Writing Challenge: 150 stories. Go.

[Ginny Campbell]

103. Faster

Once the noise outside had subsided Ginny pushed aside the curtain, creeping back through the opium den toward the corridor. She needed to get Estelle. She also needed to get dressed; she felt too exposed in the lacy white negligee she had on.

She hadn't yet reached the door when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She glanced toward it, then let out a loud gasp. There, on the opposite side of the opium den was a tall, gangly figure with a mop of disheveled brown hair and a grungy coat, loping towards one of the curtained enclaves. At her gasp he turned toward her, eyes widening with recognition before he took off back toward the corridor at top speed.

"You!!" Ginny shrieked, not caring that several of the opium users jerked upright, startled by her cry. "Get back here!"

All thoughts of Estelle and Evan and Levi vanished from her mind as she slammed the doors to the den behind her, taking off after the rapidly disappearing figure of Eli Morrison.

"Give me back my map!"

He didn't slow down even to look behind; instead he made toward the docks, lunging past startled dock workers and into The Titania, quickly uncoiling the riggings that kept her tied there. As Ginny arrived at the edge of the ship, panting, he was already too far away for her to even risk jumping.

"Dammit." She groused, bending over and panting with exhertion. "He got away."

At that moment Madamoiselle Lilien came running up, fan fluttering in distress. "Oh, Captain Campbell, what happened?" She cried, watching in dismay as her ship sailed off into the distance. "I heard there were intruders and then...."

"That wasn't them." Ginny admitted. At least, she certainly hoped that Morrison hadn't taken up with Levi and Evan; that would complicate things a great deal. "That was a former...passenger...of The Queen Mab's. He took something of mine when he left."

She decided not to include the part where she'd held him by force, and he had left without the knowledge of the crew. Details.

Captain Rivera strode up after Kiara, her face grim. "We lost them." She sighed, shaking red hair out of her face. Then she noticed the missing ship. "Did they....?"

The question hung in the air, then Ginny shook her head. "They weren't on board, not unless they can make themselves invisible. That was Eli Morrison."

"Eli!" Rivera's eyes widened in disbelief. "He stole a ship? But he was always so quiet....!"

Seeing the look on Ginny's face she explained, "He's been one of our best customers here on The Ninanna, practically keeps us afloat all on his own. The girls like to tease Midori about it; he seems sweet on her. She says he only pays to talk, though. Probably for the best, opium doesn't make men into lovers."

Ginny folded her arms across her chest, as much to keep herself warm against the chill atmosphere out on the docks as to show her displeasure. "Then they're still on board." She mused, wondering just how Evan and his partner had managed to sneak onto the ship. Perhaps they had a ship somewhere outside, away from the docks; they could be gone.

She couldn't chance that.

"I need to talk to Estelle. We can't stay here. It's too dangerous."

If they wanted to stay alive they needed to be faster than their enemies.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#114 – Sleek

Sean was seated on the sofa in the common room in the dormitory/apartment, his nose buried in a copy of Robert Silverberg’s Dying Inside which he was judging for its accuracy. Despite reading a lot of Asimov and other similar authors as a child, Sean had managed to miss this book when it had first been published. That was to be expected since he’d had more pressing concerns in 1972 than reading sci-fi paperbacks.

Even Nebula Award winning sci-fi paperbacks about telepaths.

“Well?”

The query from the other occupant of the apartment caused him to lower the book. He inspected the other boy, a look of feigned consideration on his features.

“Seriously,” the blond said, smoothing the creases in his trousers with his hands. “Do I look okay?”

“You look fine,” Sean replied. Greg had one of those builds that made all clothing look good on him. Sean had never seen him look out of place in anything he wore: not in a suit, not in a pair of jeans and a leather jacket at a club, not even in a toga at costume parties. Between his build, his blond hair, and his charming smile, he looked good in everything.

As far Sean knew, Greg had never looked ill-fitting in anything; he certainly didn’t have shirts with sleeves too short for his arms.

“You’re not just saying that?” The blond asked, still smoothing the now non-existent wrinkles from his trousers.

It occurred to Sean that the other boy was nervous about this, so he offered his friend a reassuring smile. “You look good, smart and polished. You’ll fit right in.”

The blond returned the smile, although his was one of relief. He didn’t sit beside the telepath on the sofa, possibly because he was worried about wrinkles in his trousers or his jacket. “Good. I need this internship.”

That was something that Sean understood in the abstract; he was also going through the paces of training for his professional career, and he understood how important placements were. After all, getting into Columbia for medical school was his priority. But he didn’t know what it was like to need a job for money.

Then again, he was a doctor’s son who could reach into his parents’ pockets for maintaining his student lifestyle. Because he was still on speaking terms with his family. It was a credit to Greg’s personality, his persistence, and his charisma that he had gotten this far without having that support network; Sean had frequently doubted his own ability to survive if their positions were reversed.

“I’m sure you’ll get it,” he assured his friend. “When was the last time someone didn’t bow down to the Strickland charm?”

That seemed to make the other boy relax, and the blond offered him a more self-confident smile, in line with his typical expression. “I seem to remember you didn’t buy me the pony I wanted for my last birthday.”

Sean rolled his eyes. “I told you, we don’t have space in the apartment, and I don’t want a horse staring at me while I’m trying to read.”

Greg laughed and then looked down at his watch. “I’ve got to go. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck. But I’m sure you won’t need it,” the telepath replied. “I’ll throw you a party when they hire you. And to make it up to you, it can be cowboy themed.”

The blond boy’s smile widened. “Now I really hope I get hired.”

[Marcel Fritz]

145. Bacon Cheeseburger


“I bought you a bacon cheeseburger and you're not going to tell me anything?!”

“I'm not sure how one correlates to the other.”

“I don't believe you.”

“If you know, you would.”

“Know what? We're not talking about the same thing, but we could be, if you tell me. Something, anything!”

“I'm happy at the antique store, and now you're telling me to relieve memories? Not everything was so exciting or cheerful, you know.”

“I know, but I want to know. I mean, I'm accepting, and I'm sure Pilot Ridge is accepting. It has to be. But back in the day, things were different right?”

“You mean were they worse? No, but today isn't necessarily better. I'm lucky, well, depending on our definition of lucky, to be here, but that doesn't mean the world is somehow better for us.”

“What do you mean? Before you say no, you've said too much.”

