted on the back of her head, brought her face closer to his, finishing on a deep kiss.

As they break apart, Liam said, breathlessly: “We’d better stop, or I’ll never leave you.”

“I thought that was the point.” She raised a defiant eyebrow.

He captures her lips in another long, lingering kiss, then reluctantly pulls away, tucking a rebellious strand of black hair back into its rightful place behind her ear.

“Until next time.” He said goodbye.

She recomposes herself and leaves the conservatory in a haughty fashion. By the door of the manor, there waits Maxwell.

Before she could say anything, Maxwell jumped the mark. “I hope everything went well with Liam, but we’re switching gears for the next event.”

“Good afternoon to you too, Bertrand.” She looked pointedly at him.

“Sorry…” He smiled sheepishly. “It’s just that we’re kind of late, and we’re clearing the ground for the ‘fox hunt’ tomorrow morning.” He made air quotes.

“We are hunting now?” She admonished.

“No, not really. It’s more like a race that takes place at the Royal hunting grounds. Which means horseback riding through the woods!”

“Lord help me.” She aggravated.

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

The knock of the dress shoes to the polished wooden floor sounded like a thunderstorm over at the empty, silent hallway, for its feverish pace. From the windows, the light of the setting sun heats the late-autumnal waft running through the old building.

A knock to the grand, engraved door reflected the pace so-far, in a desperate plea for access. When the order was shouted, in mild irritancy, the man barreled into the bedroom.

“Your Majesties,” He bowed. “There is an emergency.”

“That much we’ve gathered, for how desperately you punched against that door.” Regina snapped.

“I am most sorry, ma’am.” He apologized and kept to himself by the entrance.

“Well, boy, now say what you have to say and don’t waste my time!” She berated.

“Regina, please.” The moaning voice of the King came from the bed. “Keep quiet. And you, secretary, come closer and tell me what brings you here.”

“Excuse me, sir, but I’ve brought the newspapers that will be published in the morning, and that is what they’ll be headlining.” He handed the man an issue.

His eyes popped. “Is this real? Is this the truth?”

“The Security Department is looking into it, but they said that, preliminarily, the newspapers have a very strong case.” He answered, regretful.

“Is there anything we can do?” He asked, grave.

“No, sir. It is too late.”

“There is nothing else but to brace ourselves, then.” The King said. “You are dismissed.”

He bowed and left.

“What is it, Constantine?” Regina asked.

The man said nothing but handed her the issue.

“What?!” She screamed. “That is outrageous!”

“It’s the truth, Regina, and you know it.” He bellowed. “Thank the Heavens they did not mention us.”

“Not they, her.” She snapped. “I told you that girl was problem. And yet, you did not listen to me.”

“I have it under control, woman.” He demeaned.

“You better have, you better have.” She said, and also left the room.

Red Rose - Masterlist

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Taglist: @boneandfur; @mfackenthal

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redphienix · 6 years

Text

Another tag game!

Tagger by @troloyunu Too kind of you :D

1. Gender: Male

2. Star Sign: Leo

3. Height: 5 ft 11 in unless I’ve shrunk or grown in the last year+

4. Favourite Band: It changes like the seasons but I’ll say Tally Hall for consistency

5. Favourite solo artist: Jonathan Coulton count for nostalgia’s sake? Or maybe CUP because I’m pretty sure that’s solo

6. Songs stuck in my head: None currently, but it’s usually some shit song from the 90s or early 2000s that won’t leave me alone. Or just Everything is Alright all the damn time. WAIT NO, REAL ANSWER, WORLD 1-1 MARIO GOES ON A LOT. I’M SORRY TO ADMIT THAT. Lately not so much, but FOR YEARS that was the case.

7.Current Favorite Song ; I don’t have a serious answer right now, but Somebody Once Destroyed Me is a classic. Sing along if you know the words.

8. Last movie watched: I... don’t remember. I don’t watch tv or movies often and I haven’t even been watching netflix etc lately. Just youtube lately.

The last I REMEMBER is Badder Ben. The Bad Ben movies are fucking hilarious and I love them. “Gahd Dangmit” is now a part of my lexicon thanks to the first movie.

9. Last TV show watched: The Office at my sister’s place.

10. When did I create this blog: A little before October 21st 2011 apparently.

11. What do I post: Mostly reblogs of stuff I like or agree with. What I POST is just enthusiastic thoughts (sometimes) and overly depressing groaning/moaning (mostly).

