September Writing Challenge: Choose Any Three

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Admin!
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September Writing Challenge: Choose Any Three Sept 2, 2011 11:48:32 GMT -5

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Post by Admin! on Sept 2, 2011 11:48:32 GMT -5

It's writing challenge time again. To enter, just post a ficlet (300-4000 words suggested) in this thread. When the voting for this month's OTM winners comes around, a voting poll will go up for this as well.

The Challenge: Write a story that features at least three of the following five items: A fake diamond, a bicycle pump, a roll of duct tape, a graphing calculator, and wasp. Pick any three and have fun.

The rules:

Characters must be in Hammel canon, but the ficlets are not site canon unless referenced in a thread.
Entries must be more than 300 words. No upper limit on this one.
You can enter no more than three ficlets. Any ficlets posted after the original 3 will not be considered for voting. If you want to post more, however, have fun.
Ficlets must be titled.

Dr. Sean Neville
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Psychiatrist
Telepathy/Memory Manipulation
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The One and Only Seangularity

Posts: 8,987

Gender:: Male

September Writing Challenge: Choose Any Three Sept 4, 2011 15:20:16 GMT -5

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Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Sept 4, 2011 15:20:16 GMT -5

Author's note: Although this uses timeline and makes mentions of the Hammel Babyverse, due to the contents, it is AU from the Babyverse, and is not Babyverse canon. Yes, there is a Babyverse canon.

Papa Hobo

It's carbon and monoxide
The ol’ Detroit perfume
And it hangs on the highways
In the morning
And it lays you down by noon.

Everything can change in an instant.

This morning, everything had been fine. Daddy was away at a conference for the weekend, and Papa wasn’t on trial which meant he didn’t have to do too much work at home. Instead he could spend time with her.

One minute, Papa had been pumping his bicycle since one of the wheels had gone flat. Pumping it so he could take her to the park.

The next minute Papa had clutched his chest and collapsed and he wasn’t moving.

And she had screamed and cried and called 9-1-1.

Now she was sitting in the waiting room at the hospital while Daddy’s friend Anya was trying desperately to get Daddy on the phone.

The waiting room was terrible. It smelled funny, like it was supposed to be clean but it wasn’t quite right, and there were too many people there. People who were sick and waiting for attention. People who were just like her: waiting to make sure their families were okay. The chairs were hard and plastic and uncomfortable, and it was too cold. The television in the back was on some awful daytime rerun; he couldn’t hear it well, but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t paying much attention.

Instead her thoughts were on Papa’s ashen face and how he’d been wheezing in the back of the ambulance and how the EMTs hadn’t let her hold his hand while they worked on him during the ride.

Someone at the other end of the waiting room coughed. Eleanor looked around for Anya, who was still outside the room – no cell phones in the waiting room ; she couldn’t read lips but she hoped that Anya was getting through. Daddy needed to know and he needed to be here now.

She wished Daddy was a teleporter.

An eternity later, Anya came back into the waiting room and sat down next to her. There was a shaky smile on her face which Eleanor wanted to think meant that she had good news. “He’s coming home as soon as he can, but it’s going to be a few hours for the drive.”

Still, Daddy was coming home, and that was good news. Now they just needed the doctors to come out and say that Papa would be okay and then life could go back to normal, and everything would be the way it used to be.

The doctors weren’t coming out.

Eleanor was worried; it gnawed at her stomach making her want to alternatively cry and throw up but she didn’t. She sat there being as stoic as she could, not as stoic as Daddy would be, but as much as could be expected since she wasn’t Daddy. Since she was only a kid.

Because she was nervous, she tugged at the necklace she wore. With all of the pretty gems on it that she’d gotten for her birthday a couple of years ago.

Anya noticed that she was nervous and tried to make conversation. “Your necklace is very pretty.” She reached out to touch the diamond, Papa’s birthstone, next to the pearl, Daddy’s birthstone.

“It’s fake,” Eleanor whispered. Her fathers didn’t believe in real diamonds, something about war in Africa.

“It’s still very pretty,” Anya told her. And then she asked questions about what all of the stones meant. And, grateful for the distraction, Eleanor began to explain.

******************

Eleanor didn’t know how long she’d been in the waiting room. She didn’t usually wear a watch and she didn’t know what time they’d gotten there, so asking Anya what time it was wouldn’t help. It had been a long time, too long, and Daddy still wasn’t there. And there was no news of Papa.

But then a doctor came out and asked who was there for Joshua Bernstein, and she jumped to her feet, hopeful. “Me. He’s my Papa. Is he okay? Please say he’s okay.”

The doctor looked at her and then over at Anya. “Are you his wife?”

Eleanor frowned, not liking that she was being ignored and doubly so that this doctor was making false assumptions about her family. “She’s not my mom,” she said, managing to keep herself calm because Daddy wouldn’t want her to lose her calm and he would know when he got here. She didn’t want him to have to worry about anything else, not with Papa being stuck here and sick.

“Joshua’s husband is on his way from Boston,” Anya explained, emphasizing husband to get the point across. “I’m a friend of the family.”

“Oh.” The doctor looked concerned. “I can’t go into details, unfortunately, HIPPA, you understand. But-”

“Is he okay? Can I see him? Please?”

“You can go to his room,” the doctor said. “But you should know that he’s on some medication that makes him tired and so he’s asleep. And he’s hooked up to some machines...”

Eleanor didn’t hear anything after you can go to his room, because it meant that Papa was alive, and that was all she cared about. He looked over at Anya with a smile and then waited for the doctor to show her to Papa’s room.

The doctor walked with her to the elevator, explaining that he was in the ICU and what that meant. Eleanor tried to focus on what the doctor said, but it was difficult to break through the haze of relief. And when she did, as they were exiting the elevator, it wasn’t due to something he’d said about her Papa or the ICU. “There’s a wasp on your scrubs.”

The doctor looked at her in surprise, before looking down at the pin on his lapel. “It’s my school mascot, from way back when I was a student.”

“My Papa’s mascot was the Bobcats.”

“That’s a good mascot.”

The doctor led her through the corridors, all of which had that same smell from the waiting room and were too white and too brightly lit. When they reached her Papa’s room, the doctor ushered her inside. And Eleanor saw him lying in a bed, on a bunch of tubes and wires and machines with his eyes closed, wearing a thin green gown and his glasses nowhere to be found. She began to sob. “Will he be okay?”

“We’re trying very hard to be sure of that.”

“Why did it happen?”

“Well...”

Eleanor recognized that tone. It was the one adults used when they didn’t want to talk about something and desired to spare her feelings. It was wholly the opposite of how she’d been raised (even if she encountered it at school and with extended family and with her friends’ parents) and she balked at it. “Please just tell me the truth. I’m a big girl.”

The doctor gave her a surprised look which she saw only from the corner of her eye; most of her attention was on Papa lying in bed, on his chest’s rise and fall as the only proof he was alive. “Your Papa smokes, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s bad for his heart and his lungs and has done damage over the years.”

“Oh.” She took that as calmly as she could. “Can I talk to him alone?”

“Yes, but you need to be careful not to unhook any of the machines.”

“Okay.” Eleanor stood where she was, waiting for the doctor to leave so she could be alone with her Papa.

Only when the doctor was gone and the door was half-closed (not fully in case there was an emergency) did she cross the room to stand at the side of the bed. She didn’t know what half the machines did, and the beeping made her nervous. Even though she knew it was good because it meant he was alive.

Carefully, she reached out to touch his hand where it lay by his side; there was a tube attached that she avoided touching. And she found his hand warm, which reassured her. She stood there sniffling for a few minutes, touching his hand and wishing he would wake up.

There was no clock on the wall, and thus she didn’t know how much time passed. But as she stood there, alone, with nobody to reassure her that everything would be fine, her emotions began to well up inside her. She thought about what the doctor had said, about how this was all because Papa smoked. Even though she had left pamphlets for him all over the house because she worried about him.

“Why do you have to be so stubborn?” She whispered, blinking back tears. “You could die and Daddy and I will be all alone because you cared more about your cigarettes than you do about us.”

And maybe it wasn’t fair to say that, because she knew that Papa cared about her and Daddy. But it wasn’t fair of him to do something so bad for him when he had a family that loved him either, and there was nobody else to tell him that he’d done wrong.

It wasn’t fair when her parents were already so much older than most parents of kids her age (Dani and Car and Michelle’s parents didn’t count, even though Daddy and Papa were older than all of them too). Sometimes she stayed up late worrying about one of them dying because they were so much older. It didn’t matter that Grandma Charlie had lived so long, or that judging by how long Grandpa Bobby had lived, Papa should have at least another twenty years. Daddy’s parents had died a long time ago, before she was even a baby, and she was always worried in the back of her mind.

And then Papa went out of his way to hurt himself even though nobody smoked anymore because nobody else was that stupid.

“You knew this could happen and you did it anyway,” she accused him as tears fell down her cheeks, her voice louder now. “You kept doing it even though you knew it would hurt you. Didn’t you know it would hurt me too?”

Her voice became a whisper again. “Did you ever think about me at all?”

***********************

Eventually she’d sat down in the chair near the bed. She’d calmed down a bit but continued to talk. She wished that she’d brought a book with her, which made her feel guilty. She shouldn’t want to read to pass the time when she was visiting Papa in the hospital.

There had been footsteps for a while, which had made her constantly look over, expecting to see Daddy. But it was always a nurse or a doctor or another visitor. Eventually, she’d stopped looking over.

But then there were voices and the door opened fully. “He’s in here, Doctor Neville.”

“Thank you. And thank you for taking care of him.”

Eleanor looked over and jumped up. She was careful not to knock anything over as she immediately went to his side. “Daddy I-”

He wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart. I drove as fast as I could.” He held her for a long moment before letting her go, although he reached down to take her hand.

“I’ve been worried,” she admitted quietly.

“I know. But you’ve been here with him and that was very brave and good of you.” Holding her hand, he walked over to Papa’s bed, taking her with him. She watched as Daddy looked at him and shook his head to himself, before he reached down to take the chart dangling off the edge of the bed and began to read.

She waited until he finished reading before she asked, “Did the doctors tell you what happened?”

“Yes.” Daddy set the chart down and tried to give her a reassuring smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “He’s very lucky that it wasn’t more severe.”

“The doctor said it’s because of all the cigarettes.”

“I know.” Eleanor wasn’t sure if the doctor had told him that or not; Daddy was a doctor too, so he probably knew anyway.

That was another problem. He was a doctor, and he knew and he didn’t do anything to stop Papa from doing this to himself. She frowned. “Why didn’t you make him stop?”

“I’ve talked to him about this many times. Your Papa doesn’t always listen to me.”

