#76 9th Nov 2017 at 1:53 PM
HA so that's the tie in to the story title. I'm betting Franz is gonna blow this whole operation to bits now that he's been forced out.
#77 12th Nov 2017 at 7:50 AM Last edited by Charmful : 28th Oct 2020 at 3:18 AM.
More to be Desired
Chapter 36: More to be Desired
Tomorrow was the last day before the university resumed classes and Alanna hadn't heard from Franz since the bake sale.
He didn't text her as often as she did him but considering what was happening with his mother, she'd expected him to get into contact with her sooner rather than later when she asked how his mother was doing. He was usually good about replying and because she had no answers to her texts, it made her worried that something bad had happened.
She had taken the bus back to her parent's house that Sunday morning since all her study materials were there; she had planned for a good long weekend of getting extra studying done over the holiday but had been derailed, especially when she went to the robotics program the previous night.
She must admit, she went a little overboard in trying to prove her skills to Shane Calhoun. They had been there until nearly midnight going over the interior of his gardening robot to find where the issue was. It turned out that silly Shane hadn't updated the stat firmware after they had checked all the components. To her annoyance, he didn't thank her for taking time to help him but at least he sheepishly admitted that he wouldn't have considered the firmware as the problem if she hadn't been there. Small victories.
Anyway, Alanna had done her studying and then packed up her books and papers, bid her parents farewell and was waiting at the bus stop to go back to SSU when an idea struck her. The stop was only a few blocks from the the Isla Del Kashmire Community College and what would be the harm in just going over to see Franz in person instead of waiting for him to text her back? She figured he'd be there since it was nearly nine o' clock and he should have been done with his weekly family dinner by now.
Yes, she decided that was a better idea and it would put her mind at ease. She stood from her seat and began walking down the sidewalk toward the campus, crunching on the leaves that had begun to fall from the effect of autumn.
The community college consisted of a few brick buildings, and she thought it was a really pretty place, nestled in the foothills of the island's mountains, especially now that the autumn leaves were changing colors. She would have loved to attend and stay closer to home but they didn't offer a medical program—that degree was only offered through Sim State University. Otherwise, she would have to go out of the region for schooling.
The dormitory where Franz lived was the second-largest building on the property; she could see a few students playing pool in the rec room from where she stood outside.
No one questioned her when she entered, probably used to the comings and goings of young adults at every hour—it was a college after all. She searched the doors of the rooms for one that contained Franz's portrait. She finally found it on the third door in the upper hallway and suppressed a giggle at the face of a younger version of him, staring so intently that it probably made the photographer uneasy.
She hoped he didn't think she was intruding but little surprises were nice once and while—even for someone as serious and steadfast as Franz. She knocked on the door and waited.
A few moments passed and she knocked again, just to be sure. A prick of disappointment hit her in the chest. Maybe he was still out, after all.
As she turned to walk away, she finally heard a deep, tired voice from the other side of the door, "Who is it?"
"Alanna!" she replied and her joy skyrocketed because she was able to see him one last time before the holiday was over. She heard him unlock the door, then it opened.
"Come in," Franz said and moved out of the way from the threshold. She'd never actually been in his dorm room before. They always met in public places. Franz was a private person; she didn't ever see his room when he lived at his mother's house despite visiting often in her teenage years. He never offered to show her and she was too polite to ask to see it.
This room had white carpet and the walls were white cinder blocks—standard for every dorm room, she supposed. He had a few posters and a little bookshelf that was too small for his entire collection of books because she could see another row of them piled up underneath his bed. She'd wager that his favorites were stashed nearer to the bed for an easier reach for some night time reading. His double bass was tucked in the corner. The bedspread had a musical motif, and looked old and worn like it was from a second hand store.
His face was...different.
"What happened?" she asked with a concerned frown and reached out toward his cheek; he evaded her touch, seeming a bit ashamed.
"I got into a fight," he answered but didn't elaborate further as he took a seat on the edge of his bed. She noticed he was limping too. She had to wonder if this was the reason he hadn't responded to her texts—if he didn't want have a chance of her seeing him hurt like this?
She sat beside him, and tried to coax him to look at her so she could examine his injury. She was after all, studying to be a doctor. She tried reaching out again, to gently turn his face toward her. He let her with little resistance that time.
"Did you win?"
He was staring past her with an inscrutable expression now, hiding whatever he was currently feeling. She wasn't unnerved as other people seemed to become in those instances; she was accustomed to that habit of his but had to often wonder why he was always trying to hide behind that mask of indifference? It was hard to gauge what he truly was thinking in those moments. Eyes were windows to the soul, they said—but Franz had the ability to close the world out entirely—leaving anyone blind against the blank yet murky blue depths that remained.
"Yes," he finally answered. She didn't know whether to feel happy for Franz or bad for the poor fool on the losing side.
She studied the bruise; it looked as though it was a head-on punch as it was slightly swollen and already shaded a deep violet—his left eye was almost piercingly blue in contrast with the dark skin surrounding it. His cheek was reddened with a small amount of dried blood from a scrape on it but the coloring didn't hide the abundant dusting of freckles underneath.
Her gaze dropped to his lips though nothing was wrong there, no blood nor signs of assault. It made her wonder how that area avoided any violence since punches were such a brutal and indiscriminate method. Franz's bottom lip was naturally a bit plumper that his upper one, which she never noticed before. They weren't pushed into a smile or frown, just resting in that same neutral position to match his expression while she examined him. It was the face he most commonly wore, though there were rare occasions when he laughed or smiled and it was sort of a thrill for Alanna to see him in such a way. Better yet to have caused it.
She found herself smiling at remembering the last time she saw those lips curved upward in a grin.
It then struck her just how sensual his lips were—in fact, Franz was actually incredibly handsome, even now with such blemishes. She had always known he was a good-looking guy; it was a observation at the back of her mind when girls would turn their heads slightly at his passing, but she never fully considered until now when she actually studied his face. Perhaps she had been studying a bit too much for classes and had failed to notice what was right in front of her. A tingle or some feeling equally as electric ran up her arms and she quickly withdrew her hand, her mind awash with a sudden awareness that she was, in fact, significantly attracted to her best friend. Maybe she had been, even subconsciously for a while now.
"What?" He asked, the sudden change in her posture wasn't unnoticed.
She could barely look at him, and avoided explaining herself, "I'd say your eye will clear up in about a week or maybe two."
"I've had worse," he stated.
It made her curious just how much. Reggie had indicated Franz had always been violent; she refused to believe that Franz would go looking for altercations and she didn't doubt he could defend himself—but looking at him—who on earth would try to attack him? He was over six feet tall and built with broad shoulders. His defined arm muscles alone would be enough to deter anyone from having a go at him.
A fleeting wonder of how those arms would feel wrapped around her startled her consciousnesses even further. It was a slightly scandalized thought to entertain in the current situation, but her mind was suddenly a yo-yo of sorts—drudging up desires for her best friend she'd never have dreamed of and then refusing to continue the thoughts only to be reeled back in at the notion of kissing those lips which she had admired a few minutes before. Imagining giving him his first kiss...
Darn, it was kind of hot in there. Should she ask him to open a window? She decided not to and instead, she looked around his room, trying to avoid his line of sight and hers landed on the instrument in the corner.
"Do you still play?"
"The double bass, do you still play it?"
He shrugged, "I can, but I don't practice much. I have it here because mom wanted me to get all my stuff out of her house when I left."
"It has such a nice, deep sound," Alanna commented, though couldn't help thinking that her comment could be applied to Franz's voice too. He spoke a lot more often than he used to, probably because she prompted him by having actual conversations with him—but his voice was like a distant thunderstorm; a low rumble that might put other people on edge, yet for her it was comforting. She liked curling up in her bed and reading on rainy, thunderstruck days.
She stood and walked over to the standing bass, plucked the thickest string so it thrummed its low note around the room, proving her claim. Then, she felt brave enough to look at him again with a smile. He'd positioned himself so that his long body was laying diagonally across his bed, his head resting on his folded arms and his tired eyes were half-obscured by his untidy blonde hair. Franz shrugged; it was a movement of mild agreement rather than a non-committal gesture. Franz shrugged in response to most questions as opposed answering with his words, but at least he was more expressive with his body language and she could read that well enough.
She felt an internal jolt suddenly, finding herself thinking more in detail about his body—wondering how hard his abdominal muscles really were underneath that tight shirt and if his lower obliques were defined enough to reveal a certain letter-form as they connected to his hip flexors. It wasn't safe to look at him without feeling a wave of giddy desires which immediately turned to ashamed embarrassment and then no doubt manifested into a blush upon her cheeks. She needed to get her mind off that train of thought right away.
"How is your mom, anyway?"
"She's in the hospital," Franz replied in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice.
"What? What happened? Is she okay?" Alanna's mind was momentarily cleared and her focus was on the well-being of Ms. Schoulsburg. She could look at Franz again, but wished she hadn't because there was a striking vulnerability in his features despite the practical voice he had used. That disarmed expression increased her impulse to be near him even more so and only left her feeling guilty for thinking about him like that when she should be helping him cope with his mother's sickness. Something a good friend would do. Speaking of which, she had to wonder why he didn't text her back if this had happened just since the last time they saw each other—didn't he know by now that she'd be there for him no matter what?
"She collapsed in the bakery last night. The doctors say that the VBT spread to her pelvis," he replied with a note of despair and turned onto his back to stare at the ceiling. She knew he would wish it on himself rather than his mother, "I'm in charge of the bakery until further notice."
"You mean until it's closed?" Alanna took a seat next to where he lay and he looked up at her, his hair was falling away from his eyes for once due to gravity, leaving a clear view of his face and there was a sure worry creased in his brow.
She could tell there was something more he wanted to say, somehow, the way his eyes flickered away from the ceiling, to her, for a split second before returning to their blank focus above. He didn't say anything, though, and turned to pull himself upward into a sitting position again, and she realized she probably had reminded him that the bakery was inevitably going away which would only made him feel worse. She slid her arms around him and hugged him from behind while pressing her cheek against his back. She hoped this would offer him some comfort. She noticed he didn't smell of baked bread anymore but of clean body wash—maybe something earthy scented like sandalwood, and he was warm like fresh cookies.
"I don't suppose you had time to make more chocolate chip cookies last night, did you?" she mumbled. Of course he wouldn't. She immediately wanted to kick herself for asking, considering his mother was just admitted to the hospital. Franz was not a stress baker.
"No," she could hear the deep, muffled rumble of his voice through his back, "Sorry."
"It's all right. I'm sure I'll get to eat them again someday," she replied and could tell he felt a bit more relaxed because of the way his muscles stopped tensing beneath her hold. He didn't seem to mind that she was latched onto him; maybe he did like it when she hugged him after all.
They sat like that in comfortable silence for a while and she wondered what he was thinking about. She eventually let her arms go slack, released him from her embrace and removed her back pack. He turned to face her, looking at her straight on for a change. She held in her breath and could feel warmth flood her cheeks again.
"Something is wrong," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"Your voice was shaking. What's wrong?"
What? How could he know? What kind of superpower observation skills did he have to notice a tiny change in her vocal inflection? She couldn't tell him her struggling thoughts now—it was too soon and she had just realized her feelings maybe five minutes ago. No, she had to go home and think this through—to make sure it was real and not just a weird ball of unexpected hormones.
She swallowed the lump in her throat at being caught so unaware by his question, at being caught staring into his eyes which were no longer inexpressive but alive with concern.
"Um..." She said, scrambling through her thoughts to find something to say that wasn't an outright lie because she wasn't going to claim she was fine. She clearly wasn't, "Why didn't...why didn't you tell me your mom was in the hospital sooner?"
"I know you don't get a lot of free time and I didn't want to bother you."
She had been with Reggie. She wondered again, if Franz was jealous of her spending time with him? It wasn't her intent to do that though if that was the case—she was just being nice and giving Reggie a second chance at being her friend.
"Listen, you are not bothering me. If you ever need emotional support, I'm here for you," she insisted and felt brave enough to reach down and hold his hand in a gesture of reassurance.
"I can manage," Franz mumbled and closed his eyes while taking a deep breath, "I did it long before you came along."
"Is that what you are doing when you close everyone out? Managing?" She couldn't help but to ask with a note of frustration. They had been friends for four years, she told him everything about herself and still he refused to open up to her at times. However, he did open an eye and looked at her sharply.
"I don't enjoy burdening others with my problems."
She felt herself squeezing his hand tighter, maybe trying to keep him there so he wouldn't drift away. "That's what friends are for. Friends help each other. You're my best friend and I care about your emotional well-being. So just let me know if you ever need to talk and get some of that off your chest. You aren't alone anymore."
Alanna had always wanted a close friendship. She had seen so many other people lucky enough to have best friends that they confided in and trusted their lives with and she wanted to achieve that kind of camaraderie with Franz but so far it had been mostly a one-way street. Franz opened up with her more than he had with any other person, but still held her at arm's length. It was almost as if he was afraid to trust that deeply.
Franz seemed to hold in a sigh and closed his eye again, gently pulling his hand out of hers, "Sometimes you care too much."
"I'd rather care too much than be a cold-hearted bastard," she retorted a little too harshly.
She immediately put her hands over her mouth realizing her mistake in the same instant Franz's eyes snapped open and his face seemed to crash into surprised offense. That word held a significant unpleasantness for Franz; it was a weapon his peers had used against him and his sister to invalidate them and render them as lesser people. It was no secret in the small island community that the Schoulsburg twins were bastards. Neither he nor Fauna understood why it was such a big deal but apparently society viewed it as scandalous and improper that they didn't even know who their father was, much less that the man hadn't been wed to their mother at the time they were born.
But maybe if he had been more open with Alanna she would have known just how badly the word cut into his self-esteem and would have thought twice before saying it.
"Franz, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean that you were—" she began to apologize in earnest and reached out to him as if to heal any hurt she had inflicted. She was using the term more as a idiom and not an insult to him personally but it was careless of her to say it nevertheless.
He recoiled from her touch, leaning backward, obviously wounded at what she had blurted despite her heartfelt apologies.
"Why are you here?" he asked in a stony voice, once again pushing his emotions behind a mask of indifference.
"I wanted to make sure you were okay," she said with guilt washing over her because she had done the opposite of make his mood better and still at the back of her mind she kept having those torrid, inappropriate thoughts about him despite this tense situation they were having.
Franz remained silent.
She stood abruptly and turned away, grabbing up her back pack, realizing she wasn't helping anything by being there. She shouldn't have even come. So much for that peace of mind she had wanted.
"I should go, I'm sorry I said that. I hope you can forgive me. Just know that you are a lot more amazing than anyone gives you credit for, including yourself, and I just wish you could be as open with me as I am with you. Maybe...maybe someday..." she rambled, feeling a tight knot form in her chest and trailed off as she approached the doorway, putting her hand on the doorknob.
Before she had the chance to step over the threshold, she felt a pair of arms wrap around her, one across her chest and the other over her mid-section—startling a little 'eep!' out of her and nearly squeezing her breath away.
After a few beats of silence, she heard his soft baritone, "I know...I know that you didn't mean it, Alanna."
She felt like melting in utter relief. The knot unwound and was replaced with another tingling feeling from head to toe—because it was the first time she could recall that he had ever initiated any kind of embrace between them. She would have liked to stay in that position awhile longer, but she needed to sort out these feelings about him and truly had to put a distance between them to begin that process.
"I need to go before I miss the next bus, but I'll call you sometime this week if I have any free time. I'd like to go to the bookstore again."
She felt him give a nod from behind her and couldn't help but to smile; even without the sudden complicated feelings of attraction swimming through her mind—she still had hope that he would come around and be the best friend she had always wanted and would ever have—if not more.
The community college lot is one that I made and available here
@SingleClawDesigns - Yes! The last chapter was the literal tie-in to the story title and it's also the overall theme relating to the title is that every main POV character has some kind of (bad) person they can't trust or is their foil (i.e. obvious ones are Shaun Piper for Evelyn and Marshall Cosgrove for Nick ) so it's taking that phrase and applying it overall. As for the fate of the fight night, that remains to be seen.
#78 19th Nov 2017 at 7:08 AM Last edited by Charmful : 28th Oct 2020 at 3:39 AM.
Chapter 37: Unexpected Turn
Nick decided to try his luck with Tara again. Fortunately, she must have liked him a bit better than her sorority sisters because she agreed to meet up with him for dancing and drinks while the rest seemed to have shunned him for going rogue on the Greek Society.
If he was as good as he thought he was with the ladies, then he’d have her back at his place by the end of the night, and on his own terms—not with the effects of Torporia to aid him.
“I’ll be right back,” Tara announced, pointing toward the powder room.
Nick smiled and halted his movement, taking a drink from the beer in his hand, “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”
She only rolled her eyes playfully.
He fell to the back of the dance floor and leaned against a wall, taking in the sight of what everyone else was doing, glancing between the dancers and the people at the bar. The joint was packed though and it was more than a bit toasty inside.
His concentration was disturbed when someone bumped into his elbow–a woman on her way out from the same powder room that Tara had just entered. He spilled a bit of beer from his bottle and looked at her with an inconvenienced frown but it lifted as soon as he saw who she was.
He was struck with disbelief at first, but it was momentary. He didn’t expect to see her at a place like this but there was no question it was Illyana Sanchez, the girl who had once been his very best friend. He took a step closer to her and leaned forward with a familiar smirk playing at his lips.
“How many years has it been?”
It took her a moment to recognize him as her wide eyes roamed over his features like she was putting a puzzle together.
It had been four.
"Not enough, Nicholas,” she replied coolly, finally discerning his identity. Apparently, she hadn’t forgotten their last encounter when he yelled at her for no perceived reason.
“Do you go to to SSU?” he asked, trying to determine why she would be at this place.
“I don't—just driving through and getting drinks with Alarie on the way back to Isla Del Kashmire.”
He looked around and failed to see Alarie in the vicinity, “Where’s Alarie?”
“She left with Rafael awhile ago,” Illyana admitted. Nick felt a bit bummed that he had missed seeing the one decent bro from his old frat.
“So what are you doing these days? Why are you passing through?” He asked.
“Don’t stand there and pretend we’re old pals, Nick. You’ve made it clear that we aren’t,” she said as her brows plunged into a deep frown and she brushed past him.
He caught her arm to halt her, “Ill…”
“Stop,” she bit harshly and stared forward, “Why don’t you go back to pretending that I don’t exist? It’s worked well so far.”
She gave her arm a vicious tug that made him release his hold and she disappeared into the crowd without a backward glance. He looked down at his bottle of beer and felt a lump of regret form in his chest. He’d wondered about how she was doing these past years, but never had the courage to reach out because he had been such a shitty friend to her—selfish, presumptuous, inattentive, arrogant, and a whole bunch of other undesirable adjectives he’d tried to recognize and change in himself since then. She didn’t deserve any of that. The fact was, that after that summer night, he had thought himself unworthy of her friendship and that’s why he removed himself from her life. Of course, she couldn’t have known his reasons and would only interpret his avoidance as pretending she didn’t exist. She could be dramatic like that.
But seeing her sparked something in him. He wanted to try again—to prove he was worthy of her friendship and show her that he was a better person now.
Tara returned from the powder room then and gave him a sultry kiss, before pulling him back to the dance floor. It was a good enough distraction to keep his thoughts from wandering back to Illyana and stewing too long.
The DJ was on a roll with the house mix. One fast song after another and the beat thrummed through the bodies of the patrons The lights and noise were enough to get dizzy, but the drinks were not enough to get fuzzy. Nick had built up too much of an alcohol tolerance from so much house parties.
“Having fun yet?” Tara asked, twisting her pelvis even closer to Nick to match his idle shifting that was supposed to be a dance while he half-pondered what needed to be done to get another fight night rolling. There had been double the amount of people at the second event—and if that trend kept going then he’d have his tuition ready in time to pay it all back and avoid getting kicked out of college.
In reply to Tara’s question, Nick downed his beer, wiggled it to gesture he was empty and going to get another. Tara made a tepid pout but continued to dance without him. He edged his way through the throng of people toward the bar, laying his empty bottle on the surface and then looked around to catch the attention of the bartender.
He spied Illyana leaning against the bar down at the other side; some guy was suggestively flirting with her, his back turned on Nick’s vantage. Illyana seemed to like the attention; she was smiling, her eyes weren’t their usual brightness but a bit sleepy-looking, and her posture was a little slumped.
When she reached for her drink, her hand made a few grabs at the air before settling on her glass.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
“Another beer,” Nick momentarily stopped studying Illyana and requested. He snuck a few real simoleons into the tip jar and the bartender whisked the empty bottle away, uncapped the new one and handed it to Nick. Nick lifted his chin in thanks and took a drink.
He nearly spit it out as he turned back to observe Illyana and saw none other than Marshall Cosgrove drape his arm around her waist and pull her a little closer, whispering something into her ear.
Knowing Marshall’s skeevy ways, he had probably slipped some Torporia into Illyana’s drink. Nick clenched the neck of his beer bottle in anger at the thought of Marshall doing that to her. Their close proximity didn’t help diminish his suspicions either. If he still knew anything about Illyana, it was that she had a low tolerance for being grabbed by people she didn’t know, and Nick doubted she knew Marshall in any capacity because if she had, he would have been the recipient of one of her infamous grudges by now—on account of Cosgrove being such a raging asshole.
“Hey!” he felt a hand clasp his around his arm and turned to see that Tara had gotten bored on the dance floor and had come over to find him.
“Hey,” he replied, putting his arm around her shoulders while giving another glance to Marshall and Illyana before focusing on Tara again.
“Are you tired of dancing already?”
He gave a shrug of one shoulder and looked at the pair again, it was obvious he was distracted and his earlier cheeriness had been taken down a notch.
“Have you had enough drinks to tell me what happened after you left your frat?” Tara asked and curiosity was brimming in her voice.
Nick cracked a grin and held up his beer, “I’m only on my second. It takes more than that to get me to spill secrets.”
Marshall suddenly threw his head back in a loud, obnoxious, laugh and Illyana was popping giggle after giggle at one of his lame jokes. The sound directed Nick’s attention back to them and it was almost painful to watch how bad at flirting they were.
