I'm Yacinthe Morning, Yac for short, she/they. I'm a fanfic writer for the traffic series and related MCYT.
I almost exclusively write team ranchers, but I enjoy others such as desert duo, renchanting, and impdubs! I also mostly write cute, silly, fluffy stories. I can't stand to see the sillies sad
I've decided to make a tumblr to post my fics since AO3 went down, and decided I needed a second place to put my fics!
I had a tumblr before but I kept forgetting it existed and deleted, so I've had to remake this. (Boy was that bad timing!)
Summary: The Life Pilgrimage is the biggest music festival of the century, set to take place all across the continent. Small-time rock band, GIST, and the up-and-coming alternative band, Empire, are both lucky to be among the hundreds set to make appearances, but there's just one problem. Neither can afford the travel expenses on their own. For better or worse, they're stuck with each other for the next five weeks as they try to make their dreams come true.
And, perhaps, among the chaos and music, two unsuspecting souls find one another...
Ships: Jimmy/Tango (slow burn romantic), Joel/Lizzie (romantic), Jimmy & Scott (platonic), Jimmy & Lizzie (familial)
Rain beat hard against the side of the trailer, almost drowning out the Goonies at the low volume it was set to. It didn't matter. No one was really watching it, as if they'd all been entranced by the shower outside, ears trained towards the windows in anticipation of its end. One that would not come for several hours from the look of the clouds. The only other noise that rivalled it was the occasional flip of a yellow page, and a deep sigh.
Someone had given up with putting the coffee pot away, leaving it in front of Scott. He poured himself the last drips while he took a long drag of his cigarette in his other hand, eyes not leaving the phone book as he did both. A smog had formed in the trailer, between Scott and Skizz. Jimmy was the first to snap, flicking himself onto his side from the passenger seat. "Would you cut that out or go outside?" It was unusually short for the guitarist, as was the way his face was scrunched up. Not that Tango disagreed, he was starting to develop something of a headache, but it was probably the first words Tango had heard him speak to his bandmate since he returned last night.
At least Skizz had the wherewithal to apologize. Scott didn't even acknowledge Jimmy or his words. He snorted and began rolling down his window, which got a snappy, "Close it." From the fiddler.
Jimmy did not take kindly to this. "We can't bloody breathe, are you trying to kill Corona?"
"Rain's too loud, take it outside."
All they needed was a spark, and Tango was sure the entire trailer would burst into flames.
"So we're all just supposed to stand out in the rain? You're the one smoking!"
Scott scoffed, jamming his finger against his notebook. "I'm the one working, so unless you want to suddenly have a change of heart and actually contribute to this band by getting these CD's made shove off." Before he'd even gotten halfway through the statement, Jimmy was on his feet, violently yanking both Corona's cage and his guitar into his arms and slamming the door after himself. The passenger window was left open only until Scott nodded toward Fwhip. Lizzie looked like she'd swallowed something sour, but she was swallowing it. As much as he hoped she'd say something Tango knew the pleading glance she gave him might be the best she could do.
Tango and Skizz exchanged looks. The blunt was snuffed out. "I thought you had more than enough CDs for the whole trip?" Asked Tango.
"We sold more than twice what we expected last venue." He sounded more annoyed by this fact than pleased.
"Why make more, then? You'll reach your goal."
"If the goal is attainable then that means it's too low."
An exhausting philosophy, Tango thought. Not like it wasn't one he'd used at that age, though, so he couldn't judge. At least until Scott was forcing the better part of two bands to inhale whatever he was smoking. The rain picked up, pelting the poor trailer. Outside the kitchen window Jimmy tucked himself under the overhang best he could, but refused to come back in. If the wind picked up they would have to roll it up. "Well, sounds like you won't have to worry about this week." Tango muttered.
"I always have to worry about it. No one else will."
And there Tango was. A blind man at a line he couldn't pinpoint. He could say what he's thinking and probably get in an argument with a guy he barely knew, probably get his butt kicked. He could try to make a joke of it, probably also get beat up. Any way he attempted to interact would make the next two weeks and beyond awkward as hell. So, he went with the most tactical option. He turned around and walked out.
"I'm gonna quit, Tango." He'd barely gotten his head out the door when Jimmy began. The rain all but drowned him out. Hopefully kept his voice from wandering too far in before someone else heard. Corona seemed as pleased as the man curled around her cage to be constantly misted. Jimmy's hair was already damp, hanging over his face and making him look more like an abandoned puppy than a man restraining himself from strangling his ex. "I swear to god, I'm gonna quit! And I'm gonna tell him to his face it's his fault."