12. Last thing I googled: If you don’t count using google as a shortcut to link those videos above- I think I googled “Teostra Debuff” last night because my cousin said he heard Teo’s roar removes demondrug and since that’s never been the case before I wanted to check and sure enough I found nothing implying they added such a weird debuff to Teo’s roar.

13. Do I have other blogs: @retphienix @just-oki-doki My game blog and ddlc blog.

14. Do I get Asks: I went 6 fuckin’ years gettin’ none. I also never posted personal posts of basically any value, heh. But lately I seem to get asks a couple times a week. That’s nice :) you’re all nice. And in no way is that directly tied to my needy ass posting ask-meme’s all the time. Nope. Not a link at all.

15. Following: 823 (I think 600 of them are dead accounts though that I felt too nostalgic to unfollow)

16. Followers: 614 (WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE)

17. Favourite colour(s): Purple has been my favorite for a long time now (deep royal tones) but green is REALLY stepping it up. Also Bright orange and bright green is my favorite color combo of all time ever since I used it for Gay Greg my main and actual hero on Rock Band when I was a teen.

18. Average hours of sleep: 6-10. Sometimes I sleep shitty, sometimes I sleep shitty but too much also.

19. Lucky number: Don’t have one so I’ll say 69420. Sure it’s a large number (nice) and I’m saying it purely for the non-joke (nice) but sure. There’s my lucky number.

20. Instruments: A mean mean recorder (nope forgot how to play that)| A MEAN MEAN plastic guitar with the rock band or guitar hero logo on it. (hell yeah)

21. What I’m currently wearing: Pajama pants that I only wear during the day because I hate pjs for bed, and a tshirt.

22. How many blankets do I sleep with: Three of em.

23. Dream job: Heck if I know at this point. My old dream was making games but I lost all interest in coding so what’s left for me? I’ll file this under “Figuring things out” and will use a made up job of “Playing games in a room with friends while talking about silly things and enjoying each other’s company” as my dream job.

24. Dream trip: I don’t really have one, but I know a good fill-in answer~ Australia. To be with my gf because I love her. Heck yeah.

25. Favourite food: GOOD FUCKIN’ RAMEN. DON’T EVEN KID. Or tacos. Like, homemade stuff where I can make my own or a really good Mexican place. American-ized is fine if it’s a good place though- mixing styles is never inherently bad for food. It’s just that ‘americanized’ generally means ‘fast-food-ized’.

26. Nationality: USA.

27: Dream House ; I used to joke that I could happily live in a big trailer or RV and be happy so long as my stuff fit- and the concept still kind of remains though I don’t think I could enjoy THAT housing. Basically a place big enough to feel comfy, with room to maybe grow a vegetable garben for fun would be really nice. Meaning it doesn’t have to be too big actually. Location never really crossed my mind heh.

28. Crush: Not particularly? I’ve mentioned it in passing but really the only thing keeping me from ever talking things out and going poly is that my heart is flooded as is. I love Ari more than anything and aside from physical attraction (because face it, you’re all beautiful and wonderful and that’s a given) there’s not a whole lot else going on outside of our relationship romantically or ‘crush’ wise.

29. Animal: Just favorite? Frogs. Frogs and Toads. HOLY SHIT they are my favorite. IT’S UNBELIEVABLE how much I love those suckers. Holy shit. Just thinking about them is making my joyful as hell. My entire childhood down in Tennessee was spent playing gameboy/NES and catching toads and tree frogs all the time. EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT. I would get a flashlight and a box and go catching frogs. There was a park nearby my home that we often went to that had these ITTY BITTY SMALLER THAN A DIME FROGS all the time and I LOVED THEM.

30. Hair colour: “Dirty blonde” says the guy with clearly brown hair that he won’t accept because it used to be much more blonde as a kid.

Tagging: I’m just going to tag some people I recently followed and they can completely ignore this with no pressure because I understand and couldn’t mind if I tried :D

@wub--wub @car--jpg @anetspucoatl @particularlymischievousvoid @waitingtorespawn @nanaki--kazuaki @beepbeepsora

That’s plenty :)

#Shit Red doesn't want read

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theliterateape · 5 years

Text

The Sales Gene and Why I Don’t Have It

By Don Hall

“I’ll admit, most neck tattoos look like shit but that one is actually cool.” “Yeah, I got it in Mexico after I played a few gigs in the area. So, you got a contest or something?” “Yup. $10K in free windows and doors. Are you a homeowner?” “Yeah but my windows are good.” “How old is your home?” “I’m really not interested but thanks.” “Are your windows aluminum or vinyl?” “I’m not…” He shook his head and walked away.