“Buy me a drink then?” Tara suggested and Nick flagged the bartender down again, leaving it to Tara to order what she wanted. He absently held out a wad of cash for the bartender to take, not bothering to count it. What was the point? It was mostly counterfeit anyway.
Nick’s glare drew Marshall’s attention. Marshall gave him a smug grin, silently taunting him. Why? Then it happened. In a move that to anyone observing, just looked as if Marshall was putting his arm around Illyana again, he stealthily dropped something small into her drink without her notice. She picked it up a moment later.
Without considering the consequences, Nick gave a shout of warning and shoved a few patrons out of the way before slapping the glass out of Illyana’s hand. It shattered when it hit the ground and a few drops of the drink began to soak into Illyana’s shoes. She made a cry of protest and vacated the spot quickly.
“What’s wrong with you, Calhoun?” Marshall feigned outrage but Nick knew he was just goading him at this point. There was no way he was going to be able to prove that Marshall had drugged the drink when the evidence was dissolved in the spill now spreading across the tiles with a hundred shards of glass in between.
“How many pills have you given her?” Nick demanded.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Marshall smirked and lied. He had no idea of Nick and Illyana’s past, much less that they knew each other. To Nick’s best guess, the asshole just wanted to prove to him he could keep on drugging women and Nick’s little tantrum of leaving the Greek Society was in vain. Nick loathed violence but in that moment he wanted nothing more than to cause Marshall inexplicable pain.
Nick grabbed Marshall by the front of his shirt and jerked him forward, he was nearly a head shorter and Nick could easily pummel him if he didn’t mind getting slapped with an assault charge and prosecuted by the finest lawyers, “How many?”
Marshall still had on a self-assured grin as he replied quietly, “What does it matter? She’ll have her clothes off in less than an hour.”
Nick felt absolute and utter rage fill him, and he probably would have hit Marshall right in his smug little face if not for the feel of a pathetic attempt of a punch to his arm—a familiar coiled fist aimed right for his bicep which would have been downright painful if she had been sober.
“You. Always. Ruin. Everything.” Illyana said angrily, punctuating each word with a hit to his arm.
Plumbobs, she didn’t have the slightest clue to the situation she could have found herself in if Nick hadn’t intervened. How dare Alarie leave Illyana and Marshall alone together, where was that woman’s sense?
“Shall we visit the Nest of Vipers?” Nick ignored Illyana and suggested in a low acidic tone that only Marshall could hear. Marshall seemed to immediately understand the implication and held his hands up in surrender and only then did Nick release the vile and cowardly fraternity president.
Obviously, word about the Nest of Vipers had traveled around significantly since the first night, just as Cain had predicted. Not only that, but its violent reputation. Not surprising, considering some of the Greek Society had been present at each fight night. They were all horrible gossips.
Illyana was still attempting to punch Nick’s arm; her fists had unraveled quite a bit and didn’t pack any kind of bruising potential he was used to. He caught her next punch in his hand, and led her away, at least to where it was quieter and cooler. They emerged outside and Nick tried distancing them from the bar and from Marshall especially, now that he knew Illyana was drugged.
She didn’t struggle much, but she dragged her feet in wordless protest. He just needed a moment to explain to her what was happening.
“Illyana…” he took a breath and faced her as soon as they were far enough away, but her opposite fist caught him in the side of the head. Startled, he let her go and watched as she attempted to run back toward the joint. She stumbled and tripped, then rolled across the sidewalk until she was laying on the flat of her back.
He rubbed his head in the spot where she had hit him—it wasn’t a painful blow my any means but he still didn’t expect it. He jogged to catch up until he was standing over her. To his dismay, he saw that she was crying! Her makeup was running down her face and leaving mascara trails. Since when did she wear make up? The last time he’d seen her cry was in the third grade when Trent Ziegler threw away her valentine. She probably still had a grudge about that too.
He assumed she had hurt herself on the concrete and that’s why she was blubbering but when he asked her if she was all right he was surprised to find she was crying for a different reason altogether.
“I was having fun for once and you..you…ruined it,” she choked with despair.
“He drugged you,” Nick snapped, “Would you find it fun if he took advantage of you? You wouldn’t even remember it!”
She closed her eyes and continued to sniffle out tears. He realized, in his anger, he was scolding her and that wouldn’t help anything. This wasn’t the way to get through to her.
Nick rubbed his temple some more and looked away while mumbling, “You probably won’t even remember this conversation."
"Will too!” She responded in obstinate tears, having overheard.
He almost smirked at her familiar stubbornness but instead held out his hand, still doubtful of her claim, “How do you feel?”
“Like I hate you,” she sat up and wiped at her eyes, glowering, and refusing to take his hand again.
“Come on, don’t be like that,” he gently chided and wrapped his arm around her midsection to lift her into a stand. She put her weight on him in objection but lost the battle when both her feet were planted firmly on the ground.
“I’ll call you a cab,” he pulled out his phone and started swiping through it to look for the number. He felt a melancholy tightness in his chest at hearing her say that she hated him. However, he knew he deserved it—how could he hope for anything better from the way he had acted in the past?
“Nick,” he heard her say his name. Her tone had lost all ferocity and it caused him to look at her in concern. She leaned into his arm and looked up at him, “Why aren’t we friends anymore?”
He gazed into her half-lidded eyes and felt déjà vu because she was echoing a question he once posed to her. Her answer made him realize just how conceited and immature he could be—just how much like his father he could be.
“Because I ruin everything,” he said in a despondent tone after a moment of consideration.
The memories weren’t a good enough excuse anymore. She had been his best friend when they were children but they both had changed too much; those times had passed and all the nostalgia in the world couldn’t be the foundation that held a friendship together. He just needed to be a better person.
The phone was ringing.
“Hello, Kashmire Taxi Service, where are you headed?” the customer service rep asked on the other end of the line.
“Hi there, I need a lift from the Endless Blue Lounge…” Nick began but a weight slumped into his side and he nearly dropped his phone to catch Illyana, “Sorry one moment!”
She was suddenly dead weight in his arms, “Illyana!”
In his attempt to try and regain balance, he accidentally hung up on the Taxi Service and cursed.
“Illyana!” He called her name again, giving her a hard shake and worried stare, “Are you all right?”
Her eyes flew open, panicked and wide, darting around as if she had forgotten where she was until she looked right in front of her and saw his face.
“I can’t rem…remember,” she said, her eyelids gradually falling to that same languished state while her speech became sluggish.
He couldn’t put her in a taxi like this.
“Give me Alarie’s number. I’ll have her come get you,” Nick said.
“I cabnt rebember,” Illyana repeated, though it was less enunciated. She swayed and started to pat herself down, seemingly unable to find her cell phone.
“Did you leave it at the bar?” He asked with slight exasperation and also a growing sense of anxiety at seeing how horribly discombobulated Torporia could render someone. Technically he’d been under it’s influence before, most of the frat and it’s guests had to have been when Marshall started adding it to the party drinks but Nick didn’t remember being so out of it that he lost motor functions. Maybe it just affected people differently and Illyana, unfortunately had the worst of it and he still didn’t know how much Marshall had given to her.
“I-cbt rrrmber,” she said thrice and seemed to give up and turn in a wobbly, disoriented circle, her voice ever softer and downright incoherent.
He wasn’t about to go put her in a car and drive her himself. For one, he didn’t have a car, and secondly, he’d had more than a few—not enough to be wasted but over the limit for legal driving. He shouldered her weight and said, “Okay. Fine. Crash at my place until this junk wears off.”
The house was only six blocks away and it was with immense difficulty that he was able to help Illyana walk and stumble her way down the street while she clung onto his arm and mumbled words he couldn’t understand because they were so slurred. After two and a half blocks of that, he gave up and just hauled her onto his back to carry her the rest of the way.
When they entered, the lights were on, signaling Orion and Cypress were either home or had left and assumed the other would shut off the lights. Nick erred on the side of caution and tried to be as quiet as possible. That goal was shattered once he tried to let Illyana down and she fell to the floor onto her rear with a grunt of protest. No movement was heard from upstairs. Orion and Cypress were gone for the night after all.
Nick went straight to the kitchen to get her some water, to at least and try to help flush the drugs out of her system. When he returned to the living room with a glass of it in hand he was shocked to find Illyana was stripping out of her clothes.
“What are you…?” he asked in alarm but trailed off, blinking several times as his brain processed the sight of her colorful, rainbow heart-shaped patterned panties.
“Toooooohaww,” she whined and pulled her shirt over her head to reveal a supportive white midriff tank top and some kind of hybrid-dragonfly tattoo inked onto her waist. The movement also loosened her braid and her hair started to uncurl into dark wavy locks. Nick didn’t know what to do in this situation but when she started trying to tug her tank top off, he bolted forward and pushed her into a sitting position on the couch which interrupted her process.
“Here, drink this—it will cool you off,” he instructed and swallowed to rid the sudden tightness in his throat among other places, trying to avoid staring at her half-unclothed figure as she took the glass of water and started guzzling it. He decided that studying the bookshelves across the room would be less troublesome.
When he started out the night he knew he’d have a girl back at his place, but he didn’t expect it to be in this particular circumstance and Illyana to be the one. He didn’t expect to be involved with Torporia anymore.
He’d have to apologize ten-fold to Tara for leaving her at the bar, that is if she’d ever speak to him again. He had abandoned her and left with another woman. Plumbobs, he realized that must have looked really bad.
He decided to text her real quick:
Sorry! Had an emergency!
A second later she replied:
Drop dead u jerk!
He sighed. Hoping for any more chances with her was pushing his luck.
Illyana took his hand and jiggled it before placing the glass back into it. A signal that she wanted more. He wasted no time walking back to the kitchen to fill it up. He frowned while thinking, hypothesizing that her increased body temperature could have been a sort of secondary side-effect of the drug. A person would certainly start trying to take their clothing off faster if they weren’t comfortable in them and didn’t have the mind to keep them on.
Then it struck him just how those dots connected.
That was the answer to why Marshall knew she’d be out of her clothes within the hour.
What utter scum. He really should have hit that little shit when he had the chance. The least he could do was report the guy to the authorities and have an investigation opened. He never did in the first place because he thought it was futile—Marshall being from one of the most affluent and influential families in the region. But for Illyana’s sake, and any other past or future victim of the drug at Marshall’s hands, Nick would call first thing in the morning and get it done.
When Nick arrived back in the living room he found that Illyana was passed out in an awkward angle on the couch. He sighed and set the water on the coffee table. He couldn’t leave her here like this. What would she think?
After a few unsuccessful tries to shake her awake, Nick carefully shoveled his arms beneath Illyana and lifted her. She was more manageable when she wasn’t obstinately working against him. He carried her up the stairs and delivered her into his bed, trying to shift her into a position that looked somewhat comfortable, before stuffing a few of the pillows underneath her head. That movement resulted in some of her long mess of hair to fall into her face.
He sat on the edge of the mattress and brushed the loose strands back; his hands lingered there for a moment and ended up cupping her face to study it in its rare state of stillness.
Illyana was really…beautiful.
She looked like some kind of sleeping princess with her sooty lashes and sun-kissed complexion, not to mention those pouty lips of hers that had him wondering just how kissable they really were. A princess could always use a Prince Charming and he did after all, have a lot of charm.
He began to lean forward, drawing his face closer to hers but then stopped himself, his smirk melting into a dark frown. He’d absolutely be no better than Cosgrove if he went through with it—just another asshole who only cared about himself. He felt deeply ashamed for even considering such a move while she wasn’t conscious and pulled back with a sigh—it proved that even after all these years, he wasn’t a better person after all.
He noticed that there was still a flush in her cheeks and that she felt warmer than normal so he left her uncovered and cracked the window open, hoping that the night air would continue to cool her. The Torporia would wear off and she would be fine come morning. For now, she just needed rest so the drug could get through her system.
He gave one last look to the sleeping beauty before grabbing his pajama bottoms, shutting the door behind him, and leaving her in peace.
So a few fun facts on this chapter:
1. This number of chapters (37) represents how long my previous story about these characters, Battle of the Bands , was and I'm pretty sure this is about the halfway point. Just to give you an idea of how much more there is. Also the first chapter of BotB featured Nick and Illyana. Speaking of which...
2. It took 37 chapters for Illyana and Nick to be in the same place again from the finale of BotB. I don't know if anyone reading out there expected they'd have a reunion like this...
3. This was the first chapter I actually had written for this story, so it's been sitting in drafts getting the ever-loving pitar tweaked out of it for about a year.
#79 19th Nov 2017 at 11:05 AM
Nick won't have to report Marshall at all. Once Illyana learns what he did to her, I am sure she will teach him a really hard lesson!
#80 26th Nov 2017 at 8:01 AM Last edited by Charmful : 26th Nov 2017 at 8:22 AM.
Chapter 38: Morning After
Illyana couldn’t decipher between a memory and a dream when her eyes gingerly blinked open. The sunlight had been hitting the outside of her eyelids and they were warm enough from the heat to rouse her. She felt like her head was a watermelon–heavy, and over-sized. Her bladder seemed like it was going to explode. She made a small moan of discomforted annoyance and arched her back, managing to pull herself up and overcome the gravity. She had to rub sleep out of her eyes before she realized that nothing around her was recognizable.
Where the plumbobs was she?
The room had brick walls, covered in different art canvases. Paintings, she realized at seeing an easel against the wall with a canvas half complete with a similar style as the completed ones. Was this a dream? She shivered a bit and realized a breeze was blowing on her through an open window. When she looked down at herself she let out a gasp. Where were her clothes?
She put her hand to her foggy head as a small pang of panic pricked her in the gut. She didn’t remember any detail of how she got here. Wherever this was, it was not a dream. She began to feel anxious and closed her eyes.
She felt a bit calmer but no less concerned at her predicament.
The bed was a queen, the blankets looked like they were a dude’s. She spied hair ties on the night stand and reconsidered her former thought.
She quietly slipped out of the bed and tip-toed on the wooden floor, over to the dresser to further investigate. The top drawer was a mix of unmatched socks and boxer briefs. Okay, so it was a dude’s room? Who’s? That blond guy from the frat? She remembered some intense flirting from him, what was his name? It started with an ‘M’. Her last clear memory was that Alarie and her went to visit Rafael but then after that, details started to blur.
She pulled open a middle drawer and found a collared shirt one might wear to a party. It was long enough anyway to cover her decently, made for a tall man’s torso and ended at her upper-thigh. She threw it on and buttoned it up, feeling a bit better about investigating the strange domain all the while racking her brain for clues or memories to where she was.
Alarie had kept insisting that a rebound would bring Illyana out of her post-breakup moping but if she couldn’t remember any of it what was the point? She really hoped she hadn’t randomly hooked up with a stranger. She closed the window and decided she needed to find a bathroom.
There were two doors in the room. She cracked the left one open and found the toilet and sighed in relief. After using it, washing her hands and bit more of sleep out of her eyes she continued on her quest to find her clothes.
She searched around the room and got a bit distracted by the paintings. They were very good. Colorful, fantastical, enchanting even. They looked like something in a dream. That reminded her that presently, this wasn’t a dream, and she still needed to find her clothes.
After looking everywhere, she concluded that her clothes were not in the bedroom.
She found herself outside the second door, in a hallway with a stairwell and the first thing that hit her senses was the smell of something delicious. Pancakes?
The stairs creaked as she descended into a main room. She saw a drum kit and a stand up bass, also a computer desk. To the left was a living room and the right was the dining room, and beyond that she assumed a kitchen. She had the feeling it was not the frat she had visited with Alarie.
She stopped and tensed with utmost apprehension–someone was there in the kitchen, she could hear them shuffling around!
“Hello?” She asked with a hint of nervousness, feeling a lot like Goldilocks inside a stranger’s house and not knowing what she was about to run into.
“Good morniiiiiing Sunshine,” she heard the drawl of a vaguely familiar male voice and then he stepped out from the kitchen to reveal himself.
So many things did not make sense to Illyana in that moment.
Nicholas Hart, someone she knew for a fact wanted nothing to do with her, was standing there and smiling. He looked like some kind of model, wearing nothing but bright green pajama pants, with his very long hair loose and hanging around his shoulders. He was holding a plate of pancakes.
Maybe it was a dream after all.
Or a nightmare.
Had she drunkenly hooked up with him of all people!? Her cheeks flared red in horrified mortification as she imagined what had transpired between them.
“I bet you’re hungry,” he said and placed a plate of food on the table, gesturing her over to eat. She was in fact, ravenous, but made no move to join him. Her mind was still jumbled.
“Wha…what’s happening?” she finally asked, trying to remain calm.
He cut into his stack of pancakes with a smirk, “Breakfast.”
She frowned; that was not the answer she was looking for and he knew it! She wanted to know why she was there, why she had woken up in a state of undress, and why she couldn’t remember anything. She knew he could fill in the blanks. She stood stiffly with the smell of pancakes beckoning her to eat.
His smirk melted and he took on a more serious air, “Come here and eat. I’ll explain everything.”
That was acceptable.
She dug into her stack of pancakes and listened intently as he made it clear, to her relief, that they had not slept together. Then he began to recount the night that had slipped through her memory.
It was hard to keep her eyes off him because Nick looked so different with such long hair. He’d always let it grow to shaggy proportions when they were younger but nothing this drastic. It wasn’t a bad look on him though, it was actually rather attractive but it was inappropriate for her to be checking him out while eating breakfast. Yet, she found that her stare kept wandering back to him as he told her about Marshall Cosgrove and the Torporia, her following disorientation, and her alarming need to undress herself.
“So you saw me in my underwear then?” She asked with a startled tone, her heightened anger flaring, losing focus on his features and interrupted his story.
“Well, yeah but it’s not a big deal,” Nick shrugged. She scowled, her cheeks turning red again.
“I mean, I saw you in your underwear all the time when we went swimming in my pool,” he cocked his head to the side and widened his eyes innocently.
“Yeah, but I was like eight, didn’t have a real swimsuit and I didn’t want to get all my clothes wet!” She protested, recalling those summers, years ago when they were kids. She was already livid that someone like Marshall Cosgrove thought he could drug her and get away with it and also couldn’t help but feel discouraged that she had such awful luck in picking men.
“See? Not a big deal,” Nick nodded like his point was made and popped another forkful of pancake into his mouth. “Anyway, I called the police and told them what I saw him do.”
“Did you mention my name?”
“No, I didn’t think you wanted to be dragged into an investigation; you’ve been through enough.”
“How do you do it?” She asked, frustrated and still amazed, setting down her own fork with a little too much force on the table-top.
“What?” He raised an inquisitive brow.
“Sit there and speak to me like we’re still friends,” she finally looked away and crossed her arms. What he had done for her last night–it was something a friend would do. Or at least, what someone who cared about her would have done. She couldn’t figure him out anymore. The summer before their senior year of high school, they had begun to mend their friendship and then it was all destroyed within a night, and she never understood why. He didn’t speak to her after that. He hadn’t cared anymore, and to be honest, it hurt her immensely. “You told me we aren’t.”
“I was also really stupid back then,” Nick said in an obvious tone. She snapped her gaze to him and her hard, scrutinizing expression demanded more of an explanation so he continued, “The reason my set sounded so bad during Battle of the Bands was because someone sabotaged my amp settings and I assumed you had gotten a little too competitive and messed them up.”
Illyana’s eyes widened in shock, her mouth opened to protest but Nick already knew it wasn’t her fault and held out his fork to shush her before she began.
“I realized later that you didn’t do it but I also realized I was a bad friend anyway for jumping to conclusions and blaming you and that’s why I stopped talking to you. I figured you didn’t need someone so immature and selfish in your life.”
She winced, remembering those were the words she had once said to his face to summarize his character. He really must have taken her critique to heart for him to have such consideration for her well-being. Last night was proof he wasn’t so self-centered after all; here he was making her pancakes even. He had changed. He did care. “I guess I owe you a solid then, for seeing me out safely.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Nick insisted. He stood and picked up his empty plate. She had eaten her share minutes ago so he stacked his on top and took it too. She gave him a smile, the first he’d seen in years and it was breathtaking. Seeing this girl he’d known all his life, who at one time he knew like the back of his hand, and now he knew so little about, beaming up at him like that while wearing nothing but one of his shirts. It was enough to make him take a chance to try and know her again. He put on his smirk, "Though, if you feel so inclined, you can still let me take you out on that date.“
Illyana mirrored his smirk, thinking back to how he assumed his band would win the Battle of the Bands and he would never suffer the consequences of that bet. If he were to win, she had to let him take her on a date.
“You lost that bet."
He knew it. So did the whole school who had seen him streak as a consequence of losing it. That was her brilliant idea. She remembered sitting in study hall that day when suddenly Alarie shrieked and pointed out the window and they all looked up from their homework to see Nick sprint past in all his glory.
She had honestly forgotten about their bet by the time school has started and was impressed he still went through with it even though he had stopped talking to her at that point. Nick was always good for a laugh, he rarely took anything seriously and was an unapologetic flirt.
Nick dumped the dishes into the sink and turned around to face her, all hint of that signature smirk wiped away, "Really though, I’d love to take you out sometime and catch up."
The laughter fell out of her lively eyes; she stood from her seat abruptly and blurted, "What? That’s dumb. Are you really being serious?”
He paused before holding his arm and sheepishly asking, ”Why is it dumb?“
It more of a knee-jerk response to any of his ideas that she didn’t agree with, but it was dumb because he could pick any other person to ask out on a date. Not someone who was so fundamentally and mentally unfit to be involved in anything romantic at the moment.
"I’m…I have a lot of issues I need to work through. I’m not really…I…don’t…” She stumbled over her words feeling her cheeks start to get warm again.
“I’m not your type?” He tried to make her rejection of him easier, and she could detect a note of disappointment in his words despite the smirk that reappeared on his face.
His type–that long hair, pale, freckled, bluish-green-eyed jock was something she could find herself attracted to, but it was still Nick. He of all people knew how to stoke the fires of her temper, sometimes even unintentionally. Their chemistry could be quite volatile.
