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builder051 · 6 years

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Tenement falls

The wait is over; the new novella is here! All 12 chapters are available on AO3.

I want to give a quick thanks to my wonderful friends ( my beta @mohini-musing and my artistic collaborators @sickandvomiting and @plotmatsu) and a brief warning for troubling content. There’s an in-depth trigger warning in the beginning notes on AO3, but the first chapter (below) deals with homelessness, drug addiction, illness, and the political climate of 1960s America.

With that, here’s chapter 1.

--STEVE--

“Morning!” Steve waves at the huddled group across the street. He pulls his keys from his pocket and unlocks the door. There’s a new crack in the glass pane set into it. As much as he hates dipping into the donation money for building repairs, he knows it’s not going to hold much longer.

“Hey, hey.” A redheaded woman pushes back the brim of her floppy straw hat and peers at Steve from behind her Peace Now sign. Steve knows her. She’s a regular in their corner of the neighborhood, and regularly sky-high. She looks sober enough today, though.

“You mind moving it down the block?” Steve calls

“Aw, man. You ask every day.” The redhead pouts, and another young woman laughs loudly.

Steve doesn’t, but it probably seems that way to her. He makes a point to ask only on the days he thinks she’ll remember. “It’s the same deal every day. I like your mission, Natasha, but you scare away the clientele.”

She flips him the bird.

Steve laughs. “Want some coffee? We’ll have a pot going soon.”

“Nah. But if you got pot…” She breaks off cackling.

“Very funny.” Steve joins in with a quiet chuckle. “Just…scoot down the block a little, ok? Then everybody’s happy.”

“Alright, alright.” Nat uses her sign’s pole like a walking stick and leads the motley crew of protesters toward the corner.

“Thanks. See you around.” Steve watches to make sure they stay put at their new station, then opens the door to venture inside.

The scent of the bleach from last night’s mopping dominates the dining room, but Steve can still smell notes of greasy food and unwashed bodies that betray what this is, despite his best attempts to prove otherwise. A collection place for the things nobody else wants.

Steve’s barely flipped on the light when someone’s already ignoring the closed sign and knocking on the glass of the door. “Hey, man!” a gruff voice calls.

“No, no, wait!” Steve whips around.

But the man disregards both the warning and the cracks in the pane. He knocks again, and the glass shatters, raining down like diamonds in the pale morning light.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry,” the man waffles, twisting nervously at his beard. “I just wanted to know if you still did breakfast…” His jaw trembles, even though it isn’t cold out. “I need some coffee real bad.”

“It’s alright.” It’s clear he needs something else real bad, but Steve commends him for coming to the shelter. Even if he didn’t read the sign. “Did you get cut? On the glass?” Steve opens the door and sweeps the shards to the side with his foot.

“Naw, man, I’m just hungry. I…” He lets out a huffing breath. “Do you got a cigarette or something?”

Steve knows he shouldn’t do favors for customers, otherwise they’ll come to expect it and he’ll be in over his head. And probably thousands in debt to boot. But he feels bad about the glass, so he reaches into his back pocket for the pack of Marlboros he’s not supposed to be smoking anyway. “Here.” Steve holds out a cigarette and his lighter. “We start serving breakfast at eight, ok?”

“Thanks, man.”

“Sure thing.” Steve watches him limp down the sidewalk, glad to have brought at least a little brightness to his day.

A car skids up to the curb and parks crookedly in front of the shelter. Steve doesn’t have to look to know who it is. He’d recognize his friend’s squeaky tires a mile away.

“An hour till showtime, and you’re already having a morning,” Sam says as he climbs out and pops the trunk. He points to the shelter’s busted door. “That glass finally gave out, huh?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs. “I had an... enthusiastic solicitor. I’ll clean it up and find something to cover it with till the repair man can get here.” He starts inside to get a broom.

“Wait, help me with this stuff first,” Sam says, struggling to heave a crate.

“Sure.” Steve hops down the steps and takes the box. “What’s the haul today?”

“Tuna,” Sam grunts, hefting a second crate and slamming the trunk shut. “And corn. Just a couple days out of date. Not too bad.”

“Not bad at all.” Steve leads the way, tiptoeing around the remnants of the glass. “Guess I know what we’re making for lunch.”

“As long as it’s not tuna salad for breakfast,” Sam laughs.

They take the boxes back to the pantry, then set to work preparing for the breakfast rush. Sam boils water for coffee and oatmeal while Steve sees to the sweeping.

“There they are,” he says as he tapes a torn manila folder over the empty pane. “Already lining up.”

Sam dumps canned peaches into a serving bowl. “How many today?”

“Twenty? Maybe?” Steve estimates. “More coming.”

“There’s always more coming.” Sam shakes his head. Then, “You see Nat up on the corner? Still waving her banner?”

“Yeah, she and the whole gang were right out front this morning.”

“You should ask her to come in someday,” Sam says, raising his eyebrows. “Instead of telling her to move on through.”

“I do!” Steve tears off a piece of tape with his teeth. “At least once a week.”

“Start asking her every day. She’ll say yes eventually.”

“Eh.” Steve shrugs. “She’s not really my type.”

“She’s a fox, man. She’s everyone’s type.”

Steve laughs it off and tosses the tape into his tiny, cluttered office, then joins Sam in the kitchen.

“Mm.” Steve inhales the scent of the cooking oats. “Where’d you get cinnamon?”

Sam hesitates. “My mama’s kitchen.”

“You two-faced son-of-a-gun.” Steve smacks him on the shoulder with a wooden spoon. “You can’t expect me be stingy when you’re bringing in your own stuff.”

“Hey, you stop it.” Sam swats the spoon away. ��“Plain oats are nasty and you know it.”

“I guess that’s fair,” Steve says. “Well, no, it’s not, but you know what I mean.”

“Sure do, brother.” Sam looks up at the clock. “Quarter till. Need help putting out the dishes?”

“You’re not calling me weak, now, are you?” Steve lifts a bin of cutlery with one hand and a stack of trays with the other. “Mr. come-help-me-unload-my-car.”

“You know, if it wasn’t impossible to not to like you,” Sam starts, moving a decanter of coffee to a rolling cart, “You might be getting on my nerves with all that name-calling.”

“Well, I’ll count my blessings, then.” Steve shoots him a grin. He arranges the trays and silverware at the end of the food counter as Sam sets up the serving platters on the kitchen-side.

The sound of people jostling each other drifts in from outside. The paper-covered door makes it easy to hear what’s going on. A certain amount of anxious shuffling and sleepy grumbles are normal, but today it seems a notch down from violent. It’s another fact of life in these parts; punches get thrown from time to time. But it’s still something Steve likes to avoid.

“Alright, alright,” he mutters under his breath. “I’m coming.” It’s not quite eight o’clock, but if opening the doors a few minutes early keeps a fight from breaking out, Steve’s more than happy to do it.

The noise of the scuffle grows louder as Steve approaches the door. “Hey, stop it, man,” somebody says, clearly irritated. “Wait your fucking turn.”

There’s an incoherent grunt, then the sound of knuckles connecting with flesh. A body slams into the door, and the folder Steve affixed over the empty panel flutters to the floor. A silhouette with stringy hair crumples down onto the doorstep.

“Break it up, or I’m asking you to leave,” Steve say sternly. He’s afraid to open the door and dislodge the body slumped against it, but no one seems to be helping the guy. Steve bites the bullet and drops to a squat as soon as he unlatches it. The man falls backward against Steve’s knees, still mumbling obscenities.

“Fuck. Get off me.” His fist flies toward Steve’s face.

“I’m not on you,” Steve says, ducking the blow. “You ok?”

“Yeah, I’m…” The man trails off into something garbled, then uses Steve’s shoulder to claw his way to his feet. “Stop fucking looking at me, you goddamn fuckers--” He makes it two steps before his voice dies in his throat and he falls again.