“I don’t mean talk,” she said, and she turned her head, staring at him in accusation. “You could have made him stop. Couldn’t you? You could have just thought at him hard enough and he wouldn’t have wanted to anymore and then he wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

The smile on Daddy’s face, the fake one, disappeared, but he didn’t frown. “It isn’t that simple, Eleanor.”

“But you could have.” Her words were rushing out and tears had began again, streaking across her cheeks as they fell. “I know you could. You do harder things for other people.” Like the boy who used to cut himself; she knew about that because Car’s father had been his doctor before Daddy got involved. “Papa wouldn’t have even had to know and then he would be safe instead of hurt. You could have helped him but you didn’t. Don’t you care-”

“That’s enough.” Daddy hadn’t raised his voice but he sounded so serious that she stopped her tirade and craned her neck to look up at him. His expression hadn’t changed, but she could see hurt in his eyes. “I care about you and Papa more than I do, or could, about anything else in this world.”

“Then why didn’t you...” She couldn’t get the words out a second time.

“Because he didn’t want it. He’s a grown man, and if he wanted this, what right do I have to change how he thinks, because I disagree? Where would it stop? No more cigarettes, no more beer with supper, eating better, no more arguing with strangers at the grocery store, taking more vacation time, reading what I read, thinking what I want him to think...at what point would you draw the line if you could?”

She couldn’t imagine her Papa not doing all of those things, because they were part of what made him Papa. “But that’s not the same thing,” she argued, her voice quiet.

“It might not seem like that to you, because the smoking is so bad for him, but it is the same thing. It’s all the same, and the only place to draw the line is to never start.” Daddy sighed and looked from her down at Papa, sleeping on the bed. With his free hand, he reached out to caress Papa’s cheek, running his fingers lightly over his sideburns. “I can’t do that to him, even if I tell myself that it’s for him.”

There was something in Daddy’s voice that she couldn’t explain, but it made her sad; he sounded hurt and disappointed, but it was mixed up in a way that didn’t make sense to her. But she didn’t want to make him feel worse and so she asked, “When will he get to come home?”

“Later. After he wakes up and gets some more help from the doctors.” Daddy ran his thumb across Papa’s lips; Papa didn’t move.

“What do we do until then?”

Daddy squeezed her hand. “We wait for him.”

You want to graduate? Listen to Sean talk about condoms.

Ann Hudgins
Retired

University of Vermont
Empath
Played By Nanners

Maybe it's not all FUBAR...

Posts: 617

September Writing Challenge: Choose Any Three Sept 5, 2011 10:30:25 GMT -5

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Post by Ann Hudgins on Sept 5, 2011 10:30:25 GMT -5

Daily Life

Ann disliked living in the dorm. Her roommate wasn't too hard to deal with, but her neighbors. They were always loud, obnoxious, and hogged the entire counter in the bathroom when they were getting ready for school in the morning. Skanks, Ann called them.

Today, was like many other days she had had to deal with already. She was doing her work, reading her text books, highlighting her notes, and using her fancy new graphing calculator on her math problems. It would just take her forever if she had to work all those problems without it. She let out a small sigh as her neighbors across from her came down the hallway, talking too loud, carrying on, and laughing. Ann shut out her frustration at them and continued to work her problems.

Instead of disappearing inside their dorm, like they usually did, they remained in the hallway. They must have seen someone else in the hall and were talking to them. In too-loud voices. Ann ground her teeth for a moment, her eyes on a roll of duct tape sitting on her work desk. Why there was a roll of duct tape there....she wasn't particularly sure. It probably had something to do with her roommate.

Ann heard the door open and close. Good.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

The simultaneous scream of two girls, followed by a wave of sheer terror caused Ann to fall out of her desk chair. Now sprawled on the floor, Ann was pissed. She stomped to her door, flung it open, and was about to walk into the hallway, when the two girls came running out, their hands on their heads.

"Killitkillitkillitkillit!" They were flailing.

"What?" Ann asked the nearest one as she sent out waves of calm towards them, because dear lord, they were loud. Their terror subsided and they finally managed to tell Ann about the huge flying bug in their dorm. Ann went back into her room, grabbed a shoe, and went into theirs.

It took her a minute to locate the 'huge flying bug.'

It was a dirt dobber.

A freaking wasp was causing THAT much trouble. Ann seethed as she flattened her shoe against it, hearing that specific crunch. She removed her shoe from the side of the wall and watched the now very dead bug fall to the floor. she picked it up by the wings and dropped it into the nearest waste basket. When she walked back out into the hallway, a survivor, the two girls wrapped their arms around her in a hug.

"Ohmygod thank you so much. I am deathly allergic to wasps. Thankyouthankyou!"

"You wanna come to this party with us tonight? It's not a frat party. No way would we go there, not after what happened to Theresa, you know? They got her pregnant. Just horrible. But seriously, you need to come. You like, never have any fun, and you are always in your dorm, probably doing work or something. It's labor day! No school! Come on let's gooo." Ann wasn't normally one to get facial ticks, but her eye wouldn't stop twitching.

No. Now please shut up so I can do my work. Bye." Ann extricated herself from the two girls and swiftly closed her door behind her. She felt a bit of disappointment from the two as they went back into their dorm, but Ann didn't care. She just wanted to finish her homework.

Izzy James
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Time Control

just now got the feeling that we're meeting for the first time

Posts: 241

September Writing Challenge: Choose Any Three Sept 10, 2011 0:56:35 GMT -5

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Post by Izzy James on Sept 10, 2011 0:56:35 GMT -5

{I apologize for completely butchering several characters. I'm still learning people, so I doubt the characterization is perfect yet}

Why Trouble's Taped to the Wall
or
Where's the Wasp?

“Why is my dog taped to the wall?” asked Rhett. He was staring at the wall, mostly because, well, Trouble was taped there. It looked like it had taken an entire roll of the stuff to get the dog stuck there. This was mostly because it had. AJ had been just a little enthusiastic when it came to the actual taping of the dog, and they'd had nearly the whole roll to use.

“He got a hold of Jordan's calculator,” explained Izzy. The blonde stood up, walking over a table and picked up a chewed up bit of plastic, wires, and strange metals. It had been, a few minutes ago, a graphing calculator. Top of the line. It also belonged to Jordan, the only one who currently wasn't in the room.

Rhett stared at his dog, then he looked over to the calculator. Then to Izzy and AJ, who were both standing nearby. “Which one of you did it?”

In true comedic form, both Izzy and AJ pointed at each other. They also both started to explain at exactly the same time. Eventually, Izzy ended up waving his hand, figuring that the more excitable AJ should probably go ahead and take over the conversation. AJ did so with relish, explaining about how they'd found Trouble with the calculator in his mouth, chewing it while his tail wagged. Being as this was AJ describing the incident, he imitated the dog, even wiggling his butt in imitation. Said dog, noticing this, barked several times and wiggled against the tape. That hardly stopped AJ from continuing though, as he explained how Izzy had been there first, and had tried to get the calculator away from Trouble, mostly unsuccessfully.

“He must really like math or something,” supplied Izzy. He shrugged, grinned, and let AJ continue. The excitable teen did. Especially because this was the part where he got to play the hero, a role usually reserved for Izzy. For lo, did AJ produce the squeaky diamond toy.

“Wait, time out,” said Rhett, holding up his hand. “Who bought the fake diamond chew toy?”

Izzy and AJ looked at each other. They looked to Trouble. Then Izzy looked at Rhett, shrugging. “We kind of figured that you did.”

“Well, I didn't,” insisted Rhett.

“Maybe someone left it here?” suggested AJ.

“What does it matter?” said Izzy. “Trouble really didn't like it. He went after the bicycle pump next.”

And Izzy picked up the story, explaining how the excited Trouble, eager to have AJ for a playmate, had made a mad dash for the pump that they'd stashed by the door. Apparently AJ had bought the pump at some point in time, either for a bike that nobody knew he had or because pumping air into something sounded like a good idea at some point in time. Really, it didn't have that much to do with the story, and seemed almost to get in the way.

“But Trouble had the pump in his teeth!” said AJ. He picked up miming the dog again, running around and explaining how Trouble had chased both he and Izzy around the dorm for several minutes, barking.

“We remembered that you didn't want him barking though,” said Izzy. “So we had to figure out a way to stop him. We tried throwing the fake diamond a few times.”

“Eventually Izzy did his whole time thing,” said AJ, picking up the story again.

“Wait, I thought you couldn't control that,” said Rhett. He looked to Izzy, raising an eyebrow quizzically. Izzy shrugged and pointed at the wall. They all turned to stare at Trouble, who barked again.

“You know, maybe he has powers,” suggested AJ. “Don't you think dogs can have powers? He totally looks like he could have powers.”

“Maybe,” suggested Izzy, shrugging. “Would explain a lot.”

“Look, it doesn't matter if he has powers or not,” said Rhett. He walked over to the dog, starting to peel the tape off. “Just help me get him down before Jordan gets back.”

They all moved to start peeling tape off the wall, and had even gotten a bit off when the door swung open. Four heads turned to look at the entrance, where, naturally, the fourth (technically fifth) roommate had now entered. He stared at them, more specifically, at the dog taped to the wall. Shaking his head, Jordan walked into the dorm. Nobody said anything. Not a word. Nobody moved either. Trouble even stayed more or less perfectly still. The only sound was Jordan's footsteps along the carpet, and even that didn't make much noise.

Jordan paused. He finally turned to look at his three roommates, who looked very much like they were attempting to act out a Three Stooges short.

“Have any of you seen my calculator?”

Alexander McKenzie
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September Writing Challenge: Choose Any Three Sept 10, 2011 13:24:24 GMT -5

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Post by Alexander McKenzie on Sept 10, 2011 13:24:24 GMT -5

Date Night

Alex leaned back in his desk chair, heaving a sigh. His homework for the weekend was miserable, and his fancy new graphing calculator had just died on him. Better still, he was positive they didn’t have batteries in the apartment, because the last time their television remote had given up the ghost, he and Connie had gone on a hunting trip, to no avail. No batteries meant no more homework progress.

Hey, it was an excuse. He’d use it.

He flipped open his phone and scrolled through his messages. He had plans to meet up with Ann later that night, but he had to keep himself entertained until then. Connie was putting in overtime hours, and the apartment seemed a bit lonely. Idly, he slid the bar in his upper ear back and forth as he tried to figure out what to do. There were a good few hours to kill, and as much as he liked the apartment, he couldn’t stay cooped up. It looked like a beautiful day outside.

That settled it. He was going out.