Even more importantly, she was rejecting him because she was still trying to mend from her breakup and she didn’t need any new romantic complications. She felt like she couldn’t just sit down and tell him all of this now and pour her issues onto him, she didn’t even know him that well anymore. So she mumbled, “I just can’t.”
He didn’t call her out for her vague reason, and she appreciated it.
“You can’t blame me for trying though,” he teased and pointed toward the living room, “By the way, your clothes are in there. I also found your phone in your back pocket, it kept buzzing me awake this morning and you have about a hundred texts from Alarie.”
He pulled open a kitchen junk drawer and found a spare hair tie which he used to gather up his hair to it’s usual style so it wouldn’t get in his face as he washed dishes.
Illyana considered going to fetch her clothes and phone but she didn’t want to leave that awkwardness of rejection hanging between them. She watched him scrub the plates clean with his back turned on her, noticing his shoulders were slumped but his back muscles subtly rippled as his arms moved. She didn’t know why the view caused a little shiver to run down her own arms, but she did know that she was greatly appreciative for all he had done for her last night. She couldn’t imagine that she was the easiest person to deal with in such a state.
“Nick?” she said his name and stepped a little bit closer. He wiped his hands on his pajama pants and turned around only to make a surprised grunt as she suddenly grabbed him into a hug.
“Thank you,” she said quietly; the words muffled into the skin of his shoulder.
After a moment of stunned silence, he wrapped his arms around her and returned the embrace, “Hey, what are friends for?”
I had a great Thanksgiving weekend and am thankful for everyone who reads my stories, so a big thank you! :lovestruc:
@nayahn1 - That certainly would fit into Illyana's reaction if she ever saw Marshall again. The question is, will she?
#82 25th Dec 2017 at 6:12 AM Last edited by Charmful : 29th Jan 2018 at 4:35 AM.
Chapter 39: Family Breakfast
There was something a bit abnormal going on when Cypress woke up in his old bed, in his old room at his parents’ house. There was a distinct noise above him, as if someone was walking around. If he knew any better, it couldn’t have been Cedar, because his younger brother was notorious for sleeping in when he didn’t have somewhere to be in the morning. School hours never agreed with Cedar’s sleep schedule and Cypress knew it all too well being the one who had to constantly make sure Cedar was awake in time to make the bus.
Cypress popped open an eye and rolled over, grabbed his phone off the night stand and flipped it open to see the time. 9:00 am.
He pulled himself out of bed to investigate the movement. When he emerged upstairs in the kitchen he had a moment of surrealism because both his parents were shuffling around in their pajamas. In normal times, he might have been lucky to see a glimpse of either of them hurriedly exiting the door with a piece of toast in their mouth on the way to work.
Instead, his mother was in her pajamas, bending over the breakfast bar reading a newspaper already with a cup of coffee and his father was in the middle of making omelets. The last time the planets had aligned and his family was in residence together for breakfast like this was when he was about seven or eight and it had been Mother’s day.
“Hi sweetie,” his mother, Willow, said and looked up with a smile as he entered. She wasn’t into her silver years yet but considering how much pressure she was under at work, in the lab, he was surprised she didn’t have any silver strands standing out in her regular red hair.
“Don’t you guys have work?” Cypress asked dubiously.
“I’m on call,” his father, Lee, mentioned.
“I must go back to the lab this afternoon,” Willow added, “Luckily it’s a soft holiday so they could afford to let me have a late morning.”
That seemed a bit more typical; when would they both have a Monday completely off? His father was a specialist at the Mercy Medical Center in Scandalica City while his mother was a researcher with top-level clearance in a government lab. Between their work and family, the work had taken more and more of a priority over the years, especially as they excelled in their respective career ladders—earning acclaim and accolades for their contributions to their respective fields. “Anyway, how have you been, sweetie?”
Cypress folded his arms across his chest and found himself smiling, “I’m great; I have my own two-hour radio show at the station now.”
“That’s wonderful! You get a lot of listeners then?”
“Well, maybe not the most—it’s a later time slot…on Thursdays. I just got one of Orion’s songs approved by the director so the station can play it on request and put it in regular scheduling too.”
“Oh, how nice!” Willow beamed and took a sip of her coffee. “I bet Orion is over the moon to know that.”
It occurred to Cypress that Orion didn’t even know of the new development yet! He would be over the moon once he knew. He wondered if he could surprise Orion somehow, such as tell him to listen at a specific time and then play it for him. In reply to his mother, Cypress just smiled wider.
“Anything else going on?” she asked.
He raised a brow, “What is this? A crash course catch-up?”
They both suddenly smelled distinctive burning and looked over at Lee who was fanning trails of smoke away from the pan on the stove.
Her and Cypress exchanged faces of half-mocking grimaces followed by knowing smiles of sympathy since they were going to have to eat burned food in order avoid hurting Lee’s culinary pride. Her smile faded to something of an apologetic look, “I’m sorry I haven’t been available to talk the past few weeks. You know how work goes.”
“I know,” Cypress said and didn’t need her to elaborate. Usually communication with his parents only consisted of emergency subjects like injury or financial crisis—neither of which he had suffered recently so there had been no reason to call either of them since the start of semester. They weren’t the type of people that had a lot of time to simply ‘chat.’
“Breakfast is ready!” his father scooped the omelets onto individual plates and called loudly even though Cypress and Willow were right there in the room. Cypress figured it was meant to carry all the way down to Cedar and rouse him.
They took their plates and sat at the dining table. The omelets were straight up brown from pan-charring. Lee Wellington liked to dabble in cooking when he had time to do it but he clearly hadn’t practiced making omelets enough for them to come out perfect every time.
“If you aren’t doing anything next Saturday, we all got an invite to your uncle’s election-watch party—it’s at his house around 8:00.”
Cypress grimaced. Uncle Elm was repugnant, even at his best.
“I don’t really want to go…” Cypress said and poked at his breakfast, trying to find unburned parts.
“Are you even voting in the election?” Lee wondered with a slight frown, “Or are you going to refrain like most young people today?”
“I’ll vote, but it probably won’t be for Uncle Elm,” Cypress replied honestly.
His mother looked slightly offended. After all, Elm was her own twin-brother. He didn't understand why though, since she often complained about Elm's problematic ego.
“Oh, by the way, Nick moved in with us,” Cypress mentioned, being reminded of it since they were discussing Nick’s father.
Both his parents looked at him with surprise and stopped eating.
“Wait, what? Why?” Willow asked incredulously, “I thought he was all set at that fraternity Elm loved so much?”
“Well, he quit the fraternity.”
“Why did he quit!?”
Cypress shrugged, “I don’t know, why don’t you call and ask him? He didn’t offer up a reason so I figure it’s something private. I’m not gonna nose in on his business, Mom.”
Willow frowned, thinking hard, “He’s probably just doing it to ruffle his father’s feathers. He’s always been that way—even as a kid. No better time than right before an election.”
Cypress bit his tongue and stopped himself from snapping out that Uncle Elm usually deserved it. Cypress and Nick had been close all their lives and Cypress had seen the toxic behavior that Uncle Elm had subjected his sons to. It wouldn’t help to tell her that Elm dropped Nick’s tuition payments either. He didn’t want her to get involved and try to help and only make matters worse. His mother, unless she could be proven wrong, had a very stubborn personality and assumed her way was always the right way.
Cedar wandered upstairs then, still wearing his pajamas like the rest of them. He was just as surprised at the sight of his entire family being…family-ish. Then his eyes landed on what they were eating.
“Burnt Chicken Zygotes. How Appetizing.”
The sarcasm was palpable until Lee cleared his throat, “Actually son, these would be ovums, the state of an egg before fertilization.”
The disgusted look on Cedar’s face didn’t lift at the clarification and he ignored the plate of steaming omelets and instead went to open the fridge to find an alternate breakfast. Unfortunately, Lee didn’t realize his son disliked eggs even when they weren’t burnt. That was the drawback to never being around for a family breakfast.
Cypress could see his father was a bit disappointed that Cedar wouldn’t even give his omelets a chance, even after all the effort he had gone to make them for his family. Cedar had taken a seat at the breakfast bar with a can of instant breakfast drink which couldn’t have tasted much better. It was the ultimate offense to their father’s cooking. Cypress cut off a piece that was burnt and tasted it, to make up for his brother’s blatant refusal to.
“I can’t remember, but did you pick a major yet?” his mother asked.
Cypress gagged, simultaneously from the taste of burnt egg and the thought of having this conversation.
“Not yet,” he choked out and beat his fist against his chest to stop himself from coughing.
His mother’s brow creased ever so slightly, “Still? I thought your advisor would have given you a deadline by now. Have you still not found a career path?”
Cypress shrugged, “I’m working on it.”
“The longer you drag your feet, the longer you will be in school. Your general education credits can only get you so far. If you were looking into something in one of our fields—” Willow gestured at herself and then to Lee—"That’s at least five more years of grad school if not more on top of your remainder of undergraduate classes.“
"Trust me I’m not looking to go into either of those fields,” Cypress said.
“And what’s wrong with studying science or medicine?” his mother arched a brow, anticipating offense.
“Nothing really, though I’d like to have time to spend with my family,” Cypress said, the insult was blatant but yet veiled in a nonchalant tone. Both his parents’ faces filled with guilt. On some bitter level of his subconscious, he had meant it to hurt. On the surface, though, he felt bad as soon as he said it and saw their reaction. They were providing for their family, they were a part of the greater good—helping people overcome ailments or disease—but at the cost of nearly being strangers to their children.
No one said anything more on the subject and they continued to eat their burned omelets in silence.
When they were done, His parents vacated the room to go about their regular morning routine of getting dressed for the day, leaving their pajama-clad sons in the kitchen.
“Wow, I never thought you’d call mom and dad out like that,” Cedar said in slight awe as soon as he knew their parents were out of hearing range.
“I shouldn’t have. They have enough to worry about as is,” Cypress replied. He hoped he hadn't set a precedent for Cedar to start smarming at them for their lack of time to spend with him.
“Still though, maybe they’ll think twice before they agree to work on Christmas again.”
Cypress shrugged, but hoped so too.
“Oh hey, I was meaning to ask you...” Cedar clasped his hands together nervously, “I have next Friday off of school and wanted to know if I could shadow you on campus. I’ll get extra credit if I write a paper on the experience.”
Cypress grit his teeth, thinking it would be a bad idea since it would certainly expose his little brother to how much he hated college classes. He didn’t want to jeopardize Cedar’s chance at higher education just because his opinions were unfavorable. But Cedar was looking at him so hopeful and they’d get to hang together again which was usually a good time.
“Shouldn’t you ask Mom and Dad?”
“They think it’s a great idea!”
“Did you really ask them?” Cypress arched a brow.
Cedar’s smile wavered, “Well…not exactly…but please? I’m dying to know what it’s like at college!”
Cypress let out a sigh and rubbed his neck, “I guess it’s okay for you to tag along but don’t draw attention to yourself. They’re mostly lecture classes–no attendance call–so you can probably slip in unnoticed.”
Cedar gave a shout of triumph and thanked Cypress and not without a huge hug of gratitude.
As much as he liked being home with his family, he figured it was time to leave so he got dressed and bid his dad and brother farewell. His mother was on her way out the same time he was. She was going back to the lab.
“Cypress,” she said his name and it made him pause in front of the door. She set down her work briefcase and looked at him with a troubled expression, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Cypress knotted his brows with mild confusion.
Willow crossed her arms and looked away, “For being a bad parent, for leaving you boys alone all the time, for forcing you to take responsibility for your brother, for pushing you into college when you clearly hate it…”
Cypress grabbed his mother into a quick, fierce hug, “Don’t apologize, Mom. It’s hard…for all of us but you and Dad do your best–you both do good work. Don’t feel bad about that. And don't worry about me, I'll find something to major in.”
She hugged him back and then pulled away, touching his cheek, “You know, whatever you decide to do with your life I’ll be proud of you. You’re smart, and talented, and driven…”
Cypress brushed her hand away with a small laugh, “Stop, you’re embarrassing me.”
“In front of no one but yourself, and what kind of mother would I be if I didn't?”
It was a rhetorical question. She gave a quick peck of a kiss to where she had just touched him and picked up her briefcase, “It was great to see you again, sweetie.”
She opened the front door and a blast of cool air gusted into the house. It was the coolest it had been so far in the autumn season and Cypress momentarily regretted not packing a jacket to wear back to his place.
“You too, Mom,” Cypress wiped at his cheek, still smiling as he watched her leave. He’d grown up watching her leave to go to work–at least a thousand times, and this was first time he didn’t feel a pang of sadness about it.
Cypress was slightly surprised to see Nick awake before noon on a day that there were no classes. He caught sight of his cousin sitting in the living room.
“Hey,” Cypress greeted and leaned against the archway, “You finally doing your laundry?”
“Yeah, figured I’d so something productive on our day off,” Nick folded a plaid shirt and stacked it on top of a pile of the same he’d already done. He leaned back into his seat on the sofa with a thoughtful expression, “Where did you run off to?”
“Oh, just to visit my brother. He convinced me to sleepover,” Cypress replied. “I had a family breakfast.”
Nick raised a semi-surprised brow, “And how was that?”
“It was nice. Dad burnt the eggs but it was…different.”
Nick nodded, seeming to retreat into thought. He seemed different, ever since he had moved in with them. Usually Nick was highly sociable but his unusual bouts of quietness threw Cypress off a bit. Nick also often over-shared information but he hadn’t offered any reasons for leaving his frat nor hints of where he disappeared to on some nights. Nick only mentioned he was taking care of his 'tuition problem.'
“Well, it was probably a better experience with your parents than mine,” Nick finally said and stood, placing his piles of folded clothes into his laundry basket. Cypress could agree with that assessment. With his parents’ tenancies for being workaholics, they didn’t have time nag nor ridicule their sons–not that they would–not like Nick’s father did.
“So what’d you do last night?” Cypress asked, following his cousin up the staircase.
“Dude, so much happened. I don’t even know where to begin,” Nick replied in an exasperated tone. He seemed thrilled and frustrated, two very different emotions that he somehow could pull off at once. Nick opened the door to his bedroom and his lips quirked at the sides, “Though I think I have a chance to be friends with Illyana again.”
Cypress couldn’t help to smile at that news; he had wondered if she and Nick would ever patch up from the last time that turbulence had cracked their friendship apart. Illyana was close with Nick, even before Cypress. She’d always been Nick’s first friend and whether Nick admitted it or not, Cypress could always tell she meant a lot to him.
“That’s great news!” Cypress nodded in approval. Speaking of great news, he still had yet to tell Orion about getting his song played on the radio! Cypress turned from Nick’s room and crossed the upper hallway to the door across from his own and knocked. He figured Orion was still asleep so popped open the door a moment later. He was greeted by an empty bed.
He was mildly caught off guard at Orion’s absence.
“Hey! Where’s Orion?” Cypress called back across the hall toward Nick.
“He never came home last night!” Nick answered but didn’t seem too worried about the fact.
Cypress knotted his brows, trying to think of where Orion could have gone as he looked around the room. There was the usual pile of records Orion needed to sort and put away, some of his clothes strewn about the floor. But something different, something small, caught his eye just under Orion’s bed near the night stand. Cypress walked over and bent down by the side of the bed to find a pill bottle. It was labeled as Tranquilicis.
He stood up while studying the bottle in his hand. The name on the prescription was not Orion’s. It was scratched out but from what was left, the name looked to be ‘Sun Per’
Cypress pulled open the drawer of the night stand, intending to put the bottle in it so it wasn’t just laying around but he stopped suddenly. There was a pile of empty bottles in the drawer already. He took them out one by one and read the labels, all for Tranquilicis, all for ‘Sun Per’ or ‘Ha Pi’; the full name was never in full view. Where had Orion obtained these? A horrible thought struck Cypress all of a sudden.
There were two pills left if in one of the bottles. He opened it and dumped them out into his palm to study them. They seemed to be in tact, not the kinds of street pills that were pulled apart and stuffed with other illicit drugs in order to smuggle them around indiscreetly. His father had warned him about those kinds of pills when he entered college on the account there seemed to be an overabundance of ER visits from young adults who overdosed on them.
He let out a breath of relief to know they weren't those types of hard, disguised drugs. However, he felt a knot form in his chest, because the alternative was just as bad and he was not finding a way around the truth to what he was seeing. He sank to a sitting position on Orion’s bed and set the two pills on the night stand while rubbing his head in frustrated worry. There was only one assumption he could make and that was that his best friend was abusing prescription drugs.
@whoward69 - You know, I got so much good feeback on those streaking pics I decided to slip them in as a flashback. I think it was well-suited
Happy Merry Holidays, everyone!
It's been a heck of a busy month--shopping for gifts! My sister had a baby! I had to make something for Sims Secret Santa! So I'm sorry it's been a few weeks since I last updated but I wanted to get something up today in time for the day of giving (it's actually my birthday too, I was a Christmas Eve baby) so a birthday present from me too?
After next week, I'm taking a few more weeks of hiatus to write and get game pics taken for the upcoming chapters. I hope to start updates in late January since I will be on vacation for a week and a half during the middle of next month.
Thank you so much for reading this far and I hope you still enjoy it!
#83 22nd Jan 2018 at 1:05 AM Last edited by Charmful : 29th Jan 2018 at 4:35 AM.
Strike of Melancholy
Chapter 40: Strike of Melancholy
What was the best feeling in the world? To Orion, it was to not be burdened by anxiety—having no worries or thoughts that could make him feel bad—and to be held by someone who loved him. His nerves were calm, the smell of fresh coffee grounds permeated the room, but that comfortable warmth that had been at his back all night was absent. They were gone. That fact hit his consciousness, rippled through him, and caused his eyes to snap open. His nerves were no longer relaxed.
A wave of teal and orange patterns blurred together as his vision focused on the room that he was in. He hadn't noticed how bright the colors were when he entered the night before when it had been dark. He pulled himself up and crossed his legs against the cooler air outside the bed covers that he had tangled himself up in. Then came that familiar, awful hitch of panic in his chest followed closely by an onset of numbness in his limbs. He set his head in his hand, closed his eyes, and held completely still, willing his body to not tremble as his breathing began to rapidly accelerate. He tried to focus on something, anything other than the current whirlwind of thoughts. Cypress always told Orion hum his favorite song in these instances but it felt like his voice was trapped in a painful vice and he couldn't make a sound.
Orion wished he had taken a Tranqulicis before he fallen asleep but had been a bit too distracted to remember. He finally caught the reins of his mind and instead controlled them into thinking of the lyrics of the song he had been writing, the one he had sung in front of Cypress at the radio station.
“I never knew what love was until I met you. So, thank you for helping me discover what I felt was true.”
After a few minutes of reciting the words in his head, his quick exhales subsided and his legs could move again. He opened his eyes and looked straight to the top of the dresser in the room where many bottles of Tranquilicis sat. Wasting no more time, he got up and plucked out two pills, tilted his head, and threw them to the back of his mouth and swallowed dry.
He followed the scent of coffee out of the bedroom and to the kitchen to find that Cain had made a fresh pot. "Hey," Orion greeted him with a shaky smile.
He was so relieved that Cain was still here. Logically, it made the most sense—why would Cain up and leave his own place? However, Orion always had a worry at the back of his mind that Cain would all but disappear like he had in the past, and then not contact Orion for weeks. It made Orion feel clingy to want to know where Cain was all the time and he knew he shouldn't worry but couldn't help to.
"Mornin' Star Boy," Cain answered in a rough voice, still unused and throaty sounding. He didn't turn to look at Orion but poured himself a cup, "You want any?"
"No thanks," Orion said and pulled out one of the chairs from the small table to sit. Cain liked to drink his coffee black. Orion preferred a handful of sugar and cream in his. Nick liked to joke about it by asking how much coffee Orion would like with his cream and sugar when they went to get any between classes.
Orion glanced around the kitchen and the connecting living room. It all was so colorful—following the same scheme he had seen in the bedroom. Cain had moved places in the months between the last time Orion had been with him. Usually Cain opted to crash in Orion's room but something last night prompted Cain to ask Orion over. Of course, Orion was curious to know what that reason was, but knew pressing Cain for answers would make him irritable.
"I didn't know you had such a love for teal and orange," Orion mentioned.
Cain took a seat while sipping on his coffee and shook his head; he pointed to the walls, "I'm sub-leasing from an art student who is doing a semester abroad. This is all her doing."
Cain raised a thick brow and seemed to study Orion as he sat there. It made Orion self-conscious, but luckily the drugs had kicked in and his anxiety was dissipating.
"What's wrong?" Cain asked.
Orion slumped forward and held his chin in his hand, "I had an anxiety attack after I woke up."
"Didn't you take Tranqulicis?"
"I forgot to before going to bed, it's my own fault," Orion lamented, his nerves weren't tangled anymore but he still felt...sad. He shouldn't have. Last night was great, and something he had been hoping for—to be alone with Cain with no distractions for once. He didn't know why he felt this way.
Orion's stomach made an audible grumble just then. Maybe he was just hungry.
"Sorry, I don't have much food here. I need to go grocery shopping," Cain said at hearing the discontented noise.
Orion's head shot up from his hand with a sudden eagerness, "We could go get brunch somewhere! There's a boxcar café next to the quad that does the best omlette—"
"Actually, I need to go downtown today to run some errands. You wanna go get something to eat on the way?"
Orion was momentarily shocked that Cain was offering Orion a chance to tag along. He had to jump start his train of thought again to think about it, "There's that Deli by the bay that has pretty food. Want to hit that up?"
Cain considered and then nodded, "Yeah, sounds good.”
That heavy sense of melancholy Orion felt just a moment before lifted, as if it were a cloud and the sun had just broken through. Errands were a mundane task but yet the offer to join him gave Orion a hint of hope that maybe he and Cain could ever be something more than just each other's go-to hook up.
After finishing his mug of coffee, Cain set it in the sink without bothering to wash it, just like the empty bottles of beer stacked up near it that he was meaning to recycle that they had consumed last night. Cain was usually a very easygoing persona, independent, chill—last night Orion could tell he'd been shaken by something. Cain was worried. Whether it was by the late hour he'd called Orion, the uneasy quietness between them before they'd cracked open the six pack, or the rush of physicality then ensued—it wasn't the normal experience with Cain.