At the point they were, he wasn't so sure Jimmy would even get the reaction he'd be hoping for. Tango winced as he plopped down beside Jimmy. Plop being a little appropriate a descriptor with the state of the chairs in that storm. He looked out in the same direction Jimmy was glaring daggers, into the blankets of increasingly tumultuous rain. "You wouldn't be happier." He said, giving up on staying dry and leaning back into the soaked weave. "You'd just feel bad about it after."
"Don't tell me how I'd feel or what to do!" Hissed the guitarist, even as his shoulders sagged. "You sound just like him."
It was a low blow, to everyone involved, and by the way Jimmy's face screwed up before the words left his mouth he knew it. Instead of continuing on he let his head fall onto the cage, out of view. There was an ugly spark of rage in Tango's chest. One that took several more seconds of slow breaths to quell in the absence of any apology. Maybe it was stupid, a guy like him who was well and truly done with this sort of twenties nonsense long ago sticking his head in their business. Heavens knew he had enough of his own issues that could use his attention and were less likely to result in weaponizing accusations. "Jimmy-"
"I didn't mean that." There was a tremble in his voice, making it hard to understand through the rain.
"But you said it."
"I..."
"I'm not playing those games." He bit back his frustration as best he could, restraining his arm halfway from where he wanted to fling it out towards the absolute curtain pouring feet away. "I'm out here, not in there."
Jimmy curled in on himself further. "I know. I'm sorry."
Some part of Tango felt he should continue, but he slumped back in his seat. It was hard to stay mad when the guitarist looked so small and miserable. It was probably a problem in waiting, but he hadn't the energy for it right now. The wind picked up, sweeping away what choice words he'd pieced together before they could settle between them. It brought with it needling rain that sent a shiver through both men. A silence that only lasted a few seconds. Just long enough to hear a clatter an a shriek.
Pearl was in the mud, hands braced out in front of her. A crate belonging to their neighbours was tipped over behind her, a fact which only seemed to pull a giggle from the woman even as her face was twisted in pain. Tango hopped to his feet and to her side. "Pearl-ie?" He gagged out the last syllable as she tilted her head up and he got a nose-full of her breath. She laughed at whatever face it caused.
"Lovely weather ain't it?" She shouted nearly full volume into his face. Up close, through the rain and the mud, Tango could see her face was red. A typical state for Gem after only a little wine, but an unusual sight for their manager.
Tango glanced over towards Jimmy, who stood at the very edge of the awning cover with his arms wrapped tightly around the bird cage. "Pearl, you good?" Tango asked cautiously. For it he got smacked in the nose by an overenthusiastic limb.
"No, I am not good!" Her words were slurred, though that wasn't so unusual. The weird giggle fit, however, was. "I'm not good, I'm awful. At everything, would you bel-ieve it? Awful at everything, 'pparently." She continued to ramble as Tango pulled her to her feet. "Awful manager, awful friend, awful person."
"Who told you that?" Hissed the oldest, brows knit and a fire sparking in him. Of all the people...
But some level of consciousness returned to Pearl then, enough for her to clam up. At least, until thunder rolled through the skies. Against his ability to stop her, Pearl burst back to life, throwing her arms out and shouting at the sky. "Fuck off already!"
"Pearl?" Tango tried. He'd never seen her like this. Pearlie-pop did not get mopey or angry when she drank or took something. Someone had to have said something to her, he was sure. All he could do was impersonate a lamp though, unsure what to do or say as she waved her fists at the sky except exchange worried glances with Jimmy.
"They cancelled the show." She finally dropped, arms flopping against her wet clothes.
"What?" Jimmy spoke up this time, a hesitant devastation in his voice despite his earlier words. "What do you mean cancelled?"
The sky lit up, and thunder cracked down, answering for her. "Went to confirm the stage. They're taking them down. Storm's s'pos t'be on 'til monday, so they're taking it all down and movin' on."
"When did they say this?"
"Two hours ago? I don't know..." Pearl swayed, and Tango quickly pulled her down to lean on his shoulder before the poor redwood toppled. "Stopped at the HHH to tell 'em. They tried cheerin' me up but..." She let out a hiccup. "I ain't even try to argue with them. Gem's gonna hate me."
It took a fraction of a moment of confusion, where Tango nearly opened his big mouth to ask why would Gem hate you? Before he understood, and a lump formed in his throat. They weren't playing this weekend. Only two stages remained.