Grabbing a light jacket and his wallet, he locked the door behind him and headed out into the town. Considering his options, he opted for the mall. If nothing else, he could hit the stores and check out some cheap jewellery. He could always use some more rings, and maybe he could find something for Ann. It wasn’t anywhere near a traditional gift giving day – her birthday wasn’t close, and he wasn’t so organized to be Christmas shopping already – but sometimes it was just nice to surprise her.

After stopping at his favourite kiosk, one that sold a lot of glow in the dark jewellery, he wandered into a place that more often saw pre-teen girls shopping there. He got a few strange looks, all of which he returned with a little smile. He was looking for something in particular. He studied the earrings, finally settling on a pair of fake diamond studs. (He was well aware that Ann might murder him if he presented her with real diamonds. These would have to do.) They were simple enough for her tastes, and he was sure she'd be all right with them.

The teenage girl at the counter gave him a questioning look, which he met with a little grin. She rolled her eyes and handed over the studs. He was positive that he heard her call him a weirdo as he walked away, but he wasn’t going to acknowledge it. He had better things to do.

He still had a bit of time before he was going to meet Ann, so he headed back to the apartment to see if they had any wrapping paper. He didn’t need a lot. Just enough to conceal the little gift. Thankfully, he found some in the back of his desk. Now he just needed to find the –

Why could he never find the scotch tape when he wanted it?

A frantic search, and several unhelpful texts from Connie later, the tape was still MIA. The best he could come up with was the very tail end of an old roll of duct tape. … It was going to have to do, because he was running out of time. Improvising, he managed to make the gift look relatively presentable.

He showed up at Ann’s dorm just barely on time. When she opened the door, he breathed a smile of relief. “Hey, beautiful.”

“Alex!” She smiled at him and tugged him inside. “I made dinner for us.” He grinned and followed her in, catching her in a playful hug.

“That’s great. I’m starving.” She laughed and untangled herself from her boyfriend.

“Did you run out of food at the apartment?”

“Not really.” He caught her again and kissed her softly. Ever since she’d gained control, touching and kissing had become almost second nature. Of course, it helped that Alex did his best to keep his emotions in check around Ann. She blushed and returned the kiss before breaking away and heading to the kitchen.

“Come here before it gets cold.”

“In a minute. You come here first.” Alex leaned back against the wall and beckoned her forward with a finger. Ann arched an eyebrow at him.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing much. Come here.” Ann wasn’t sure exactly what he was doing, but he’d done something. Still, she approached him, curling into his open arms. “Was that so hard?”

“Tell me what you did.”

“I brought you a present,” he admitted. Ann pulled back, disapproval clear on her face.

“Alex…”

“Shh. It’s nothing special. Here.” He pulled the wrapped box from his pocket and placed it in her hand. She stared at it for a moment. “Ann. Breathe.”

“I am,” she muttered. “… Alex?”

“Yes?”

“Why is it covered in duct tape?” Alex’s cheeks colored.

“The clear tape disappeared. It was all I had.” She kept looking at him. “Ann, just open it. Please?” She was clearly amused, but she complied. Her eyes lit up at the little studs.

“Alex! Thank you!” She wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled against him, dropping a kiss. “They’re perfect.” There was a pause. “… They aren’t real, right?” He smirked and nuzzled back.

“I’ll never tell.”

“I hate you sometimes.”

“That’s really too bad, because I always love you.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“You know it.”

Danicca Waylan
Retired

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September Writing Challenge: Choose Any Three Sept 10, 2011 20:38:38 GMT -5

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Post by Danicca Waylan on Sept 10, 2011 20:38:38 GMT -5

Burnout

Matthew didn't remember excatly what happened, just that a song came on the radio and Dani said, "If I ever die, play this at my funeral," and as he told her not to say that, she just shrugged and laughed it off, like her dying was something she could joke about and get away with. As it was, he was already on edge. There had been reports of the radical anti-meta group making their way north-east, for what reason Matt couldn't figure. To him it was infalliable. Meta's were still human. Their genes were just a bit different. Dani was already out of her seatbelt and running into the mall to see if some limited-edition something-or-other was still in stock when Matt, himself, hadn't even unlocked all of the doors. He got the tiniest bit annoyed that after all of his warnings to stay with him just in case, she just decided to do things that unsafe.Though, he could never control his sister. He always felt he had to try though.Silently he got out of the car on his own and followed her.

After that, everything comes to him in a blurry mess. Matt was pretty sure he made it into the mall, and then... He doesn't know. He just doesn't remember anything. He woke up in an ambulance with a seriously painful headache, and nobody would tell him where Dani was or what happened. This scared him even more. He fell back into unconsiousness at one point, drifting away from the people of life. Matt barely remembers the time he spent in the E.R. Which, was extremly busy, almsot too busy. Matt must have drifted in and out of conciousness again since he barely remembered any of the many hours he spent there.

When he finally woke up and was able to be fully awake--and the pain was a subtle ache that, while it was all over, didn't discomfort him too much--he found his mother by the bedside, a crumpled sticking out from her fist. She had the backs of her hands pressed to her eyes and was hunched over, her red hair spilling over her shoulders and blocking a her face from the rest of the world. She was shaking. That was what scared Matt. He reached out the hand closest to her--the one without all the tubes attatched, thank god--and touched her arm. It was an effort, but he had to be sure she was there. Kiora pulled her hands away from her face quickly and looked up. Her eyes were red and he could tell she'd been crying.

As soon as Matt registered this, he found himself being yanked into some semblance of a hug. That was probably where Dani learned how to be so fierce; and occasionally careless about when to hug someone. He was still in that tiny bit of pain, but he reached up and put his good arm around his mother. Haveing had her pop into his mind, he needed to know. His voice was rough and cracked when he asked, "Where's Dani?"

He knew the instant his mother pulled away and refused to look directly at him what the answer was. He knew, but he didn't want to accept it, he wasn't going to accept it until someone told him what happened. Actually, he would probably never accept it, but he would believe them when they told him. It was interesting, the timing some people had, because right then Ari entered the room with a tray of food, presumably for him and Kiora. When he saw Matt was awake, he rushed over and set the tray down, and started asking how Matt was feeling. When all Matthew responded with was the question of how long he'd been out, Ari told him a few days.

Later, Matthew found out it was five days precisely that he was out. He also found out that there is one thing in the world that will make him willing to track a person down and kill them, although it was something he already knew, distantly. Dani had been killed by a bomb, the terrorist group calling themselves "God's Message" claiming responsibility for it. According to reports, very few of the victims had bodies left to be found. Dani was not one of the very few. There was a funeral, and a gravestone, but nothing to bury.

At the funeral, Matt sat staring at the ground unseeingly. He couldn't just sit there. There were people who he thought despised Dani that had shown up, and they were crying. It could be because they actually had liked Dani, or it could be because everyone was having a funeral to attend this week. Matt refused to go to anything other than Dani's. Shortly after the service started, it began to rain, just a light smattering of water droplets hitting someone every now and again. He spotted a weather manipulator that had been one of Dani's roomates and closest friends, a blonde boy that had apparently dated Dani at one point. He was staring at the grave marker, a look on his face of pure emotionlessness that meant he was holding something huge back. He was sitting next to Dani's other roommate, Jared, who was curled in on himself crying. For the most part, the crowd was made up of her fellow students. Matt wondered if she would have liked that, her victims coming to her funeral and not dancing on the grave. She would probably be very smug about it if she knew.

After the funeral, when Matt was being forced to shake hands and accept condolences, there were a few people he needed to get alone, and now was a great time to do that. He told every person where to meet him, and they all agreed. None of them knew who else was on the list, though.

Matt got into his car, not looking into the back seat for fear of being reminded, again, that it was under his care that Dani died. She had left a roll of duct tape, her messenger bag, and a bicycle pump in his car, all of it thrown haphazardly in as she had excitedly rushed to get to the mall. His mirror had the right half missing because, when he had first re-entered the car, he had seen the reflection of Dani's things and snapped it in half while angrily re-adjusting it. He still had the bandage on his hand from where the shard of mirror cut into his flesh, hiding the severe red slash that was just healed enough to no longer be bleeding. A necklace with a heart and a fake diamond was hanging from it for some reason.

He went home, changed into jeans and a t-shirt, and started a fire in the fireplace in the basement. Then, he threw the tuxedo into it, one overcomplicated piece of cloth at a time. He heard the doorbell ring several times in quick succession, and let his father get it. A set of loud footsteps rushed down the stairs, revealing the strawberry-blonde that nobody would ever believe was related to Matthew in any way. Zaede was a total mess and hadn't shown up to the funeral, and not even his mother knew where he was. He had apparently run out the door and not come back until just now. He was wearing a tux, like he had meant to go, but it was wrinkled and his entire left side had dirt ground into the fabric, leaving it a brown-gray rather than black in those places. He had likely been running and fallen. His hair was disheveled, his face haggard. It was the worst Matt had ever seen Zaede--probably the worst anyone had ever seen him.

"Matt. You need to talk to me." Zaede said, as if Matt had been avoiding him before this, which was not the case. He just hadn't wanted to talk to anyone about anything until his plan started.

"About?" He honestly didn't have much of a clue what Zaede could want anymore.

"About what happens now. About Dani. About something, please, you're the only one that knew her as well as I did." There was a hint of desperation in his voice, his posture pleading.

Matt hesitated. The others would be showing up soon. "You should go." He didn't want to have to explain. He would already have to use too many words when the others arrived--not everyone wanted to read things he's writing down as conversation. When Zaede refused to leave until they had a proper conversation about something, Matt gave up. He just stared at the fire, letting the last of what had been a rather expensive tux burn out, wishing everything that had happened could be turned to nothing so easily.

People began to show up. First, Dani's roommates, Jared and Robbie. Then, surprisingly, the technopath Mia actually came. One non-powered college student. The boy that dresses like a girl. That boy's boyfriend had been in the mall. It wasn't a large or strong group, but it would do for what Matt was planning.

Zaede was watching everyone enter and inching closer to Matt every time someone else came down the stairs to the basement. Matt would have ignored him, but he needed to use him. He picked up a notepad and presented it to the shorter boy, writing I need you to tell them what I'm writing. Translate for me, I guess you could say. When Zaede looked unconvinced, Matt simply said, "For Dani." There weren't many people that were so very willing to do things because of those two words, but if Zaede was going to be in this room, he needed to be one of them.

After a moment's hesitation, Zaede agreed.

So they turned to the assembled group, Matt with the notebook in hand, and began the first meeting of the revenge-bent group of enemies pulled together to help one common cause: Metas.

Zaede read as Matt wrote, both of them rushing to get the words out. "So you're all probably wondering why I called you here, beyond what I told you. I just have to ask one thing: Are you ready to take down God's Message?"