“I can tell you this, Katie. Good is how you define it. Yeah, that's a stupid kind of statement, everyone knows that. But you have to understand for a metahuman, good is what you can live with, the definition of goodness will always be different from a bio-typical human. So generally speaking, how good it is today depends on who you ask, and what they've settled to live for.”

“Is it good for you? Was it then?”

“Yes and no, and yes and no. Today I don't have as much to handle, and I don't have to juggle so many thoughts. My job is my life, and that involves dusting and operating a cash register. Not too many hard decisions in that profession. But I've given up some things to reach this point. Sometimes it was voluntary, but most of the time it wasn't.”

“What about before?”

“Before? I thought I had enough to change my life. For all a Metahuman may do, they can do much less than a human. A human, depending on their environment, I mean social, political, economic, cultural whatever, has certain choices. Profession, lifestyle, they have a range through their 80 year life. It isn't the same for a metahuman. I couldn't begin to tell you why, but what I can say is that beyond the biology we are restricted by our powers, whatever they may be, but not intrinsically. Because of our power, others beyond us decide a future for us.”

“Marcel, you're not making much sense. And your burger is getting cold.”

“I wasn't about to tell you my life story, I have to keep everything vague. And it just might be for your safety. Oh my gosh, this is amazing, I can taste the calories as they burn at my arteries.”

“You're weird, Fritz.”

“I know. I want to keep it that way.”

“Ok, last question, I know you need to get back to work. Really demanding stuff right?”

“Ok, you're already loosing me, I just might end this now.”

“No! Alright, sorry. Last question, I swear.”

“Shoot.”

“What was it like, growing up?”

“Short version or long version? Don't answer that, you'll get the short version. I don't have the years left in me to tell you the long version. Alright... short version. I gave my Dad a heart attack when I was fifteen. Then two strangers took me from my home and told me I had power so I had to be quarantined in a school with other complete strangers also quarantined.”

“Then what?”

“Then you pay our bill and I go back to work.”

“Just when it was getting good.”

“No it wasn't. Trust me.”

[Terrowin Guthrie]

15. Jar

((Thanks to Lugia for letting me use Kat! ^^ ))



"This was a bloody terrible idea, Ter."

Kateri grumbled as the couple trekked their way through the ever-increasingly muddy trail that they were hiking on, being poured on what seemed like an endless supply of rain. It was a Saturday in the spring, and for their second official 'date', Terrowin had thought that a hike through the wonderful Vermont woodlands would be a wonderful choice.

What he hadn't anticipated was the rain.

"Yeah yeah, Oi know... But still, ye gotta admit this is at least a little fun!" Ever positive, Terrowin flashed a grin back at her over his shoulder, hiding a chuckle at her wet, bedraggled appearance. Even so, she still managed to look very pretty, a fact that Terrowin was constantly amazed with. She's way out of your league was the first thing he had thought when he saw her at the newbie teacher training on his first day at Hammel. And even to this day, three months later, he still thought the same.

"Fun, right. Gettin' drenched on, muddy, and not to mention... I'm starving." Apparently Terrowin had expected that, being a woman, Kateri would have been the one to prepare the food. She had expected he would, since it was his idea. So to sum it up: It was raining, they were hiking in the middle of nowhere, and they had no food.

“We can always forage fer food,” Terrowin replied, only half-joking. His own stomach was beginning to growl, but he wasn’t about to complain – he had too much pride for that. “Oi think Oi
saw a couple mushrooms a while back.”

“Ick.” Kateri pulled a face. “I’d rather starve, thanks.”

They continued to banter until they reached their destination a few minutes later, a small, grassy knoll overlooking a rain-splattered lake in the clearing in the woods. There, they found shelter under a nice, thick-canopied pine tree, and huddled together to wait out the storm. It was dry enough, but there was still the fact that both of them were very hungry.

Terrowin bit his lip, knowing that unless he found a way to make their predicament up to Kat, this might be their last date…. And he couldn’t let that happen.

“Wot are ye craving the most right now?” he asked suddenly, very serious.

She gave him a look. “Why do you ask? Did you suddenly gain the power to make food appear out of nowhere?”

“Just answer it,” he urged, wondering where he was even going with it.

She rolled her eyes, but apparently was willing to play along with his game. “Hmmm… You know, peanut butter sounds delicious right now.”

“Peanut butter?” Terrowin repeated, an idea slowly dawning on him. “Oi can get ye peanut butter.”

“Yeah, right,” Kateri snorted. “I think I saw a wild peanut plant across the lake, why don’t you go and mash some up for me?”

“Give me a minute.” A look of concentration on his face, Terrowin pulled open his day bag and rummaged around, apparently searching for something. “There’s just one thing… It’s extra smooth.”

Kateri raised her eyebrow, obviously curious. “That’s…. fine.”

Terrowin let out an ”Ah-ha!” and suddenly presented what he had been looking for – an empty Mason jar. He held it up proudly. He had stuffed it in his pack in case he found anything he wanted to collect… Just because.

“… It’s empty,” Kateri stated flatly.

“Wot? No, no it’s not.” Ter made an effort of opening the lid, narrowing his eyes and twisting his hand slowly until it came off with a pop! “It’s filled to the brim… With smooth, delicious peanut butter.”

Kat continued to stare at him flatly.

Gripping the jar in his left hand, he delicately inserted the index finger of his right into the top of the jar, acting as though he was digging his finger into the thick, creamy substance. Once he had ‘enough’, he lifted his finger up, held it for a moment, and then stuck it in his mouth. He closed his eyes and relaxed. “Mmmm.” He stayed in that position for a moment, before pulling his finger back out and opening his eyes. “It’s the best bloody peanut butter Oi’ve ever tasted.”

Kateri bit her lip, chuckling quietly.

Terrowin held out the jar. “Want tae try it?”

Flashing a grin, Kat reached out her finger and repeated the process, giggling all the while.

[Mariposa Nazario]

58. Billion

The Moonshae Isles were a long way from Zhentil Keep.

That was fine with Mariposa. She wasn't fond of the Zhentarim; she didn't think even the Zhentarim were fond of one another. Fond never had been in the vocabulary of Cyric or his followers.

Of course, she wasn't terrifically fond of the Moonshae Isles, and their constant conflicts between the Northlanders and the Ffolk. However, their rescued damsel in distress was one of the Moonshae Ffolk, and, it turned out, one of their druids, worshippers o the Earth Goddess Chauntea. Sean had been happy to visit with her, as he had a friend who worshipped Chauntea, a Ffolk gardener by the name of Riley.

It turned out Jen knew him, as well, and the three travelers had paid the gentle Ffolk man a visit.