Jimmy finally set down the bird cage, with a shocking lack of protest from Corona, and the two men guided the poor woman into one of the chairs. Nothing they said could console her, though as she muttered to herself over and over. Hardly audible past the increasing winds until she would suddenly shout. The second time was enough to draw the curiosity of the trailer-goers. One by one they pushed out until all of GIST was surrounding their distressed manager and most of Empire was behind them, receiving the news.
They took it as well as could be expected.
"This is fucking great." Fwhip spat, hands dug into his curls. Beside him Skizz kicked the side of the cooler, which turned into him almost tripping over it when it did not move as he expected. The curse under his breath was two-fold. Impulse, as always, resigned to the news the quickest. But Tango could see in the wrinkles around his eyes and the slump of his back that his old friend was heartbroken. And Scott? Tango didn't know what reaction he expected from the man, but a long final drag of his cigarette before crushing it under his heel with enough force to grind a hole in the grass was not a good sign. It didn't mean the same to them as it did to Gist, but it still meant something.
Lizzie and Gem were the most devastated. The pink haired pianist put up a good front but he could see the way her eyes reddened and she leaned towards her brother, who was quick to put an arm around her shoulder. Gem, though? Gem just stood there, burning holes through her manager and friend, waiting for her to say 'psych' or start laughing, or anything. Tango knew, he wanted the same thing. He'd rather play in the pouring rain than not play with his band at all. Not when there was only two venues left.
"'M sorry, Gem." Pearl croaked, the alcohol pushing her to misty eyes now that she was faced with the ginger girl.
Gem snapped her head up, jerking towards her bandmates. Tango tried to give her the most reassuring smile he could muster, but it wasn't the expression she was looking for. She stuttered out, "It's okay, Pearl, we got the next one!" But her voice cracked halfway through. The two bands were left with nothing but the storm and their thoughts as they stood there, rain soaking through every one of them.
Scott was the first to move. "Okay, then. Let's get going." He headed straight for the table, grabbing the bucket filled with propane tanks and setting it down before moving to the rest.
Jimmy's nose wrinkled, "what? What are you doing?"
"We don't have any reason to be here now." He replied simply, not stopping his table clearing. "If we pack up quick we can get ahead of the traffic and any road damage this storm might cause tonight." Scott paused, long enough to return Jimmy's glare. "Unless you want to stay for no reason and get stuck in the mud."
"You could give us five minutes!" The guitarist snapped back, cheeks pink from embarrassment and cold.
Before the two could start fighting again Lizzie tugged on Jimmy's shirt, pulling him towards the door. Despite his words the poor man had been out the longest and was beginning to shiver. Even if it came the unnecessary jab, they all knew Scott was right. Before they disappeared entirely from view, Lizzie asked, "Does anyone have a way to contact Joel? He was hanging out at Slab's bus."
"I don't think so." Fwhip muttered, pulling out his phone. "I never got his manager's contact."
"He didn't take a radio did he?"
"All accounted for." Skizz shook his head.
Fwhip clicked his tongue. "God damn it... Alright, when we leave we'll-"
"Pearl?"
Gem's shrill voice cut through the conversation like a knife, immediately drawing everyone's attention. Their manager had managed to get onto her feet at some point, and was shuffling out from under the awning, fist clenched tight around her phone. She entered the gale and almost toppled over immediately. Everyone huddled as close to her as they could without leaving the safety of the awning. "Pearl, what are you doing?" Scott called, swiftly joined by the rest.
"'M gonna go get 'em." Hiccuped Pearl. It barely reached their ears.
"We don't even know where he is!" Skizz squawked, with Impulse agreement following.
"That's not even the right direction!"
The words only made her momentarily pause. One hand came up to shield her eyes as she curiously looked around, seemingly unsure what she was even looking for.
Scott growled, taking a very tentative step out towards the storm as it became increasingly obvious they'd have to go get her. "For god's sakes, Pearl, you're drunk! Get back here!" He didn't step outside the protection of the trailer, though, only far enough to poke his head past it.
"Just a little tingle, I'm fine!" Shouted back the manager, even as the wind made her stumble sideways.
"Pearl, please come back!" Gem called, old distressed replaced with something new.
That caught the taller woman's attention, at least for a moment. Instead of returning she gave the group a grin and peace sign. "I'll be back in two minutes, count 'em!"
Tango took a deep breath, preparing himself to walk out into the battering rain, when-
"Pearl?!" Scott shrieked, head jutted out past the trailer before flicking over to the woman. "Pearl look up!"