“Oh, geez.” Steve reaches to help him up, but the man’s on all fours now, retching onto the sidewalk. It’s not the first time someone in line’s been too high or too drunk or too hungry, but it doesn’t make the situation any more pleasant.

Steve awkwardly pats his shoulder. The man moans in pain, and Steve realizes the left sleeve of his jacket is empty and flapping against the ground. “I’m sorry,” he says, quickly withdrawing his touch.

“Get away from me,” the man chokes. His lank hair hangs in curtains on either side of his face. The front he’s putting up is decidedly unfriendly, but something about him is familiar.

“Then fucking scram, man,” one of the others in line says, nudging the sick one with the toe of his boot.

“Hey, there’s no need for that.” Steve steps between them.

The long-haired man vomits again, then spits and growls, “I’ll fucking pound you.” He gets unsteadily to his feet again and raises his singular fist.

“Alright, break it up.” Steve gives him a light push away from the rest of the assembled homeless.

“Want me to call the cops?” Sam yells from inside.

“No, don’t do that,” Steve says. Then man’s on the verge of losing his balance, and Steve feels bad for him. “He’s just sick. Probably confused.”

The man coughs roughly, then gags. He drags the back of his hand across his lips.

“Alright.” Steve hovers his hand over the man’s quivering arm. “You ok?”

“Ugh. Yeah.” He spits again, then turns his head a fraction of an inch toward Steve.

“Oh my god.” Steve’s breath catches in his throat. The man’s hair is overgrown and he’s grimy and his eyes have sunken behind what’s probably been a lifetime’s worth of tragedy. But it’s not a face Steve could forget. “Bucky?” he whispers.

“What the hell…?” The man’s eyes go unfocused. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. He dry heaves hard, then sways on his feet.

“Buck?” Steve says hurriedly, catching him around the chest. “James? Can you hear me?” Come on , he thinks desperately. You know me .

Steve’s heart sinks to his stomach when he realizes that might not be true. Not anymore. They haven’t seen each other since the summer after senior year, when they both got letters in the mail. But Steve’s had sent him to NYU. Bucky’s had sent him to Saigon.

“What about an ambulance?” Sam’s at the door now, looking to see what all the fuss is about.

“Just get the fucker out of here,” one of the men in line sneers.

“Hey. You be quiet,” Sam tells him, jabbing one finger threateningly into the empty air between them..

“No, he’s confused,” Steve repeats, refusing to acknowledge the distraction. “He’s scared.” He hopes that’s what it is. But the droop to Bucky’s eyelids tells a different story.

“He needs medical attention,” Sam says.

“Yeah.” Steve weighs his options. Medical attention is a good idea. Emergency transport doesn’t rate as highly, given Bucky’s disoriented belligerence. “Yeah. I’ll, uh…”

“I’ll hold the fort.” Sam rolls his eyes. He digs his keys out of his pocket and throws them to Steve. “Go drive him to the hospital, you big-hearted fool.”

“Who’s name-calling now?” Steve shoots him a grin. “Thanks, man. I owe you one.”

“Yeah, you do.” Sam flips the sign in the window to open , then addresses the crowd. “Come on in. Chow time.”

“Ok. I got you.” Bucky’s barely holding onto consciousness as Steve steers him toward the car. He tumbles into the passenger seat, and Steve tucks his legs in before slamming the door and hurrying around to the driver’s side.

“I’m gonna get you some help, ok?” Steve steals a glance at Bucky’s pallid face, then turns his attention to the road. He speeds to the end of the block and looks both ways. He fully intends to turn toward the hospital. But at the last second, Steve turns toward home instead.

Continue reading on AO3.

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justwritingscibbles · 6 years

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Christmas At Scribbles Mansion

This wasn’t requested but the original fic I had for Christmas day was deleted from Google-Docs. (My computer stopped the system from saving it.)

So I’m writing another Christmas fic about the Scribbles’ Family House (where those who follow the blog come to live) that everyone had talked about for a bit. I don’t know how many new followers there are, but alot of people created this awesome house metaphor for the blog. So I wanted to use it.

Hope everyone has a good Christmas!

- The House is decorated a week before Christmas. Everyone joins in the activity of placing decorations and lighting. By Christmas day, the House looks like a Christmas wonderland. Fitted with five trees in the main living room to accommodate the amount of gifts.

- The trees are surrounded by wrapped gifts. Adding to the colorful decorations in the massive room.

- Chiefiplier went around a few days before Christmas to get everyone’s allergies and meal preferences. With the help of those who volunteered, he created a massive feast for everyone. (You better say thank you. That man and his little workers labored over those meals!)

- The Light!Sides help organize activities and make sure everyone behaves. Especially when the Egos arrive for Christmas day.

- The Ipliers are first to arrive. Wilford bursts into the House bellowing “HO HO HO”, dressed up as a bright pink and red Santa. Including a massive white beard and a jingling hat.

- The Jims are dressed up as Elves, carrying armfuls of gifts that they add to the piles. Poor Bim is dressed up like a Reindeer, matching a red nose and antlers. “He made me do this.” He’d grumble when someone asked him about his costume.

- Dark brings him own additions to the piles of presents. They are small, only a little bit expensive gifts, but he has gotten one for every person in the Family House. Something everyone was surprised, but no less happy about.

- The rest of the Ipliers eagerly join in the festivities. Greeting everyone with hugs and loud “Merry Christmas” cries.

- The Septics don’t bother knocking. Anti glitches into the living space. Giving everyone a fright when he makes a Christmas light explode to get everyone’s attention.

- “The favorites are here!” He’d declare before Angeliceye had to go to the door and allow his brothers to pile inside. They bring their own plates of food and drink for everyone. Which Chiefiplier took to the kitchens and placed amongst his own creations.

- Chase apologizes shyly as his kids follow him in. Stacy had dumped them at his doorstep, so she could have the holidays free. And he didn’t want to intrude on the day, but his kids had insisted on coming.

- Of course, the kids get an excited greeting and Chase’s apologizes are waved away as his children join in the games.

- Once the Nate!Egos finally arrived, almost smoking out the house when NateMare came down the chimney in a colorful display of flames and smoke, everyone was eager to open presents.

- Hugs were exchanged, thank you’s thrown across the room. Excited squeals and yells as the wrapping paper was torn from the gifts. Everyone was eager to see what Dark had brought for everyone. And it was one of the first gifts everyone opened.

- Dark’s gifts were decorative snow-globes. Inside the glass ball was a miniature House identical to Scribble’s house. The snow was glitter and gave off a multi-colored dust when it was shaken.

- “He’s pandering for attention.” Anti hissed when everyone started to thank Dark. Causing those who heard him to chuckle.

- Before lunch was ready, everyone clambers into their winter clothes and race outside into the snow. Almost instantly, snowballs are created and a war begins.

- Chase, Bing, Marvin, Bim and Robbie all build a fort from snow and start barraging people from behind their protective walls.

- Schneep, Dr. Iplier, Dapper and the Jims all fight from behind objects like trees or benches, even using other people as shields. While Jackieboyman, Yan, Anti NateMare and Wilford sprint around the space shoving snow into people’s faces.

- The Chica’s (who snuck into the House while everyone was outside) quickly joined in the fun. Chasing people and trying to catch the snow that was being thrown.

- Choco (Dark!Chica) was horrible at catching the ice, but amazing at running into people as she leapt to try and catch the makeshift ball. ChiChi (Light!Chica, I’ve seen people call her.) takes to the air and does somersaults and twists as family members throw snow into the air. Giving everyone a heart-attack when she almost slammed into the side of the house.

- Light and Angel stand to the side, shielding those who don’t want to be covered in snow with their wings. They create competitions who can make the best snowman, and laughing at the obscene stories and names each snowman is given.