Mariposa felt a bit out of place amongst all these peaceful worshippers; Tyr was on the side of good, but he asked his worshippers to take a more active role in ridding the world of evildoers and injustice.

She knew that Sean didn't always approve of her (or Tyr's) methods; he had taken a vow of peace. That wasn't unusual for the followers of Ilmater. What was unusual was that he had a lover.

He was the only worshipper of the Broken God she knew who hadn't also taken the vow of purity.

"So did you translate that scroll yet?" She queried, chin propped in hand as the little group lounged in Riley's cottage.

"There's no need to be so impatient," Sean chided gently, rummaging in the pockets of his robe and sliding the scroll over to her. "If it's waited this long in the clutches of the Zhentarim surely another couple of days won't hurt. But as a matter of fact, I have."

Mariposa's face lit up in delight. "Excellent! So where are we off to next?"

Sean shook his head in what she imagined was a disapproving fashion. "I'm afraid you're on your own. Josh needs my help finding manunscripts to rebuild The Library of the Sublime. I promised when I had recovered your scroll I would join him again."

Mariposa pouted slightly, snatching the scroll and thrusting it into her own pockets before folding her arms across her help. "But clerics are so useful," She complained, turning big brown eyes at Riley, "So maybe you wanna come? It'll be way more fun than fiddling with plants all day."

The giant Ffolk druid chuckled in embarrassment, dropping his gaze to the floor, "I'm not really cut out for adventure...." He apologized, and Mariposa huffed before turning back to Sean.

"What about the Dwarf? Cobalt? You think he would want to come? Clangeddin's priests are the most useful to have around."

Unlike the clergy of some other gods, Clangeddin Silverbeard's religious leaders were quite proficient in battle. He wasn't known as The father of battle for no reason.

Sean however did that thing where he inhaled, nostrils flaring in a way that said he wasn't happy. "I don't know. You would have to ask him yourself."

She racked her brain, trying to think of some other cleric to ask. There were billions of gods, or so it sometimes seemed, so there were likewise numerous religious leaders. It was only a matter of finding one who would be amenable and then asking in a convincing way.

"What about---" She began when Jen spoke up.

"I'll go."

Surprise showed on the warrior's face. Jen had spoken only infrequently since her rescue all those months ago at Zhentil Keep. "Pardon?"

"I said I would go." The healer gave a shy smile to those gathered round. "You rescued me, after all, it's only fair I help you in turn."

Sean and Riley both frowned, simultaneously rushing to speak with, "You don't have to---" "Don't feel obligated---"

"But the quest needs a cleric, or at least a healer." Jen pointed out, and Mariposa smiled.

No need to hunt down the billions of Faerunian clerics after all.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#35 – Fable

A group of about two dozen children, ranging in age from early middle school to senior year of high school passed through the front gate, accompanied by a half dozen adults, who were obviously faculty members. Their tour guide gestured at the gift shop and attached café, mentioning that the group would stop there when the tour was completed. The children all had jackets with husky dogs on them.

The unaffiliated group of teenagers sitting outside the café drinking sodas watched them with curiosity. They waited until the group was out of earshot before resuming their conversation, although with a change of topic.

“Where did they come from?”

“That school in Pilot Ridge. The private one.”

“I know that. I mean, where did they come from before that?”

“All over.”

Another member of the group nodded his agreement. “All different cities and towns and states; some are even from different countries, I heard.”

The first girl sighed in frustration at the other people in her group; they were missing the point of her question. “I know. I meant before that. Like, where do the metas come from.”

“Oh.” There wasn’t a good answer to that question.

“I don’t think anyone really knows,” one of the boys said. He’d never learned anything about that from school or from books or from his family.

Of course, that didn’t mean that there were no theories, or that there weren’t urban legends.

“Radiation,” one of the girls said. “I mean, meta-human is just a nice word for mutant, and mutants all come from radiation poisoning. Like in the movies, you know?”

“I don’t think that’s true,” a different girl said. “I mean, there were metas before World War II.”

“There was radiation before too,” came the retort. “Marie Curie worked with radiation and she died before World War II because of it. So, it could still be radiation.”

“Well, I head that the government did it,” said a different one of the boys. “Like, they’ve been doing genetic experiments. You know, like the eugenics experiments?”

“How does that make any sense,” the first girl asked, turning her attention to her friend. “If it was eugenics, then why would they come from different families? Besides, most of those experiments were about sterilizing people and hurting twins.”

“Some of the metas are twins,” the boy pointed out. “And you tell me that they don’t have some sort of genetic enhancements. They’re faster, stronger, smarter...”

“And creepier. They talk in unison sometimes, and that’s just. so. weird.”

“That still doesn’t explain how they come from different families. And why they’re all different ages.”

“Well, they could have been placed with different families, through adoption. Like in The Boys from Brazil.”

There was a nod of support from one of the other teenagers. “That actually makes a lot of sense.”

“Oh yeah? If they’re all lab spawn from the same group, then why are they different races?”

Nobody had a good answer for that, and the girl who made the point was smug for having poked a hole in the theory.

“I heard that it’s toxins in the food and water and air that builds up over time,” one boy said.

“Of course you’d say that. Your parents are hippies.”

“They are not! They just think saving the environment is important,” he protested. “Anyway, if you have enough exposure to the toxins, it can change you. Then you get sent away so you can’t spread it. After getting enough treatment, you can be around healthy people without making them sick.”

“Why do only some people get sick? We all breathe the same air and drink the same water.”

“Some people get sicker than other people,” the boy said with a shrug. “My dad says that allergies come from your immune system, and not everyone has the same immune system and so not everyone has allergies.”

“I think it’s magic,” one girl said, setting down her empty soda bottle.

“Like Harry Potter? That’s so babyish. There’s no such thing as magic.” One of the boys made a face as he said that, mocking her.

She wasn’t discouraged. “Think about it. A special school, people with powers, and no explanation for it. Why wouldn’t it be magic? Every culture on Earth believes in some form of magic.”

“Most cultures on Earth also believe in vampires. Does that make them real?”

“Well, no, but that’s just...what was the name of that disease? You know, the one that makes people sick and pale and it has to do with blood.”

“Lycanthropy?”

“That’s werewolves, silly.”

“Porphyria?”

“Sure, let’s go with that. That’s just porphyria.”

“Right. So, people believed in vampires because they didn’t have a better explanation. Same thing with magic; there’s a better explanation.”

“Oh yeah? Then what it is?”