My trainer sidled up to me.

“We don’t curse.” “Huh?” “You said ’shit.’” “I did? Uhm… sorry.” “And you need to get him talking about the three pain points*. You let him off the hook way too easy.”

When I was in college, I took one summer to come home to Kansas. I got a job as a telemarketing sales representative for a company selling Amoco Multi-cards to old people who didn’t need them. Cold calls based on cursory interest. Someone who signed up for information or took a survey and now were in the system would get a call and be strong-armed into getting the card (with all the padded-on fees and inflated interests rates with which these sorts of cards are loaded up). There was a script filled with pages of rebuttals — the built-in responses to any objection someone might have for denying the rep a sale.

”I appreciate that. However…”

Every objection was appreciated and we never said But. However was the go to vernacular. No matter what their objection might be, the goal was to steer them back to the pitch. Sales were rarely focused on the positives of the product. Rather, drilling down on the negatives of their lives the product could improve was the dance.

I was relentless. I never took No for an answer. I was really good at it. So good that a month into my summer, I was promoted to floor manager, running around, checking other reps’ phone calls and motivating them to close those sales. The people on the other end of the calls were simply numbers to tally on a white board in the front of the room. They were mostly lonely and wanted to talk to someone. They were easy pickings.

At first, it was thrilling. I was setting company records every day. I was bringing home some bank. I got bonuses and my natural over-achiever mentality was fed. One morning, I woke up and realized I was an awful human. I was pigshit in the disguise of a guy set to help these people by selling them something they didn’t need or want. I hated myself. I quit that afternoon and swore I would never do telemarketing again.

Thirty-three years later, after moving to Las Vegas and discovering that my varied and substantial resume in Chicago meant next to nothing in this new, money-driven town, my need for some work and some cash to pay the freight of living superseded that three decades-long lesson. At least it wasn’t phone sales, right?

The position was listed as Events Representative, which sure sounded like something to do with events. The cold splash of water in my face when coming from the midwest was that, in the desert, events means something almost completely different than the industry I had spent the past decade or so involved in. Here, events are simply designed to sell people things, involve a contortionist, or get them married. This position (Events Representative) was standing in front of a table in a the lobby of a gym or Ace Hardware or in the rows of vendors at a street fair and selling them window replacements. For ten dollars an hour plus commissions. Wearing a lime green or shocking pink nylon polo shirt.

Hell, I needed the dough and Dana is working part time in a bowling alley so I bit.

I noticed in the training an odd but predictable dichotomy. The training was designed to sell me on the idea that what I was doing was specifically not high pressure sales. In bold writing it told me that “CUSTOMERS are not cold statistics. They are human beings with feelings and emotions like our own. CUSTOMERS are people who bring us their wants. It is our job to fill those wants. CUSTOMERS require trust, are respected, cared for, and delighted.” I liked this. It felt right and ethical.

On the other side of the training was the script. The videos I had to watch were adamant that I follow the script verbatim. The dude in these videos was intense. The hard sell from his angle culminated in a semi-rant about people who thought they were smarter than his system and his assurance that, no, I was not smarter than the script. If I held true to the exact wording, I would succeed.

The trainer was adamant about this as well. There were the five commitments required from each customer. There were the six key principles to keep at the front of every interaction (my favorite being “Control direction, timing, and conditions of each conversation”).

The script with its pages of rebuttals and forced language (“NAME — from what you’ve told me, you do know that you will have to replace some or all of these windows in the next couple of years — whether you want to or not — right?”) was dripping with manipulation. It was no different than the multi-card script except to be done in person rather than on the phone. Instead of “I appreciate that, however…” the language toward direct statements of intent followed by the go-to closer “Does that sound helpful?”

My first few days of shadowing other sales reps… er… events reps… wasn’t difficult, but the cues from everyone who had been doing this for a while were in conflict with the training. “No one really uses the script,” I was told. “Tell them what they need to hear. Push the appointment. This is all about getting those numbers up.” A few were a bit more humane. “I go with a soft sell. Trying to convince someone who doesn’t want to even think about replacing their windows to do that is weird so I just make conversation and try to gently guide them that way.”

The bottom line was the number of appointments set in a given shift. No appointments set meant you blew it and would get hauled in and re-trained. Or canned.