- Their laughter quickly turns to disgruntled yells when they get a face-ful of cold ice as NateLight swoops in and dumps a bucket of snow on-top of them.

- The two Angels zoom around the air trying to get NateLight to land so they can bury him in snow.

- The “respectable” egos, sat back on the porch. Watching the war unfold and conversing with the few family members that chose to stay off the snow. Host referees the fight, murmuring under his breath those who cheated or used an unfair advantage (NateMare melting the snow so people slipped over.) and Author would write them down in his notebook. Giving them a penalty of five second body paralysis. Those who were frozen in place, were pelted with snowballs.

- No one dared throw snow near the house. They weren’t brave enough to chance to get ice on Dark’s pristine new suit.

- However, a stray snowball flies towards the house and smacks into Dark’s chest. Uncertain laughter ripples through the fighters and Jackieboy quickly panics, pointing to the closest person with a squeal. “They dared me to do it!”

- Dark only hums thoughtfully and the air ripples around Jackieboy. The only harm coming to him is an avalanche of snow falling from the branches of a tree the superhero was standing under. Also catching a few others in it’s wake.

- Everyone quickly ran from under the other trees as their branches began to shake. Raining snow down on those who weren’t quick enough.

- Exhausted but overly joyous, everyone clambers back into the House as Chiefiplier calls out for Christmas lunch.

- The dining room is vast, and the tables are lined with plates of delicious food. Each dish had a sign in front of it giving off what was in it, and warnings to those who had allergies.

-Their was more then enough for seconds if people wanted some. And the dessert table was almost completely wiped clean by Wilford. But those who helped Chiefiplier were quick to shoo him away before he could steal all the sweets.

- Everyone seated and started to eat. Trying, and failing, to ignore Anti as he zipped around the room causing trouble. Angel attempted to get him to stop, but that was a fruitless task.

- Marvin uses magic to create a light show above everyone’s heads. Creating fireworks that exploded below the ceiling, the loud bangs muffled by Dark’s perception control.

- Robbie continued to eat until Chase dragged him away from the plates, so he didn’t get sick. His belly bulging with food and he sat between Chase and Jackieboy with a content smile.

- The Chicas hide under the tables. Nibbling on bits of food people feed them by sneakily handing it under the table or drop by accident.

- Thankfully a food-fight didn’t break out. Much to Lightiplier’s and Scribbles’ relief. Not that NateMare didn’t try to start one. But was scolded heavily by Scribbles and the man looked like a guilty puppy when she was through with him.

- With the day gone quickly, exhaustion hanging heavy over the House, everyone retired to one of the larger rooms of the house. One, the floor practically was made of pillows and many comfortable furniture dotted the room.

- It was there, everyone passed around hot chocolate, tea, coffee or any other hot beverages to the people in the room. And were pleasantly surprised to hear a piano begin to play.

- No one had noticed the instrument there until Dark sat at it’s small seat and started to glide his fingers over the keys. The soft tunes of carols started to fill the room as the Jims started to sing along to the music. Surprising everyone even more when they were fairly decent at doing so.

- One by one, everyone started to nod off. Curling up amongst the blankets and pillows, falling asleep to the sound of the piano and the Jim’s voice.

- Those who stayed awake, helped pick up the stray mugs and plates of desserts. Bidding the Egos goodnight as they left the House.

- The next few days was taken over with cleaning.

#christmas stuff #christmas fic #dark youtuber #septic-egos #iplier-egos #nate-egos #scribbles' house #family history #christmas at scribbles #bullet-fic

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dee-vine · 7 years

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Shutter Speed Ch. 11

Holy cow, has it been a long time. But I’m back, and hopefully I don’t disappear for three months again!

I want to thank you all for being so understanding and supportive during this really difficult time for me, it really helped me even if it wasn’t much. And I hope you stayed and didn’t ditch me because I love you all and missed you very much!

So enjoy this very special chapter, which I hope you enjoy reading as much as I loved writing it.

xx Dana

Ch 10 | AO3

Nothing could ever have prepared Jughead for the sight of Betty in the morning. She is still sleeping, curled up into his side, with her head on his arm. Jughead finds himself having a hard time breathing, and not just because her arm is thrown over his stomach. He can’t breathe because Betty is the most beautiful person he has ever seen, and she is in his arms instead of some other guy’s. But she’s still not his, yet.

Trying not to disturb her sleep, Jughead slowly slips out from underneath her, his gaze lingering on her sleeping form before going into the bathroom. He takes a quick (and cold) shower, and by the time he exits the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, Betty is awake and sitting cross legged in the middle of the bed. She looks up from her phone when Jughead walks in, and he can feel himself blush when her eyes drop down to his towel. He busies himself by digging in his bag, making sure to hold onto his towel with one hand.

“So the drive is about less than an hour. If we leave soon, we’ll be able to spend a good amount of time there before heading back home,” Betty says from behind him. He pulls out the clothes he wants to wear and turns around, only to crash straight into Betty. He freezes and drops his clothes, his other hand gripping his towel so tight his knuckles turn white, while Betty yelps from the surprise.

“Sorry! I’m sorry!” Betty exclaims.

“No! My fault,” Jughead tries to explain, but Betty suddenly drops to her knees bending down to pick up his clothes for him. “No, Betty, stop. I got it.”

At Jughead’s words, Betty stops reaching for the clothes and looks up at him, still on her knees. Obscene thoughts pop into Jughead’s mind, Betty looking up at him with those big eyes which may one day give him an ulcer. He clears his throat before kneeling down, keeping a firm hold of his towel. He grabs the clothes and looks up at her, his hair falling into his eyes without his beanie to hold it back. There’s a brief moment where neither of them move, and Jughead doesn’t breathe as he looks into her eyes. Betty’s eyes flick down to his lips, then trail down the rest of his body before meeting back with his. There’s a shift in the air when their eyes meet again, and Jughead finds himself leaning closer, as if magnetized by Betty. But suddenly Betty is gone, standing up quickly and taking a step back.

“I’m going to get ready,” she says quickly, and then she’s running into the bathroom with a pile of clothes that Jughead hadn’t even seen her grab. He remains on his knees for a moment, replaying what happened in his head. He groans to himself and stands up, slapping himself in the face and groaning loudly.

“Stop fucking up,” he mutters to himself, quickly getting dressed in case Betty comes out of the bathroom. He spots his beanie on the nightstand and hesitates, debating putting it on. He settles for wearing it, feeling a little too nervous to be without it.

He’s just pulling his hat on when Betty emerges, fully dressed in shorts and a white v-neck shirt. Her hair is wet and she brushes through it with her fingers as she glances at Jughead’s hat, frowning slightly. Jughead pretends to ignore her, grabbing his bag and packing it up. Betty wanders over to her bag beside his, wordlessly packing up their things. He doesn’t know if it’s just him that’s being awkward, or if she’s feeling the same, but he really wishes it would change.

“I’ll check us out while you start the car, okay?” Betty says as she slings her bag over her shoulder. Jughead grabs his own bag and looks at her, frowning slightly before holding his hand out.

“I’ll take your bag and pack it in the trunk,” he offers. Betty nods and gives her bag to him, Jughead holding it in his hand as they leave the room. She does a quick glance around the room to make sure everything is okay before closing the door, walking down the stairs with Jughead. When they reach the lobby, she veers off towards the front desk while Jughead walks out the doors and towards the car.

He pops the trunk and is about to throw the bags in when something catches his eye. A garment bag is sitting on top of the folded blankets that Betty advised him to pack. It hadn’t been there yesterday when Jughead had packed everything, and he definitely hadn’t noticed it this morning, though he wasn’t focusing that much. He’s still standing there staring at it when Betty emerges from the doors, walking over to him. She appears by his side, curiously looking up at him and lightly touching his forearm.

“Jug, what are you staring at?” she asks, taking her bag from his hand and peering inside of the trunk.