---

The first meeting went rather well, all things considered. Several fights broke out between everyone, and there was a lot of reluctancy from certain people to be working with certain people, and everyone talked over each other to ask Matt questions or shoot accusations, but they somehow all agreed, in the end, on the plan.
Over the course of several weeks, Matt's renegade gang of misfits managed to track down everywhere God's Message had been. They aquired one more member, a miss Fiona Hart. They fleshed out the plan, gathered supplies, and were completely prepared when Mia finally said three words everyone had been waiting for and dreading. "I found them!"

She'd been given free reign of everyone's computers, using them to track internet log-ins, IP adresses, and what was showing from webcams. It was amazing what a person could do with the right codes. She was able to give the exact location of an old barn/warehouse/thing in the middle of nowhere that had some sort of net connection coming from somewhere. Despite the fact that his conscience should have been all over him for taking a group that was comprised mostly of what counted as children to take on a terrorist group. They had approximately two guns, one potato gun, a modified nerf gun, four baseball bats, some smoke bombs, and various odds and ends that counted as weapons when used correctly. They were going into what was likely a highly armed, very experienced terrorist group that had access to high-grade explosives. Yeah, this would go really well.

Matt drove. It wasn't big enough for everyone to fit comfortably, but they made it. Everyone was equipped with something, and they had all gotten briefed on their part of the plan, by Matt directly this time rather than Zaede translating for him. Nobody dared argue on his role.

They all got out of the car a mile down the dirt road from the driveway. The trees provided a good cover for everything. They were fine sneaking along and operating on hand-signals with no chance of being seen by anyone, but then they reached the field. There were no more trees beyond this point. Nothing to hide in. Just grass and the occasional half-bare bush.

The group treaded carefully. Mia and Fifi rolled smoke bombs under the holes in the bottom of this old barn that seemed so harmless if you didn't know of its occupants. There was cursing heard from inside, and gunfire rang out in the previously silent valley. A door banged against the barn's siding as it was flung open, the smoke pouring out nearly hiding the men that came running out from view. The men that ran out from the barn were coughing, a surprisingly small amount of them holding guns. Matt had his gun poised, about to shoot, when Moe took Mia's gun that she hadn't even raised and began to take them all out, one by one in quick succession. Matt finished off the few that hadn't been hit yet by Moe, who had to stop and reload. Weapons traded hands quickly so that everyone was armed with something for what the next stage was: the bloodbath.

Everyone came resigned to the fact that they would likely not make it out of this. That said, the group began to react in extremely emotional ways when someone got hit. When they first rushed in, Jared was taken out. Robbie watched him fall with a shocked look, then turned and began throwing all the homemade weaponry he could into the barn. Matt stopped paying attention to who went down how, only hearing what happened by whose name was yelled. And then a shot rang out, and Matt was left with Mia. Her job was to, as soon as the place was mostly clear, get to a safe corner and call the authorities in case anyone was still alive after this. She was doing what she was told, thank god.

Matt made his way to the place the last two terrorists were hiding. One was guarding the other. Matt was struck by how... normal they looked. Terrified and angry and one of them was holding a gun, but they looked just like anyone you might pass on the street.

The moment of hesitation was over, however, when the one with the gun raised it and aimed for Matt. Pefore he could pull the trigger more than once, he was down, a bullet to his head. Matt had taken one in the leg, but he was still able to aim for the man in front of him.

The man that was now apologizing and pleading for his life.

It was pathetic. Matt couldn't take it. He was about to do something--he didn't know if it was put down the gun or shoot the man--when he heard Mia shout a warning. He turned, seeing a hoard of people with guns entering the barn (god, where did these people get so many guns?).

Looking at them, then Mia, then back at them, he was deciding on a course of action. They asked who the hell he was. He smiled.

And then he aimed for the explosives.

Last Edit: Sept 10, 2011 20:41:01 GMT -5 by Danicca Waylan

---Prank in Progress.

Cobalt Weaver
Retired

Attorney
Shadow Manipulation
Played By Kayla

"It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us."

Posts: 953

September Writing Challenge: Choose Any Three Sept 25, 2011 22:06:29 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Cobalt Weaver on Sept 25, 2011 22:06:29 GMT -5

[ooc: this is SO GODDAMN LONG WHAT. D: Apologies. I love you guys]

Space and Virtue

James Campbell shouldered his duffle bag, gaze uncharacteristically steely as he gazed up at the USS Pilot Ridge, one of the oldest intergalactic dirigibles in the United States Navy. Originally equipped for space research and exploration, this particular dirigible had been hastily re-outfitted for search and rescue. With an ominous amount of guns. It had been the news at all the space ports: the USS Vermont, the Hammel Institute of Research and Discovery (HIRD)’s pride and joy had disappeared, along with the crew of some of the finest explorers, scientists and adventurers.

Along with Chase. Along with his husband.

James had been chosen to go on the Vermont’s expedition, but had declined in order to finish some research on a previous project. Chase had volunteered to go in his stead, and then the entire ship and crew vanished without a trace. James was naturally devastated, but he wasn’t willing to give his husband up for lost. Not just yet.

So when news reached his ears of the mission of the Pilot Ridge, James had tried to demand access aboard. However, this was not a research mission; they had no need for a scientist. He was informed that the crew that was to be departing was headed by an ex-Naval officer and a crew for hire well skilled in search and rescue. And combat. James would be useless aboard the ship, and that stung.

However, he wasn’t about to give up that easily. Which was why he was hovering about the gangplank of the Pilot Ridge in the middle of a crowded space port, waiting for the captain.

James hadn’t heard much about the good captain. All he knew was that he had been a naval officer assigned to HIRD for a while. He had been honorably discharged after a situation in the M-SAD Quadrant. He hadn’t been involved very much, but the rumor around the ports was that he left Hammel because of difference in principles. James wondered why HIRD had hired him on again, and why on earth he had taken the job.

He didn’t know what Captain Weaver looked like aside from the fact that he was short and had a mech leg that he got in mysterious circumstances. Which narrowed it down a little, but not much. He also knew that he had a effervescent first mate named Gold who took the Naval Academy by storm back in the day, but instead of staying and rising in the ranks, she had opted to stay with Weaver. James supposed her loyalty was admirable, if a little odd. Weaver wasn’t much known for his congeniality, that much James knew.

The rest of their crew was hired hand, and James knew nothing about them. Not that he was nervous. Not at all. Definitely not.

The Pilot Ridge was an impressive ship, and no doubt about it. The steel metal girders glistened against the solar-sensitive panels, small and flexible and clothlike, and the main cabin was bronze and gleaming in the sun. He was no engineer, so he didn’t quite understand everything, but it was indeed beautiful, hanging in the antigrav port, waiting for launch.

A sharp push to the shoulder shook him out of his thoughts and nearly knocked him off his feet. “Sorry,” A gruff voice growled, sounding completely unconcerned. James turned to scowl at the offender, but he was shocked to see a short man limp past him towards the gangplank, the gears and wheels of his mechanical leg whirring softly.

“W-wait!” James grabbed his bag and hurried after the man. Weaver turned and eyed James with a cold, blue-eyed stare. Both eyes human; so he clearly wasn’t a cyborg. James collected his scattering thoughts and took a breath, “My name is James Campbell. I was…I need to get onto your ship.”

An eyebrow arched. “Is that a fact?” If nothing else, it got his attention. The smaller man shifted, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “And why should I let you on my ship. We’ve got all necessary positions and Hammel didn’t notify me of an additional crewman.” He said the Institution’s name like it was a curse.

“W-well. Um. The, ah. Institution doesn’t…quite know I’m here.” James looked about sheepishly, “See, I’m here on more, ah, personal affairs.” He really, really didn’t want to explain to this stranger that he was trying to save his husband. Not if he didn’t have to.

It appeared, though, that he would have to, because Weaver merely set his jaw and narrowed his eyes, “Well, Mr. Campbell, this isn’t a pleasure cruise, so if there’s a good reason you’re here, wasting my time and disobeying your Hammel, then I suggest you tell me right quick or—”

“My husband’s name is Chase,” James interrupted, “He was a crew member of the Vermont.”

Astonishingly, that stopped the short man in his tracks. He stared at James, who stared back steadily. This strange man was a little intimidating, yes, but he was nothing compared to never knowing what happened to Chase. After a long moment, Cobalt pushed up his round spectacles to pinch the bridge of his nose, “Do you have any skills?”

“I, er, well, I’m a researcher,” James explained hurriedly, “I assisted in mapping out several of the sectors we will be passing through, I have extensive experience in identifying—”

“Have you ever worked aboard an aerostat before?”

James reddened, “Well…no.” He looked over a the other man, raising his chin, “But I’m a fast learner, and I am not going to stay behind wondering.”

“So let me be sure I understand you aright,” Cobalt said, scowling and crossing his arms, “You have never served crew before, you have no skills useful to me, and all you’ll be doing is wasting my food. And somehow, you expect me to allow you aboard despite all that, because you want to go gallivanting around space to save your husband. Have I understood you correctly?”

Well. It sounded terrible when put like that. But James wasn’t backing down. Not when he’d made it this far. “Ah. Yes. I can assist your navigator with—”

“Mr. Bernstein has his position handled relatively well, Mr. Campbell.”

“Look,” James exclaimed, frustrated, “Are you going to let me on, or aren’t you? Because now I’m not the one wasting time.”

There was a moment when James thought he went too far. The captain’s eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened into an even thinner line. However, the smaller man just nodded and said, “I’ll introduce you to Mr. Silverman. He’ll take you through the ship.” With that, he turned and walked up the gangplank, shaking his head and muttering.

Astonished that that had worked, James stumbled after him, keeping a grip on his bag. The dirigible loomed overhead, getting larger and larger and casting a shadow over James. He stopped on the gangplank, tilting his head back, staring up at the vast aerostat. From this proximity, he could hear the dirigible humming with energy and electricity. The windows were tinted, but he could see silhouettes of people bustling about, working at their jobs. James swallowed hard.

“Campbell, will you just get on the dirigible?” Weaver demanded, exasperated, “Time’s wasting, and I intend to launch on time whether you are on or not.”

Before James could reply, something crashed into his shoulder. “Hullo, sir!” A young woman’s voice exclaimed. Head spinning slightly, James turned to see a small, blonde woman beaming at him. Lord, she looked only a little older than his daughter.

Adjusting her tri cornered hat, the young woman looped an arm about his shoulders, “First officer Leila Gold at your service. Hope the good captain hasn’t made such an awful first impression, he’s not one for the people.” Giving Weaver a jaunty wink, Leila Gold all but frog marched James up the rest of the way, pushing a few buttons to open the door to the cabin.