“Just genetics.” That was followed by a glare at one of the other teenagers. “Just regular genetics. It’s like an accident, like any other disability.”

“You think superpowers are a disability?” There were several echoes of disbelief around the table from the other teenagers.

“Sure they are. I’ve heard the mental powers get people thrown in loony bins, and almost all of them have some sort of other awful medical problem as a result. It doesn’t sound that awesome to me.”

“You’re going to look me in the eye and say you don’t think flying would be awesome?” One of the boys asked. “Or being able to go invisible and sneak in the girl’s locker ro-OW!” He turned to glare at the girl who had just slapped him. “What?”

“You’re gross sometimes, you know that?” She said.

“I’m just being honest. That’s how guys are.”

“I think it’s aliens.”

“Aliens? Seriously?”

“It makes sense. Like a crossbreeding program, you know? And some of the hybrids have powers, but not all of them were successful so not all of them do.”

“How can you believe in aliens?”

The teenager shrugged and then pointed at the very tall, very dragon-like man holding the hand of an adorable little brown-haired girl, walking back from the bathroom area to catch up with the rest of the group.

The boy waited until they had passed before he smirked. “That’s how. Do you think he isn’t an alien?”

Nobody had a good retort for that. Maybe they were aliens after all.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#45 – Patent*

There were so many positive aspects of no longer being on bed rest and recovery that Sean was loathe to choose one as the best. He was no longer confined to the upstairs floor of the house and could enjoy the kitchen, the living room, the den and the other rooms again. He didn’t get dizzy or nauseated the same way he had, and he felt that he had more energy. His abdomen didn’t hurt as much, although he’d been warned that the scar would be tender for a while yet. He could cook again, which was nice because he was tired of eating takeout and sandwiches, Pop Tarts and cereal. While appreciated that Josh took care of everything during his incapacity, he wanted to eat real food. He also valued his independence, and he wanted to ease the burden on his partner who had shouldered so many of the chores (the downstairs chores) since the C-section and return from the hospital.

Coinciding with his return to fully active life was the fact that the weather was nicer, and which gave him motivation to actually leave the house. Rather, more motivation than he already had from being confined for so long. Everything was blooming green, beautiful, and full of life.

Josh had a client meeting, and Sean decided to pass the time at the park. He dressed Eleanor in her purple onesie, grabbed her diaper bag, put her in her sling, and then took a leisurely stroll. Because it was a weekday, many of the people he knew in town were at work: either at Hammel or at their other businesses. Still, there were people out, and Sean would wave and smile, and they would wave or smile back.

After walking for a while, Eleanor began to fuss, and so he settled down on a bench. She was hungry, the telepath realized, so he pulled out one of the bottles he had brought with him and brought it to her lips. She immediately began to suckle, and he held the bottle steady for her and stroked her hair while she took her meal.

“I hope that isn’t formula.”

The telepath lifted his head to gaze at the source of the unfamiliar voice; a woman he had never seen before, who appeared to be in her early thirties. That she was unfamiliar wasn’t surprising; even though Pilot Ridge was a relatively small town, it also had a constantly shifting population due to Hammel and the nearby universities. “And if it is?”

“You shouldn’t give formula to baby that young; breast milk is better for her.” The woman didn’t hesitate to apply a gender to Eleanor, possibly because of the color of her onesie, and possibly because of her hair. She had a lot for a baby of only a few months’ age, and it was so dark and thick.

“Yes, but formula is an approved alternative. You’re arguing that someone shouldn’t eat oranges because blueberries have more antioxidants.” The telepath continued to hold Eleanor steady while she ate, oblivious to the conversation.

“Breast milk is the most natural thing to feed babies.” The woman said, not taking the hint. Sean had expected that she might pursue the argment, since he had chosen to engage her rather than ignore her. “At the very least, her mother should pump for her.”

“Pumping isn’t an option.” Not that it was this woman’s business, but Sean was taking this conversation in stride, as patient as he would be if this was a difficult session with a student at Hammel.

“In that case, perhaps she shouldn’t be away from her mother. It’s wonderful that you want to be involved in your granddaughter’s life-”

“She’s my daughter.”

The woman gave him a perplexed and unflattering look. Sean could hear the accompanying thought: that he was too old to be a father of a newborn, and that he had to have some young wife half his age at home and all of the typical judgments for that. It was one of the many, many consequences of having a child at his age, and, unlike Josh, actually looking his age. “For both her and her mother’s sakes, they shouldn’t be separated for that long. You can bond the three of you. And you’ll just have to wait a little longer for one-on-one bonding outside.”

The telepath found it somewhat remarkable that she had held her tongue to the extent she had, given that this stranger found it acceptable to comment on his feeding choices uninvited. He appreciated that as much as he could, given that she was grossly inaccurate assumptions about his family; and that she had interrupted Eleanor’s feeding time.

To that end, she stopped suckling the bottle. There was still a fair amount left, but he didn’t force her to take more than she wanted to. As such, he put the bottle down, placed a towel over his shoulder, and then gently lifted Eleanor from within the sling, moving her to lean against his chest while he patted her back to burp her. While he did so, he kept his attention on the woman standing a few feet away from the bench. “Her Papa gets plenty of bonding time with her, alone with her and together with both her and me” he said, while he continued to gently pat his daughter’s back.

The woman paused, processing that statement, before she came to the incorrect conclusion. Although it was a valid enough one, given how most male couples procreated. At least she had correctly deduced the fact that he was in a same-sex relationship. “That’s the problem with closed adoptions. It denies natural relationships between mother and child.”

Eleanor burped, and Sean smiled despite the conversation. He picked up the bottle again and brought it to her lips, but she refused to take it. Apparently she was full. He set it down again, and he kept her upright against his chest, waiting for her stomach to settle before he put her back in her sling. “I would never presume to know what works best for some families, since all families are different,” he replied. There were reasons for closed adoptions, and while he approved of the option of an open adoption and for those involved to set their own relationship parameters, not everyone was interested in such an arrangement.

Additionally, the benefits and drawbacks of different types of adoption had no bearing on his family.

The woman wouldn’t take the hint. In the back of his mind, Sean wondered if this is what arguing with Josh as a stranger was like; that was a perspective of his partner that he had never experienced. In this moment, he was grateful. She persisted, “Surely you admit that your relationship with your mother was beneficial.”

“My relationship with my mother isn’t a topic of debate.”

“But you want to deny your daughter the same relationship you had with your mother?” She asked. The lilt in her voice as though she had backed him into a corner reminded him of his sister, and there was little that would dampen his mood more than that mental comparison. Particularly with how Kathleen had reacted to the news of his daughter’s conception.