“What is that?” he asks, pointing at the garment bag. Betty follows his finger and looks at it, groaning once she sees it.

“Veronica bought me this dress, and she must have had Archie pack it. I probably won’t even have a chance to wear it, since we’ll be in the mountains,” Betty says, throwing her bag in. She quickly moves around to the passenger side of the jeep and gets in, leaving Jughead just standing there. He quickly puts his bag in the trunk and closes it, getting in behind the wheel. Betty is leaning against the door and looking out the window, her fingers tapping on her thigh. Jughead silently starts the car, Betty having already turned on her GPS to relay the directions to him.

It takes them about 45 minutes to arrive, the entire ride silent aside from the random Top 40 radio station playing quietly in the background. Jughead pulls the car into a designated area near one of the campgrounds, Betty getting out as soon as he turns the car off. He sits there for another moment, hands grasping the steering wheel and letting out a deep sigh.

Betty already has the trunk open with her things out by the time Jughead finally emerges from the car. She waits for him to get his camera equipment and shut the trunk, hugging the garment bag to her chest and looking troubled.

“Hey, Bets, what’s going on?” Jughead asks gently. SHe startles slightly and looks up at him, snapped out of her daze.

“Nothing, sorry. Lead the way,” she says quickly, motioning to the side. He watches her for another moment, watches how she doesn’t meet his eyes and looks anywhere else, before he’s walking off.

Finding the perfect spot for the pictures wasn’t hard. Jughead had done his research beforehand, almost as soon as Betty suggested the trip, so he knew exactly where he was going. He leads Betty to an area within a minute’s walk of the car, with tall grass and a small lake nearby, the sun bright and glaring down on them. Betty glances around before setting out a blanket on the ground, laying her bag on top of it. Jughead decides against using his tripod, sitting it down on the blanket too. Betty unties the denim shirt from around her waist and puts it on, buttoning it up quickly.

“Do you want me to take my hair down?” she asks as Jughead is taking test pictures of the grass. He glances up and takes in her appearance, his eyes trailing up her entire body before finally landing on her face. She’s still not meeting his eyes, so he looks up at her tight ponytail, his lips quirking up.

“I think you should keep it. Looks good, the most you,” he says, putting the camera strap around his neck. She smiles slightly before stepping away from the blanket, closer to him.

“So how do you want me?” she asks and Jughead almost chokes. If she realizes the innuendo, she doesn’t show it, and just places her hands on her hips as she waits for his answer.

“Um, in the grass,” he says, clearing his throat. She nods and walks over to the edge of the tall grass, glancing back at him curiously. He nods his assurance and she makes her way through the tall grass, going in deep enough that Jughead can no longer see the water. “Yeah, right here is good.”

She stops and turns to face him, and Jughead is in awe of the way the sun is hitting her, giving her an almost angelic look. She glances around at the grass, playing with a few of the stalks, and Jughead can’t resist snapping a picture. Betty doesn’t even flinch, just continues acting normally and candidly. Jughead moves around her, taking pictures through the grass.

The eventually move out of the grass and towards the lake, Betty discarding the jean shirt to pose in her black tank top. She even lets her hair down and takes her shoes off to stand in the water after a while, splashing water around and smiling so wide it makes Jughead want to cry.

Betty somehow manages to convince Jughead to follow her into the water, allowing him to set his camera down beforehand. He removes his shoes and rolls his jeans up past his ankles before slowly walking into the water. Betty isn’t far out, the water just reaching the middle of her calves, her back facing him. She seems lost in deep thought, staring out at the horizon, so Jughead decides to grab at her waist to scare her, causing her to jump nearly two feet in the air and spin around to hit him.

“Juggie! You can’t do that when we’re in the middle of nowhere!” Betty squeaks, smacking his arm again. Jughead just laughs and tickles at her waist, causing her to squirm and try beating his chest, which only makes him laugh harder.

“Betts, Betts! Stop it, I’m sorry, ouch! I’m sorry, I’ll stop,” he finally resigns, trying to speak through his laughter. Betty stops beating him but continues to glare, Jughead keeps his hands firmly planted on her waist. She stares up at him and a smile slowly spreads across her face as she seems to inch closer. He can’t help but smile back, but he suddenly feels breathless as he looks down at her perfect, pink lips.

Time seems to stop as they stare at each other. Just as Jughead thinks it’s going to happen, that he’s finally going to be able to taste that chapstick she always uses, she disappears from his sight. As soon as he can’t see her anymore, he feels the water splashing against his shirt. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and when he opens them he sees Betty grinning evilly at him.

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” he says, and then relentlessly starts splashing Betty with water. She screams out and starts running back to the shore, but Jughead is quick to grab her around the waist to restrain her. She tries to get free by squirming in his arms, but he is too strong for her. He arches back to lift her off her feet, which only makes her squirms more frantic and her laughter louder.

“Juggie, no!” she says through her constant giggles, kicking her feet out.

“Only if you apologize,” he says and fakes dropping her, causing her to scream out.

“I’m sorry! Juggie, please!” she giggles. He slowly sets her back down, but keeps his arms firmly around her waist. She tries to break free but he doesn’t let her, grinning when she turns around to pout at him.

“Now say that I am the best person you have ever met and no photographer will ever compare to me,” he says. Betty rolls her eyes and sighs, looking up at him.

“Jughead Jones, you are the best photographer on this planet and I am glad to have met you,” she says softly, smiling it him. Jughead pauses for a second, looking down into her eyes to see the smile in them.

“Not quite what I said, but I’ll take it,” he says, letting go of her. She smiles and pats him on the cheek before turning around to walk back to the shore.

“Now I’ll have to change, thanks to you,” she calls over her shoulder, walking over to the blanket where her garment bag is. She peels over her wet denim shirt to reveal her bare shoulders, and takes her hair out of its tie to shake it out. Jughead watches her grab the blanket to wrap around her shoulders and pick up her garment bag, looking around.

“Um, if you need to change I’ll give you the car keys. There also might be a bathroom around if you’d rather do that,” he tells her. She looks at him, her teeth biting down on her bottom lip before holding out her hand. Reading this as her answer, Jughead pulls the keys out of his pocket and tosses them to her, Betty catching them with ease.

“I’ll be quick,” she says, and then she’s off. When he’s sure she’s far enough, Jughead let’s out a loud groan as he slumps to the ground, putting his face in his hands.

“Think of Archie, think of Archie, think of Archie,” he mutters to himself, trying to picture anything other than a wet Betty. He shudders at the thought of a wet Archie and sighs, lifting his head up to the sky. “Why must you punish me so?”

“Who are you talking to?” he hears Betty ask from behind him. He tries to quickly come up with a witty remark but finds himself at a loss for words when he turns around to look at her. She’s wearing a long black dress with her hair down and Jughead isn’t sure if she’s ever looked more beautiful.

“Wow,” he breathes, unable to take his eyes off of her. She blushes slightly and looks down at herself, smoothing the dress down.

“Is it too much? I feel like it might be too much for this location,” she says, frowning up at him.

“No! It’s not. You look beautiful,” he says quickly. She smiles softly, her cheeks slightly pink and he shrinks under her gaze. “Actually, um, I know a perfect spot we can go. Did some research, ya know.”

“You do always come prepared, Jughead Jones,” she smiles, tossing the keys back to him. He fumbles a bit but catches them, his face permanently red as he picks up his camera equipment. He silently walks towards the car, Betty following close behind him. When they reach the car, Jughead quickly opens the passenger door for her, earning a thankful smile from her. He closes the door and runs around to the other side, getting behind the wheel and starting up the car. He’s nearly shaking with excitement just thinking about the surprise spot and how much Betty will love it.

“Oh my gosh, look how beautiful it is!” Betty says suddenly, and it’s the exact reaction that Jughead was hoping for. He parks the car off the side of the road and turns to Betty, grinning.