“Welcome aboard the U.S.S. Pilot Ridge,” She announced over the hiss of the airlock, “One of the oldest research dirigibles in the galaxy, which sounds impressive until you realize that Ridge also happens to be one of the most rickety old thing what’s ever sailed the skies.” She beamed at him, “But don’t worry. She’ll fly, even if we have to go and push the propellers ourselves.”

“If anyone’s going to be pushing propellers, it’s going to be you, Miss Gold.” Captain Weaver snorted, rolling his eyes.

“But why would they give us such an old ship? I thought this was an important mission.” James asked, looking from one to the other.

“Because the Institute is as optimistic as I am,” Weaver growled, shifting on his mechanical leg, “Can’t afford to waste a better ship.” With those cheerful words, he turned away, “Miss Gold, see that Mr. Campbell is acquainted with his quarters before taking him to see Mr. Silverman.”

Leila looked surprised, “Danny? Does he have mechanical experience?”

“No, but Mr. Silverman is better equipped with dealing with…people.” James didn’t particularly doubt that, but it would seem that anyone would be better equipped to deal with people than Captain Weaver. But James decided to keep this opinion to himself and follow Leila.

The passenger cabin was huge, and bustling with people. The walls were mostly large viewing windows from the waist level up, slightly opaque from the temperature protection and pressure resistance. The bottom of the walls were bedecked with levers and flashing lights, gleaming against the bronze colored alloys that made up the skeleton of the ship. There was a large navigation station, the screen mounted on a table. An average height, bespectacled man bent over it, his expression perturbed. Captain Weaver brushed past James to lean over one of the many consoles, observing the work of a nervous looking man, asking him questions that James couldn’t really understand. His ears were fill of the buzzing of mechanics, the click and whirr of gears and turnstiles, the barking orders of Captain Weaver and the curt responses from the crew. Whistles sounded and the cold metal floors reverberated countless footsteps.

“Mr. Makarov, what is our status?” Weaver asked the man he had been hovering over.

“Just awaiting orders from Command, sir.” He responded promptly with a vague Russian accent, touching a contraption fixed to his ear, “Once the gravity ports have been lifted from the dock, we will be cleared for launch.”

“Excellent. System checks are done, Miss Rivera?”

“Aye sir. All systems are a go.”

“Are all positions manned, Mr. Reeves?”

“Aye sir, all mates checked in.”

Captain Weaver nodded curtly, before turning to a metal contraption on his wrist that James had never noticed before. It clasped around his wrist to mid-forearm, bedecked with buttons and gleaming bronze. James noticed then that everyone seemed to have one. He wondered if that would be a problem. Weaver pressed a few buttons before leaning it closer to his mouth.

“Mr. Adams, how goes the galley?”

A voice, tinny and fuzzy, sounded from the contraption, “The galley is prepared, Captain. We’re all ready for launch”

“Very good.” Another button pressed, “Mr. Silverman, report on the engines.”

“Engines are a go, Captain. She’s running beautiful and without a fuss.”

Weaver snorted, “We’ll see how long that keeps. Prepare for launch, Mr. Silverman. Mr. Makarov will be giving you the signal.” He glanced over at James, “Additionally, I’m bringing a guest to meet you after launch. Keep by the con.”

“Aye sir.” The voice on the other end sounded bemused, but did not question any further.

“Sir,” Mr. Makarov’s voice caught the captain’s attention, “We are given the signal to launch. Thrusters at full capacity.”

Weaver grinned wolfishly, “Very good.” He lifted his wrist contraption again, “All systems, check in.”

“Communications online.”

“Artificial gravity engaged.”

“Artificial atmosphere on standby.”

“Bo’sun mate reporting.”

“Stevadore mate reporting.”

“Galley mate reporting.”

“Gunner mate reporting.”

“Engineering mate reporting.”

“Physician reporting.”

“First officer reporting.” Leila Gold announced to the captain’s right. James jumped slightly, more than a little overwhelmed.

Captain Weaver turned to the Russian man, “Take us out, Mr. Makarov.”

Mr. Makarov grinned slightly, “Aye sir.” He reached over and pulled a lever, his fingers flying over the gleaming buttons on the console, steely and bronze.

The ship lurched away, causing James to stumble. Leila helpfully caught him by the arm. Weaver didn’t look at him. The ship lumbered into the sky, climbing away from the spaceport and towards the heavens. Outside the windows, the skies darkened and the clouds spun overhead, thinning in the wake of the lilting dirigible. The floor hummed and vibrated beneath his feet and the walls groaned and creaked ominously.

“Thrusters engaged, sir.” Mr. Makarov intoned over the hum of the engine, “We are outside the gravity of the spaceport.”

“Compensating now,” Miss Rivera piped up, her fingers tapping away at the console.

“Continue North-by-Northeast for ten thousand parsecs, Mr. Bernstein. Notify me of any changes,” The captain instructed to the worried-looking, bespectacled man positioned at the navigational post. He looked up distractedly and stammered out, “Aye sir.”

James was standing, mouth agape, when Leila tugged on his arm, “Off we go, Mr. Campbell. Time for you to really meet our good ship.” Dumbly, James nodded and stumbled off after the young woman.

The ship was larger than it looked, and the hallway she led him down seemed to go on forever. Leila didn’t seem to mind, however, as she chatted cheerfully the whole way. “You’re fortunate we have extra space in our quarters, that usually doesn’t happen, you know. Some of the other jobs me and the good captain been on, we had no room at all. Crew was about near mutiny by the end of it.”

“So…” James hurried to keep up with her, “You and the captain are crew for hire? Why?”

Leila gave him an amicably questioning look, “Why what?”

“Well,” James hopped over a coil of loose cable, “I’ve heard of you. Protégé of the Institute, showed promise, all that. Then after you graduated, you ran in with Captain Weaver and then… you just quit.” He looked at her curiously, “Why?”

Leila smiled, “Because my principles were more important than my pride, same as the captain. ‘Sides, we’ve saved each other’s life so many times we’re not sure who’s indebted to whom. It’s hard to leave someone who’ll watch your back so well.”

James digested that thought, “…So if the Institute runs so contrary to his principles, why did Captain Weaver take this job?”

Leila hesitated just long enough to make James suspicious, “Well, money’s always nice. And it got our attention.” She beamed at him, “We’re always looking for adventure.”

“Ah.” James wasn’t convinced, but thus far, Leila was his only ally. He didn’t want to risk her good opinion to satisfy his curiosity, “Um. How did the captain lose his leg?”

The young blonde woman laughed quietly, “Mr. Campbell. Before the good captain became a captain for hire, he was an upstanding officer in the Institute Law Enforcement Department. How do you think he lost his leg?” She didn’t sound angry, and she didn’t slow her pace, and before James could think of an answer, she stopped in front of a door.

“All right, Mr. Campbell, first things first, we need to get you a brace.” She punched in a few numbers on a console by the door and the door hissed open, sticking slightly on its stained and battered track. The room was revealed to be nothing more than a glorified supply closet, with dozens and dozens of the braces that all the crew wore. At least he was getting one. She handed one to James; it wasn’t as heavy as he thought it was going to be. “Put it around your weak hand,” She advised, “And Danny’ll show you how to work it.”

“Danny?” James questioned, clicking the brace on. It hummed against his skin, but it wasn’t too uncomfortable.

“Oh, Mr. Silverman.” Leila grinned, “Sorry, known him a while. Forget that he outranks you and all.” James didn’t know quite what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything, following quietly as Leila ushered him to the end of the hallway and a large, cast iron door. She glanced over her shoulder to James as she typed in another set of code into the small console by the doorframe, “Not all the doors are code-access only. Most of the doors you can just open. The important ones are locked, though. Only a few people know the codes. Better that way, since most of the deckhands are new, and they change every time. Only trouble with hired crews.” With that, she pushed open the door to reveal a set of stairs. She grinned wider, “Up into the bowels of the ship with ye, I have work to do. When you get up there, Mr. Silverman will take care of you.”

“But…how will I know who he is?” James sputtered.

Leila rolled her eyes, “Well, he’s the only cyborg on board.” With that, she saluted him, and wandered off, whistling to herself.

Feeling very much alone, James crept up the stairs, trying not to feel nervous. He’d never met a cyborg before, those half-human, half-robotic beings. Usually, cyborgs were victims of accidents. Distantly, James wondered if everyone on this ship was going to be missing a limb.

When he reached the top of the stair, he had to stop and gape at the sheer intricacy. They were in the bowels of the ship indeed, with nothing but the seemingly thin layer of solar sensitive cloth separating them from the sky. The bloated engine room ballooned out for over a mile, much hotter than the cabin, thanks to a large, internal combustion engine that hummed and chugged in the center of the large room. Piping curled and spidered about the chamber like metal vines, and the air was so muggy that James could already feel himself perspiring. Like everywhere else on the ship, there were consoles full of buttons, but also levers and pulleys leading out into the dizzying mess of the ship’s intestines. James took a step further in, his footsteps muffled by the amount of grime and oil on the grating. Steam hissed and he could very easily hear the hum of the propellers, firmly attached to the outside frame, out of sight.

“Oh, hello!”

A cheerful voice from above him startled James. He looked up against the reddish tint of the dirigible’s shell to see a dark mass hovering in the tangle of pipes above him, a golden, shining eye gleaming brightly on him.

“GAH.” James shouted, backing up so sharply that he toppled over, landing hard on his backside.

The threatening mass flipped down from the exposed piping, uncoiling itself into a suddenly human shape. A man who looked only a few years older than him hovered over James, his face creased with concern. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!” He apologized anxiously, extending a glistening, spidery mechanical hand in James’ direction.

The man who had startled him had a mechanical arm, showed off by the cutoff sleeve of an otherwise long-sleeved white tunic. Unlike Captain Weaver, this man had two mechanical legs, and an eye that seemed to also serve as a flashlight, it was so bright. A piece of exposed machinery spun near his temple as his eyes surveyed James for any injuries. Suddenly, James realized that he had been staring at the cyborg’s proffered hand for too long. Shaking himself, James gingerly reached up and grabbed ahold of the mechanical hand, feeling the click and grind of the little, intricate gears beneath his fingers. The other man hauled him up with ease.

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,” The cyborg released James’ hand to rub the mech hand through his wiry, black hair, “Are you all right? I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, no,” James shook his head breathlessly, “No, it’s fine. Ah. Mr. Silverman, I assume?”

Silverman brightened, “In the flesh! Sort of!” He laughed lightly, as a sort of joke, “But you can call me Danny. At least in the engine room. Can’t speak for everywhere else, since the captain likes to keep a tight ship. Likes the formality. You’re James Campbell, aren’t you? Captain messaged me in about you after the launch. Good to finally meet ya.” Danny beamed brightly, “Allow me to show you around our beauteous Pilot Ridge.”