In high school, the Wichita Aeros needed a mascot. You know, one of those dudes in a giant fluffy costume whose sole job is to rally the crowd and get them pumped up? Except that the guy before me had stolen the Captain Aero costume. They said they’d pay me 100 dollars a game but I had to supply my own outfit. I culled together some masks and big shoes and whatever I could and went out to do the gig. No one was interested.

I had beer bottles thrown at me. I was called every filthy name you can think of, and one woman, drunk on cheap beer and a horrifying life, tried to punch me out. I smiled a shit-eating grin throughout, doing lame cheers I remembered from basketball games and trying goofy shit to get the crowd less hostile.

It was a nightmare. After three games, I told them I couldn’t do it anymore. They never paid me a dime.

That’s exactly what sales feels like to me.

*Three Pain Points

These are defined as locating using specific questions the problems people may be having that your product or service can rectify. I’m told that these are the key to quality sales. Building up a sense of urgency in solving these pain points is the skill required and that sense of urgency is created through appealing to an emotional rather than pragmatic foundation.

I was told that I had exactly the right personality for this. I had been told that before. Outgoing, enthusiastic, dominating. Except for one thing: I hate being sold. I can’t stand aggressive sales tactics. I don’t want to be confronted on the street with a forced conversation that ultimately ends with a request for my time or money for almost anything. The inauthenticity of that faux interaction is designed solely to separate me from dollars. I empathize more with those hapless souls being accosted than I do with the cutthroat game of selling. Now, I’m being paid to be one of those bullshit artists. And wear a fucking day-glo polo shirt in public.

I get it. Most of capitalism is driven by sales. Most sales are made by people selling things and ideas. The time-share thing here in Vegas. The guy on the street-corner with the spinning arrow sign trying to get you to come into the third-tier mobile phone store. The kid with the box of candy to raise money for his basketball team. All some variation on the theme of non-stop, unwavering sales.

The window replacement company was actually a good one. The service was amazing, the warranty was amazing, the product is the best in the business. If I wanted new windows, this was the place without any question. And when I spoke to someone in the field who wanted new windows and wanted to talk about it, it didn’t feel like selling, it felt like helping (which was the first message of the training, right?). Unfortunately, replacing windows is not generally on the top of the to-do list for most families. So, 98 percent of the people walking by do not give a shit and are annoyed when their time is invaded by some fucker trying to get them to stop and have a conversation about window problems.

It was the day I spent in the lobby of a high-end gym that broke me.

People coming and going with one singular purpose: to workout. I stood there, smiling and announcing the $10K giveaway. No one — no one — was interested. It felt like a set up, placing me in a location where failure was the only option and bothering people with a sales pitch my only tool. I spoke to one guy about his workout but as soon as I diverted it to windows, he walked away. Not an “Excuse me, I gotta go” sort of thing but a stop talking and simply walk away sort of thing. There was enough time in between waves of people that I really had some space to float my perspective up and over myself and see what it was I was doing. I racked my brain to find a way to be good at this job without being that douche bothering people with a fake smile and faker concern.

I realized that I didn’t want to be good at this.

I admire a good salesperson. Geary Yonker, David Raphael, Chris Davila. All amazing verbal magicians with the built-in DNA designed to convince people of those three pain points, establish that sense of urgency and close the deal. David once told me that sales was like dating — tell them what they want to hear, be the person they can trust and rely upon, have sex, then move on to the next one. I once dated like that but it didn’t make me feel very good about myself. It felt empty. It felt sad to see people as merely a means to an end.

I’ve ruminated on my decision to take other work and leave this Willy Loman of the New Millennium Lifestyle by the wayside. Is it ego? Am I just too proud to stand out and try to sell shit on the street to strangers? Or is it merely that I don’t have the instinct for it? I have no problem handing out flyers for BUGHOUSE! and inviting strangers to come see our shows. A friend used to laugh at me as stood outside WNEP Theater before shows and would remark on “Don Hall, out peddling theater.” That feels different, though. Inviting someone to see something versus creating a forced dialogue to sell something is a horse of different color, I think.

Sales is a skill in manipulation. I do not have the gene. I could probably learn but the feeling I get when trying to steer a nice, normal conversation into a place where I control the direction, timing and conditions of that dialogue is a quagmire of self-loathing. Perhaps it’s the reason I’ll always be an artist before a businessman. Perhaps it’s why I’ll never have a fat bank account.

I’m okay with that.

Hopefully, I won’t forget this thirty years from now.

#sales #pain points #manipulation #the script #jobs

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