“I came upon this spot while doing my research and I thought you’d like it,” he tells her. She peels her eyes away from the window, looking away from the endless field of flowers, and gives him a giant grin.

“Jug, it’s incredible, and it will look even better in your pictures,” she says, her eyes earnest. Jughead feels his face heat up but quickly jumps out of the car before she notices, grabbing his camera from the back. She follows his lead as he steps off of the gravel road and into the grass, pulling the camera out of the bag for a few test shots. She makes her way into the flowers, the wind blowing her dress back slightly. Jughead takes the opportunity to snap a picture of her, and from that point on they slip into photoshoot mode. Betty effortlessly poses for him, having become more confident in his pictures. She knows exactly when and how to pose without Jughead telling her, which makes it all much easier for him.

His boss had commented on Betty when he last met with her and showcased his portfolio. Not only was she impressed with his photos, but also the main focus of them. She could see the way Betty had progressed throughout all of the shoots and was impressed, enough to ask for even more from her. Jughead told her he would talk to Betty about it, and was just waiting for the perfect time to do it.

The wind picks up slightly, and it’s not long before Jughead is calling it quits. The sun is still blaring down on them, getting late in the afternoon, and he thinks he has taken enough photos. He takes a few more of the scenery while Betty changes in the car, because it is too beautiful to not remember forever.

“Ready to head back home?” Betty calls out from behind him, dressed in shorts and a white tank top with a plaid shirt over it this time.

“How many outfits did you bring?” Jughead asks jokingly, walking over to the car. She laughs slightly and shrugs, climbing into the passenger side. He puts his camera away and gets behind the wheel, Betty already plugging her phone into the aux cord and setting up the gps. “Hey, who said you can play your music?”

“I did. Now stop complaining and drive, Jones. It’s going to be the best ride of your life,” she grins, and Jughead willingly obeys. He doesn’t need her to tell him that, however. Even if he had to drive for twenty hours, as long as he is with Betty, he’d enjoy every second of it. He’s whipped.

#shutter speed #bughead fanfiction #bughead fanfic #bughead au #bughead fic #riverdale fanfiction #my work

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themurphyzone · 7 years

Text

Why Glomgold’s Evil Scheme is a Colossal Failure Waiting to Happen

I love Glomgold’s hammy speeches in the Mark Beaks episode! So the real question is, what happens afterward? This isn’t a serious fic.

“AT LAST!” Glomgold proclaimed triumphantly, settling into the cushy chair behind the security camera footage. “That imbecile Beaks fell for my devious and brilliant trap! Now, time to enjoy the emotional distress on his STUPID face as it slowly dawns on his tiny birdbrain that there is no billionaire’s convention aboard the yacht! MWAHAHAHAHA!”

He abruptly stood up, throwing his arms into the air as he laughed maniacally. Then the chair tipped over, sending him crashing to the ground.

(Glomgold sadly lacked the common sense to not make declarations of destroying enemies while standing on rolling chairs.)

Glomgold dusted himself off, unfazed. “In a few hours, we shall be settling on my private jet so we can personally greet him at Krakatoa and watch him die together! Wouldn’t that be grand, Scroogie, er, I think you were number 187?”

The Scrooge dummy, which was just a log with a top hat, googly eyes, and featherduster cheeks, remained silent in the corner of the room.

Beaks walked into the third camera’s view, though he seemed more interested in the blasted device in his hand than the yacht taking him to his doom. Glomgold pulled Scrooge #187 to his side, so he could also revel in the inevitable despair that would slowly consume the upstart billionaire.

It was a good thing he invested in audio that could detect a pin dropping within a five mile radius.

“Aha! The yacht where the billionaire’s convention takes place!” Beaks exclaimed, turning to face the opposite direction. He held his phone up to the sky at arm’s length, an obnoxious grin on his face. “Awesomesauce!”

“Yes, enjoy your simple pleasures while you still can,” Glomgold growled. “It will be so much more delicious when you taste the soul-crushing reality of your isolation! Wait, what are you doing?” Beaks stopped every few steps up the ramp while raising his phone and doing...something.

Something that was obviously not the face of an enemy realizing they’d been tricked and sent on a one way to ticket to their demise.

“Taking so many of these I gotta tag it with something new! Uh, yacht selfie. Nah, not catchy enough,” Beaks murmured to himself. “Billionaire boat bash? C’mon, better. Aha! Livin’ it yacht style! Perfect!”

“Just. Get. On. The. Yacht,” Glomgold snarled. “He’s worse than you when it comes to holdin’ up plans!” He pointed an accusatory finger at Scrooge #187.

He loved it when Scrooge wasn’t able to make a cutting remark.

A nearby phone rang, and Glomgold quickly picked it up. “Glomgold, the target is currently on the ramp taking selfies. He doesn’t suspect a thing,” the henchman on the other end said. “However, he appears to be taking an obscene amount of time coming up the ramp. Can I have clearance to shove him on the deck?”

“I can see that,” Glomgold muttered, glancing at the feed. There was a large, muscular henchman disguised as a seaman waiting on the deck, tapping his foot as he watched Beaks slowly ascend the ramp while taking selfies. “Permission granted. Show him where the buffet is, but after that no further contact. I want him to learn how gloomy isolation can be while tossing and turning on the seven seas! Will that be all?”

“Well there’s an issue with my pay I’d like to discuss-”

Glomgold grabbed a stack of papers and threw them everywhere, kicking a cabinet and scattering various knickknacks. “I can’t hear you! Ah, Scrooge has found me! He appears to be overpowering me! Oh no, I am defeated! Curses! He ripped my favorite kilt and said my bagpipes sound like a great-grandmother’s funeral! Talk to you some other time!”

He hung up, sighing in relief. Talk about a close one.

The henchman lifted Beaks by his jacket and dropped him roughly on the deck. “Yo! Where my fellow rich peeps at?” Beaks greeted, not even looking up from his phone. “No offense man, but the hat makes you look like a peasant. Not even worth a Snapchat filter.”

The henchman cleared his throat. “They’re...hiding somewhere.”

Beaks nodded. “Cool, cool. So I bet they’re throwing a surprise party, huh? Say, what’s the wifi password on board?”

“Yes, a surprise party,” the henchman muttered. “The password is ‘Scroogestinks’, with a capital ‘S’ in Scrooge.”

“And I am in!” Beaks cheered. “We cool, man? Cause I am going to where the food is. Do you have any idea how hard it is to maintain a social media presence on an empty stomach? Oh, who am I kidding? With that receding hairline, you’d probably only have twenty followers tops.”

Beaks walked away, his thumbs tapping at the screen.

“JUST PUT THE PHONE DOWN!” Glomgold roared. “YOU’RE ABOUT TO DIE GRUESOMELY FOR THE LOVE OF HAGGIS! NOW PREPARE TO TREMBLE BEFORE THE MIGHT OF FLINTHEART GLOMGOLD! MWAHAHAHAHA!”

He stopped, frowning and pushing a button on the phone to summon a repairman.

“You rang, sir?” a scrawny dog in overalls poked his head in. Glomgold grabbed his snout and threw him into the chair.

“This room doesn’t have my thunder and lightning effects when I’m going ‘MWAHAHAHA!’” Glomgold complained. “You see? Nothing! If this room doesn’t have that wired by the time I come back from watching my second most hated enemy get his flesh melted in lava, I will see that you get thrown to RAVENOUS, MAN-EATING HOUNDS! Good day.”

He grabbed Scrooge #187 and headed to his private jet, rubbing his hands gleefully.

Beaks was a complete idiot, but he would slowly realize there was no billionaire’s convention with a little time.

Glomgold turned off the TV in the plane, curling up on the seat next to Scrooge #187.

“Scrooge, your worst habits are rubbing off on Beaks,” Glomgold said. “I invested so much money into the buffet and what does Beaks do? Not drown his sorrows in delicious coconut shrimp! He barely looked at the food! All he said was something about trending and an Instagram, what is that, a breakfast cereal? What am I doing wrong here?”