Orion followed Cain back into the bedroom. His clothes had been discarded at the foot of the bed and he supposed he should get dressed if they were going to go out. Cain approached the dresser to look through a pile of his shirts to find something to wear. There was a mirror on the wall above the dresser and through the reflection, Orion could see Cain frowning—deep in thought.
He felt compelled to comfort Cain and so approached from behind, slid his arms around Cain's torso and nuzzled the back of his neck. "Are you okay?"
"What makes you think something is wrong?" Cain asked, looking up sharply and meeting Orion's eyes in the reflection of the mirror.
Orion hated prying, but he also hated not knowing what was going on with those he cared about, especially if they were suffering in some way. Cain never explained himself, and it was frustrating to care about someone when they didn't open up. Orion lowered his gaze and focused on where he had just nuzzled, seeing a dark spot on Cain's skin he hadn't noticed last night. It looked like the start of a bruise.
"Where'd you get this?" he brushed his fingers over the mark and Cain reached up and snatched his hand in his quite abruptly.
"Don't worry about it," Cain replied flatly, then he realized his mistake—because Orion worried about everything it seemed. His tone softened a bit, "It's nothing."
Orion sighed and laid his head onto Cain's shoulder. He had to keep reminding himself that Cain wasn't his boyfriend, so he had no business worrying over Cain like this. But it was hard. He felt Cain let go of his hand and it was left resting at his collarbone, though soon enough he used it to take a bottle of Tranqulicis Cain was holding out to him meaning for him to have it. Cain made a half smile, trying to reassure Orion, "Let's get dressed and get some grub."
They took the bus line to downtown Memosa Bay. By the time they were seated at the delicatessen, Orion’s stomach was full on growling for food. They wasted no time in ordering some. Soon enough their meals were delivered and they dug in with eager appetites.
“So, how did you do on that midterm? Did you ever get your grade posted?” Cain asked between spoonfuls of soup.
Orion was in mid-bite of his burger but stopped and smiled, touched that Cain would have remembered or even cared about it.
“I got a ninety-five percent!” he felt a bit foolish for worrying so much about it before. He had done an ungodly amount of studying for it, sacrificing so many hours of sleep.
“That’s good. Your G.P.A is doing much better than mine I’m afraid.”
“What happened? Are you skipping classes again?” Orion gave a slight frown and made to take a drink before eating more of his food. He and Cain had shared business courses over the last two years and sometimes Cain didn’t show up to class. Orion would usually provide him with the notes he’d missed from the lectures.
“I missed my midterm,” Cain explained nonchalantly.
“Are you on probation?” Orion’s eyes widened in worried surprise and he nearly choked as he took another bite of his burger.
Cain waved his hand outward as if not to worry, “Technically, yes, but I’ll just ace the final and be fine again.” Orion wouldn’t be able to live as Cain did—to just skip a midterm and decide to get a hundred percent on the final like it was nothing. Cain’s confidence was infinite and borderline terrifying.
“Relax, you look like you’re going to have another anxiety attack,” Cain said and Orion realized he had been struck momentarily immobile at the news. He willed his hands to lift his burger to his mouth so he could finish it. It was a bummer that Cain had failed his midterm and Orion wondered what was so important for Cain to have skipped it without a second thought.
They finished their meal; Cain offered to pay, but Orion insisted he would take the bill since he suggested the place to eat.
They emerged downtown, and Cain led the way down the sidewalk toward the business district. Orion’s family lived in Memosa Bay and he loved the tall buildings. He craned his head back to look at the skyscrapers’ vertical rise into the clouds, in comparison it made him feel like he was at the bottom of an urban canyon. The autumn wind had picked up and he was glad he was wearing a sweater. Suddenly he felt Cain take his hand and his attention snapped back to the ground. He thought maybe Cain was guiding him another direction and he hadn’t been paying enough attention to have followed but to his surprise, Cain was holding his hand...just to hold it. Orion felt that same warm feeling from earlier and clasped Cain’s hand tighter with his own. This is what he imagined he felt it would be like to have a boyfriend—someone to take walks with and run errands with—dull daily things that were made so much better by having someone there to enjoy it with.
They walked a few more blocks before Orion began to wonder what errands Cain needed to do. If it was groceries, they were going in the entirely opposite direction of the nearest grocery store.
Cain stopped them in front of an older brick building that had marks of graffiti on it. He abruptly pulled Orion close and gave him a long kiss. The move took Orion by surprise and he was still blinking in confusion when Cain pulled away and said “Hey, why don’t you go back to my place and I’ll catch up later?"
“What about your errands?”
“You wouldn’t want to waste your day off with them, I’ll handle it,” Cain said with in a light, casual tone but look in his eyes was hard. His suggestion was a request.
A strike of melancholy hit Orion in the chest. So this day wasn’t what he hoped it was, and Cain still refused to let Orion into his life. Orion nodded apprehensively and made to go back to the bus stop, “Yeah, see you later.”
He hoped it was true and this wasn’t one of those times ‘later’ would be in a few months. Hopefully, Cain wouldn’t suddenly be ‘too busy’ to reply to Orion’s texts, hopefully Orion could cope when his Tranquilicis stash had run out, because he had a feeling his anxious nerves couldn’t handle another ghosting episode from Cain.
He got a block away before turning to look back at his wayward lover, hopefully not for the last time, but was startled to see Cain wasn’t in sight anymore. Orion frowned and started walking in the opposite direction, back to where he had been.
He stopped short of the alleyway, hearing voices floating outward from it. Cain’s was recognizable but the other sounded feminine...it was a woman!
“I’m not asking for much, it’s one bottle,” the woman’s voice seemed displeased, cracking with hoarseness. He heard the click of a lighter follow her statement.
“You’re out of your mind,” she snapped.
“Look, you can only get it from the lab right now and I'm risking my neck here, it’s not approved by the regional drug association, and it can have some really adverse affects when mixed with alcohol.”
“I’m counting on that,” the woman replied chillingly and then seemed to sigh, “Knock it down to three hundred and I’ll give you two bottles of that anxiety med you are always happy to have.”
Orion felt dread rise in him at what he was hearing. Hoping this was all some misunderstanding and it couldn't be what it clearly sounded like.
“Deal. Also I’m starting up a little underground venture you might be interested in. Know any gamblers who like to take risks?”
Orion couldn’t take it anymore, he swallowed a breath and and quickly peeked around the corner into the alley to see the woman—who looked to be of a mature age—handing a wad of money to Cain as he exchanged it with a bottle of pills. It was a different type of bottle than what Tranqulicis came in. No matter, the scene was shocking.
The woman scoffed, seeming slightly amused. “I can get you a hook up to some high rollers but I want a discount on all future transactions. It’s not easy swiping my husband’s meds.”
“Sure thing, Marge. If you can get some of your compadres in Pandora up here to see what kind of betting opportunities await, I’ll give you whatever discounts you want.”
Orion nearly threw his back against the brick exterior, out of sight before Cain saw him eavesdropping; his nerves were trying to rise to alarm but the effects of Tranquilicis were thankfully keeping them at bay as well as the inevitable anxiety attack after witnessing such a scene. Cain was dealing. How long had this been going on? Why was he talking about gambling? Orion began walking briskly toward the nearest bus stop in a state of disbelief.
Orion would ask Cain directly but he always had the fear that too many questions would spook Cain into another long absence. He didn’t know what to do. If he brought it up, Cain would know he’d been prying into his private, illegal affairs. If he didn’t the truth would eat him alive. He finally made it to the bus stop and he didn’t remember the time in between leaving the alleyway and arriving here. Time was a blur, and he felt his life was a tangle of strings. Couldn’t he for once, just have them laid straight and orderly to be at ease?
He fumbled the bottle of Tranquilicis out of his pocket that Cain had given him earlier that morning and swallowed two more—just in case this latest development sent him over the edge. He closed his eyes and held his head in hand so he could think. He couldn’t afford to be a helpless ball of nerves in public. He wished Cypress were there at that moment. Cypress may have thought Cain was a low life but at least he listened.
“I never knew what love was until I met you. So, thank you for helping me discover what I felt was true.”
The lyrics calmed him at first—however, he wasn’t exactly imagining them this time in his head. He opened his eyes with a new sense of dread. It was...it was being played over the speakers in the bus stop! How?
Cypress must have recorded the song when Orion performed it at the Radio Station last week. He had aired it live, which he didn’t have permission to do and still miffed Orion a bit thinking of it—but he also didn’t have permission to record it either. Orion’s emotions caught in his throat and the sense of melancholy deepend, engulfed him even, as he realized that those he cared about were no longer a bit trustworthy.
#84 22nd Jan 2018 at 2:09 PM
Nice pics as always! Orion is sooo handsome in pic number 6! He looks so calm and relaxed, contrary to his state of mind, which is really a mess right now.
#85 29th Jan 2018 at 5:00 AM Last edited by Charmful : 24th Mar 2018 at 8:25 PM. Reason: fixing special characters
Chapter 41: Relationship Troubles
One would think that if one had a whole extra day off from classes, that one would be spending it having fun. Alarie was not having fun. She was miserable.
The previous evening had gotten off to a good start when she was reunited with Rafael. Illyana, who had been moping around since her break-up was even having a good time with a new guy, so how could Alarie not encourage a hook up for her friend?
Rafael could think of a few reasons, and as soon as they were alone together he had expressed his vast disapproval with them leaving Illyana with none other than Marshall Cosgrove. He argued that Marshall was an asshole and his attentions were always bad news. Alarie insisted Rafael was being dramatic. They fought. She eventually decided not to spend the night like she had originally intended to and waited for Illyana to return.
However, Illyana did not and that was when she began to worry. She ended up taking a taxi to her parents' house. Her father worked in law enforcement and she wanted him near in case Illyana didn't turn up safe and sound.
Even fifty-eight texts later, Illyana still hadn't answered, but Alarie was surprised to find that Raphael did swallow his anger at her and reach out.
Rafael: Marshall came back
Me: Illyana w/ him?!?
Rafael: No :/
Me: WHERE IS SHE???
Rafael put her through a grueling ten-minute wait before responding.
Rafael: He says she left the bar with Nick Calhoun. Nick is a good guy though, so I wouldn t worry
It took Alarie a moment to remember that 'Nick Calhoun' was the same person they all knew as Nick Hart. Alarie raised an eyebrow at Rafael's statement. The Nick she had known was always somewhat selfish and egotistical. She highly doubted they had hooked up but couldn't help but to wonder. In any case, she knew Illyana could handle Nick--they had been friends long before the Thackery family moved to Isla Del Kashmire.
But Alarie's worry had spiraled into frustration by the time morning came around; Illyana still hadn't texted her back and her calls kept only going to voicemail. She didn't know Nick's number but if she had, she would have called him and demand he put her friend on the line just to confirm she was okay.
So here she was, on her day off from classes--alone, frustrated, and staring at her lump of a brother who was sleeping in the middle of the living room right where she had left him two mornings ago when she had left to go to Pandora.
"Antoine, you are a fool," she blurted.
Her elder brother stirred and opened his eyes to see her looming above him from behind one of the sofas with a cup of coffee in hand, clenching the handle.
"Wha--?" he blinked tiredly with confusion.
"You could have slept in our old room last night. There was an extra bed. Why are you still bumming in the living room?"
Antoine made a few grumbles and mumbles, stretching his arms over his head, seeming annoyed that she had woken him up asking questions and now was making sensible points. Alarie should just mind her own damn business for once. He soon halted his stretching, propped himself up on his elbows, and put his full attention on her.
"What s with your hair?"
Alarie's frown deepend. She didn't appreciate how he avoided her question and then made it sound like her hair was weird. It was rather voluminous at the moment.
"Leona doesn't mess around when it comes to braids, and I just took them out this morning. But stop deflecting--why are you still sleeping in the living room?"
She shouldn't have mentioned Leona's name because her brother's face lit up and it nearly broke her heart because he didn't know what Leona had done. Alarie made a movement to leave the room, "Fine if you don't have a reason, I'm just assuming you forgot we had an extra bed. You need to come home more often before you forget everything."
"No, I remembered but it's just I thought Alanna would be staying over again so assumed the room was full. Did Leona come back with you?"
Alarie froze in her steps. She should have just kept on walking and pretended not to hear the note of eagerness in his voice. She took a sip of her coffee and then sighed.
"No, she's not here. She got an offer to tour with Edric King while we were in Pandora and took it."
"How long will that be for? She said she would come look at apartments with me this week. I have a few today scheduled," Antoine frowned slightly at the news. She didn't know so just shrugged to show it.
"I wouldn't keep waiting around for her, Antoine. She's always going to pick her career over you and do anything she needs to get famous," Alarie advised sadly.
"Why would you say that? You're the one that told me she would even be here in the first place!" He sat up fully, bringing his knees under himself to sit on them and stared hard at her for an explanation for her change in heart. She had been nearly as giddy as he was to have them to be in the same place at the same time in over a year.
Alarie felt like a horrible sister, and maybe she just was for getting his hopes so high only to crush them. She had wanted her brother and friend to be together--they had always seemed like a perfect match but maybe it just wasn't meant to be, not after Leona had spent the night with Edric King.
"I'm sorry," was all she could say and did leave the room that time. Her words left Antoine staring after her with an expression of bewildered sadness but a growing inkling of what she meant by her apology.
Alanna, on the other hand wasn't necessarily miserable but was restless, unfocused, and had been ever since she had left Franz's room at the community college. She knew Alarie wouldn't be one to give her sound advice, and in all actuality would make fun of her if she brought up her feelings for Franz but she needed to talk to someone about her sudden burst of desires and get advice about it. So she called her brother.
"Hey 'Lanna, what's up?" he said when he answered. She could hear a faint echoing so figured he had her on speakerphone; she heard a car honk. He was driving.
"Oh, I wanted to see if you had time to talk about something--" she said and the connection crackled with static or some other interference before she could hear clearly again.
"Hey! So I'm on my way to Memosa Bay to look at apartments. I just drove through the tunnel under the river so it cut you off."
"Oh, that's exciting! I didn't know you were moving," Alanna replied cheerily though her issue at hand was still very distracting and gnawing at her to voice it to someone.
"Yeah. Hey, did you want to come with me? I could use a second opinion and you're the smartest person I know," he offered and it made Alanna smile. "After me, of course."
He just had to go ruin the nice moment with his brotherly teasing. She rolled her eyes and thought about it. It wouldn t be so bad to hang out with Antoine for a bit. It had been a long while since she spent quality time with her elder brother and besides, she couldn t focus on studying at the moment. Maybe an opportunity would present itself during his apartment hunt where she could bring it up to him!
"Sure. I'll tag along!"
Antoine picked her up from her dormitory at the SSU campus and they proceeded north to Memosa Bay. He talked about his work, his reasons for moving, his experiences from the different places he had traveled and Alanna listened politely with great interest the entire ride, but the thoughts of Franz were still nagging at the brim of her consciousness.
They pulled in front of a three-story apartment building on the east side of the city, it was a few blocks from the heart of the downtown. Antoine had a rental car paid for by his company; he didn't need his own car since he was always travelling and the buses were a decent option to get around otherwise. Alarie and Alanna even still relied on the bus lines.
"What's your first impression?" Antoine asked putting his hands on his hips and craned his head back to take the view of it in.
"I think it looks nice," Alanna replied.
"You think everything is nice."
She stopped and gave him an annoyed look. Why did everyone always accuse her of that? True, it was easy for her to find the good or beauty in things but it was incorrect to say she thought everything was 'nice.'
They met with the apartment s manager an older woman who was very chipper and welcoming on behalf of hoping to rent out to Antoine. She showed them into one of the ground floor units.
"This one is the only available apartment at the moment. It's one bedroom, one bath," she explained as Alanna and Antoine looked around the main room in consideration. To Alanna, it was adequate, though she felt it was bit small for Antoine. He always needed room for tinkering with robotic parts and other electronic items, and this place looked like it lacked room for that necessity.
"Does the unit have laundry?"
"Unfortunately, no--we do not have washers and dryers to rent per unit but there is a common area on the second floor that has these facilities, the manager stated.
Antoine nodded in understanding and rubbed his hands together, turning to Alanna, "Should we go take a look?"
Alanna didn't see why they needed to but agreed. The manager made a move to lead them to the area but Antoine insisted they could go alone to see the laundry area. She seemed a bit put-off but allowed them to go without her.
They climbed a spiral staircase to the laundry area but it was pretty small too--two sets of shiny green washers and dryers stacked upon each other and then a table in the corner to fold clothes on. It looked like one of the apartments' residents had left a basket of laundry sitting underneath but was no where in sight.
"What?" Alanna asked her brother because it was clear to her he wanted to get her alone to discuss something without the manager hearing.
"I think it's too small," he blurted her very thought on the matter.
"Okay, then tell her you were looking for something with more space and thank her for her time," Alanna instructed, unsure of what his internal dilemma was exactly. "Besides, don't you spend most weeks travelling for your job? It's not like you will actually live in your apartment a majority of the time."
He twisted his lips into an unsure expression, "Well I think I may getting promoted after I m done with my next demonstration tour."
"Really!? That's so exciting! So, does that mean you will be in Kashmire more often?" Alanna felt a surge of happiness at the news. She had missed Antoine while he was away for his job. Not that she had much free time either with school but she did go to her parents' nearly every weekend and it would be nice to have family dinners like Franz did with his sister and mother.
"I'm pretty sure I will be. This apartment is a fifteen-minute walk from the headquarters and only five by bus."
"Is being cramped up in a small apartment worth the reduced commute?" Alanna wondered. She wouldn't think so, personally, but the reality was that she did. She made do in her small dorm room that she shared with another girl. It saved money and it was nearly a five-minute walk to all her classes which was extremely helpful if she accidentally slept past her alarm.
Antoine didn't answer right away, seeming to weigh the question in his mind, "I guess I'd rather have more space, just in case..." he cut himself off; the rest of his thought was not spoken.
"Well, what other apartments are you looking at today?" Alanna asked, to urge him back on track, though still curious to what he was going to say about wanting more room.
"There's a duplex further west I was supposed to check out," he answered.
That sounded like a lot more space. Expensive too.
"I guess if you don;t want to give up on this place, you can just let the manager know you will call her if you decide to rent it," Alanna suggested and Antoine seemed to think that was a decent way to leave it for now. Antoine wasn't the most decisive person she knew. He fretted often in his teen years between decisions as minor as what to eat for breakfast. He had gotten a lot better though, and she supposed that just came with growing up.
The next place to check out was across town and right next to the largest park in Kashmire. It wasn't the average manicured park they would usually spot in a city. It had a large swimming lake, many trees, and some hiking trails. It was beautiful, how the city of Memosa Bay could preserve such a piece of land in the middle of the bustling metropolis.
It was clear Antoine really liked this option he clasped his hands together in approval at the sight of the building exterior. It looked roomy from the outside at least. Since they were not meeting anyone for a tour of the vacant duplex, Antoine found a key lock container and punched in a code so that the container would open and retrieve the key. He explained that he received the code from the owner when he called to inquire about the vacancy.
Alanna immediately liked this place more than the small apartment as well. The kitchen was nice and roomy, and there was a lofted area above that looked over the main room. She could imagine living in a place like this with Franz in the future--and he could bake all the chocolate chip cookies she could ask for--
She had to put the breaks on such a thought, realizing she was indeed daydreaming about living with Franz. That was a new development. It also made her realize the probable reason her brother wanted more room. Leona. Was he going to propose to her?
Promotion at work.
Being in Kashmire more often.
Bigger place to live.
It made sense to Alanna that was what would be going down soon and she prickled with intense joy for them. It didn't escape her notice that Leona had lingered downstairs with her brother the other night.
"I like it a lot," Alanna blurted her opinion.
"I do too," Antoine smiled.
"I think Leona would as well."
She thought that by mentioning Leona, that he would be happy to dish on his plans, which she assumed to be something romantic. He had always been so taken with Leona Hillenburg, ever since he was in high school. Okay, maybe he wouldn't propose marriage right off--it was a well-known fact Leona's father hated Antoine but she always thought Antoine and Leona were a good couple and, in all honesty, was a bit jealous.
However, her speaking Leona's name didn't send his face into an expression of joy but of forlorn sadness.
"What's the matter?" she asked as he crossed his arms and turned away, "I thought you two made up the other night?"
"We did but--"
"I don't know. It's something Alarie said to me this morning."
Alanna frowned. Alarie had a sharp tongue and often didn t think before she spoke. She had learned to shrug off Alarie's words years ago and not let them get to her.
Antoine gave a sigh, "She said I shouldn't wait around for Leona because Leona is always going to choose her career over me."
Alanna felt a prick of anger at Alarie for telling him such a thing and make him lose hope. Alarie was just being sour grapes and she got that way if she was having her own relationship problems. Alanna put a comforting hand on his shoulder, "Don't listen to Alarie. She was probably just in a bad mood."
He considered her words but then said quietly, "Leona is now touring with Edric King so it may be while before she's back in town."
That was shocking news to Alanna! She had heard of Edric King; some of the girls in her dorm had pictures of him in their rooms. From what she did know, he was as handsome as they came. Then she understood the other half of her brother's worried sadness.
"Leona wouldn't hook up with Edric King."
"How can you be so sure? He's a star! He has money, looks, and we all know Leona would do anything to achieve her singing dreams! I'm sure King has lots of connections, Antoine all but bitterly exploded, stunning Alanna enough that she took a step back.
After a beat, Alanna's brow plunged into a deep frown, "Leona is tenacious but she's not going to sleep her way to fame. That's not who she is. You wouldn't love her if you actually believed that."
He seemed to take in a few breaths to calm himself and nodded, "You're right."
He walked in circle, considering the room but not really looking at it. Wiped his hand over his mouth and in a fluid motion rubbed the back of his neck. He looked to his sister again and repeated, "You're right. Thank you."
"Not letting me doubt Leona. I should be thrilled for her--she is doing what she loves," he actually smiled that time. Alanna gave a small smile and nod in reply. She was the best at bringing a good mood back to her family and friends, and maybe that's why people always assumed she thought everything was nice too.