Danny ushered the still-shell shocked James through the engine room. “This dirigible is a Class-F Aerostat, powered by a cooperation between solar power and a version of internal combustion of my own making.” He grinned a little smugly, “It gains some of its energies from the dissolution of cubic zirconium in one of the chambers. Along with other alloys and materials.”

“…Wait. Cubic zirconium.” James squinted, “Isn’t that…?”

“Fake diamond? Absolutely.” He looked proud of himself, “One of my finer moments.”

James didn’t know what to say to that. Danny didn’t seem to mind.

“We have the capability for temperature control, an artificial gravity and this ship is the first of its kind to create artificial atmosphere in case of hull breach. That was me as well,” He added, looking like a child who had created an especially clever art project out of uncooked noodles. James couldn’t help but smile.

“Anyways,” The cyborg sang out happily as they marched through the cavernous hull, different workers passing them by, “I should help you set up your brace.” He pulled up his own, mechanical arm, where the brace was built into the mechanism. “Now, what this brace does is a couple of things. Firstly, for excursions in open space, you have your own artificial atmosphere shield. Because the one we have for emergencies isn’t strong enough to extend as far as we might want to go. This will keep you supplied with oxygen and stave off extreme pressure and temperature for four hours. Then, it will need time to re-charge.” Danny indicated which button to press, his cyborg eye spinning off in a different direction.

“The captain will be able to radio you through here,” Danny pointed, “And you can respond by pressing the button once and then talking. Press again to disconnect, it’s fairly basic. Crew-wide notifications are this blue button here, best for emergencies or ship-wide announcements.” He looked up at James, his brown eye warm and smile enthusiastic, “Any questions?”

“Ah…no,” James rubbed his forehead, “No, I think—”

“Dad?”

James whipped around, his eyes widening in shock as he saw his own daughter standing before him, looking just as shellshocked. Next to her was what appeared to be a rather small A.I. who watched them impassively. “Ginny?” He sputtered, “What in God’s name are you doing here?”

“I—wh—What are you doing here?” The young blonde girl stammered, looking like she was going to fall over in shock.

“Your mother told me you were in school!”

“I am! Er. Well, I was. Mom doesn’t know either.” Ginny looked guiltily to the side, “I heard about what happened, and I thought that I should do something about it, you know?”

“No, I don’t know.” James said icily, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Right, which is totally why you’re here too, when you’re just a researcher.”

“I am an adult, I can—wait.” James stopped, “How on earth did Captain Weaver let you aboard? What skills do you have?”

“Oh, thank you, dad.” Ginny rolled her eyes petulantly, “If you must know, I’m helping Mr. Silverman up here. I can run diagnostics on the computer interface and some basic hacking.”

James’ head was spinning, “Where on earth did you learn how to do that?”

Ginny shrugged ambivalently, “Around. Also, I’m kinda in charge of M.I-A.”

“Who’s Mia?” James asked desperately, trying to stave off a headache.

Ginny pointed to the Artificial Intelligence, a small and gleaming humanoid robot with a meticulously crafted feminine face and impassive gold-lit eyes. “That’s M.I-A. Military Interface type A. She’s, um. Glitchy. She used to be a covert-ops military robot before she um. Blew up a building.” Ginny looked embarrassed. MI-A did not. “But she’s fine now!” Ginny reassured her now-pale father, “I’ve been working with her, doing some programming. If we run into trouble, she’s going to be our best weapon. Right, MI-A?”

The A.I. turned her head slightly, “RESPONSE: AFFIRMATIVE.”

Ginny looked sheepish, “She’s not the best conversationalist. But she’s cool! She’s…how much trouble am I in?” She looked at her father nervously. James took a deep breath.

“Ginny…I do not even know how—”

A clatter interrupted them both, startling James out of what was probably going to be a very good rant about responsibility. Everyone turned to see a young boy try to creep out of the room. He froze as a graphing calculator crashed to the floor. Ginny groaned. “Jordan…”

“Jordan?!” James was appalled to see his young nephew aboard, “What are you doing here?”

Ginny and Jordan exchanged nervous glances. “Well…” Ginny said hesitantly, “See, Jordan found out what I was planning. And so… I kinda spun a sob story about how I was Jordan’s only family and he had to go with me or he would starve to death or some other such tragedy. I…don’t think the captain believed me, but I think he just really wanted me to stop pestering him. So Jordan was allowed on.”

James took another deep, fortifying breath. “You two…are in so much trouble, I can barely—”

“All hands, report for debriefing in the forward deck immediately.”

James’ potential tirade was interrupted once again by his and others’ braces sounding the tinny voice of the captain from the little speakers. James jumped, and scowled at Ginny and Jordan as if to warn them that they weren’t entirely free of trouble yet. However, there wasn’t much he could do about it now, as everyone was making their hasty exit from the engine room to the forward deck. Danny looked awkward and apologetic, as though this was somehow his fault. Ginny and Jordan (and M.I.-A) scuttled ahead of him, looking dismayed.

“I’m sorry,” Danny said awkwardly, “I didn’t—I mean—”

“Word of advice,” James said half-facetiously, “Never have children.”

Danny turned red, “Heh. Yes. Ah—”

“Danny!”

A shockingly tall man waved to Danny, whose entire face lit up. He instinctually took a step towards him before he realized that he was supposed to be leading James around. He stopped, stumbling a little, and looked at James guiltily. Once again, James had to smile.

“Don’t worry about it,” James grinned, “You don’t have to show me around right now.” He would suggest that the cyborg introduce James to his friend, but the rest of the crew was gathering save, James supposed, a skeleton crew. The captain was already waiting for them, standing in front of a large screen that James hadn’t noticed before. Danny gave James a grateful smile before going to speak with the other man.

“Mr. Campbell!” Leila greeted him jovially, “Glad to see you got along with Mr. Silverman. What did you think of our cyborg engineer?”

“How did he get like that?” James asked curiously.

Leila shook her head, “Mr. Silverman is an engineer and an inventor. He was playing with things he shouldn’t, and it exploded.” She looked over at him ruefully, “Can’t say that he’s learned his lesson either. He still experiments on everything.” James glanced over at Danny, who was talking amiably to the same man. He smiled, “I suppose I can see that.”

“Mr. Campbell!”

Danny was dragging the taller man to come and meet them anyways, it would seem. The man in tow was blushing already. Danny was grinning broadly.

“I wanted you to meet Mr. Adams. Riley. He’s the galley mate.” Danny looked absurdly proud of this. Riley looked sheepish.

“It’s a glorified title for cook, actually.” He smiled, his voice unexpectedly quiet and skittish for such a large man, “But it’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” James responded with a smile and nod, grateful that the rest of the crew was not as prickly as the captain.

“Oh, but where’s…?” Danny trailed off, scanning the crowd with his cyborg eye. Suddenly, he brightened again, “Oh! Dr. Jones!” He waved enthusiastically as a smaller man, around the captain’s height, made his way over, with a strange machine following after him.

“Hullo.” The new man greeted as the machine clicked and whirred behind him. He looked at James, a similar amiability as Danny or Riley’s lit up his face, “Good to know you. Dr. Griff Jones.” He stuck out his hand, which James shook happily.

“Er. Um.” James glanced at the little robot trailing at Griff’s heels, “…What is that?”

“Oh!” Griff smiled, “This is Gladys!”

“…Er.” James looked at the others, who looked affectionately exasperated, “…Gladys?”

Griff sighed, “Well, at least, that’s what I like to call her. She’s really G.L.A.D-Y5. General Lifekeeping and Assistant Doctor. Year Five.” He nodded, looking down at the affectionately, “So I call her Gladys. She assists me on surgeries.”

“Oh.” James nodded politely, not quite sure what to think.

Finally, the crew settled down and pulled their attention towards the captain. Captain Weaver looked out at the crew, his blue eyes cold and steely.

“As you all know,” He began, his voice ringing out through the room, bouncing off the metal walls, “The U.S.S. Vermont disappeared not more than two weeks ago. The ship was assigned solely for research exploration, and was armed only with a small blaster more equipped to blast space debris than defense in combat. They have not been seen or heard from since.” Weaver paused. James looked at the ground. “This is common knowledge. Any gossiper at any spaceport can tell you this. But what is not commonly known is that before the Vermont disappeared, she left one final transmission on an ancient emergency channel. We have a recording for you now.” Captain Weaver nodded to Mr. Bernstein and stepped out of the way of the screen as it flickered to life.

“This is Captain Sean Neville of the U.S.S. Vermont on emergency channel 2226,” The man on screen reported, wearing a similar blue greatcoat as Captain Weaver’s, although his fit better, “We have been attacked by a currently unnamed Class N zeppelin flying the pirate colors.”

The screen trembled as their dirigible took on a heavy blow. Behind the captain, people were running about, shouting and putting out small fires. The inside of the ship looked wrecked, and everyone was burnt slightly. The sleeves of Captain Neville’s greatcoat were singed. The ceiling was split and wires spilled out from the fissures in a disturbingly visceral wound. James swallowed hard.

“Thrusters have taken a heavy blow, Captain!” A familiar voice shouted; James started, his heart beginning to pound. He recognized that voice…

At Captain Neville’s shoulder, Chase appeared, looking singed and slightly bloodied and determined, “We don’t have enough power to make an escape.” He didn’t look afraid. A new wave of fear and pain and terrible love washed over James. Chase…

He forced himself to pay attention to the captain on the screen. “We don’t know what they want,” He explained, calm despite the threat of death, “They outgun us ten thousandfold, and yet, they haven’t killed us. We can only assume that they wish to take us hostage. We just don’t know why.”

“They’ve engaged tractors, Captain!” The brunet man behind Neville turned, his boyish face serious as his fingers flew across the console, “I can’t keep them off of us for much longer!”

Another tremendous crash. Captain Neville turned slightly, “Thank you Mr. Rhodes.” He turned back to the screen, “We must prepare to be boarded. This is Captain Sean Patrick Neville of the U.S.S. Vermont. Thank you. Goodbye.”

The screen flickered once and went black. The ensuing silence was almost deafening and James’ ears were ringing with the sound of his husband’s voice. Captain Weaver stepped in front of the screen.

“This didn’t get intercepted by the enemy ship because it was on such an antiquated channel that the signal jammers didn’t pick it up. We almost didn’t pick it up. There is only one known pirate who runs a Class N Zeppelin.” His expression was dark, “And one of the few who deigns to take prisoners. Her crew is devoted to her because she has created a device that, when turned to the right frequency, yields its victims totally compliant to suggestion.” He paused again, allowing the implications to sink in, “We’ve only managed to rescue one person from her captivity, and observed the effects of her device on its victims.