Scrooge #187 said nothing, though a featherduster came off the side of his head.

Glomgold gasped. “Why, Scroogie! You’re so terrified of me that your stupid feathercheeks are falling out! Let me get that for you-oops, clumsy me!” He ripped a few of the feathers out, stamping them into the floor. “THIS IS FOR NOT DYING SOONER! THIS IS REVENGE FOR THAT TIME YOU HUMILIATED ME IN FRONT OF THE PRESS! THIS IS FOR EVERY SECOND YOUR UGLY MUG EXISTS, THE LOT OF YOU!”

After several minutes of smashing everything in sight, he stepped on the TV remote. The screen flickered to life.

Glomgold’s eyes widened. After four agonizing, painful hours, he had done it! He broke Beaks!

Beaks lay on the countertop by the shrimp, his phone resting face-down on his chest. He plucked one from the pile, tossing aside the tail.

“I can’t believe this,” Beaks said.

“YES!” Glomgold exclaimed.

Suddenly a grin crossed his face. “I have found those two on social media at long last!” Beaks smirked. “Prepare for flames!”

“WHAT?” Glomgold screamed. “NO! GORGE IN DESPAIR! YOU AREN’T SUPPOSED TO BE DOING A STUPID VICTORY DANCE!”

Outraged, he threw the remote through the screen, cracking it.

“You’d think someone would try to appreciate the effort I put into my plans,” Glomgold scoffed to Scrooge #187.

At long last, the moment of triumph was in his grasp. “Well, well. If it isn’t my second most hated person in the world,” Glomgold declared. “You dared to be my competitor, and you shall pay for your transgress-hey, pay attention to your own demise! I don’t see any agony!”

Beaks held his phone above the water, grabbing hold of the shark’s fin. “Ha! Shark tank yolo!” he laughed. “I should totally get one of these babies for me!”

“Shark Guy! Why aren’t the sharks attempting to feast on his remains?” Glomgold demanded.

Shark Guy shrugged. “I haven’t gotten around to training these two for your evil schemes yet.”

“WELL, GET ON IT THEN!” Glomgold roared, and Shark Guy cowered. “EAT HIM! CRUSH HIM! CHASE HIM OUT OF THE POOL UNTIL HE FALLS BLINDLY INTO THE LAVA!”

Next to him, Scrooge #187′s other featherduster fell off, dropping into the lava below. Beaks continued to take pictures with the sharks, completely oblivious to the lava he was supposed to die in.

“FINE! NOBODY LISTEN TO ME!” Glomgold snarled, lifting Scrooge #187 above his head. He might as well take what little victory he could get now. Before he could send Scrooge #187 to his doom, the railing broke and sent him plummeting to the molten rock below.

“I hate you. I hate you so much,” Glomgold grumbled, folding his arms as best he could with the handcuffs.

“The feeling is mutual,” Scrooge replied, a smug grin on his face. “You and Beaks were lucky Launchpad crashed through Krakatoa when he did.”

Glomgold paid little attention to the sound of Donald’s furious quacks at Beaks. Something about exploiting his boys at Waddle. He didn’t really care.

Scrooge gestured to his practice dummy with his cane. “Losing your touch, Flinty. You just haven’t been able to top the one made out of fool’s gold.”

“Shut up,” Glomgold muttered.

#ducktales 2017 #flintheart glomgold #fanfiction #scrooge mcduck #mark beaks

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falloutpnp · 6 years

Text

Sesson 19

Fifteen minutes have passed since the gruesome discovery of the murdered hospitality representative, and although the festivities are still ongoing, the security presence has noticeably increased. Sitting opposite Michael Winger, Jack looks pensively as party goers are randomly held for questioning by security officers. As he turns his head away, he catches a glimpse of Pandora, walking with Alyssa DeBarge, arms locked. She gives Jack a knowing wink as she heads into an elevator, presumably to the VIP floor.

Unsure if he is jealous of her success or of the company Pandora has attracted, Jack is about to snap his fingers at the front of house to enquire as to the whereabouts of his food, when a passing waiter clumsily stumbles into him, spilling an entire glass of wine down his shirt. The waiter, a thin man with blonde, slick hair and bearing the name tag ‘Richard’, profusely apologises as the front of house marches over. Richard is berated for his behaviour and is ordered to take Jack around the back to help him clean up. Michael, already unimpressed with The Top Hat Club, tersely criticises the staff before writing a note about the incident on a notepad. Jack plays it cool and follows Richard into a nearby staff room to clean up.

The staff room is filled with small crates and cleaning supplies and, more importantly, is quiet and out of the way of prying ears. After searching the room for bugs, ‘Richard’ immediately drops the act and refers to Jack by his real name, revealing himself to also be an NCR spy. When Jack asks for the ‘secret password’ the NCR spy tells him to stop being ridiculous; they were never given a password. After describing his superior to Jack (the mysterious man the Misfits met during the mission briefing), Jack finally believes him. The spy reveals that it was he who killed the hospitality rep. Inside a wooden crate, he produces the murder weapon - a large butcher knife - and the zip gun he retrieved from the 2nd floor bathroom. The spy explains that moments after the Misfits made their entrance, the hospitality representative became suspicious of them. He ran a second check on their fake IDs and became even more suspicious when the results turns up contradictions on the official NCR ID database. Wanting to be extra sure, the representative decided to investigate the issue further with security. Unfortunately for him, the NCR spy had been monitoring him and moved to neutralize the threat. He stabbed the hospitality rep to death and moved the body. Fearing the worst, the spy decided to move the location of the zip gun and directly approach a Misfit to discuss the new plan.

After giving him the zip gun, the agent gives Jack a new mission: frame the murder on a notable bystander to gain enough notoriety to receive VIP access. ‘Richard’ lists names of people who can be framed: Rick Houston, Alyssa DeBarge, Michael Winger, Huey Ringwald and Theo Wilde - the very people the Misfits have been interacting with. Jack must plant the murder weapon on an innocent victim, while the agent uploads an incriminating journal entry onto their computer. Jack thinks hard about his choice...

Meanwhile, the auction goes underway. The first few items are random nick-nacks and long sort after trivial collectables; nothing which really interests Kassie and Curt. However, it isn’t long before the much sort-after ‘That Gun’ is paraded on stage, garnering a lustful twinkle in all of the attendees’ eyes. The initial bidding is tense and fast paced but soon peeters out around the 500,000 cap mark. It soon becomes clear that the final breakneck inning is between Kassie and a snooty, upper class snob named Theo Wilde. Knowing that she has carte blanche on her spendings for this mission, Kassie deliberately toys with Theo, raising the the heights of the bidding to a ludicrous 2 BILLION caps. Several members of the crowd pass out in frightful shock. A furious Theo finally concedes his loss but almost immediately begins to complain as the hammer falls. As Huey Ringwald verifies that Kassie and Curt can indeed pay up their winning bid, Theo storms across the auditorium and begins to throw obscenities in their direction. Huey and Theo’s female companion attempts to calm the snobbish man down, assuring him that everything is above board. Kassie takes matters into her own hands by briskly pimp slapping Theo across the face. The not-so-nobleman lets out a screech tainted with womanly surprise and he flails backwards into the empty and confused embrace of his presumed girlfriend. He gathers himself and stabs an angry finger at Kassie, swearing revenge. Theo briskly leaves the auction house, which has since fallen into a stunned silence.