They climbed the stairs to the lofted area and saw there was a set of double doors that led out to a small balcony. Alanna unlocked them and emerged outside.
She made a squeal of delight all of a sudden as the sun broke from behind some clouds and revealed the amazing view this place had. There weren't a lot of tall buildings in front of it like the first apartment, which allowed a sweeping glance across the city toward the skyscrapers that were further away. Because it was on the edge of the park, there were also an abundance of trees on the side, giving off the feeling one was living in a forest.
"Antoine, you gotta get this place! Look at this view!"
Anotine laughed, "I see it, I see it. It's a bit over my budget--but--"
"But--if you get that promotion?"
"Yeah, I could rent here no problem," he crossed his arms and grinned. Alanna flashed her teeth in a smile. She didn't know why she was so excited, it wasn't like she was moving into the place but her imagination wandered back to the scenario of her and Franz laughing and baking together in the large kitchen or sitting on this balcony and cuddling while looking at the sun setting behind the distant skyscrapers and high rises. It filled her with a warm, happy, melting feeling. Plumbobs, what was she? A slice of butter?
"What's with that smile?"
"What?" Alanna's daydream broke and she realized Antoine was regarding her with a puzzled grin.
"I don't know, I just never seen someone look so happy about real estate."
Alanna took a few steps back and propped herself up to sit on the edge of the balcony. It was a half wall, thick enough to hold her weight. The sunshine dimmed a bit, as did her smile because the fact was Franz didn t know anything about what she felt. She didn't even know if he would return the feelings. She didn't even know if she was brave enough to tell him...if this was, in fact, the real deal.
"How do you know if you are in love?"
Antoine's brows rose to his hairline and he nearly choked out a surprised laugh, "Say what?"
"Love. How can you tell the difference between it and simple infatuation?"
Antoine took a seat next to her and studied her, "Why are you all of a sudden asking me this?"
Antoine was smart but he could be thick. Why else would she be asking him?
She swallowed the lump in her throat because she finally was about to tell someone, outloud, the feelings that had been growing inside of her. Franz occupied the majority of her thoughts, he was featured in all her day dreams, and it was exciting--wonderful--but terribly confusing because she'd never felt so strongly for a man before. She'd always been too practical to get involved with a serious romance, or rather, too inexperienced and frightened to start one. So she sighed.
"I think, I may be in love."
@nayahn1 - Thanks for reading as always. that pic you mentioned was a *bonus*. I usually aim for 10 images a chapter but loved that one so much I added it in! (and did a little more editing too) It does show how Orion manages to seem so calm on the exterior so hardly anyone knows the turmoil his mind is always in.
#86 31st Jan 2018 at 10:28 PM
So heartwarming chapter <3 can't wait to see her reaction when she meets Franz again. And the pics are amazing - as always. I think you should drop the 10 pics maximum, in each chapter, you should share more!
#88 4th Feb 2018 at 7:41 AM Last edited by Charmful : 28th Oct 2020 at 8:00 AM. Reason: fixing special characters
A Moment of Peace
Chapter 42: A Moment of Peace
Orion couldn't go back to Cain's place after what he had witnessed. He figured it would be better instead to go to his own place and try to settle his thoughts at the fact that his main squeeze was a dealer.
As soon as he saw Cypress's car parked out back, her knew his best friend was home, however Orion still felt an uneasy anger toward Cypress after hearing his song being played publicly on the radio. And he knew Cypress would become silently judgmental if he learned that Orion was gone all night because he had stayed with Cain. He didn't know why Cypress cared so much about Orion's love life—it was Orion's choice! It was the first time in a long time that he'd been able to be with Cain and didn't regret it.
He entered the house, grabbed the stair railing, and climbed the steps with a frown on his face until he got to the top.
That was odd, the door to his room was open—he could have sworn he had shut it when he'd left the night before. As he approached, he halted at once because he found Cypress sitting on his bed, his face resting on his fist and a look of complete and utter disappointment in his eyes.
It caught him off-guard but before he could defend himself, thinking the expression was because of Cain—he noticed a few of the empty Tranquilicis bottles were pulled out of his night stand drawer and placed on top of it.
"What's going on?" Orion asked, growing more uneasy by the second.
"I could ask the same of you. Why do you have all these pills?"
"They help with my anxiety," Orion told the truth and refrained from pointing out that technically, there were hardly any pills left from those bottles.
"Okay, but Tranquilicis isn't something you can get over the counter. It's something a doctor has to write a prescription for. Your name isn't on these bottles, Rye. Where did you get them?"
Orion swallowed slowly and knew he couldn't outright lie to Cypress's face. They'd been friends for too many years and Cypress would know immediately if Orion was fabricating truth. If he thought about it, he could have guessed Cain wasn't doing things above board because Orion too, had found it odd the name was scratched out. He just didn't question Cain because Cain was going out of his way to get Orion the meds.
"It doesn't matter where I got them—they help. That's enough," Orion felt himself grow terse and defensive.
"Are you sure you aren't developing a dependency? This is a lot of empty bottles," Cypress nodded to the side, towards the bottles. He sounded like his father, the renowned medical professional.
Orion belted out a scornful laugh, "Yeah, like you have the ground to lecture me on becoming addicted to a substance."
Cypress stood with frown and came closer, "Hey, we're talking about something that's technically illegal here. Besides, I won't die from an overdose of nicotine."
Orion rolled his eyes, annoyed that Cypress happened to conveniently forget all the other gross chemicals that caused health issues in cigarettes.
"I'm doing fine. You don t have to worry about me," Orion crossed his arms with growing frustration that Cypress was hassling him about it.
Cypress looked a bit hurt at Orion's abrupt dismissal. But it was Orion who should have felt hurt. Cypress had stolen his music.
"So why do you look so miserable?"
"I heard my song on the radio," he mumbled. It wasn't the only thing that had made him miserable but it was the one thing that directly involved Cypress.
"Why would that make you miserable?"
"Because you stole it. You recorded it, aired it, and gave it to the station without even asking me permission. I wasn't even done with it yet—it was a work in progress and now it's in a final form as far as anyone listening is concerned."
"You should be recognized, and since you're not really playing live anymore, how else is your music going to reach the masses? You should be thanking me for putting my neck out on the line for you!"
"I don't want or need to be recognized for anything!"
"But you deserve it!"
"No I don't. I don't need anything like that," Orion crossed his arms, thinking back to his family—the long hours and late nights falling asleep in the back of tour busses. Feeling alone. "I have seen how recognition leads to fame that interrupts a life. I am fine with just playing my music for my friends and maybe small audiences if I work up the nerve, but I don't want to be recognized for it. I just want people to enjoy it."
"You can't have it both ways. If you want people to enjoy it, you will have to be recognized. People don t just listen to music in a vacuum and not want to know where it came from or who sang it, especially if they want more."
Orion just looked at the floor, not believing he was having this argument with Cypress. They never argued.
"Besides, it was just a song about Cain, it's not like it's going to be your biggest hit," Cypress couldn't help but to seem to snark.
"Fuck off," Orion blurted angrily. He grabbed his acoustic guitar case from the corner of his room with a rare, heightened temper and left. He stomped down the stairs while Cypress chased after him asking what his problem was and for once in his life Cypress was the problem. Orion knew he had to remove himself before he'd say anything else he'd regret.
What would Orion do without an instrument? Without a way to make music? His prickled nerves smoothed over gradually as he strummed out some of his favorite melodies from where he sat on the park bench before surrendering to whatever music formed as an idea in his head and came out in between the strings. It was still a brisk temperature outside, now slightly breezy and the leaves were starting to turn bright oranges and golds. He had to stop thinking about the feeling of betrayal. Cypress had been so rash and judgmental—about Tranquilicis, and Cain—but if he would stop and open his eyes he would realize that Orion didn't write that song about Cain.
He wrote it to communicate his heartbreak over Cypress.
Cypress was the catalyst that made Orion realize he was attracted to men in the first place. He had been ambivalent to dating and romance in general, probably an attitude he picked up from Cypress's asexual tendencies, but after that fateful day when he was sixteen and found Cypress's hand in his, something just clicked inside him. It felt right.
Cypress had made it clear he couldn't be anything more than just Orion's best friend and Orion would rather chop off his hands than lose such a cherished relationship but a part of him still loved and longed for Cypress in ways Cypress wasn't able to give to him. Maybe that's why he tolerated such abhorrent behavior from Cain, because as long as he had someone else to give his love to, he could suppress his desires toward his best friend.
So, being with Cain helped Orion in more ways than Cypress knew.
Cypress also didn't understand how much Tranquilicis had been helping Orion manage his anxiety. It was hypocritical, for Cypress to chide Orion about the dangers of addiction when Cypress was smoking a pack of cigarettes a week.
Orion closed his eyes and played whatever melody popped into his head, inspired by natural beats he could hear and pluck from around him—from the sounds of the city to the rustling in the leaves. This garden was a calming place, a place of refuge for artists who wanted to paint or play music. Orion had come here a few times with Nick perform for tips in high school but that wasn't his reason for being here now. He did it for the pure enjoyment of creation and solace. His poor brain and nerves needed a break.
His melody must have attracted a dog, for one trotted up and looked at him expectantly. A fluffy, black-furred animal that looked to be a somewhat exotic breed.
"Hi there," Orion said, though the animal didn't understand him. Orion felt himself smile and slapped the surface of his guitar to make a purposeful rhythm as he played and the dog sat promptly, seeming to enjoy the change by evidence of its wagging tail and tilt of its head.
Orion couldn't resist the dog's fluffiness any longer. He sat his guitar on the bench and knelt down to pet it. It seemed fond of having its head rubbed right between the ears. He'd always wanted a dog but his father and sister were allergic to animal hair so all they had were birds in his family for pets.
"Sebastian!" the dog perked up at a call and Orion glanced up to see a man in a long, expensive-looking, gray jacket smiling from down the path. The man said 'come' in Takemizese and the dog stood and cantered over to its master.
"I'm sorry, but was he bothering you?" The man asked Orion in Simlish but there was no need.
"Not at all," Orion answered in Takemizese and stood, "I ponder if he might be an admirer of music."
His comment made the man laugh in delighted surprise and he continued to speak in his native tongue, "Sebastian has particular tastes, though I never knew he was partial to music. What name do you play under? Am I able to buy him an album to listen to?"
It was Orion's turn to laugh, not sure if the man were joking or not, but couldn't help but to be reminded of Cypress's argument that people would want more of his music and therefore Orion must be recognized for it, "I have not created any albums yet, but if and when I do you could find it under Orion Loche."
"I should not keep you from your playing Mister Loche; thank you for indulging my dog though," the man inclined his head and said to the hound, "Follow."
Orion picked up his guitar and started strumming it again, "I could indulge him to a greater capacity if that is acceptable to you. I have never had an animal as an admirer before."
"I would be delighted if you would accompany us around the gardens," the man smiled, "Sebastian would be too."
It was only proven so as the dog began to wag his tail again with exuberance and sniff around Orion's shoes.
Orion realized he was being rude and hadn't asked the man his name, "Many apologies, but what is your name? I should have asked during our introduction."
"It is no worry; I am called Yuzan Bao," the man replied with a smile and then made a slight eye-roll paired with a chuckle, "Though we can continue our conversation in Simlish. I find my native language to be full of burdensome formality."
"Fair enough," Orion agreed with a grin and made the lingual switch.
"It's not common to find a Kashmiri who can speak fluent Takemizese. Where did you learn?" Yuzan asked with amusement.
Orion plucked his guitar strings absent-mindedly as he explained, "I lived there when I was a child."
"Really? Which area?"
"Takemizu Village. My parents had a home there. They were big into the Blue Jasmine Music Festival—did all sorts of shows for it so decided to just live there year-round and perform across the region for many years." He smiled remembering those good parts of his youth. Takemizu Village was a small town nestled between the mountains and so when his parents played their instruments outside, the sound carried back and forth across the valley. It was pure ambrosia for the ears.
"We moved back here when I was nine. So I had a lot of time to learn the language and I kinda had to because of school."
Yuzan made an exasperated face of sympathy, "Unlucky, schools there are so rigid. I hated the drilling...and the punishments for getting out of line."
"I know right!?" Orion agreed, remembering how he was commanded to recite a poem from his readings and he stuttered the words, being too nervous to do it front of the class. After, the teacher hit his knuckles with a yard stick for his bad etiquette. He momentarily stopped playing his guitar and flexed this fingers, the memory triggering a ghosting sensation of pain.
That experience was probably one of the reasons he got so anxious to perform in front of people and why he was so anxious about the possibility of screwing up. This man was the first person he'd ever talked to who understood and related to Orion s experience with Takemizu schooling.
Sebastian made a loud woof to remind Orion that the music had stopped. Yuzan frowned and snapped out "Rude" in Takemizese and Sebastian lowered himself onto his belly and turned over so it was exposed to Orion.
"He is apologizing," Yuzan explained in Simlish, "If you give him a belly rub, then he knows you have forgiven him."
"Wow, you've trained your dog very well," Orion mused handing over his guitar for Yuzan to hold while he knelt down to pat Sebastian on his fluffy belly. The canine immediately stuck out his tongue and started wagging his tail happily.
"It takes a lot of practice and discipline," Yuzan replied, returning the guitar to Orion and then made an upward motion with his hand. Sebastian returned setting onto all four paws. Yuzan reached into a pocket of his long coat and withdrew a baggie of dog treats, opened it, and tossed one at the dog who caught it mid-air in one bite.
"You seem to have plenty of it," Orion smiled. Yuzan regarded him with a raised brow and it made Orion blush a bit. Here he was, passing judgement on someone he'd just met and he felt like he was in second grade again while stumbling over his words, "What I meant is that you look so...world class and formal and I thought..."
Orion clamped his upper lip over his bottom one and decided to play more of his guitar medley instead.
Yuzan started laughing aloud at Orion's blunder, but it wasn't one of ridicule just abject amusement.
"I assure you I am not as formal as I appear—I suppose by Kashmiri standards it could be seen that way but in fact, any Takemiseze citizen would claim I'm not formal enough. It's my curse in life."
"Not the worst curse to have, all things considered," Orion noted. He was thinking of his own curse, to forever be burdened by anxiety. Thank Plumbobs for Tranqilicis and music. They were the only two things that seemed to work for him anymore. Both men passed a under an arched trellis that had ivy and white flowers climbing it; where the petals were in the midst of falling off the vines and covered the path. Sebastian kept pace next to Orion, looking upward and almost seemed to be grinning with his tongue hanging out of his mouth.
They passed a garden wall in front of a fountain and Orion took a lean against it and closed his eyes. He felt a slight thump next to him and opened one eye to see that Yuzan had joined him—his back against the wall and with his hands stuffed inside his pockets. Sebastian sat patiently in front of them though made no more barks of protest but only because Orion was still playing his music.
Orion shut his eyes again and continued, feeling a deep sense of peace playing in the gardens on this autumn day—it was in such contrast to how he felt coming into the place earlier and the turmoil he had been through since he'd woken up. He picked up the tempo of his song. The song wasn't really a song, just a winding, improvised string of musical notes. He wouldn't remember it all enough to write it down. It was like a wild animal that couldn't be caught and tamed—never to be replicated again. Yuzan and Sebastian had the privilege to listen to it and ever know it even existed.
Eventually, Orion checked the time and realized he been out far longer than he had anticipated. He walked back to his guitar case and set it inside despite the heartbreaking whimpering noises Sebastian was making as he walked away.
"I'm sorry but have to go," he said as he clicked the case closed and pulled it over his shoulder, "It was a pleasure playing music for you and your dog."
"Do you come to these gardens often?" Yuzan wondered, following after Orion as he made his way to the garden exit.
"I come every once and awhile," Orion shrugged and admitted. It wasn't that far from his Grandfather's estate that he'd lived in when he'd moved back to Kashmire.
"I visited it for the first time this weekend and I think I have found it's my favorite public spot in the city."
"Why is that?" Orion slowed his pace and Yuzan passed him, turning around and began to walk backward so they could continue to converse face-to-face.
"The flowers," Yuzan waved his hand out with a grin, gesturing at the blooms around them that were slowly wilting with incoming colder weather. First frost had yet to occur but they were hanging onto life.
"What's left of them at least."
Yuzan nodded, his smile fading at that fact, "Do you have a favorite?"
"Oh, the blue ones for sure," Orion smiled in remembrance as he kept walking forward, "They remind me of Takemizu. We had tons of them outside our house growing in giant bushes. My mother refused to have them trimmed so they ended up taking over our front entrance."
He noticed Zan had visibly straightened himself and his grin was ever broader, "I have them growing in abundance inside my home here in Memosa Bay where they will never wilt—you should come see if you miss them once winter comes."
Orion stopped walking, unsure what to make of Yuzan's offer. He usually wasn't this talkative or open with strangers but he felt an agreeable yet uncanny connection with the Takimizese man. He finally nodded, "I'd like that."
"To be my friend?"
He was so forward about it. Orion could understand however, why the question was asked in such a way. In Takemizese culture it was considered rude or even cowardly to be anything but straightforward with someone.
Orion had never just been asked directly to be anyone's friend before. In his experience it was a gradual occurrence. He hesitated ever so slightly to think on it. Yuzan looked to be a few years older than himself though dressed more expensive and sensible than a college student would be. Perhaps he was already graduated with an office job somewhere in the city? Orion hardly knew anything about the man except he was from Takemizu, liked dogs and flowers.
"It is, after all, hard to make new friends when you move so far away from home," Yuzan lamented, taking advantage of Orion's pause and plucked a leaf that looked about to fall from a small hedge. Orion agreed. He'd had to start all over when he moved back to Kashmire. Luckily for Orion, on his first day of school in Kashmire, a boy name Cypress Wellington was tapping out the beats to a rock 'n roll song on his desk that Orion recognized from his father's album collection and it prompted Orion to ask him about it. That led to conversations about music, instruments, and the best friendship they had ever known. He remembered those times with Cypress fondly and had to forgive his friend for earlier, because he realized there wasn't a deceiving bone in Cypress's body, and he really was trying to look out for Orion's best interests. It seemed this man was looking for something similar.
Yuzan still was waiting for an answer. He seemed so hopeful. Orion could understand the struggle at being a newcomer to the region and it wasn't pity but understanding that made him nod in sudden earnest and stick his hand out, "Yeah, I'll be your friend."
Genuine happiness erupted across Yuzan's features and he took Orion's hand in his to give it a cordial shake, "Call me Zan."
@nayahn1 - Alanna is as sweet as pie, yet for all her sweetness she has never really experienced this intense attraction before. She had a crush on Reggie once upon a battle of the bands, but what she feels for Franz eclipses that teenage crush 100 to 1. Thanks for the compliments on the pics <3 I really do try hard to make them like a cinematic storyboard of sorts to go along with the story.
The reason for 10 pics has a lot to do with tumblr actually - picture sets have a max of 10 and I like loading my tumblr chapters as picture sets so people can enlarge and click through them and then, if they want to, read the story under a cut. Which is not the case when they are put into a text post, the pics are at a forced size (at least on dashboard where a majority of people see it) and you can't click easily into them to view a bigger version. The drawback is 10 post limit, and all the story underneath but the plus side is you can look at all the big pretty pics, which lets face it, is a majority of what tumblr does (oooh look at the pretty sims pics! :P)
For what it's worth if I happen to to take more than 10 pics that I think enhance the story, I will load them to an alternate, drafts post to use when I post the chapter here But not too much more because my pics are larger and can take a while to load so I don't want people waiting longer than they have to for the page to load.
@whoward69 - Welcome back William! Glad you had a chance to catch up, it's nice to hear from you again and don't worry my (I AM THE ART STUDENT MUAHAHA) rare penchant for experimenting with contrasting colors is safe from your house ;P
#89 5th Feb 2018 at 6:24 PM
Where can I get a dog like Sebastian? He is lovely <3 Just like Zan. Don't they say that a dog resembles their owner? And a reply to your reply. You could keep tumblr with 10 pics per post and if you have more nice pictures for a chapter, you could upload them in the MTS version of the chapters. Unless it is time consuming for you, of course
#90 11th Feb 2018 at 6:26 AM Last edited by Charmful : 28th Oct 2020 at 12:09 AM. Reason: updating special characters
The Art of Friendship
Chapter 43: The Art of Friendship
One thing that Nick had never cared for regarding Illyana Sanchez was the old, beat up, red Jeep she drove. It was an accident waiting to happen and he was amazed that it was running after all these years. He often saw it sitting in Illyana's yard when he was a kid, and he assumed it was always just junk. Imagine his surprise when she got her drivers license and was tearing around Isla Del Kashmire in it.
She just never could let it go because it used to belong to her father, who had passed away shortly after she was born. It was the one last thing that connected her to him; Nick really didn't understand her need to keep it because he actually knew his father and it wasn't all it was cut out to be. It was horrible of him to think it, but Illyana was lucky she didn't know hers.
"Watch it!" he shouted as she barely made it past a yellow light. The seat belt didn't work either, so he folded his arms across his chest to feel more secure.
She didn't acknowledge his worry, but pulled up in front of the Metro Museum of Modern Art in Memosa Bay with a slam to the breaks and a cheery announcement of, "We're here!"
She had insisted that he let her do something for him in thanks for taking care of her the previous night. He maintained the opinion that it was what any decent person would have done but he missed Illyana's company, so agreed to join her that afternoon after she returned freshly showered and ready to roll.
He'd never actually been to the art museum, despite his interest in subject. It was built when he was in junior high; his parents never took him and he was too busy trying to be a rock star to remember to visit on his own in high school.
"So what are we doing here?" he asked, nearly kicking open the passenger door and exiting as fast as possible.
"We are going to look at the art exhibits and then I am buying you lunch."
"So how is this not a date?" Nick wondered out loud as they walked inside. To the left was a gallery and he could see some promising paintings hanging on the bare white walls.
"It's not romantic," Illyana rolled her eyes and continued to toward the gallery.
"Anything can be romantic," he argued, catching her swinging hand in his and interlaced their fingers, "See? I'm holding your hand. That's romantic."