“Jacob Dalton was the pride of the Royal British Aerostat Force. When we retrieved him, he was all but mad. The brain cannot function for very long under the influences of this device. From what the Institute’s scientists can figure, the captives from the U.S.S. Vermont have two months until they go insane. This is why she takes prisoners: she needs to replenish her crew for when they inevitably go mad under her influence.”

James felt a chill run up his spine. Captain Weaver clasped his hands behind his back, “Ladies and gentlemen, I tell you this because I believe that everyone should be as informed as I. And because in a week we will reach Spaceport Anthony to resupply. If you feel that you are unwilling or unable to complete this mission, you may disembark there, no questions asked. The long and short of it is, crew:

“We have two months to find the crew of the U.S.S. Vermont and rescue them from the Pirate Queen Anastasia Van Drakke.”

* * *

That night, James lay awake in his bunk, staring at the mattress above him. So that was why the captain had expressed doubt about the success of their trip. This was why the Institute had given them such an old ship. James suspected that the only reason that they had been given a ship at all was because of Captain Neville’s reputation. This also answered the question of why the rescue crew was a crew for hire rater than the Institute’s own. That transmission answered a lot of questions. Save one.

Why had Captain Weaver agreed to take his mission?

He supposed the answer Leila Gold had given him was reason enough: money and adventure seemed fine enough reasons. But Leila had mentioned principles, and Weaver didn’t seem the man to set aside his principles for some money and a bit of excitement. Nor did Leila, if James thought on it.

Plagued by these questions, and sleep clearly no longer an option, James slipped out of bed and padded down the hallway, not quite sure where he was going. He passed a doorway, amused to note that it had been patched with what appeared to be duct tape. He smiled slightly, recognizing already the cyborg engineer’s handiwork. He wandered onto the bridge, expecting to see something of a skeleton crew of some bleary eyed strangers. Instead, the bridge was empty save for Mr. Bernstein and Captain Weaver, both bent over different consoles, idly watching their own screens. They didn’t notice him, so he ducked back behind the door, listening.

“Mr. Bernstein, you’ve been on for long enough,” Cobalt said finally, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, “I can relieve you of your post.”

“No, I’m fine. Really.” James didn’t think Mr. Bernstein sounded fine. Captain Weaver echoed his thoughts.

“Josh,” He said, surprising James by the drop of formality, “Really. Go sleep. We need you in top shape tomorrow, and I don’t want to find you staring at the map upside down again. If something happens, I’ll radio you first.”

“Well, what about you?” Josh challenged mildly, “You can’t stay up all night watching that transmission either. You’re the captain, Cobalt. You have to be in top shape too.”

There was a silence, and James could just imagine Cobalt’s scowl. Instead, the crackle of static and then,

“They’ve engaged tractors, Captain!” James recognized that voice. It was from the boyish faced navigator.

“I can’t keep them off of us for much longer!”

“Thank you Mr. Rhode—”

Click.

There was another pause, and James didn’t really have any idea what was going on. Eventually, there was a quiet shuffling and then Josh’s even quieter voice: “We’ll get them back. Don’t stay up all night.”

A grunt. Then, “On your way out, can you invite Mr. Campbell to come in? It’s bad form to skulk about in doorways.”

James froze, contemplated running but then realizing that would be very stupid. So he lifted his chin and walked onto the bridge. “I wasn’t skulking,” James explained, hastily adding, “Sir. I was just…I couldn’t sleep. So I was hoping I could take up someone’s watch for them. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.” He wasn’t even sure what he’d heard.

Captain Weaver raised an eyebrow before glancing at Josh, who looked haggard. “That’ll do, Mr. Bernstein,” He said by way of dismissal. Josh stood, adjusted his shirt, and nodded, “Sir.”

When Josh left, James shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other as the captain looked over his screens and appeared not to pay any mind to James at all. Just as James contemplated asking to leave and find something useful to do, Weaver spoke up.

“You have something you want to ask me, Mr. Campbell.” It wasn’t a question. Not really. He looked up at James, his sharp features carved deeper by light and shadow. James contemplated denying it, but he really didn’t see any point.

“Why are you here?” He asked finally, somehow understanding that Weaver wouldn’t be offended by the lack of formality here, “Why did you take this job, if you don’t think you can make it out alive?”

Captain Weaver—Cobalt, because something was changing at this moment—huffed out a humorless laugh, “What in the universe is worth risking your life on a hopeless mission? I’m sure you’ll be able to figure it out.”

James stopped, not expecting such a cryptic answer from such a usually straightforward man. But then he really started to think about it. About Leila Gold’s hesitation when James questioned her about their motivations, about Josh’s quiet reassurances, and about the sound of a boyish faced man with brown hair shouting out reports on a transmission, which might be the last anyone ever hears of the crew. And of Chase, and how James is pretty sure he would move heaven and earth for him.

“…The navigator.” James said finally, revelatory in tone. Cobalt grunted slightly, his jaw clenched.

“Benjamin David Rhodes.” Cobalt said finally, “Navigator and explorer. And a damned fool.” He shook his head, his shoulders hunched slightly. He pulled his head up to scowl at James, “It’s the not knowing. I need to know, even though I know it can’t be anything else.” His fists were clenched on the edge of the console.

James looked at him, “You think they’re dead. Don’t you?”

Cobalt’s jaw tightened, and his expression turned blank and stony.

“Yes. I do.”

TO BE CONTINUED

Last Edit: Sept 26, 2011 20:17:24 GMT -5 by Cobalt Weaver

JD Paerson
Retired

Super-Speed

The Reluctant Hero

Posts: 391

September Writing Challenge: Choose Any Three Sept 26, 2011 0:37:12 GMT -5

Quote

Post by JD Paerson on Sept 26, 2011 0:37:12 GMT -5

[Note: I hate Jam.]

Custody Battle

Leila and Cobalt were sitting in the office—he sipping his coffee, she furiously working out the bills on her graphing calculator and typing the results into the computer—when the door flew open. They looked up, startled, to see three teenage boys enter the room. The Asian was dragging a tall boy literally by the ears, while a blonde boy in the back was pushing them both from behind. After some tussle with the resistant brunette hanging onto the door frame, they managed to get settled in chairs in front of the desk.

Leila looked over at Cobalt warily, but the shadow manipulator was only glaring at the three people who had had the effrontery to disturb his peace.

“We need legal advice,” the Asian said without any prompting. “Don’t worry, I’ll pay for the consultation.”

“This is the most stupid thing I have ever seen you do Zac,” the brunette grumbled, slouched in his chair and arms crossed against his chest. “And I’m including the stunt with Mia and the attempt to wax your legs by applying an entire roll of duct tape to your calves.”

“It wasn’t waxing, I was using it to make my legs slippery so I could slide on the ice better, but that doesn’t really matter. Shut up, JD, we have important business to attend to here.”

JD rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything more.

Cobalt pushed his glasses up his nose and rose to his full insignificant height behind the desk. “What do you want?” he asked menacingly, the shadows rising up in his defense. There was a reason his desk was in the back corner.

“Legal advice,” the blonde said, spreading his hands in front of him. “We didn’t know where to go.”

“What do you need help with?” Leila asked, hands still poised over the keyboard. She was still a bit confused by the intrusion, but she was finding the whole thing humorous so far.

“It’s a custody battle,” Zac said.

“It’s a harassment case,” JD grumbled. Zac elbowed him in the side.

“We used to be friends, until a certain person decided to break up the group.” Zac cut his eyes toward JD, who rolled his own eyes in response. Robbie leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees.

“Basically, we were wondering what sort of legal ramifications this would have on our relationship,” the blonde said deadpan. “It’s become a bit of a trial, as all attempts at reconciliation have failed. We’ve even gone to therapy.” Zac nodded eagerly at this while JD sighed and put a hand on his face.

Cobalt’s corner was growing darker every minute so that it was impossible to read his expression. Leila, on the other hand, had simply put a hand in front of her mouth to hide the smile that was threatening to break through. She waited to let their argument work itself out before actually offering advice, though she prompted further information. “So, you…would like to know who gets custody of the shared game system?”

“Oh, no, we want to know who gets Robbie,” Zac said, pointing a thumb over at the blonde.

“This is a waste of my time,” Cobalt said, growling from his corner. “Will you three get out of my office?”

“But I’m paying for this! You need to give us information!” the Asian whined. “You can’t just kick us out!”

“I can do whatever I want. It’s my legal firm. Get out of here. I refuse your money.” And he stalked over to throw the door open.

“Well hold up now, Blue,” Leila said, standing and walking over to him. “I’m doing the bills, and we can’t exactly afford to be turning away clients right now. Besides, this won’t be that hard. Let me handle it, okay? Go refill your coffee.”

Grumbling, Cobalt retreated into the back room while Leila forced herself to take a few deep breaths and wipe the smile off her face before going back to the three boys.

“From what I can understand, it was JD who left the previous arrangement, which means that he is the one who is forfeiting his rights. In this instance, because there was no mutual agreement to leave, I feel that Zac has the right to full custody over Robbie. Should JD wish to visit Robbie in the future, it is primarily up to Robbie whether that would be allowed, but it should be understood that no obligation is there for him to accept your offer as there might have been while you were still friends. Is that understood?” She looked between the three.

JD shrugged. “Fine with me.”

“Wait, does that mean he has to pay me child support?” Zac said, sitting up straight in his chair. “Since he left?”

“JD,” Leila said, turning to him, “How much money do you have?”

“Enough to buy a diamond ring. So long as it’s only a fake diamond.”

“Zac, how much money do you have?”

“On me? Or on the credit cards? Or are we talking about my monthly allowance here, because that recently got cut, so I’m not really getting that much at all, only a couple hundred or so…”

“No. JD doesn’t have to pay child support, because it seems that you have enough to pay for everything on your own.”

Robbie had been sitting here this whole time with a frown on his face. “Wait, I thought this whole thing was about whether we were still going to have movie nights…”

“Fine!” Zac said, standing up. “But I don’t think he should be allowed to see Robbie again. Or come over or anything. By the way, how much should I pay you for this? What do you usually charge for consultations?”

“We charge an hourly rate of $200.”

“Fine. I’ll send you the money later.”

And Zac went to the door and stalked out. Robbie followed him, still looking a bit confused. JD stayed behind for a moment to apologize and mutter something about harassment again, then followed.

Cobalt came out from the back room. “Leila, we don’t charge—“

“Ssh, Blue. Think of it this way, we just made some potential return customers. And ones who don’t necessarily ask about our actual rates.”