“My daughter has a very strong relationship with me, which was to be expected after the close quarters from medical restriction.”

“Medical restriction?” The woman looked confused; as she should be. Sean was not apologetic for that, since she had been arguing with him from a place of assumption and ignorance.

“Following the birth.” Unlike Josh, he felt no discomfort when discussing this period of his life, perhaps because it was his body; although, to his partner’s credit, the other man had seemed less uncomfortable since Eleanor had been born.

“The...birth?” That reaction was fair, given that not everyone had heard about the slew of pregnant men in Pilot Ridge; the telepath, for all of his participation in the Lamaze classes in Burlington, certainly hadn’t advertised, even if he also hadn’t hid it from those with whom he interacted.

For the first time in the conversation, Sean’s lips curled upward into a smile, albeit a small, almost self-deprecating one. “I have the scar to prove it, although I don’t show that off. As you can imagine, it’s still tender.”

...what?

Eleanor began to shift in his arms, indicating that she had had enough of leaning against him and that she wanted to go back into her sling. He accommodated her, shifting her in his arms to place her back in the sling where she could rest against his chest without being upright.

“So until someone invents and manufactures something that would allow me to breastfeed, it will have to be formula.” He shrugged with the shoulder not bearing the weight of the sling, as he folded the towel and placed both that and the bottle back in the diaper bag. “But that’s really nobody else’s business. Besides, this way both her Papa and I get to feed her.”

With the bag packed up, he hefted it with one hand, before rising to his feet. Eleanor shifted in her sling, and he adjusted it with his free hand to make sure that she was both secure and comfortable.

“I also hope that you don’t approach some of the other men in my age range who you might see out and about with young babies. Not everyone is as good-humored about criticism as I am.” That wasn’t said with a smile, but it was a genuine head’s up. For instance, Sean couldn’t imagine a scenario wherein Cobalt Weaver would take kindly to such comments. And the telepath couldn’t fault him for that, either.

With that, he turned to leave, so he and Eleanor could resume their walk and enjoy the fresh air. However, he stopped mid-stride and turned back. “And to answer your questions: exactly how you would expect, I am a ‘real man’, it isn’t your business, and I honestly can’t think of a better home for her than ours, where she is loved every minute of the day. Enjoy your afternoon.”

He left her there, someone confounded as to how he knew what she had been thinking. And once they were out of earshot, he resumed talking to Eleanor, as he had for most of the walk before they had been interrupted.

“I wish I could say that was a one-time occurrence, but I think that we’re going to have to get used to it.” He smiled down at her and stroked her hair with his free hand. “Not that it matters what other people think.”



*Dryope, the gauntlet is down for your take.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#107 – Companion Cube

Conventions were one of Ryan Finnerty’s favorite pastimes. He loved dressing in costumes, he loved interacting with people – particularly people who shared his interests in various aspects of geekdom – he loved inside jokes and Easter eggs, he loved superpowers and meta-humans, and he loved (almost) everything about comic books and video games. He didn’t like the misogyny and the heterosexism and the racism that tended to appear in comics, but that wasn’t an inherent genre problem; there were ways to write superhero stories that didn’t involve prejudice, and his friends and his girlfriend, and sometimes his uncle, had all heard his rants on the subject.

His girlfriend agreed with him, and they both had opinions about fandom. But Shiya also liked conventions and people and costumes, and the both of them had dressed together before heading into downtown Boston, weekend passes on lanyards around their necks, to enjoy the convention. They had holiday presents to buy, and Ryan had a wad of cash burning a hole in his pocket.

After entering, they had made a beeline for the merchandise area. There was a panel on fanfiction that both of them wanted to attend, but that wasn’t for an hour and a half; that gave them plenty of time to shop until then. There were so many booths with so many enticing items for sale: tee shirts and replica props and statues and action figures and costume accessories and jewelry and artwork and stuffed toys. Shiya wanted to look at the stuffed toys, and so off they went to the booth.

They had been looking in silence for a few minutes when Shiya threw a stuffed yellow ball that looked a little like the sun at him, which smacked him right in the face.

“I gave you herpes,” she explained, as he bent down to pick it up. Sure enough, it was one of the giant plush microbes, and it had a tag explaining about herpes.

“Thanks.” Deadpan.

“I could give you Chlamydia if you wanted?” She offered, holding up the green stuffed ball with the ridges on the face.

“No, really, I’m good. Maybe you can give the Plague to Jack though.” He offered her a smile and then turned back to the table to continue browsing.

In addition to microbes and organs, there were also anime and video game characters: Kirby, Yoshi, Sonic, Mario, anime characters that Ryan couldn’t name, lots of different Pokemon...

And then a grey box-shaped plus with spikes on the edges and pink hearts in the middle. Ryan picked it up and turned it over in his hands, smiling to himself; he loved Portal.

“What are you looking at?” Shiya asked, coming over to him.

In response, he held up the cube for her to look at.

“You’re not really going to buy that, are you?” Shiya recognized it for what it was; she knew the game, even though she wasn’t as into most video games the way that Ryan was. They had different geek interests and fandoms, although they spoke at length with each other.

“Why not?”

“Where would you put it?”

Ryan laughed and shook his head, dispelling that thought. “I wouldn’t get it for me.”

Shiya tilted her head slightly. “Then for who?” None of their friends who liked the game would be interested in having a plush toy from it. At least of an item that wasn’t a weapon.

“For Uncle Sean.” When Shiya continued to stare at him, Ryan’s smile became somewhat self-conscious. “You know, to keep him company since he gets lonely sometimes. I’m sure he’ll like it once I explain what it is.”

After all, his Uncle always liked the presents he bought, and he did have a good sense of humor about these types of things. They were alike that way.

[Hart Kenney]

16. Tumblr

Hart Kenney was fairly certain he spent far too much time on Tumblr. It was practically made for him, in a way: It was microcosm of the internet, for one. For another, it had quite a large trans* community. Or rather, it had a large FTM and transmasculine community, and they were all at least twenty years younger than he was.

Many of them were younger than Jessica.

He decided to ignore any lingering subconscious feelings of creepiness for this; it wasn't as if he had to advertise his age, and he wasn't interested in men. He definitely wasn't interested in men half his age. He could, however, pass along resources. He couldn't do much donating, though; it seemed like everyone on Tumblr had a chip in for binders or T or surgery and it was simply impossible to donate meaningfully to all of them.