She swiveled around and took it back quickly with red-hued cheeks, "I swear you flirt with anything that has a heartbeat."
"You know, you make the cutest face when you're trying not to blush," he tilted his head and studied her while smirking. She just pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows to prove her point before marching ahead without a backward glance. He followed her into the gallery and she stopped abruptly. She didn't move for a moment, as if frozen, but then she turned around her lively eyes were round with excitement. It nearly took his breath away.
She drew closer with a smile spreading across her face, "You should do an art show!"
"Excuse me?" he choked out in surprise.
"I've seen your paintings and they are amazing! You could do an exhibition like have the coffee shop display them or—" she was winding herself up in excitement and seemed to have ideas come to her faster than she could speak. She snapped her fingers with a sudden clarity, "You should hang them at the Harvest Gala!"
"The Harvest Gala?" he repeated and raised a quizzical eyebrow.
The Gala was a yearly autumn exhibition in the city hall that doubled as a major schmooze-fest for Kashmire's elite citizens.
"Yes, since your father rubs elbows all the time with city officials, I don t see why you couldn't use the Gala as an opportunity to show your art."
"Okay there s a lot wrong with your idea," Nick replied, his expression was less amused than before, and Illyana opened her mouth to retort but he held up a finger and didn't let her interrupt. "One—my dad hates my art and would never use his power to allow me to embarrass him at a city event with something like an art show. Two—do you realize how bizarre it would be for a pre-law student to have an art exhibit?"
"What if you got your mom to convince him?"
His mother was more apt to entertain the idea, that was for sure. She didn't fully approve of his art school idea either but she at least hung his drawings on the refrigerator when he was a kid before his father took them down. "That's a big what-if."
"Also who cares if you'd be a pre-law student with an art show? It shows you're well rounded and you have outside hobbies not related to defending criminals, cross-examining, a witness stand or objections."
Nick smirked, "Are you just naming off things you know about lawyers from watching television?"
Illyana frowned but didn't confirm or deny that was the case.
Nick openly laughed, "You crack me up."
She didn't seem to appreciate being laughed at so cleared her throat and tried again, "It's a good idea. The only reason you don't want to do it is because I thought of it first." She had the audacity to stick out her tongue afterward which was reminiscent of how she ended all her arguments with him when she was a little girl.
"Fine. I'll ask about it, " Nick acquiesced to Illyana's delight. It resulted in her breathtaking smile returning to her face.
"Come on, there's more art and stuff to see," she held out her hand and raised her brows as if to say 'well, what are you waiting for?'
He took it with a bit of apprehension since she, not just a few moments before, had been displeased about him holding her hand. She was right, though, it wasn't romantic. It was the way she would hold his hand when they were kids when she tried to take him somewhere and didn't think he would keep up with her pace—a hard grip and vicious tug to pull him along. Illyana didn't know her own strength and no one would suspect it from her lithe build when she wasn't flexing.
She led him across the art museum, stopping in front of large canvases that caught her attention to ask him what he thought. It was kind of obvious that Illyana didn't really know much or have a great enthusiasm about art; and Nick had to explain negative space and contrast to her at one point when they appraised a series of paintings. He found he was appreciative, though, that she would take him there when she didn't have much of an interest in it herself.
They relaxed on a museum bench in front of a large, abstract but colorful painting to rest their feet after trouncing through exhibit after exhibit. He felt hunger grumble in his gut. It was probably about time for that lunch.
Illyana's dark, expressive eyes were searching across the large canvas adorned with streaks that looked almost as if they were melting. It was in contrast with the sleepy, nearly uninterested expression he had observed on her when looking at the previous works. Nick observed her as she studied it and found himself losing thoughts of food very quickly. He could feel his heart positively thumping against his rib cage as he watched her consider the brush strokes and the color palette, taking it in and finding a new appreciation for it all, evident by the grin subconsciously pulling at the corners of her lips.
He'd been attracted to many women in his life, but never the sense of pure adoration that he felt toward Illyana in that moment.
"Hey Illyana?" he asked, scooting a bit nearer to her.
"Hey, whoa what?" she turned and was slightly alarmed by his sudden close proximity.
"What do you think of me?"
She didn't seem to understand what he was asking. Her brows knotted together—to try and figure out what he wanted to hear. Honestly, he wanted her to confirm that he wasn't conceited or immature, that he wasn't a bad person, and he hoped she would want to know him again. He could count on Illyana to always tell him the truth; she had a history of not holding back concerning her opinions of him. He already knew he wasn't her type but he could at least try to be better. If she saw him as a better person then he'd feel like he was worthy of her friendship and this wasn't just them hanging out because she felt like she owed him; because if it was, then they'd just drift away again after they left the museum and he couldn't abide it. He couldn't let her slip away yet again.
"Um..." she said just to fill the silence as she studied his earnest expression, "In what context?"
"As a person."
She seemed relieved, and uncrossed her legs "Oh, well you're pretty decent."
He couldn't mask his disappointment at her assessment.
"We don't really know each other anymore, Nick, I'm probably not the best person to ask," she said after seeing his downcast expression. He knew it shouldn't affect him so much but he felt very disheartened to hear those words of truth.
"I want to know you again," he quietly admitted and hoped she would feel the same.
A moment of silence passed between them before he heard her say, "Well, I got a few tattoos since the last time we hung out."
"I saw the dragonfly one," he replied with the start of a smile, "But I thought butterflies were your favorite?"
He recalled her hobby of catching butterflies and stacking the jars in a row in her bedroom that she took care of until she freed them or they died. She got so upset when they did that.
"It has butterfly wings. I wanted it to be special because everyone has a butterfly tattoo nowadays, she said, lifting her shirt up slightly and pointing to her waist so he could see.
"I don t have one," he laughed, more at the fact Illyana was still marching to the beat of her own drum, even when it came to tattoo choice. She'd never been one to follow the crowd, and in some respect, he had always admired her for it.
"But you do have an eyebrow piercing, what s up with that? I'm surprised your dad allowed it," she nodded toward his left brow where the small silver piece hung. He touched it, feeling the cold metal sphere. He often forgot it was there.
"I got this right after graduation before I was supposed to intern at a law office in Scandalica City. Man, dad was super pissed and I thought maybe it would prevent him from making me go but I ended up being the most rock 'n roll assistant to a paralegal that summer."
Illyana started laughing then, and he smiled in return. They were learning about each other, catching up on lost time, and hopefully on a path to become friends again.
"So, what's something you've done in college that I'd be shocked to hear?"
He wondered what brought her question on and had to think. If she had considered him an arrogant jerk then something non-self-serving would probably shock her.
"I left my fraternity because I found out they were drugging drinks at parties, much like the way yours was drugged the other night. My dad stopped paying tuition, even when I told him the reason."
He realized then, this fact was something he hadn't even explained to his room mates yet, but it worked—llyana looked shocked, then her face fell into a glower at nothing in particular, "Your father was always such a winner."
He had to grin at her acid sarcasm. His father was never very inviting toward Illyana, unlike Grams who insisted she could stay over as long as she liked after school and gave her as many cookies as she wanted.
"I hope he doesn't win the election," Nick admitted quietly, and then looked to Illyana. She was still glowering outwardly at the painting but it was not the painting's fault, and she didn't seem to hear Nick s added comment. "What about you? Any shocking developments?"
She was struck for a moment, as if she didn't expect him to ask her the same question but how could she not? She filled her cheeks with air and let out a long breath. Then another. Finally a third. He was about to tell her that she didn't have to tell him anything if it was such an internal dilemma but she beat him to speaking.
"I had a boyfriend for three years and then he cheated on me."
The statement came as a rush of an exhale but he could hear the utter pain in her voice—it took him a moment to process that string of words and understand them. He'd never been in a situation like that, in fact he was impressed and maybe was a bit shocked that she had held down a relationship for so long with her short temper. He never had long-lived relationships; never felt the need to have them in college, or rather, had never met anyone that would give him the idea it would be worth it.
Then he knew without a doubt that the reason why she rejected him, why this could never be a date, wasn't because he wasn't her type.
It was because her heart was broken.
It was like Trent Ziegler all over again. Except this guy, whoever he was, didn't just throw away her valentine; he threw away something far more precious.
Nick reached out and set his hand over hers where it rested on the bench surface. She didn't flinch nor make a move to remove her hand either. For once, he wasn't flirting her it was time for him to prove that he was a better person; a better friend.
"I'm sorry Ill," Nick said, truly. He hated to see her hurting. He hated to think that a person existed who could be lucky enough to have Illyana's love and then throw it away like that. He couldn't help adding, "The jerk didn't deserve you."
"Sorry to ruin your outing," she mumbled, seeing his downcast expression, as her voice caught on her emotion and it cracked. She pulled her hand out from under his and hid her face behind it—her body became stiff as if she'd rather be one of the statues outside in the sculpture garden.
"There's nothing to be sorry about," he assured and found that she was crying again—seeing that a tear must have rolled down her cheek to drip of her chin. It was so weird witnessing her in this vulnerable state when she'd always seemed to wear an armor made of anger to cover it up before. She had changed more than he realized. They both had.
He had been convinced that removing himself from her life would lessen her pain but now knew it had been the wrong thing to do. He should have stuck it out and kept trying.
She allowed him to pull her into a embrace so she could hide her face better in the folds of his shirt. He was thankful he'd done laundry that morning after she'd left and was wearing something clean for her put all her sniffles into now. She shuddered in a silent, despairing sob and then relaxed a tiny fraction as he tightened his arms around her, "Just know that I m here for you this time."
@nayahn1 - I've heard of that sentiment before about dogs being like their owners. Zan is a lovely fellow with a lovely dog for sure If I find I have any pics that enhance the story that go past the standard 10 I would put them in the MTS chapters as I have before at times.
Speaking of bonus pics I did some kind of pre-Valentine's special by taking romantic pics of some 'unrequited loves' and styled them into daydreams of specific characters in this story.
Daydreams of Love, Lust and Loss
The heart is stubborn. It holds onto love despite what sense and emotion tells it. And it is often, in the battle of those three, the most brilliant of all.
Hope you liked this bonus content and next week I'll throw in some mood boards
#91 11th Feb 2018 at 12:12 PM
Nice chapter <3 I am a person that values true friendship more than true romance. The best is when those two are combined, I think The bonus material was very nice and artistic, my favorite was Alanna with Franz <3
#92 26th Feb 2018 at 4:01 AM Last edited by Charmful : 28th Oct 2020 at 12:56 AM. Reason: fixing special characters
Winner Takes All
Chapter 44: Winner Takes All
Reggie had never been so frustratingly angry before. To learn that he was being blacklisted from a fraternity that he had the right to be in, to know that the object of his affections wasn't any closer to reciprocating those feelings, and to know his robot could likely not make the cut to get into the collegiate robotic championship all weighed his mind down until his thoughts were nothing but a whirlpool of darkness and loathing.
He was still consumed with them by the next day but had at least gotten to work on his robot after meeting with his father. That was one step closer to solving the latter problem.
He went back to the engineering building Sunday afternoon. No surprise, Shane Calhoun was also there fiddling around with his pathetic luxury gardening robot. Who needed such a thing? Was there even a demand for that kind of service?
Information was a commodity—the ability to gain knowledge and use it against your enemies or in your favor. Now that was worth something. Shane of course, didn't say anything to Reggie and vice versa; both young men were on chilly terms, especially now that the Mayor's election was so close and their fathers were toe-to-toe in the polls.
They had been classmates in the same grade, not close, but cordial enough in high school. Shane didn't exactly put himself out there but then again, Reggie wasn't the most social of lads either. He briefly looked to Shane, who was ignoring him and tightening up his robot chassis. Reggie still felt a pang of regret for snapping at Alanna the previous night and driving her away—into helping Shane with his robot. Any robot engineer would be lucky to have Alanna's input and Shane had seemed most ungrateful.
Shane eventually left, docked his robot in its stand and Reggie took the rest of Sunday, well into the evening to finish programming his spybot to accept audio feed. He tested a recording, it sounded faint, so he cracked open the robot and adjusted the microphone to be near the bottom. Alanna had been right about the sound being more clear from that entry point, which just increased Reggie's regret about the whole situation.
Now it was Monday; he stayed in his apartment all day, playing Rush Hour and grinding out wins like it wasn't even a challenge. Every win would gain an amount of in-game credit he could use to purchase custom car parts and upgrade the racing vehicles he used. He hoped that Violet_Fire would return soon so he could show it off, and then if luck permitted, win a race against them again. They were the only one, it seemed, to be good enough to make a race interesting—because he never knew for sure if he'd win against them.
Then just like that there was a *ping* and a chat box appeared in the corner of his screen.
Violet_Fire: Wanna race?
MegaZoom: k if ya wanna lose :P
Violet_Fire: Keep dreaming you N00b
Reggie smirked. They were just trying to shake him up before he began. He went to main screen and started up a co-op game. Violet_Fire immediately entered into the instance and picked a classic car with a high-ranked engine they must have bought through in-game credits. Reggie's custom racing car, was a sports car with an engine that had top speed stats. He had put together and, it was in his opinion, a perfect racing engine for this game.
Violet_Fire: When did you get this?!?!?!
He wondered if they would chicken out and withdraw but they stayed in the instance. Stubborn as usual.
Violet_Fire: lets race the valley map
MegaZoom: why, so you can make tighter turns and try to get past me?
Violet_Fire: I don't need tight turns to beat ur behiney
There was that word again. Alanna had said it the other night. What were the chances—the cosmic chances of her being his Rush hour rival all along?
MegaZoom: Wanna bet?
Violet_Fire: I do ;P
That took him by surprise. He was only joking around but now he was intrigued...
MegaZoom: What do you want if happen you beat me? Not that it'll happen
The 'Violet_Fire is typing' notice seemed to last forever before their message was submitted.
Violet_Fire: I want your custom car
That was untoward. You could trade cars in the game but Reggie's custom car was worth hundreds of hours of grinding and racing randoms. What would be worth the equivalent? He still wondered if Violet_Fire could have been Alanna Thackery, but was that information worth the potential loss of his custom car?
MegaZoom: If I win, how about you get on the voice chat channel and trash talk me without hiding behind a wall of text?
Violet_Fire: Fine lets do this
Though, Reggie immediately had a flick of nervousness hit his gut and dryness in his throat because on the off-chance Violet_Fire really was Alanna, she would surely recognize his voice! Would she think he was stalking her all this time? He had gone to some length to find out her class schedule but that was only recently when he realized how much he still liked her and it was handy to know where she'd be on campus so he could conveniently 'bump' into her. Evelyn Jane had done stuff like that in the past and he always thought it was dishonest but he could see the merit in it now.
Another *ping* interrupted his thoughts, Violet_Fire was impatient to begin and told him to start the game already. So he did.
He selected the valley map, which had its race track through tunnels, across rivers and especially tight turns. It wasn't his favorite but he'd won races on it before. The trick was to drift on the corners and his custom car had a sweet drift, fine-tuned to withstand the sharp curves of the road.
The screen counted down 3...2...1 and Reggie slammed the up arrow on his keyboard, dragging his mouse to the left. His car peeled out and was hair ahead of Violet_Fire's. The first bend was a corner but not the sharpest and he drifted around it with ease. Annoyingly, so did Violet_Fire.
His heart sank a bit as they passed him and took the fork in the road that was a shortcut on the map, but had more perilous obstacles. He didn't ever take the shortcut because of them. So he relied on his speed-tacular engine to make up the time as he made up the distance.
He came up behind Violet Fire's car and gave them a bump of warning, but not enough to send the off road into a crash. He managed to get ahead after passing the start line. They had two more laps to go.
He maintained first place all throughout the second lap but then in the third the tides changed when Violet_Fire spun out and took his vehicle down as well—right down the side of a cliff into a burning blaze. All momentum was lost and it was a scramble to get the cars on track and at top speed again. That dirty move put them back into the last check point 1.5 miles earlier and Reggie couldn't lose! He just couldn't! He was tired of losing all the time! He didn't want to be a loser.
So instead of taking the safe path, he was desperate enough to try the shortcut to make up the lost distance and time. He was already behind and so he took a calculated risk to see if it would pay off. He avoided getting stuck on a collapsed bridge and drove through a waterfall, finally a dark tunnel with no light until he turned a corner. In the past, he sometimes ran his cars into the tunnel walls when he took that map shortcut. Finally, the light at the end of the tunnel appeared and he hit his booster. His sports car nearly flew out of the shortcut's track and landed in front of Violet_Fire, who must have thought their win was inevitable since he was so far behind and therefore didn't bother taking the shortcut for the last lap.
He nearly flipped his keyboard in excitement after zooming across the finish line a hair in first place. He'd get to keep his custom car, and talk to his biggest racing nemesis voice-to-voice. To find out if they were who he suspected they were. He quickly typed in into the chat box.
MegaZoom: Come listen to my victory song, I'm on the RH05 channel.
He flipped his headset microphone to 'on' and had to swallow a few lumps in his throat. It was just a race in a video game but his adrenaline was high. A second later Violet_Fire's avatar popped up in the voice chat—it was of a purple flame. Plumbbobs, what was he going to say?
"H...h..hi there," he stuttered out but lowered the register of his voice significantly.
"Your victory song sucks and I want a rematch," came the clear voice of Violet_Fire. Definitely female, definitely familiar, and his heart seemed to stop beating and all the saliva in his mouth dried up entirely.
"Sore loser much?" he finally asked. It had seemed like minutes between when she spoke but in reality was only a few seconds. He would never speak in this way to Alanna face-to-face but it would just make her suspicious if his online persona suddenly started being super nice for no reason.
"I thought crashing into you would have pushed you far enough behind, and I never would have thought you'd take the shortcut on the valley map."
Reggie laughed, "I knew you wouldn't. I outplayed you."
"Anyway, I got on chat like you wanted. What now? Want me to trash talk you like you asked?"
"I didn't ask you to trash talk me! I just figured it'd be interesting to hear you do it with your voice."
It was kind of surreal, to hear her talk so candidly. It made him wonder how calculated her words were in a regular basis; he'd always assumed her kind words were the norm but she was really quite brash behind the mask of anonymity.
"So, you're a girl..."
"How observant of you," she snapped back before he could get to his point.
"No, I knew when you first talked but I'm wondering if I could ask your advice on something?"
She made a long sound that gave of the impression she was apprehensive or even inconvenienced, "Suuuuure."
"What is your idea of a perfect date?"
"Why, who are you asking?" she teased.
If she only knew.
But he was glad he had the upper hand and she didn't know who he really was.
"There's this girl I like and was going to ask her out but I haven't been on a date for years."
The last date he went on was with Alanna actually, and it was perfect. Could he capture that magic twice?
There was nothing but silence, and for a moment he dreaded that she recognized him by his voice but after a few moments, her voice rang through with a suggestion—"Take her stargazing."
"Yeah, like cuddling under the stars or something. I know it's pretty nerdy and all but I'm just kind of fascinated about the galaxy, are we the only ones out here? You know? I had a telescope when I was little, but my sister kept hogging it and we'd fight over it."
It was even more evident the person he was talking to was Alanna with that fact. He knew she had a sister, and her sister was kind of unpleasant and snide from what he remembered. He could feel for poor little Alanna being bullied away from her telescope. Her suggestion and anecdote only made her more adorable.
"Hey, it's okay. I mean we do play a lot of video games so that makes us nerdy anyway, right?" he tried to reassure her.
"Speak for yourself, video games are the new cool!"
He laughed as did she and he felt more at ease, like he was talking to her normally as if they were chemistry partners in high school again. Well, all besides his lowered voice, which he had been careful to maintain the deeper tone as he talked as not to arouse her suspicion.
"How long have you been playing Rush Hour? You're pretty damn good," Reggie noted. He decided he could swing some flattery to her without it being too obvious.
"I started about a year ago. My brother gave me a link to download the free trial and it got me kind of hooked on it."
Reggie recalled that Alanna had a brother as well.
"How did you get into it?" she asked in turn.
"I saw it was a recommended play in a gaming magazine and so went out and bought a copy. I've been playing since I started college."
"Sim State. You?"
"I didn't say I went to college."
He inwardly cursed for giving away info that he knew more about her than she knew he would know.
"But do you?" He asked, covering over his blunder, "I mean, you sound like you could be a student."
"I do and I am."
"I think...I've given enough personal info for one day. Good luck on your date and let's race again soon, Zoom," she said then added, "That is, if you want to lose!"
With that, she disconnected and he wasn't even offended by her last needling comment.
How could it be that a girl he thought was perfect had somehow become even more so? What was more perfect than perfection? Divinity? Was Alanna Thackery, in fact, a goddess?
He stood to stretch his legs because he'd been sitting for a while at his computer. The lightness he felt at winning, and knowing that the girl of his dreams was his one and only gaming rival made him feel as though he could lift off the ground at any moment—happy enough to fly if he could. He only took a few steps back until he felt the bed frame behind his knees and fell onto his mattress with a sense of satisfaction. Something, something had gone his way for once.
His imagination ran wild thinking of what other games she could have played, the fierce spark in her eyes as she raced, the determined smile between her lips when she was focused on winning. He fantasized about this side of Alanna he'd never seen—the competitive, sassy, unapologetically candid version of her.
Picturing her, in all her perfection behind closed eyelids—it made him smile and hope that his plan to ask her out would work. He could plan her idea of a perfect date and then she'd have no reason not to fall for him.
A different *ping* sound suddenly went off—a faint little note of sound coming out of his headphones which he had taken off before standing up. It was a chat box on a tab he'd left open on a web browser. He sat up, and curiously went to check it out.
The web page was sitting on the student profile site—a place he often visited to see if Alanna had added any new pictures or updates he could use as conversation fodder the next time he saw her. She hadn't messaged him though. It was, to his very ultimate surprise—Marshall Cosgrove.
Marshall Cosgrove: Hey u there?
He considered not answering, but only briefly. His curiosity got the better of him.
Reginald Orbinson: Yeah why? What do you want?
Marshall Cosgrove: Meet me at the coffee shop on the east edge of campus.