Breaking the ice and hoping that some sort of normalcy will return to the evening’s events, Huey informs Kassie and Curt that their extraordinary display of generosity has earned them access to the VIP floor, along with an exclusive suite for them to stay in. Not being the most charismatic, Kassie grunts ‘good’ before ordering her auctioned item to be delivered to her room. Huey graciously accepts their request and, shortly after, Kassie and Curt are given a VIP elevator/room key. They take their leave and eventually arrive on the 3rd floor, where free champaign awaits them…

As the events at the auction house play out, Sasha and Lotta sit down to dinner with the kindly Ricky Houston. The talented singer has ordered himself a delightful mut-onion soup for starters, followed by a Mirelurk Thermador and a barrel cactus sorbet. Sasha, on the other hand, has ordered the kiddy menu which he has proceeded to eat with his hands. Lotta sits with a napkin at its table. Ignoring Sasha’s poor table manners, Ricky begins to ask some friendly questions about the pair. Not expecting this to happen, Lotta and Sasha begin to tell increasingly unbelievable lies about their cover identities. Lotta first explains that Sasha had an accident during a science experiment but is unable to tell Ricky what exactly the experiment was. Compounding to this, Sasha keeps saying ‘boom’ with a mouthful of food. Lotta is also unable to explain what kind of medi-bot it is exactly and tries to explain the matter away by saying ‘yes’ to as many questions as possible. Ricky is weirded out. After polishing off dessert, Ricky politely makes his excuses and takes his leave, telling the pair that his is looking forward to seeing them tonight when he plays later that evening.

Panicking that they have missed their window of opportunity, Lotta and Sasha begin to scan the room for a drunk whom they can take advantage of. They eventually spot an innebreated man, stumbling around the dining hall area. Lotta and Sasha move in to talk with him but back off when they notice two security guards surrounding the man. They anxiously wait as security question him, hoping that they’ll have a chance to accost him. Unfortunately, their waiting doesn’t pay off; the guards grab the man and haul him off through a service doorway. However, the scene gives Lotta an idea. After waiting for a few more moments, the pair enter the same doorway and take a peek.

The maintenance corridor they’ve entered seemingly surrounds the entire outer parameter of the floor. The ceilings and walls are lined with a myriad of cables and pipes, which draws Lotta’s attention to an electrical box positioned on the wall. Knowing that the drunk has been dragged off down the corridor leading to their right, Lotta knows that the enemy will most likely come from that direction should something happen. Thinking it over, the pair agree to disable the lights in the maintenance corridor and make their way left, leading towards what appears to be a set of service stairs leading to other floors in the building. Lotta shorts a fuse and they both move at a brisk pace as a series of flashlights shine behind them. Moments later, they round the corner and reach the stairs. Thinking that they’ve easily reached access to the 3rd floor, Lotta and Sasha climb the stairs, only to discover another armed patrol guarding a maintenance door on their floor. They’re quickly spotted and are demanded to explain themselves. After several moments of them comically lying and excusing themselves, Sasha suddenly blurts out that they know Ricky Houston. The initially believe that their plan has worked when they are ordered to follow the guards. Unfortunately though, instead of being led up to the 3rd floor, Lotta and Sasha are taken down to the 2nd floor basement…

As they descend into the bowels of the building, Sasha catches a glimpse of Top Hat workers hastily fastening some sort of box of some sort to a wall. Sasha swears that he has seen something like this before but can’t quite figure it out. Eventually, the pair are dragged into a dirty holding cell of some sort, filled with a number of blood stained cages. They’re thrown into one of the cages and are about to demand answers when Ricky Houston himself walks around the corner. Clutching a cigar between his teeth, the singer nods at the pair and acknowledges to the guards that he does indeed know them. Their hopes of salvitude are dashed as quickly as they’re raised; Ricky orders the guards to keep the pair locked up. He informs the guards that he suspects that they’re NCR spies sent in to infiltrate Mr Aguila’s operations. Lotta and Sasha are left stunned and angered by the revelation…

Meanwhile, Dr Balint discovers Charles/Cain gambling away large amounts of NCR money. After a brief discussion about the progress of the mission - or rather, lack of - Charles/Cain points Balint’s attention in the direction of a Theo Wilde, who is loudly drinking away his sorrows. Judging by the graceful appearance of Theo’s lady friend - who is busying herself comforting the man - Balint decides that perhaps this could be a great chance to advance the situation. He strolls over to the bar, introduces himself under his secret identity and, after a brief conversation, the pair hit it off pretty well. When Theo learns of Balint’s occupation as a doctor, he quietly dismisses his female companion and begins to go into detail about his encounter with Ester Holzmeister and Man Dingo (whom Balint recognises as Kassie and Curt). Theo quickly establishes his desire for revenge and proceeds to make a deal with the doctor: the serial auction bidder proposes that he will pay a large sum of money and grant him VIP access in exchange for poisoning Kassie and Curt. Balint agrees but requests to be given VIP access first so that he may prepare the poison in privacy. Theo has no issue with his request; he produces an elevator key and a sachet of poison in powder form. Balint immediately takes the items and walks over to the nearest restroom where he dumps the mystery powder down the toilet. He then takes the elevator to the 3rd floor where he enjoys a complimentary glass of champagne. Although Kassie and Curt are enjoying refreshments in the bar, they both spot each other and give knowing winks.

Jack Shady finally makes up his mind: he will frame Huey Ringwald for the murder. He hides the murder weapon in his sleeve and informs the NCR spy, who explains he will write an incriminating journal entry on Huey’s private terminal. Jack takes his leave and makes his way over to the auction room. However, on his journey, he spots Michael Winger across the room. The pair cross glances and when Michael mouths “What’s happening?”, Jack simply gives a shrug that suggests “Fuck this place, I’m out of here.”. Michael nods understandingly, just as another drink is delivered to his table.

Jack spots Huey in the auction room as he is talking with two security guards; it appears that Theo’s encounter with Kassie and Curt has drawn up quite a stir. He waits a moment for them to finish their conversation before making his way over to shake his hand. Jack convincingly waxes lyrical at the auctioneer’s feats, charming the man instantly. At the very moment that their hands meet, Jack smoothly places the hilt of the blade into Huey’s hand and pulls away, revealing the murder weapon in plain sight. Jack recoils in faux terror while Huey gawks in confusion. His feigned shrieks reach the ears of the security guards, who march over to investigate the situation. Jack weaves a convincing story wherein he details Huey’s intention to kill Jack and multiple people in a mad stabbing spree. Huey angrilly protests but his words come out as anxious rantings. To make matters worse, Huey is unknowingly still gripping the hilt of the knife tightly as he waves his arms around in protest. The security guards immediately taser Huey and drag him off for questioning.

After the situation is calmed down, a hospitality representative approaches Jack to comfort him. After Jack masterfully feigns his shock and distress, the representative offers Jack access to the VIP lounge as compensation for his experience and for his help in apprehending the ‘criminal’. Mission accomplished; Jack enthusiastically accepts and he is escorted to the 3rd floor.

On the 3rd floor, Jack receives his complimentary glass of champagne and immediately spots Kassie and Curt. Although he doesn't spot him, Balint spys the trio together. Deciding to err on the side of caution, Balint decides to wait and see how the evening pans out. Kassie immediately takes Jack to her new suite while Curt waits in the bar area.

Fearing that there may be hidden microphones in the room, Kassie and Jack exchange notes to communicate. Kassie explains and she and Curt had spotted a dumb waiter earlier that evening; it appears that food for the VIP area is prepared on the 4th floor - the location to their next objective. Jack explains that if he can reach the 4th floor via the dumb waiter, he could perhaps find a way to retrieve data from a server which could incriminate Estefan Aguila. The pair hatch a plan to distract everyone in the bar/lounge, allowing Jack a chance to reach the upper floor. The plan will require all four Misfits on the VIP floor. Their note passing is suddenly cut short by a knock at the door. Jack positions himself himself behind the door, ready to attack, while Kassie answers it. Much to their relief, a hospitality representative has delivered Kassie’s auction winning. She snatches the case containing the firearm and gives a gracious smile before closing the door. While the case does indeed contain her new gun, disappointingly, it does not come with any ammunition. Nevertheless, they are now in possession of a gun which can serve them well, should things turn south. She stashes the gun under her dress and the pair soon depart to execute the plan.