One Wednesday he decided it would be a grand idea to post a picture. Just for fun, to be part of the community, as it were. And while he was single, other people sometimes posted pictures with pets or best friends.

And so he uploaded a picture that had been taken back in December, during the failed attempt at Christmas cheer. It wasn't necessarily the best photo, because he had asked Harmony to take one of himself and Josef and Jessica. The framing was terrible; Josef looked frazzled. Jessica had her arms folded across her chest, shoulders slumped sulkily. One of Ouch's paws could be seen batting at the tinsel wrapped around her arm.

Don't have anyone to share WE-dnesday with he typed, fingers hitting the keys furiously, So here's a picture of me, my roommate, and my niece. Family counts, right?

Just as he pressed the post button his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He fished it out, flipping open to see he had a text message.

It was from Jessica.

Family totally counts, Unk. <3

He smiled.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#73 – Stapler

The clash between the metaphobic contingent in government and the meta supremacists backing some of the meta-positive candidates had turned the nation into a battleground. Gang violence and vandalism were increasingly more common while the two contingents duked it out on the floor of Congress.

It was a poor time to live in Pilot Ridge, the meta-human capital of the United States. Census data provided statistics for politicians, to use in sound bites decrying the inherent danger of having so many meta-humans in such a small place. Other politicians tried to spin it positively, discussing how diverse the community was and how well integration had worked. Still other advocates referred to Pilot Ridge as a ghetto for meta-humans who were unaccepted in the rest of society.

As a result, Pilot Ridge, Vermont became a household name; the residents of Pilot Ridge were less than enthusiastic about being used as the poster children of every meta-human-related political cause and having higher than average media coverage, both mainstream and citizen journalists, as well as the rising vandalism incidents. And the hate mail.

Joshua Bernstein had been resistant to the idea of entering politics himself, despite his partner’s comments, both subtle and blatant, that he thought the attorney would be well-suited to the office and to fighting for his causes in a more direct way. However, with the rising prejudice and the clear lines drawn in the sand (more evidence that the current politicians didn’t have meta-humans’ best interests in mind), he had begun considering the matter more seriously.

Particularly when Sean would come home every night exhausted from conferences with parents and late night staff meetings about what to do if the school, rather than the town as a whole, became the center of attention. When every night the news was a source of frustration. When their non-meta neighbors suddenly began to look at them with sidelong glances and speak of them, particularly of Sean, in hushed tones.

When someone had spray-painted “Mutant” on Sean’s car one night. His partner had stoically dug out the van from the back of the garage, unwilling to take the car to school and expose the students to the slur, and without the time to take the car in for a new coat of paint before he had to begin his workday.

They’d had to drive out to Burlington to find an auto body shop willing to do the job for them with minimal arguments or raised eyebrows.

The tipping point had been a conversation in bed. He and Sean had been discussing the vandalism incidents and what could be done about it. The news that night had involved a Congressman from Mississippi who had proposed legislation that would make all teachers, healthcare workers, and public sector employees disclose meta-human status as a condition of employment. Of course, firing an employee, or not hiring one, for being meta-human was perfectly legal under current law, and there weren’t enough votes to expand protections.

“Someone could crush bugs in front of Caroline all day long, ignoring the psychological torture it inflicts upon her, because the law doesn’t recognize that,” Sean had said, as he’d buttoned his pajamas to settle into bed for the night. “But James and I could be imprisoned because of senses we can’t turn off, since that’s technically a non-consensual use of our powers in public.”

It was a valid point. It was also the wrong way to build a justice system and a society as a whole.

With that, Josh realized what he had to do.

And as he walked through the town with a stapler in one hand, the shining alternative to a gun, he kept his mission in mind. Stopping at another telephone pole, he set up his campaign poster and then pressed a staple into the top and the bottom, before moving on. He had to try.

Joshua Bernstein for Mayor.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#137 – Agility

There were a thousand aspects of living in New York City that Sean Neville enjoyed: the diversity, the food culture, the fact that he could see movies and live theater, the fact that he was only an hour away from his parents by train or car but it might as well have been a full week due to the amount of freedom he had, the architecture (and having an architecture student as a friend helped him appreciate that more), the fact that he was at the center of social and political movements, the weather (except during snow storms but even those weren’t as bad as the ones he’d survived in Vermont), the apartment he lived in, all of his friends, the great education he got at his university, access to the New York Public Library, all of the museums, the fact that he could walk, subway, taxi, or bus anywhere he wanted, the fact that Simon and Garfunkel were planning a concert in Central Park and he was going to go...

There were only two aspects of living in New York City that Sean didn’t like, and neither of them were related to the crime rates that politicians continued to try to capitalize on to win elections. He didn’t like that he was ten hours away from Robert Hopkins (and talking on the phone or corresponding by letter wasn’t the same), and there were sometimes too many people within his range. Particularly when he had a bad headache.

But Robert had done a good job of teaching him how to tune out the white noise of other minds by focusing on the close signal of one. And while the one mind on which he focused wasn’t as disciplined as Robert’s was, it was readily available, eager, and in sync with his, which made focusing all the easier.

Josh’s mind was almost always there, except when they were separated for classes. Otherwise, he could rejoice in being around his boyfriend, focusing on him, and tuning out the rest of the world.

It was the best feeling. Even if it was one that he couldn’t readily describe to someone who wasn’t a telepath.

Even if most of his attempts to describe it to Josh ended up as I love you.

Sean said, “I love you” a lot.

He also indulged the younger boy in a number of whimsical, and sometimes downright absurd, ideas. Like the Reagan protest with the handcuffs, which had ended better than expected but worse than hoped (rather, that was the ideological split between the telepath and his boyfriend).

Or like Josh’s general disregard for social norms and boundaries when in public spaces, such as Central Park on a sunny day.

They had been walking next to each other, wishing that they could hold hands but cognizant of the fact that they couldn’t. So they settled for being close and occasionally nudging one another with hips or shoulders. Then Josh had spied the Mister Softee truck at the edge of the park, and he had wanted ice cream. “I’ll race you!” the younger boy had proposed. “Loser has to pay.”

It was a foregone conclusion who would lose this race. Even with Josh’s abysmal sense of direction, he could easily reach the edge of the park when the end-goal was within his visual range. And Sean was not a fast runner; he never had been, not even when he was younger. Due to his height and overall build, he tended to lumber rather than sprint effectively. He could run, and he did when he had to, and he didn’t injure himself in the process, but he wasn’t an athlete.