Reggie felt himself frown. Why would the Hoh Fruhm President suddenly be interested in meeting with Reggie when the day before he had made it clear that Reggie was never going to be allowed in?
Reginald Orbinson: Why would I?
Marshall Cosgrove: Cuz I have a proposition that could get you in.
He didn't have to specify as to what Reggie could get 'in' to and Reggie felt like his luck was on a roll that evening. If he got into Hoh Fruhm, everything would be right in the world.
It was downright chilly outside, and Reggie could feel himself shivering in his jacket even. There weren't any crickets chirping which had been a constant for the past two seasons. The night felt kind of lonely as he made his way to the edge of campus. He was to meet Marshall Cosgrove at the same coffee shop where they had seen each other the day before. Reggie headed toward the entrance, eager to get out of the cold but a voice stopped him.
He halted and looked to the right to see Cosgrove backed up against one of the decorative fences that contained a tree with his arms crossed. The front of the coffee shop was a charmingly landscaped area that he didn't mind sitting in between classes when the weather was nice.
"Cosgrove," he nodded and approached, waiting to hear what Marshall had to say, "Why the change of heart?"
Marshall merely glowered, as if he didn't want to be offering Reggie a way in but he had no other choice, "To put it plainly, I need you to get some information on someone—I can't use any of the guys at Hoh Fruhm because we are all being watched rather closely after today."
"Why, what happened today?"
Whatever it was that was bothering Marshall, seemed to explode as he threw his arms out, "We got raided! The police showed up on an anonymous tip that illegal substances were being used at our parties. They found the pills, and now the charter is in jeopardy—Hoh Fruhm is on probation!"
"But not double-secret probation?" Reggie asked with a smirk. Marshall wasn't amused by the reference and he slumped back against the fence.
"I'm sure I know who tipped the police off; the guy that left the frat a week ago, and the entire Greek Society like he was better than us. I want you to get some dirt on him. I'll use it to ruin him. If he thinks he can just walk away and then drag us through the mud afterward then he has another thing coming. You get this information on him and I will let you join the vacancy he left behind."
Reggie felt himself shiver but wasn't sure if it was because of the cold or the absolute hatred and determination in Marshall's voice. Reggie's cleared his throat, he didn't know who this person was yet but it was in the realm of possibility that it would be impossible to deliver what Marshall wanted, "What if I can't find any dirt on him?"
Marshall let out a scornful laugh, "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree as far as the Calhouns are concerned. Nick's dad is one of the slimiest son of a bitches I've ever seen and you can probably agree since he's running against yours in the election. So help me get dirt on Nick—he'll go down like he should, and you get into the frat you've been wanting to all these years. It's a win-win."
Nicholas Calhoun. Now there was a name that Reggie hadn't heard for a long time. Reggie didn't have to think long about the offer, because unbeknownst to Marshall, Nick and Reggie weren't on friendly terms anyway. He had no emotional conflict in trying to cause Nick any embarrassment or hurt Marshall would have him suffer. It wasn't like Nick Calhoun ever considered how much his words would affect young Reggie—getting every kid in school to laugh at him on a weekly basis when they were children.
But as much Reggie wouldn't mind digging up dirt on Nick, he wanted more than what Marshall was offering for it.
"If I can get you the information you want to bury Nick, I want a position in the frat—vice president."
Marshall nearly growled in response, "I can't guarantee that, those positions are voted on by the members every semester..."
Reggie whirled around, a knowing frown plastered on his face, "The Calhouns aren't the only slimy son of a bitches in Kashmire—your father orchestrated the entire election between my dad and Elm Calhoun all because he couldn't obtain some land. You haven't been fraternity president all these years because of your popularity, so don't stand there and tell me you can't rig your own house elections."
Marshall's livid expression let up slightly at being called out, it was most likely the truth too. He seemed to mull over Reggie's demand. Reggie wasn't naïve, he knew Marshall would try to find a way to screw him over once he got what he wanted, especially now that he'd demanded a place of rank within Hoh Fruhm. He half expected Marshall to withdraw the offer but to his surprise, the blond straightened up and nodded.
"Okay, I'll see what I can move around—but only if you get what I want—Nick Calhoun to pay for what he's done."
"Shake on it," Reggie demanded and Marshall lifted his arm, extending his hand with a slight hesitance. Reggie took it in a firm grasp and they shook. It was a good thing Marshall came to him for this task—Cosgrove likely banked on Reggie's desperation to join the Greek society as a sure way to obtain what he needed but Reggie could do one better. He had a spy bot and that made all the difference between failure and victory.
Blah sorry this was two weeks later. I'm writing on and off, and I was off on getting this up last week.
@nayahn1 - I'm glad you liked my bonus pics, I had a fun time making them Two of my favorite romantic tropes are friends-to-lovers and then antagonistic acquaintances-to-lovers - but that's not at all telling for how this story goes
One day not too long ago I decided to kind of do a visual layout of what my story sims were like, who they were, what they liked or valued, how they are perceived, and it was an interesting little project in between chapters. Click info button to see!
#93 4th Mar 2018 at 8:31 AM Last edited by Charmful : 15th Mar 2018 at 8:34 PM.
Chapter 45: Distractions
Sometimes it was just plain necessary to have a quiet moment, away from all the excitement and drama of social engagements. Evelyn used to thrive off that kind of energy but as she sat on her bed in the Cosgrove Scholarship House, looking over her class materials and notes, she realized that wasn't really what she enjoyed anymore--seeking the attention of many, finding connections she could use to gain influence at a later time, playing the game of intrigue like a carefully calculated game of chess--it was all so exhausting and as she had learned, could come back to bite her in the worst of ways. She should have been focusing on studying since she knew another test was coming up soon in her Anthropology course. However, her thoughts had wandered off into a rare moment of introspection.
The fact was, she was a daughter of a political family in the public eye and her ongoing, involuntary affair with the maestro ensured she would never live a drama-free life.
She let out a deep, despairing, sigh and shuffled through her papers.
The door opened to her room suddenly without so much as one quick knock of warning.
Evelyn jumped, slightly startled, and gritted her teeth at the interruption, "What?"
The blonde that had intruded seemed to shrink back a bit at Evelyn's sharp questioning. It was a simple one-word inquiry but there was a whole slew of contempt and annoyance laced within it. Evelyn's power as the president of her scholarship house wasn't maintained through congeniality, but fear. As of late, she hadn't been as domineering or direct as she was known to be and she'd often been scarce or just plain unavailable to her housemates. They weren't complaining of her absence, but Evelyn could tell that maybe her power was being questioned and felt the tiniest of hints of some sort of subversion in her house the past week. She had chose to ignore it; she had much bigger problems at the moment.
"Hi Evelyn Jane, sorry I didn't knock," the same housemate said a bit timidly.
"What do you need, Saskia?" Evelyn asked and focused on arranging her papers to order them by date. She always dated her notes so she could study chronologically.
Saskia seemed a bit braver as she stepped further into the room and leaned her back against the door's edge. "You seem a lot busier as of late. You missed the meeting."
No wonder she had been getting dirty looks all week. She had completely forgotten about the weekly house meeting. But it wasn't as if she could have attended, not when she was busy collaborating with Shaun. She never missed a house meeting before, not one.
"Is something the matter? Are you...okay?" Saskia asked to fill the silence at Evelyn's lack of reply.
Evelyn Jane's contempt was evident in her expression but she quickly wiped it away and looked up, projecting a collected, poised face. If Saskia was looking for any kind of weakness, she wasn't going to find it now.
Evelyn's lie was said with such conviction, she almost believed it herself. Saskia gave a hesitant nod and small, cordial smile before leaving. When the door was closed, Evelyn all but crumpled into a ball onto her bed. It was entirely taxing to project this facade that her life was in order when it was spiraling out of her control...but she couldn't ever allow her family or anyone else find out about her transgressions and the inevitable shit-storm for all of them that would ensue if it became public knowledge. She'd always been good at keeping secrets, lying, and manipulating her way in and out of situations but now all of it had piled up so much it felt like it was crushing her. So much, that she was too distracted to even study without worrying about it every waking moment.
Her grandmother would have chided her for laying around and moping, she would have said it was 'unbecoming of a young lady.' Evelyn resembled her grandmother closely, at least that is what all of the family said. The woman had passed away several years ago but her etiquette lessons had been drilled into Evelyn from a young age. She let out another forlorn sigh and pulled herself up, because as much as she hated the predicament she was in, she knew the truth of how she got there and could only blame herself.
If only she had someone to listen to her troubles. She didn't need them to find a resolution necessarily, it would just be nice--to have someone to tell them to. That was the complicated part though, because telling anyone was a risk of the truth being found.
She slid off the bed and caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. She approached it and pulled the pins out of her hair, letting the black shroud fall around her face and then ran her fingers through it, liking the feel of its silky texture. She had grown it out quite a bit since her high school days after keeping it short most of her life. Victoria had told her on several occasions that the longer length made her look softer and her mother proclaimed that it accentuated her natural beauty. Evelyn gave an unladylike snort at the thought; it was kind of a pain to take care of--a lot more brushing, conditioning, and styling than she had been used to as a youth.
Another thing about her reflection that was odd was that she wasn't wearing make up, which was the norm for her every day look. Cosmetics were a requirement of going out into public but she had stayed shut-in most of the day and didn't bother applying any, despite it being the last day of fall break. She hadn't even put her contacts in, so was sporting her old pair of glasses. She never wore them outside of her house, not since she first got the pair in middle school and was teased for it. Reputation was everything to Evelyn, it was what she cared most about. That was another teaching from her grandmother that had stuck.
Looking at herself now, she knew that her obsession with it was the reason she didn't keep friends easily. Friends didn't last very long due to something or other about them that threatened her reputation--they had been too poor, too unrefined, or too unintelligent to have the privilege of her company and the chance to reflect on her negatively. It was worse for any romances she bothered to have. Her standards for companionship were impossibly high and extremely shallow. She may have openly scoffed at the concept of 'love' but even she at times felt lonely and had the deepest desire to find something akin to it.
As she thought more about it though, she realized her standards weren't impossible.
Shaun Piper was vile but he technically was all she desired in a partner--rich, driven to succeed, handsome--at least for his age, well-spoken, and viciously intelligent. The fact of that made her stomach churn with uneasiness. He wasn't kind, he wasn't patient, nor was he honest but how could she expect certain attributes in a partner when she herself lacked those very qualities? It was almost as if Shaun and her...were two sides of the same coin and that thought struck a great sense of self-loathing inside of her. She couldn't stand the sight of her reflection anymore and turned her back on it.
She stepped behind her dressing screen and removed her clothing, draping her pants and shirt over it to put away for later, and changed into her pajamas to ready for bed. She had an early day anyway, and she couldn't pull off the concentration to study anymore that night. She removed her glasses and the world became slightly blurry. The Orbinsons may have been blessed with competence in politics but it lacked in eyesight. Everyone in her family needed correctional lenses of some sort. Evelyn and her mother were the only ones who constantly hid their handicap from the public. It wasn't like the public would look down on her for something as simple as wearing glasses but even Evelyn hid even the tiniest of her flaws. Anything less than perfect was unacceptable--it was yet another teaching from her grandmother that she had adhered to. Suffice it to say, her grandmother had been a heavy influence on the way Evelyn had grown up.
At the thought of nothing less than perfect, the Ambassador's face suddenly graced her mind's eye and a fraction of her distress seemed to ebb. Zan had proven to be of good company--unexpected but appreciated. She was actually looking forward to seeing him again at her father's election party at the end of the week. He had given her his personal number after their tour the other day had concluded, before she had left his mansion, and he'd told her that she could call him anytime. After all, they were now friends according to him.
Maybe it was time to put that to the test. She looked at her clock and it was nearly 10:30 p.m.
She had his number programmed into her phone, so picked it up from where it lay on her desk and hit the 'dial' button. She put her cell to her ear and waited while it rang, a sense of anxiousness filling her in the form of a tummy flutter.
"Hello Evelyn," she heard him answer. Again, she felt something different about herself--some sort of shift in her at being addressed by just her first name. She didn't even know what to say, she had nothing of great importance or interest to speak of and felt a little foolish for wasting his time.
"Sorry, I..." she apologized for the initial silence and tried to suppress that wild flutter in her gut at the way he said her name, "I know it's late but I wanted to call you and see how the rest of your weekend went."
He gave a small laugh, "Thanks for your concern, it was just fine. In fact, I went back to the Gardens today and made a new friend."
"Yes, a musician. He played music for Sebastian and even spoke my language. I'm quite taken with him."
Evelyn paused, wondering if that last part was a translational error. Some words, she knew, could be tricky to understand between languages. She supposed he meant that he found his new friend very interesting.
"How have you been?" he asked in turn.
"I've been trying to study for school but...my mind is distracted," she replied honestly.
"I find the best way to clear one's head of distractions is to discuss them out loud. I usually confide in Sebastian. He doesn't know what I'm saying of course, but it's still nice that he listens," Zan explained which garnered a small, surprising chuckle from Evelyn, which only got louder as she heard the dog make a chuff of acknowledgement on the other end of the line. Zan must have had her on speakerphone.
She thought what he'd said was amusing about talking to Sebastian. He really did love that dog of his, no doubt near his master at that very moment. Her grandmother had a vicious little lapdog named Ginger when she was a girl. It was her first experience with dogs and Ginger had bitten her hand when Evelyn had picked up one of the dog's toys. Ever since then, Evelyn was somewhat apprehensive of being around them.
She told as much to Zan who tutted in sympathy and told her she should come visit him again to get better acquainted with Sebastian. According to Zan, Sebastian would never bite a soul. Sebastian was the perfect dog--friendly, obedient, playful and loving. The canine's demeanor sounded nearly as perfect as the Ambassador was shaping up to be.
How did men like him even exist? There had to be a catch--no one was realistically so impeccable, not without a handful of lies and a good PR team to spin them.
"I'm curious to know where you will take me on our next outing," Zan mused.
Evelyn hadn't given it much thought, but a part of her genuinely wanted to please him, to take him somewhere that would make him beam as happily as he did when he had seen the gardens in Memosa Bay. She had an idea.
"You consider yourself an outdoors type of man, yes?"
"Is it that obvious?" he replied in a tone that made her think he was grinning in anticipation that very moment.
There was a place that had recently opened in Isla Del Kashmire--a dinner theater. It was outdoors, and had a large garden meant for patrons to stroll through and admire. She had heard her mother mention how beautiful it was. It was a perfect spot to take the Ambassador on her next 'tour.'
"Then, I have a place in mind. I don't want to spoil it but I think you would like very much."
"That's wonderful to hear! I cannot wait to see it."
Zan then went on to talk about Takemizu and asked if she had ever visited his home region. She had not but admitted she wanted to someday, even before meeting him, Takemizu held a sense of mystery to her. She hadn't traveled much outside of Kashmire but only to Twikkii Island for summer vacations since her family owned a beach home there. Zan lamented that he had never been to the tropical getaway, but wouldn't mind going just to see the flowers the region grew.
Of course he would, she thought, suppressing an honest-to-plumbob giggle at his obsession with plants and worked double-hard not to laugh when he asked her about the flowers she had encountered when there.
Before she knew it, she was spending the better part of an hour describing tropical flowers to the Ambassador of Takemizu--the colors, the fragrances, and the petal shapes of what she could remember from the last time she had visited.
"Perhaps next time we go, you should just tag along. There's a guest room on the third floor," Evelyn teased, trying to avoid being convinced to describe a new flower. Her parents had acquired the beach house when she was in third grade. She enjoyed vacations to Twikkii, they had always been so relaxing but they hadn't visited for some time--not when her father was so wrapped up in his campaigns and civic duties.
"I couldn't impose," Zan joked back. They both knew it wasn't a serious offer. How could it be? They had just met each other that week. Also, Evelyn had promised herself not to like him; it seemed as if though Evelyn had broken her promise already the way she enjoyed his laugh and thought maybe she should check out a book about flowers so the next time they saw each other she could impress him with her knowledge about them. The cell phone felt hot on her cheek and she couldn't tell if it was just the battery in her phone from prolonged usage or a succinct blush because she realized that was flirting for the first time in what felt forever.
A few moments of silence passed.
"Well, I guess I should let you go. It's late after all and--"
"I apologize for speaking so long about flowers, but didn't you have something you wanted to talk about, such as distractions?" he interrupted her attempt to hang up.
Distractions was certainly correct, though now it was of a different caliber; she hadn't thought once about her miserable circumstance when she was talking to Zan. She felt a sting of regret because she did want to tell her troubles to someone, however she had just met him, had no idea what he would do or who he would repeat it to if she spoke the truth. As much as she wanted to trust him, she just couldn't. At least not yet.
"No, but thank you for offering to listen."
"Evelyn, I promise you that I will always make time to listen--because you are my friend and friends listen to each other."
She thanked him and bid him goodnight, feeling more somber than before once the silence settled on her yet again.
#94 8th Mar 2018 at 1:01 AM
Thanks: 3 in 1 Posts
Just finished reading the entirety of this - loving all the intrigue, was shocked at Nick's descent into murky moral waters (I thought he was a straight-up guy!) and am utterly disgusted at Marshall's antics! Great writing and amazing pictures!
I have to ask though, WCIF Nick's loose hair? Although I already have a few long hairs for men, that mesh is perfect for a sim in my game.
No need to use my full name, "Selly" will do just fine.
I have to ask though, WCIF Nick's loose hair? Although I already have a few long hairs for men, that mesh is perfect for a sim in my game.
No need to use my full name, "Selly" will do just fine.
#95 18th Mar 2018 at 6:02 PM Last edited by Charmful : 29th Oct 2020 at 6:08 PM.
The Family Ailment
Chapter 46: The Family Ailment
Franz didn't like the hospital; it was too cold, the fluorescent lights were too bright, and there was that sickly smell of processed food with a hint of death. Did death really have a smell? If so, the hospital was closest thing to it. He didn't want to keep his mother there a minute longer than she had to be. Luckily, he was notified that she made it through surgery all right and was resting. He limped slightly through the hallways, making his way to the third floor. He knew which room she was in, but still retained the patience to check in at the nurse station before barging in.
Yvette was bundled up in her hospital bed, her curling grey hair was pulled back and clear of her face making it easy to see that the wound she received from falling had healed over. Franz felt the vice around his heart let up momentarily at viewing that improvement. He crouched down and felt himself smile in a relief of sorts as he nudged his mom gently, "Hey mom, how you feeling?"
She stirred and made a small groan indicative of pain and that caused him to retract his feeling of relief. It made sense she would still feel worse for wear, but he hated that fact and stood, towering above her as he waited for her to wake fully.
To his surprise, Fauna must have visited already since there was a vase of flowers on the counter next to his mother's bed. On the side of the room where he stood, there was a breakfast tray and a bundle of newspapers—probably meant for his mother when she woke up.
"Why aren't you in class?" were the first words out his mother's mouth at seeing him. He had morning classes at the community college and she knew it. He didn't want to tell her quite yet the details of why he was skipping class to see her, and felt a bit frustrated that was the first thing she had asked him. It sounded as if she didn't want him to visit. He wanted to know if she was going to be all right. She grimaced and managed to pull herself into a sitting position while rubbing sleep out of her eyes.
"And why do you have a black eye? Have you been fighting again?" she seemed more disappointed than angry with that question. Franz touched his eye, it was still tender and the bruise had begun to fade—but he didn't want to talk about how that had come to be.
"Never mind that, how do you feel?"
She was not the most talkative person and could be quite direct. She didn't like to talk about herself that much either. It was a trait Franz thought he had picked up from her. Since she didn't seem keen on talking about her recovery, he found a different subject to speak on.
"When did Fauna come to see you?"
His mother looked to him with slight puzzlement, "She hasn't."
His brow lowered in confusion, "Who gave you the flowers?"
She turned her head to see, as if she had just now noticed they were there. A look of mild surprise danced across her features, "They must have been delivered when I was sleeping, but I don't recall having any visitors."
He maneuvered around the hospital bed and checked to see if the flowers came with a card. There was a small one stuffed between the violet petals and he dug it out to read it curiously.
I hope with all hopes that you recover fully and feel well soon. You are in my thoughts!
"Who sent them, dear?"
Franz felt heartened that Alanna would go and send flowers, she really was the best person he knew. He handed his mother the card to read for herself, trying to contain the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at Alanna's thoughtful gesture.
"Oh, what a doll," his mother said with the same tone of endearment he felt at the moment. She handed the card back to him and mused, "I always did like her. Alanna is my favorite of all your friends."
"She's my only friend," Franz reminded his mother as he settled the paper note back into the blooms.
She nodded, "I know—I meant she's my favorite of all the friends between you and your sister. Fauna doesn't usually have the knack for picking keepers."
Franz made an incoherent sound of agreement, thinking back to her jerk of a boy toy.
"So where is your sister?"
Franz shrugged, "I texted her that I was coming to visit you but she didn't respond. I think she's angry that you didn't tell her that you were sick in the first place."
"You didn't tell her?"
Franz knotted his brows, "You told me not to. I thought you had told her."
She sighed and shook her head, "I was going to eventually, but I ran out of time. I told you because I know you can shoulder a burden, you always have—you're emotionally strong. Fauna is a bit delicate, if I put too much on her shoulders I fear she will break."
Her statement made him think of the time they were told one of their grandmother's cats had died. Fauna wept endlessly it seemed. The cat happened to be her favorite. She also threw tantrums when they were younger and Yvette couldn't afford to buy Fauna the designer clothes that all the other girls at school were touting. Fauna tried very hard to fit in and didn't like being teased for coming from a poor family—for wearing thrift shop clothes, for bringing a brown bag lunch everyday—and he could see how his mother thought her delicate. However, Yvette didn't see that even though Fauna was teased, she never let that break her smile at school. She was always smiling, and always trying to fit in despite the obstacles, and didn't let the negative remarks influence her demeanor—at least not in public. For that, Franz thought his sister was a strong person.
"I think you underestimate Fauna, Mom," Franz mumbled quietly but didn't elaborate. Instead, he nodded toward the food that seemed to be waiting to be eaten. It included coffee—which was probably cold by now, "You want that?"