Jack positions himself within distance of the dumb waiter, while Kassie passes a note to Balint and Curt, telling them to play along. Moments later, Kassie dramatically stumbles into the lounge, complaining of chest pains. She collapses to the floor, explaining she is having a heart attack.

However, a thespian Kassie is not; the entire audience stare in cringing discomfort.

Seconds later, Curt rushes into the room and dramatically exclaims she is indeed having a heart attack.

However, a thespian Curt is not; the entire audience stare in cringing discomfort.

The room is deathly silent.

Balint, who has been standing behind the bar-goers during the unfolding drama with a hand pressed against his forehead in despair, marches towards the pair. Explaining that he is a doctor, Balint examines Kassie and announces that she is indeed having a real heart attack. He successfully convinces everyone and begins to provide first aid while Curt skulks off towards the dumb waiter at the behest of Jack. As the VIP staff rush into the bar, Curt helps Jack into the tiny elevator and presses the button, allowing the conman to infiltrate the 4th floor.

Jack arrives in a busy and chaotic kitchen. Although he manages to exit the dumb waiter without drawing attention to himself, Jack is eventually spotted by what appears to be a head waiter of some sort. The man angrily asks if Jack is the ‘newby’ he was expecting over an hour ago. Naturally, the conman slips into the role easily. After being berated for his tardiness, Jack is ushered into a changing room where is ordered to change and prepare to wait tables on the 3rd floor. Jack changes in to waiter garb and quickly flees the area.

After passing what appears to be an employee cafeteria area, Jack eventually reaches what appears to be the server rooms. He slips into a room labelled ‘security servers’, where he encounters multiple data banks surrounding a large center terminal. He tries to contact Lotta for help but discovers he cannot reach the computer savvy robot. In fact, he is unable to contact anyone…

Jack decides to take the non-scientific approach; he violently begins stripping holotape from their reels, causing untold damage. He swiftly pelts it from the server room and enters another one down the hallway.

Like the previous room, the ‘Data Hive’ room also contains an array of state-of the art computers and databanks. Though he is not exactly technologically versed, Jack believes that if there was any incriminating evidence to be found, he would find it here. He reaches the central terminal but his progress is immediately blocked by a login screen. To make matters worse, Jack overhears the beating sound of security guards entering the other server rooms. Spotting a nearby set of lockers, Jack opens one and discovers a cleanroom suit and dust mask. He quickly changes into the suit just as the door behind him opens. A short man in thick rimmed glasses peers through the door, and confusingly asks if he is ‘Gibbons’. Jack looks at the name tag on his suit and convincingly confirms that, yes, he is Gibbons. The man in the glasses remarks his surprise, saying that he had heard Gibbons had called in sick with ‘rot jaw’. Jack quickly adopts a deep, slurred voice and says that he changed his mind, explaining that he felt much better. Relieved, the man in glasses asks if Gibbons saw anything in the security server room. Jack shrugs, saying he didn’t see or hear anything because he is too busy dealing with computer problems of his own. The man buys it and is about to leave when he suddenly pauses. He asks Gibbons if he could help him with something…

The man logs into the terminal and asks Gibbons to generate some reports on monthly figures and projections, which are to be delivered directly to Estefan Aguilla himself. Unfortunately, the man is unable to take care of this himself due to the issue with the security server room. Much to his relief though, Gibbons is happy to oblige…

The man takes his leave, giving Jack ample privacy to root through several high-level entries. Eventually, Jack discovers a directory filled with entries written entirely in Spanish. Further data mining reveals a file addressed to Estegan entitled ‘Operation Dias Uno’, which seemingly contains a detailed map of the California border, along with multiple objectives. It takes a moment for the penny to drop, but Jack quickly realises that the map is not handdrawn; the images are photographs taken via a some sort of high altitude aircraft - perhaps even a satellite…

Finally, Jack discovers that Operation Dias Uno has been signed for by a ‘General de Devisión Manuel Rodriguez of the ACU’. Convinced that this is enough evidence to link Aguila’s collusion with the enemy, Jack decides that he can proceed with the assassination. He prints of a bunch of random documents to produce a meaty looking report and takes his leave from the room. As he exits, he spots the man with thick rimmed glasses ordering a group of security guards to interrogate the kitchen staff. As the armed men depart, the man spots Gibbons and offers to take him to the 7th floor.

The pair ride up to the previously unheard of 7th floor, accessed via a secret security panel inside one of the many elevators lining the building. When they reach the top, the man with the thick rimmed glasses pats Gibbons on the back and says that he can have the privilege of delivering the reports himself - after all, it was Gibbons who did all the hard work.

The 7th floor is lavishly decorated - more so than any other floor in the Top Hat Club building. The conman takes a moment to move into a bathroom, where he anxiously loads the zip-gun with the hidden .22 calibre bullet stored in his watch. Now armed and ready, Jack eventually reaches a set of double doors leading into Estefan’s office.

Estefan Aguila radiates all of the hallmarks of a kindly man in his 50s. His gentle mannerisms even belie his stature in society and his allegiance with the ACU. Sitting behind a grand wooden desk in a room lined with impressive bookshelves, a bar and multiple large mirrors, Estefan asks Gibbons what can he do for him. Jack approaches Estefan with the stack of paperwork in his hands and notes the man’s charming smile, neatly kept white beard, tanned skin and gentle Mexican accent. He silently produces the paperwork to Estefan, who immediately assumes that these are the reports he asked for. He comments that he had heard Gibbons was on sick leave, adding that it warms his heart that Gibbons’ rot jaw is seemingly cured. However, ask he takes the paperwork from him, the elder loses his grip and the papers scatter to the floor. Estefan light heartedly muses over his increasing clumsiness in his later years. As he bends over to pick up the fallen sheets of paper, he asks if Gibbons can help. Outside of Aguila’s line of sight, Jack retrieves the loaded zip-gun from his pocket, arms the trigger and plants the muzzle of the barrel into the back of his target’s head.

With the palm of his other hand, Jack hits the butt of the weapon, releasing the firing pin and striking the read of the cartridge. The primer detonates, igniting the powder charge which propels the bullet down the rifled barrel of the zip-gun. The baffle components of the suppressor slows and cools the escaping gas, reducing the sound of the gunshot to something equivacable of pressured air escaping a rubber tube.

The bullet drills into the back of Aguila’s head.

Aguila’s body momentarily jerks upright and the air in his lungs quickly escapes him as he lets out a hushed death rattle. He jerked body quickly crumbles to the floor like a rag doll.

The neat hole planted in the back of his head begins to leak blood. Soon, warm blood quickly trickles from his mouth, nose and ears, forming a warm puddle of scarlet on the carpeted floor. The tension left in his body fades away along with his life.

Jack stands over his body, gripped by the moments that had just unfolded before him. While the conman had killed before, never had the taking of one’s life been so intimate…

Shady is rocked awake from his daze as the mirrors in Aguila’s slide open, revealing a torrent of security guards who pour out in droves. Instinct grips Jack as he begins to plan an escape route but his thoughts are cut short by the appearance of a familiar looking face. Standing before him is a man who looks exactly the same as the man he has just killed, clapping triumphantly. The man congratulates Jack on a job well done, even if he is saddened to see a precious employee die. Confused, Jack demands answers. The man reveals himself to be Estefan Aguila - the REAL Estefan Aguila; the man Jack shot was a body double planted to lure out an NCR assassin. Estefan reveals that he has known about the Misfit’s entrance the moment they arrived. He tells Jack to drop his zip-gun and warns him not to do anything funny, otherwise he’ll order the execution of Pandora Rose.

Jack’s world comes crashing down. He makes the only sensible choice; he drops the weapon and puts his hands up...

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