Still, the way Josh’s blue eyes lit up with enthusiasm caused Sean to agree. Josh was off like a shot; Sean went after him, but even with his longer stride, Josh was ahead. Where the younger boy stayed until he reached the ice cream truck and did a little victory dance that Sean found utterly endearing.

At least the telepath hadn’t lost the race by too much.

“It looks like I’m buying he said,” as he offered a smile and caught his breath. “Get whatever you like.”

“I’ll take a chocolate cone,” Josh said, as he stepped up to the ice cream man. Then he thought loudly as Sean had taught him, And you have to watch me eat the whole thing. The glimmer in his eye told the telepath that he intended to make it worth his while.

Sean thought he might enjoy that more than he would eating his own ice cream treat.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#110 – Throne

Greg Strickland was his dorm-mate, his close friend, and an all-around good guy: he was intelligent, charismatic, friendly, generous, and funny. Still, there were times when Sean wished that the blond would tone it down just a little.

Like at parties.

The telepath had nothing against parties; in fact, he enjoyed parties. That was why he never objected when the other boy would propose that they have one at the apartment, and why he always pitched in with planning, cleanup, and procuring refreshments. They had many of the same friends, and having the other Radicals over was always a joy. And sometimes women who would flirt with Greg at these parties, unaware of his nature, were redirected towards the telepath as a more receptive target for flirtation.

There were lots of reasons to enjoy parties with Greg.

Still, watching Josh, their new freshman mascot, toss back drink after drink after drink in an effort to keep up with Greg’s teasing and baiting was painful. Sean had a high alcohol tolerance, from three years of drinking combined with his family history and his size. Josh, obviously, was new to it, but he refused to admit to that for some reason. Everyone at the party, all of the other Radicals and their other friends, could see through the lie but Josh still pretended otherwise.

And Greg had seized on that and had been encouraging him, baiting him to drink more at this party since Josh had first opened his mouth.

Sean had watched from one end of the living room, keeping his eye on the freshman to make sure he didn’t get sick.

Then the boy had thrown up and someone yelled, The Frosh exploded!!!

That was when Sean had excused himself from the girl he’d been discussing politics with. He’d set down his drink, grabbed a towel, threw it down where Josh had lost his lunch, and then picked up the younger boy, half-carrying and half-dragging him towards the bathroom.

He lifted the toilet seat and helped Josh get in front of it so he could finish what he’d started in the living room.

As a result, he was spending this party in the bathroom, patting Josh’s back while he continued to vomit and, between heaves, apologized for ruining the party and verbalizing that he hoped Sean didn’t think any less of him because of this.

Sean could hear Greg outside, also a bit drunk but in more control of himself, laughing about it.

Sean loved Greg like a brother, but he did wish he would stop giving Josh a hard time. After all, he was only a freshman; he had a lot of growing to do.

[Esme Bakus]

OoC: Wow this is stupid and bad. I’m sorry. O.0 Also a disclaimer--- The children weren’t actually named the names they have here. ;D They’re nicknames.

144. Jet Set

”Fiona! Over here!”

”Where’s the boys today, Fiona?”

”How about a smile Fifi?”

Fiona hunkered down into her large sunglasses, glad for the shield against the camera flashes this early in the morning. She worried that without them she would have fallen right down the stairs of the private plane and broken her neck, much to the delight of the tabloid hounds that had stalked her flight to Japan.

“Sorry, the boys aren’t with me.”She replied once the din died down, only rekindling the barrage of questions.

”Is it true that you and Brendan had a falling out?”

”How are the kids, Fiona?”

”Is there a toll being taken on your family, given your newfound celebrity? ”

“Everything with the family is going just fine, and the only thing that’s changed is that sometimes they see Mommy on TV.” She had reached the bottom of the stairs, and pulled off her glasses to appease the reporters. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting I need to get to. I’ll be having a press conference later this week.”

She managed to duck into the car before too many more questions were shouted at her.

She sighed heavily and leaned her head back against the seat, closing her eyes. She felt jet lagged and heavy, but was glad the flight was over. She never thought that writing one little book would catapult her so quick into the jet set, but she couldn’t say she was complaining. Blowing the lid off her family’s scandal and revealing the story of MSAD, even years after the fact, had turned out to be a huge stride in the right direction for meta-human
rights.

Her only regret was the kind of excitement it had brought to her family. Once she’d achieved a certain level of notoriety, her less-than-traditional family arrangement had come to light. Suddenly she was a poster-child for gay rights, for polyamory, and for the non-traditional family.

When had all of this happened? And Why did she bother with it all in the first place?

Later that evening, Fifi checked in to the secluded bath house
where she was staying. She called in to the big hotel where her other reservation was and dutifully thanked the human shapeshifter she’d hired to be her double. Normally she didn’t stoop so low, but this trip was special.

“Mommy!” screeched a scruffy-haired little boy as he launched himself at Fifi’s slender legs, squeezing them with a brutish strength far beyond his eleven years. She chuckled, kissing the top of his head and reaching her arm out to his twin brother.

“C’mere Yosh.” She beckoned, the quiet boy hugging her silently around her waist.

“I missed you both so much.” She murmured.

“Do you know they’re saying that we had a falling out?” Came Brendan’s voice from the hall as he rounded the corner.

“Worse! Didja know we hafta sleep on th’floor?” Vincent shouted from down the hall.

“I like sleeping on the floor. It’s cool.” Chirped one of her sons.
“Daddy is a big baby!”

“I heard tha’ Bowser!”

Brendan snickered.

“Go bring Daddy in here, boys.” She beckoned, shooing off the twins so that she could finish rolling out a tatami mat to sleep on.

“Should we have a falling out to keep them happy?” She asked, flopping back on the plush mat and closing her eyes.

“Duh.” Was Brendan’s only reply as his sons dragged his husband
into the room, squealing like a pack on monkeys. Fifi laughed outright as Brendan scooped up one boy under his arm, and tickled Vincent with his free hand.

The four boys hooted and hollered for a moment, tangling in a giant tickle pile as Fifi looked fondly on. At least until she noticed one of the twins snuggling up to her side.

“What is it Yosh?” She asked quietly.

He blinked and blushed. “I saw your picture in a magazine, but I couldn’t read it because it was in a funny language. I wanted to buy it, but we drove by too fast.”

She chuckled. “You don’t need a magazine of me, I’m right here!”

He buried his face in her stomach. “Yeah, you are now.”