And Cobalt grumblingly returned to his work while Leila cheerfully resumed her work with the budget.

Thanks to Nu for graphics.

Max Rose
Retired

Sensation Transference

"I'm going to punch you... in the face."

Posts: 137

September Writing Challenge: Choose Any Three Sept 26, 2011 1:51:30 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Max Rose on Sept 26, 2011 1:51:30 GMT -5

{the following contains a lot of suggestive writing, but should stay within the bounds}
Show Me Your Stinger

Dr. James Campbell clung tightly to the sack, pressing it against his thudding heartbeat. Each one of his steps felt tremendous, a thunderclap in the night. Boom. Boom. How could anyone not hear that? The only reason they possibly couldn’t was if Dr. James Campbell’s own heartbeat drowned out the sound. He just had to keep going, just a few more steps until he reached safety, safety in the arms of his one true love, the man who had stolen his heart, the man who took his last name. Just a few more steps.

Suddenly, a wasp struck. Dr. James Campbell had been so busy listening to his own heartbeat that he hadn’t heard the incoming wings, the sound of death approaching on jeweled wings. The foul creature attacked, its stinging driving toward the tender flesh of the thin man’s exposed neck. Dr. James Campbell cried out, lashing blindly with his sack, trying desperately to destroy the wasp at any risk. The wild blows must have worked, or at least gotten it dazed enough to stay out. No, wait, now there were more. The flailing arms had disturbed an entire nest.

Panic set in, making Dr. James Campbell scream. He flung his arms up, desperately trying to shield his fragile frame. But the stingers dove toward him, moving as if driven by a hive mind.

And then they weren’t.

Dr. James Campbell stared ahead, not believing his eyes. The wasps buzzed there, hovering just out of reach. Not moving. “But, but… how?” the panting professor gasped. He reached shaky hands to his spectacles, adjusting them, the nerves causing his vision to jar.

“It was me,” said a voice. A sexy voice. A voice belonging to a sexy, sexy man. With blonde hair and the complexion of an Adonis or a front for a boy band, Chase Campbell was everything a man could want. He strode confidently over to his lover. Already Chase had bared his chest, his spectacular muscles glistening in the moonlight. Each sparkle of the star seemed to catch among those glorious pectorals as they rippled in the night like so much liquid fire. Those eyes burned for the love of James as Chase’s strong hand lashed onto his lover.

Their kiss was passionate. Lips dashed against one another. Tongues darted, James’ giving way to Chase’s in a show of submission. All with the hum of the wasps in the background. Soon, Chase pulled away, turning to look away from his love. Still, his arms clung tightly, as if afraid that the wasps would steal the more fragile man.

“I-I-don’t know what I’d do without you!” sobbed James. He clung to Chase, his hand desperately gripping onto arms, to chest, to anything. “You are the bicycle pump when I have a flat, you are my starry night, my one true love.”

“Oh James, I could never abandon you,” said Chase. Again he seized his lover in a fierce grip of passion, driving the smaller man to the ground. They wrestled upon the ground, till at last the sack bounded free from James’ hand. The contents spilled out, showing everything the intelligent man had brought for the night. Chase smiled as he saw something, and he reached for it.

“What were you planning to do with this?” he asked, holding up the roll of duct tape.

“It’s to fix things, my heart’s desire,” said James. Again, he was having trouble hearing his love over the beat of their two hearts. Synched now, they beat in time with one another, steadily keeping time, a lovers’ march.

“I can think of much better uses for it than that,” said Chase. With a smile, he tore a piece of the tape off, clutching it between his teeth. Looking like a rakish pirate, he loomed over James, lording his magnificence. The tape would wrap tight around the body, holding him to the ground, readying him like a Christmas package, ripe for the taking. Just a little bit and—

“That’s enough, Miss Rose.”

The redhead teen looked up from her essay, her mouth going wide. “But Mr. White, I did exactly what the assignment said! You said we had to pick three items and—“

“And write a story, yes,” said Mr. White, sighing and rubbing at his temple. “But, this is just… just go sit down.”

“But I’m not done yet. I had this really neat idea for the graphing calculator. See, James was going to use it to figure out exactly how long –“

“MISS ROSE!”

“Okay, okay, sheez,” muttered Max. She went over to her seat, slumping down and crossing her arms. “I’ll just post it up online later. Somebody’s gonna want to read it.”

Last Edit: Sept 26, 2011 1:52:12 GMT -5 by Max Rose

Evan Brackett
Retired

Greenview Community College
Phasing
Played By James

"Of course she cheated on you, you're mean to cats."

Posts: 349

September Writing Challenge: Choose Any Three Sept 26, 2011 23:56:14 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Evan Brackett on Sept 26, 2011 23:56:14 GMT -5

It Happened Too Soon[/u]

The call came a few days after The Talk. Evan had been dreading it, knowing that it was inevitable, and tentatively hit the talk button on his buzzing cell phone. "Hello?"

"Evan, Sweetheart, it's your mother," chimed the voice on the other end. Of course, Van already knew who it was, thanks to both his expectation and the caller id.

"Hey, Ma," he replied less than enthusiastically. "What's up?"

"The school called, said you were hurt. Are you okay?"

He paused, wondering what that was all about. Was she purposely skirting around the actual issue, trying to make him confess it himself? "Ah, yeah."

"They say you fell through to floor and landed on some glass."

Oh, right. That. "Yeah, but it's only a bruise and some cuts. The nurse fixed me up alright."

"Good. I worry about you sometimes."

"Ma," he whined at her, dragging out the vowel. This wasn't the first time the school had called her about one of his accidents, and this wasn't the first time she had called Evan to fuss to him about it. It was the first time it had caught him off guard, however, if only because he was expecting something more harsh. He was hoping that the school hadn't gotten to it yet, but that seemed unlikely.

She tutted and fussed some more, reprimanding him for not being more careful and not seeking out Ms. Vasiliev for extra training. It was the same old song and dance he got every time something major went wrong. Van had tuned her out, until she reached the end of her speech and added, "David's coming to get you on Friday. Be ready to leave right after class."

The phaser's heart leaped into his throat. "What?! No, Ma. I don--"

"Excuse me?"

He sighed. "Okay."

"Okay." Her voice had gone from stern to soothing instantaneously. That always freaked him out. "See you in few days. I love you."

"Love you too, Ma. Bye."

"Bye!"

Van was close to devastated as he ended the call and slid the phone into his pocket. If they wanted him to come home this weekend, then they must have known about The Talk. He didn't know any other reason why they would want to see him in person so suddenly when there wasn't a holiday or work to do at the farm. Granted, they could have just been missing him or something, but the summer holidays hadn't ended too long ago. Given the current circumstances, that wasn't likely.

***

The car ride home had been relatively quiet. That is, Evan didn't speak much at all as David rambled on about some gelding he was talking to the other day and the attractive blonde that owned him. There were plenty of innuendos, of course, and Evan laughed politely, albeit delayed, whenever his brother dropped one. It seemed to be David's way of telling him that everything was going to be okay, but the phaser didn't get that until the other Brackett followed up an awkward silence with, "What the hell do I care if you like it up the ass. Whatever floats your boat, ya know." which was about as comforting as it was tactful.

It fortified Evan's suspicions on what this weekend was about, anyway.

Fortunately, their parents were still out when they arrived at the farm, and Van used the extra time to his advantage. He scurried into his room to drop off everything but his homework, and then spent the rest of the afternoon in his tree house, lying on the floor and playing tetris on his graphing calculator instead doing his calculus work like he had intended. The game served as better distraction.

His procrastination lasted until dinner, when he decided it was better to go back to the house than get in trouble for skipping the meal. The walk back didn't pass without incident, however. He was almost to the door, spacing out as he often did, when a wasp flew towards his face and startled him. The phaser yelped and jumped away from the insect, but one of his feet landed on Jeffery's bike pump causing it to slip out from under him. His mother, having heard the cry, immediately rushed out on the deck to see what had happened.

Not a minute later, Evan was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as his mom cleaned the sizable scrape on his forehead. "It would be a miracle if you went one week without hurting yourself," she chided, reaching up to dab his cut with a warm, soapy cloth. Evan winced, but kept silent, resisting the urge to flinch away from the stinging. "It's a wonder you aren't covered in scars. You can thank neosporin for that, hm?" She applied the anti-bacterial ointment as she said it, then pressed a bandaid to his forehead.

"There." With a smile, she turned to put the first aid kit away, but not before adding, "Oh, Evan, I want you to help your dad and I do the dishes later."

And that was the kind of thing he was hoping to avoid. They were going to corner him, weren't they? He swallowed the lump in his throat and replied with an unenthusiastic, "Okay," before heading off to wash up for dinner.

Evan found the meal a bit eerie, his family talking about their days as if nothing had happened while he could feel a dark cloud hanging over his own head. The phaser did everything he could to draw out the conversation, and slowly cleared his own plate. Anything to hold off the inevitable. That could only go on for so long, of course, and the time to clear the table came too soon. He helped his parents put away the leftovers and dump the dirty dishes in the sink as David brought Jeff out into the living room to watch t.v. It was a bit obvious that they had planned it that way.

The kitchen felt crowded as Evan and his parents worked in front of the sink; his father washing, his mother rinsing, and he drying them off. There was a short silence before his mother began, "We spoke to the school about what happened to you last week."

"When I phased?" Van asked, knowing full well that playing dumb wasn't going to get him out of this lecture, but trying it all the same.

"Yes and no. I mean the prank that happened before that, with the photos."

"Oh, that."

"You have a boyfriend?" his father chimed in.

"Yeah. You, um, met him, actually."

"Levi," stated Mom. Stated. They had already figured it out.

Evan hesitated. "Yeah, but we weren't dating then." Which wasn't exactly true. Technically, the teens never said they were boyfriends before it happened, but they had already had sex by the time Evan's parents met Levi. He didn't want them to know that, though.

"How long have you been dating?"

"Uh...I dunno. A couple months?" His mother hummed in acknowledgement, as if that concerned her. "B-but we've known each other for much longer," he tried to redeem himself. "I love him." His parents exchanged glances, and Van suddenly became aware that they expected him to say that. Nothing had surprised them, and, more importantly, they weren't angry.

That wasn't as comforting a he hoped.

"Evan," his dad said as both parents turned to look him in the eye. "You're not in trouble. But we want to talk to you about love."

Evan ran a shaky hand through his hair. "Okay." Levi had been right, of course--his parents were going to accept him no matter what--but that didn't keep his stomach from clenching or stop him from wishing he could be anywhere but there, talking to his mom and dad about relationships. He didn't understand how fortunate he was.

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