Yvette saw what he was referring to and shrugged, "I suppose I should eat. Has the doctor come in yet?"
Franz shrugged and set the newspapers and breakfast onto the mobile table that could be scooted to lay over the hospital bed. He pushed the table forward and his mother made a grab for one of the baked rolls. They probably were not as good as ones found in their bakery. However, she paused when she saw the newspaper—opting instead to take a look at what she had missed while she had been in the hospital.
The door to the room opened and a woman in scrubs gave them a smile in greeting, "Hello, I'm so glad to see you are awake Mrs. Schoulsburg."
"Ms. Schoulsburg," his mother corrected—not with sternness but a definite firmness. She opened up the newspaper and began reading, not paying mind to the doctor's presence. The woman's eyes widened a bit at the lack of attention her patient was giving her and so turned to address Franz. It was clear Yvette wasn't interested in talking to a doctor at the moment. He wished his mother would stop avoiding things she'd rather not face by ignoring them.
"You must be her son—I'm Dr. Kapitha. I'm your mother's post-op doctor," she stuck out her hand and Franz gave it a quick, cordial shake. She had a clipboard of paper in her opposite arms and she flipped through it, "Since your mother seems to be preoccupied, can I have a word with you?"
He gave a nod and she gestured toward the door—she wanted a word outside of the room. It made him a bit nervous that she wanted to discuss something outside of his mother's hearing when she was the patient and probably should be listening what the doctor had to say.
"What do you want to talk about?"
"Your mother, obviously," Dr. Kapitha raised a sharp brow. Her tone sounded a bit exasperated.
"Sorry, she can be a bit...antisocial," he said and knew the feeling all too well.
"She's a hard egg to crack, can barely get a word out of her since she came back from surgery yesterday."
Franz nodded in understanding, that was on par for his mother, "Can I take her home?"
"Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about—since she had major surgery, it's an inpatient procedure and we'd like to keep her for a few more nights for observation. If we send her home now, we could only prescribe pain meds and she wouldn't be able to walk so unless you have handicapable access to your home, it might be more of a hassle to have her at home until she can walk again. Here she can receive care and stronger meds to manage pain as needed, under supervision."
Franz's hope all but crashed and burned at hearing this news; he didn't want her to stay in the hospital and in addition the cost of keeping her here would be so very expensive. He couldn't even fight anymore to get money—which was why he had decided to drop out of community college to run the bakery full time.
Dr. Kapitha expertly didn't make eye contact as she continued to look through papers on the clipboard before stopping on a specific one, "In addition, we contained the VBT spread in her pelvis but the sickness will never truly be gone. My recommendation is to keep her on the same treatments she had been taking before her collapse."
That was even more of an expense they couldn't afford. Not unless, maybe the bakery was sold to the Cosgrove Collective. However where would that leave them? With even less means to earn money than before. He clenched his jaw and eyed the doctor, finding himself nodded though every instinct in him wanted to just go back into the room and take his mother out of there.
"I will explain this all to Ms. Schoulsburg when she is more receptive, I'll leave you two alone for now—she could use the company," Dr. Kapitha continued to say with a tone of sympathy and then departed down the hallway back toward the open room of the floor.
He pushed open the door to see his mother still reading the newspaper with great interest. He didn't realize she liked news so much. She looked up at him sharply, "You had a bake sale last week?"
That accusation, even though true, caused Franz to pause with confusion.
Yvette set down the paper and tapped on it. Franz approached the bed and saw she still hadn't eaten the food that was provided. Sure enough, there was a picture of him in front of the Mocha Chip Coffee Shop, looking kind of grumpy whilst standing amongst scones.
He ran his hand through his hair with a bout of nervousness forming in his chest; he had thought that red-headed girl said she was writing for a school newspaper—why would a Regional paper be running that article? Then he remembered that the Kashmire Quirk liked to compile articles from lesser papers around the region to fill spots on slow news weeks.
His mother's annoyance was palpable.
"It was Alanna's idea. She wanted to raise money for your..." Franz began but already knew it would just be worse explaining the situation, because it meant that his mother would know he had discussed their financial troubles with his friend. That was supposed to be family business and now everyone knew because he was sure the article quoted Alanna's explanation for the bake sale.
"Sometimes getting help from others isn't a bad thing," Franz mumbled, thinking back to Alanna's visit to his dorm room the other night. She was acting a bit strange and he supposed it was because she had seen him hurt for the first time since they had been friends. He was thankful she didn't press for details about his wounds but what she had said about being there for him no matter what made him have a sense of hope.
"We don't need charity," Yvette frowned and said in reply, pushing away the mobile surface containing her uneaten breakfast and newspapers, "I've taken care of it. All I need is for you to take a paper at the house to get it notarized. It's important, so don't lose it."
"What paper?" Franz's gut twisted already knowing what paper it was and how it didn't exist anymore—except for maybe a landfill miles and miles away by now.
"The contract for sale of my bakery."
But it wasn't just hers. It was their family's. It was his grandmother's legacy and it was his childhood escape; it was a place that was always warm, the lights were dim and cozy, and the delicious smell of bread was constant.
"What if there was another way?"
She seemed taken aback at his question, "What other way?"
"What if I dropped out of school, worked the bakery, got sales up—"
"Franz, dear, you can't—"
She looked at him, struck with disbelief at first but knew his hard stare was serious and determined. Her son could be as stubborn as she was.
"I'm donating my semester bonuses and refund entirely toward your medical expenses. I have more that can cover this hospital stay and my plan is to turn the bakery around, even this article helps with publicity and with hard work I can cover it."
"Franz—" she said softly. He knew that tone; it was to let him down gently.
"It will work, Mom, it will," he insisted and felt like maybe some of Alanna's optimism had rubbed off in him but there was a dark shadow cast across his conscious that told him even if was the most determined, hard-working, baker in the world, he couldn't sustain the costs of VBT treatments for her.
She reached out and held his hand, still with that soft tone, "I don't want you working yourself to death on account of me."
And I don't want you to die because I didn't try hard enough.
He withdrew his hand and turned his back on her, his face breaking into emotion—a vulnerability that he didn't want her to see since she thought he was so strong, "It's my decision to fight for what I love."
@Selly_2009 - Nick, for the most part is a stand up guy but he has this grey-morals part of him on the account of his father's influence and he's been trying to get away from that over the years as he realizes it's not good. Marshall is a pig. No question. I'm glad you like my story so far <3 Did you get my PM about Nick's loose hair?
Thanks to @bbostic8 for a very thorough review of this story that was PM'd to me--it was very insightful and had good suggestions for improvement
Again, credit to @Zarathustra for an AMAZING multi-use hospital lot. It's big but worth it.
Chapters are probably going to be bi-weekly now that I have run out of my mini pool of pre-written chapters again. I gotta start from scratch for a number of upcoming chapters. I will try my best to catch up so I can have them ready on Sundays.
#96 20th Mar 2018 at 5:53 AM
Great work, as usual. Hugs for Franz! I love the way you set up your pictures. You really have an eye for framing a scene.
"Passion makes no accommodation for self-preservation."
#97 20th Mar 2018 at 8:59 PM
Franz and his mother both have good intentions, both trying to look out for their family in the best way they know how. Franz is ambitious and nostalgic, but terribly naive in his efforts to cling on to the past. Honestly, he should invest more in his education and spend more time with his mother. In all likelihood, even if she recovers, things will never go back to the way things were. The bakery won't be the same, and neither will their relationship. Blindly doing anything and everything to salvage the bakery and the memories that come with it will ultimately destroy his relationship with his mom. I hope Franz can come to realize that before it's too late, but I don't think he's capable of taking a step outside himself to see that right now.
I didn't notice any problems with characters looking funny? Maybe there's something wrong with me? Also, I think Franz's last line would be more impactful if he left it at "It's my decision," or even "It's my decision to fight," but the "fight for what I love" line seems a little hackneyed. But maybe I'm jaded.
Give yourself as much time as necessary to craft the piece you're proudest of, Charmful. Your audience will be here when you're ready.
I didn't notice any problems with characters looking funny? Maybe there's something wrong with me? Also, I think Franz's last line would be more impactful if he left it at "It's my decision," or even "It's my decision to fight," but the "fight for what I love" line seems a little hackneyed. But maybe I'm jaded.
Give yourself as much time as necessary to craft the piece you're proudest of, Charmful. Your audience will be here when you're ready.
#98 20th Mar 2018 at 10:43 PM
Thanks: 3 in 1 Posts
@Charmful, yes I did, thank you very much!
No need to use my full name, "Selly" will do just fine.
No need to use my full name, "Selly" will do just fine.
#99 15th Aug 2018 at 4:17 AM
Road to Success
Chapter 47: Road to Success
Why did she still have heels on? If Leona weren’t sitting on Edric King’s tour bus she would have already have kicked them off, but she was new and didn’t want to be seen as the weird girl who didn’t wear shoes in public. She had been introduced to the rest of the band, the roadies and other assorted personnel that traveled with them, but still didn’t feel comfortable with possibly exposing them to the smell of her feet. She felt the painful pinch on her toes and could only put on a smile of fake attentiveness as Luke sat next to her and tried to make small talk.
It was hard enough to concentrate on what he was talking about with the previously mentioned unpleasantness, but then there were other distractions such as the in-bus television that was on though no one seemed to be watching. One of the guitar players was strumming out the intro to one of Edric’s songs repeatedly without finishing, while she could hear Caroline and the girl in charge of Edric’s wardrobe discussing fashion from the other side of Luke. Through the opposite ear, she could overhear a lewd string of conversation between Edric himself and another band member that was followed by uproarious laughter.
“So now that you have another concert under your belt, do you feel more at ease performing in front of such big crowds?” Luke asked.
Leona’s concentration moved from the feeling in her feet and the noise around her towards the band manager, “Why do you ask?”
They had left West Clayton a few hours ago and were already on their way to the next city on the tour–taking her even further away from her home region.
Luke propped his elbow onto the back of the seat and leaned into it while giving her a studied look, “Edric mentioned that you seemed nervous before going on stage tonight–”
Leona felt a prick of annoyance at Edric, which was unfortunately not uncommon in the few days since they had been introduced. Who was he to make assumptions about her and then blab to others about it? She shifted her sitting position, pulling her legs underneath her and leaned over to peer down at Edric with a frown.
“Hey!” She snapped and pointed at him, “I wasn’t nervous at the last concert!”
Edric had his legs crossed and propped up on the small dinette table with his hands behind his head. He gave a lazy little smile in response, “You were tapping your foot so fast I thought you’d bust out in a tap dance. Isn’t it a nervous tick?”
Leona gave an indignant huff, “It’s not. I was getting my feet accustomed to these high heels. You’d be tapping your foot too if you had to wedge your toes together like that.”
“Take them off if they brother you so much,” Edric suggested.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Leona retorted and turned her back on him, returning her attention to the band manager. Anything was better than being forced to talk with Edric. “Anyway, despite what Edric says–I’m at ease whenever I perform in public. I’ve been doing this since I was in high school.”
“Yes, Naomi and I discussed your singing accomplishments–you came in first for the regional Battle of the Bands when you were just sixteen. Then went on to play for a few local gigs after that. Your band separated shortly after you entered Sim State University–why was that again?”
Leona didn’t realize Luke knew so much about her but she supposed it made sense when her agent submitted an audition tape. He’d had to vet her thoroughly if she was to sing and travel with someone as famous as Edric King. But if that was true, then he should have had a good idea of why her band had separated. What did he want her to say that he didn’t already glean from her agent? Did he suspect she had anything to do with the reason her band was no longer playing? She had to set the record straight if that was the case!
“My bandmates, they…” Leona began to say and was forced to think of Alarie and Illyana–about how they thought that she was so obsessed with her dream that she’d resort to sleeping her way to make it come true and with Edric no less! The nerve! It still hurt her that was how she was perceived but she would prevail and show them she could succeed in her own way. “They went in different directions, it was hard to schedule gigs and practices so I thought it best to strike off on my own.”
Luke nodded with sympathetic understanding.
What she didn’t tell him was how much Alarie liked to drink and party once she entered college and that resulted in her blowing off band practice a majority of the time, or how Illyana got her first serious boyfriend at age 18 and suddenly all her free time was spent with him instead of writing new music. Leona couldn’t keep it all up by herself and besides, her so-called ‘friends’ never wanted the fame as she did. The Raven Crowns dissolved, leaving Leona pursuing music as a solo artist.
“Hey, Miss Arithmetic!” She heard her new nickname shouted from below. She peeked over and frowned, non-verbally indicating that she disliked it, but giving him her attention nonetheless.
Edric had gotten up from where he was lounging, most likely to stretch his legs after sitting the past few hours. He swayed slightly with the movement of the vehicle as he held his balance on a hand rail, “You’re awfully cranky. You should get some beauty rest as soon as we get to Mesa Flats.”
Leona shot up and the movement caught the attention of nearly everyone in the small space. The strums of the guitar and the chatter all stopped; the only noise left was a commercial from the television.
“Maybe I wouldn’t be so cranky if you called me by my actual name,” she made her way down the few steps from the elevated seating area to face him head on, “Maybe I wouldn’t be so cranky if–”
“If you weren’t wearing high heels?” Edric suggested and crossed his arms.
Leona clamped her hands to her hips and glowered at his interruption, starting again, “Maybe I wouldn’t be so cranky if the guy I’m singing for didn’t cut me off when I speak and steal my hotel key cards.”
Instead of looking ashamed or embarrassed for being called out, he just seemed mildly perplexed, “You’re still mad about that? That was so long ago.”
She threw her arms down, “It was less that 48 hours ago!”
“You need to stop living in the past.”
“Stop it, both of you,” Luke’s clear, annoyed voice split through the tension. They looked to him and saw him holding the side of his head with an exasperated expression, as if he’d developed a headache—as if he were dealing with children. Leona was taken aback, because it wasn’t fair that she was being chided when Edric had started it!
“Everyone on this bus is a team,” Luke declared as he swept his gaze around the immediate vicinity and stood, “We will be in each other’s company for many weeks to come, will be working long hours practicing and traveling with little sleep to pull off successful shows. That chance of success goes down every time an unkind comment, or a petty disagreement surfaces.”
He looked back to Leona and Edric, at the middle of it all, and narrowed his eyes, “So be nice to each other.”
Leona felt her breath build up in her cheeks with frustration before letting it out in a stream of air; she hadn’t been mean to Edric at all! He had baited her ire by acting like an arrogant man-child and if no one called him out for it, then he would never stop.
She opened her mouth to protest once more but Luke held up his finger, “Miss Hillenburg,” he seemed to sigh and speak in a lowered tone, “Please, remember that you are not the person people are paying to see at these shows.”
He didn’t have to say anything else, because that particular string of words was threat enough. The team-talk that Luke had just spewed was cheap; everyone knew Edric was the star. Everyone on that bus would have to deal with his antics or risk being fired. She turned an eye to Edric who just smirked knowingly.
Leona threw Edric a disgusted look that told him she wasn’t going to be complacent in his ass-hattery. She did drop it though because she wasn’t in a mood to be further lectured by Luke; she felt a growing weight in her chest because she had signed onto this voluntarily, not knowing the type of person she was working with, but too stubborn to quit it now that she had her foot in the door.
She grabbed her cell phone that had been charging by connection to one of the outlets in the bus, and made her way to the back of the bus to the lavatory that was currently unoccupied. She locked the door and took a lean against the wall—her frustrations finally crowded into her expression as sadness. She turned her head and looked at her reflection in the mirror above the lavatory sink. She looked awesome, just having come from a concert, fully made up but her face didn’t match all that glamorous fun.
She had to tough it out. There was no other choice–she had signed a contract. She unlocked her phone and found a string of missed calls from her father.
He was the first person she called when her phone recharged after Pandora. He was suspicious of the quick process that had roped her into touring. Leona tried to explain and, in the end, told him to call Naomi if he had any questions. He just worried too much. She did smile for a moment thinking that at least she didn’t get married in Pandora like he originally feared–ridiculous as it was.
Before her father’s barrage of calls, there was a missed call from Antoine. Leona stood straighter as it caught her eye. She hadn’t gotten a call from her ex for over a year and must have missed it when she was rushing about for the West Clayton concert. There was no voice mail.
Leona moved to sit on the toilet–not because she actually had to go but her feet were hurting again. She did end up kicking off the shoes and tried to ignore her urge to cringe at realizing her bare feet were on the bus lavatory floor. Antoine was a good enough distraction.
Her phone read 11:30 p.m. and she weighed in her mind if that was too late to return a call. It was a week night…but Antoine had said he took the week off from work. She wondered if he had gone searching for an apartment yet. She decided, it wouldn’t hurt to try and besides, she missed his voice.
“Songbird, you finally returning my calls?” his deep, rich, baritone greeted her and that prick of frustration she had just felt immediately lessened.
“I’m sorry, things just got a bit hectic and my phone wasn’t charged,” she apologized but couldn’t help but to smile because she could tell he was anything but angry. Antoine was very laid back and there always seemed to be some kind of humor on the edge of his voice.
“So, I hear you’re now touring, that must be an experience. They’re not working you too hard, are they?”
She thought of Edric and snapped, “More like working my last nerve.”
“It’ll be okay…I guess, I just thought it would be easier,” she explained, thinking of how she didn’t anticipate not getting along with those she worked with. She had always seemed to pretty good in that department.
“The road to success never is. You know as well as anyone you have to work hard for it. It may even mean you have to give up friends and relationships to achieve it.”
She didn’t have to be reminded. She had already given up Antoine once so he could chase his dreams and he was forever closer to achieving them because he didn’t have Leona to drag him down. He would deny it of course, claiming he could have kept dating her and doing his work but maybe, she was also shielding herself from the inevitable heartbreak of him choosing his job over her. Not to mention, even if that had worked out, she would have still been distracted from her own goals.
His words also reminded her of her two closest friends. The girls had been close for a very long time but those times weren’t perfect–once and a while they hit a bump in the road, occasionally a big bump and it never helped that Leona was as steadfast, Alarie was quick to judge, and Illyana held onto grudges like a vice. Leona didn’t want to give up any of her relationships with those she loved but then again, those she loved didn’t make it easy either.
Love was work.
“I sincerely hope I don’t have to,” she sighed and closed her eyes, feeling tired. It had been such a long day, “By the way–I hope you aren’t mad that I can’t come look at apartments with you.”
“Not mad, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. I can’t begrudge you too much, you got what you wanted–a contract to sing, and with someone quite famous at that,” he replied and she hated that she disappointed him of all things; he was still good enough not to make a big deal out of it, though that edge of humor in his tone vanished, “Besides, ‘Lanna came apartment hunting with me and I’ve already picked a place out–moving my stuff in early tomorrow.”
“That’s great! What’s the place like?”
“One bedroom, one bath–it has raised ceilings and a terrace. It’s right next to the park so lots of trees and shade.”
She knew she couldn’t have her cake and eat it too but she really wished she could have been there, to experience it and him to herself. She could imagine waking up in his arms like she used to when he was still studying at Academie Le Tour. Was she in love with him still?
Well, it was hard to deny the feeling of overwhelming happiness and relief when she heard his voice.
“Sounds amazing, I can’t wait to see it.”
“And when will that be?”
“I don’t know, I’m locked into the contract for four years–surly we ‘d meet up before then. I’ll have to ask the manager about time off and scheduling–” she began to ramble but got cut off by his voice which seemed, now, just as tired as she was.
“Sounds like your time is a premium now. Anyway, I got to go, I have an early day of moving stuff. Just please…if you can manage, answer my calls–because I will call and keep calling until you tell me not to. I’m your biggest fan, Songbird. Don’t forget it. Goodnight.”
His new, melancholy, tone didn’t escape her notice and she felt the same sensation encompass her at his parting words. She would love to stay up late like she did in high school, waiting for Antoine to call her so she could pick up quickly and not have her father become suspicious. However, in love with him or not, with her new opportunities before her, she knew it was nothing but foolish optimism to think they could ever be like they were, again.
It's been a hot minute...er few months since an update and I do apologize very much for not getting my rear in gear and getting this up. Been doing some sim contests, got sucked into a few different video games to play, my old game was giving me flashy pink nightmares (yikes!) but I still have been writing! To make up for it I will be updating again this weekend on the regular Sunday schedule so you'll get a double dose! I just want to thank everyone who kept poking me for updates, thank you so much for sticking with this story!
@Freelala - Thank you for that wonderful compliment! I do try to get a series of paced out images that coincide with the text they can inspire each other and vise versa for any specific passage. I tend to see scenes in my head and try to execute them as faithfully as I can within the limitations of poses and in general this decade-old game.
@bbostic8 - Thanks for your encouraging words, they mean a lot coming from a fellow-writer I already PM'd you a response way back when but I will paste it here in case anyone else was interested in it:
I would agree that Franz is nostalgic. He clings to memories, finding comfort in good ones, salt in the bad ones, and doesn't let either go easily. The bakery means so much to him because his Family is small, and the business represents something bigger: a legacy. It represents the past of his grandmother's hard work, his mother's hard work in the present, and hopefully, a future representation of his hard work which is a part of why he went off to study culinary delights in the first place–because he wanted to bring more to the family business if he were to take the reigns. Also the bakery, though an entity, is a member of the family in his mind.
So you are very correct in surmising he'd have difficulty stepping out of that and seeing it logically since he has so much emotion invested in it.
I will admit, I wasn't 100% satisfied with the ending. However, I wanted to drive the point across that Franz was trying to hide the vulnerability in his expression from his mother but have it evident in his words, and there's can be a lot of vulnerability when one voices their 'love' for something; even a storge type of love. With that explanation, do you think it's necessary to keep the last line or is the point succinct enough without him actually saying it?
Top Secret Researcher
#100 15th Aug 2018 at 6:00 AM
@Charmful A fine story so far, I really look forward to more.
for info on changing the Mac Open File Limit check out my post here http://www.insimenator.org/index.ph...html#msg1628939
Curiosity killed the cat,
but satisfaction brought it back.
for info on changing the Mac Open File Limit check out my post here http://www.insimenator.org/index.ph...html#msg1628939
Curiosity killed the cat,
but satisfaction brought it back.