The tickle fest had died down, and Yoshi’s brother curled up against Fifi’s other side. Brendan and Vincent flopped down in each other’s arms on the mats next to Fifi, and Vincent’s stupid grin greeted the still-giggling Fifi.

“You’re both still twelve after all these years. Your sons are more mature than you are.”

Vincent snorted. “You mean BORIN’.”

Fifi rolled her eyes and squeezed her sons close as they began to
holler back and forth.

“I’m so glad my boys could come with me.” She murmured, winking at the fathers of her children. “Even if Brendan and I did have a falling out.”

“Oh yeah. Too much travel. I just can’t take it!” He joked, rolling his eyes and squeezing Vin about the waist. “You’re always off in these exotic locations, what with your published book and such, I never know what to think.”

One of the boys perked up his head from Fifi’s stomach. “But Pop, we always go with Mommy.”

Fifi ruffled his hair as the adults (if you could call them that) began to chuckle.

“It was just a joke, Bowser. We’re jet setters just like Mommy.”

The excited chatter that came up, the stories of all the places they'd been together and the games of hide-and-seek with the cameras...they all reminded Fifi why she bothered.

The smiles on their faces were irreplaceable.

[Dr. James Campbell]

23. Forsooth

"Do you have to go, James?" When Niko joined into the discussion, the recruiter had finally had enough.

"Yes." His responses were curt and short, and he glared over his shoulder at his husband. "I didn't want him to know, Chase."

"He's smart, and everyone knows what happened was because of a meta. And now you're going off to recruit him." Chase came over and took James's hands in his. "Don't do this, Jamie. Send someone without kids. You don't need to go."

James sighed and shook his head, then squeezed his husband's hands. His work had taken him away from home a lot, and it had taken him dangerous places. But half his staff were out of state already and he was not sending Mii down to bring in a kid who had accidentally blown up his school. "Look, I know it's dangerous, but I need to go. This one is political and it has to be me. And I can take care of myself. Trust me."

"I trust you; I don't trust him or anyone else." He leaned forwards, and James wrapped his arms around him. Chase had said goodbye to James so many times, but he'd never felt this sense of foreboding. Niko stepped closer and James pulled him into the hug as well.

"I don't want you to go. What if people find out about Hammel? There's so much attention." The blond boy wasn't ready to give in either.

"I know, kiddo. But I'll be home soon." He let go of his husband and leaned over so he was looking his son in the eye. It wasn't as far down as it used to be; Nikki was getting taller. "And that kid deserves just as many chances as you do. He didn't mean to do what he did, and Hammel is here to help everyone."

"But why does it have to be you, Dad?"

"Because I have to give your other dad a reason to take you out for pizza three times this week. You make sure he eats his salad, though okay? And promise me you'll make him make you a proper dinner at least one time, with a vegetable." He stood up straight again and ruffled Niko's hair. "Everything is going to be fine. I'll be home before you know it."

[Cobalt Weaver]

#76. Cryogenic

When Dani was born, Cobalt resolved to get a change of attitude. When he and Ben would argue, Cobalt would insist they do it outside in the backyard or, if there was someone to take care of Dani or she was old enough to be alone in the house, take a walk. He would take special care to not get too confrontational whenever she was around because the last thing he wanted was to have her learn the same awful habits and people skills that he did.

So when she started getting into trouble for fighting on the behalf of other students, Cobalt didn’t know whether to despair or be secretly proud, but he didn’t quite know where to go from here.

It was Friday, and Dani was home sulking on the couch, nervously watching re-runs of Buck Rogers of all things while she waited for Cobalt to dole out one punishment or another. Frankly, Cobalt didn’t know what he was going to do, so he sat down on the couch next to her and stared at the screen.

“…What channel even is this?” He asked after a while.

“Syfy.” Dani replied sullenly. “They show re-runs of old shows some times. I was hoping for, like, Star Trek or something.”

“I didn’t know you liked old sci-fi movies.” Cobalt replied, feeling a little disconcerted. The fourteen year old shrugged without looking at him, her blue eyes fixed on the screen.

“I like them fine. I think Buck Rogers is funny.”

Well this isn’t awkward at all. Cobalt looked at the television set, slightly distressed at the new phenomenon of being unable to talk to his daughter. “What’s it about?”

Dani looked up at him with a touch of suspicion Cobalt knew well from his own face, and it made his heart hurt a little. “It’s about this dude who gets like…cryogenically frozen or put in some kind of suspended animation or something. I read some other stuff about cryogenics and it doesn’t make much sense. I don’t think the brain works like that. Like, with neurons and stuff. If you really think about it, it doesn’t make sense.”

Cobalt huffed out a quiet laugh at Dani’s contemplative face as she frowned at the screen. She was smart enough to probably be intentionally derailing the conversation but he couldn’t help but be charmed. He ducked his head slightly to kiss his daughter on the forehead. Dani eyed him suspiciously.

“Am I in trouble?” She asked quietly, twisting her fingertips together nervously.

Cobalt looped an arm around Dani’s shoulders. “A little,” he replied honestly, “but I’m prepared to talk about it. You know our rules: you don’t use violence to try to solve your problems.”

“But I didn’t know what else to do!” Dani exclaimed, frustration coloring her little, pale face. “People don’t listen when I talk! I mean, I know it must be all nice for you with everyone listening to what you say and you’ve probably never even been in a fight in your whole life.” She crossed her arms over her chest, her entire fourteen-year-old body communicating you just don’t understand.

Cobalt had to remind himself not to laugh and had to remind himself that Dani didn’t have the entire context of her father’s life. Laughing at her now would be insulting and hurtful. So, he took a deep breath and settled on a small smile.

“Nevertheless, I know what it’s like to feel like nobody is listening to you.” He said gently, “but pushing people down, no matter why you’re pushing people, doesn’t make it better. Have some patience, and if there is a problem, the smarter idea is to find an adult. Okay?”

“Okay.” Dani mumbled, staring back at the television. “It’s just hard sometimes.”

Cobalt reached over and pulled her into a hug. Despite her best, teenage efforts to seem sullen and unaffected, she soon settled her head on Cobalt’s chest and sighed. “So am I still in trouble?”

“Yup.” Cobalt replied, in the jokingly teasing way that Dani learned to interpret as only half-serious. He could feel her smile against his shoulder. “We’ll talk it over with Dad, because this can’t actually keep happening, okay?”

“Okay.”

They watched the end of the show and tried to work out the mechanics of suspended animation and cryogenic freezing, coming to the incredibly important and serious conclusion that it made no sense.