Too drunk to react, Pearl had barely tilted her head towards the horizon before she lurched. Tango heard clattering and a horrendous whistle unlike anything he knew as the only warning before red punched past until it slammed against the side of the trailed next over. A web of bent and twisted metal poles nearly punctured the side of the vehicle while the red tarp tore itself apart in the wind.
And there, in the mud, were Scott and Pearl. Frazzled was a soft word for the look of both their faces. Though Pearl's terror was dampened by drunken confusion, both their eyes looked about to pop out of their skulls. The grip Scott had of her arms was beginning to turn both limbs white.
"Oh my god!" Gem shrieked, bolting out into the storm first. Tango and Skizz chased after her, the sight of the petite woman's charge knocking the rest out of their stupefied state. Out of principle Pearl fought against the various hands grabbing for her, but it was barely an effort. By the time they made it back under the awning Jimmy and Lizzie were back outside and helping drag the pair up into the trailer.
Out of the blistering rain and slowly warming in the trailer's sticky humidity Pearl began to come to life again, fight renewed. Each helping hand was batted away, and each question or concern was dismissed. "I'm f-I'm fine! I'm totally fine!" She kept repeating. So she continued, "I'm alright!" Until a soaked hand shot out, violently latching onto the woman's t-shirt and yanking her whole body towards Scott, utterly enraged and spitting as he shouted, at his highest volume straight into Pearl's face.
"You almost fucking died, Pearl!"
His voice cracked and gave out halfway through. Everyone went silent. Tango watched as his words slowly sunk in for everyone, Pearl's expression melting away into shock as her brain desperately tried to process. He couldn't blame her, when his own body felt like it was beginning to shut down. Pearlie-pop almost died.
If it was him, if it was twenty years ago, he'd laugh it off. He did laugh it off. He was young and dumb and he had no one to blame but himself, and there was no one who cared as long as he survived. What else could you do? This was different. Maybe it was the company, the times, the relationships, the means, but no one was laughing, and Tango felt like crying the more it sank in.
"I..." Pearl stuttered, free of the mind fog of whatever was in her system. "I need to lie down." Up on her feet with the help of at least three people, she stumbled her way towards the bedroom. Less than six steps. She never made it that far. Thank the heavens the bathroom door was already open, because the poor woman pivoted for the toilet so swiftly Tango was sure she would have knocked right through it.
Gem was the first to rush back to her side, followed by Impulse and Lizzie. The rest mulled about, trying to process what all just happened. "Oh shit." Fwhip wheezed, leaning back against the sink. That set off Skizz, who let out a humourless laugh from the stress. Scott was still frazzled and Tango couldn't blame him. He crawled back onto the kitchen bench, slumping back until he took up the entire seat. As soon as he spotted them he grabbed for the pack he'd been smoking earlier, and lit it up. No one tried to open a window.
A new sort of fire lit under everyone's feet after that. We gotta get out of here. The universal sentiment combined with the desire to think about literally anything else other than what just happened pushed them all towards packing up. It was less than an hour before they had everything away. Not a one of them were spared from getting soaked to the bone, but they could hardly care. They were far from the only ones, too, with a slow parade of vehicles rolling past. Among them was not Slab's, unfortunately, and the group had to plan around picking Joel up. The decision of which was that whoever drove the car would grab him. Theoretically, he was one of the less compromised individuals in the group as long as he wasn't hung over or on something. And, of course, Tango drew the short straw.
"Here." Jimmy pushed a plastic bag towards the man. "Change of clothes for you and Joel when we get going. I'm sure he'll be a mess, too, knowing him."
"Thanks." Tango took up the bag, tucking it carefully under his arm before he stepped out into the rain. The awning was packed and the wind had picked up, battering the trailer. The girls had retreated to the bedroom together, fussing over Pearl, while Fwhip and Skizz were at the driver's seat and Impulse did the last rounds. Somewhere outside Scott was putting away the bricks.
Jimmy shifted in the little doorway, soaked shoes making it painfully audible, and his fingers flexed around his guitar strap. Corona twittered behind him, as if nothing had happened. It wasn't so clear if he was expecting something or trying to speak himself, so Tango waited, squished up against the door. "I'm sorry." He half-whispered. "You didn't deserve- I shouldn't have said that. Earlier."
"You shouldn't have." Tango agreed, though there was no strength behind it. If he was honest it was the last thing on his mind at that point. Still, he had some inkling, from the way the two bandmates dodged one another even during cleanup, that another storm was brewing. One which he did not want to get caught in the firing range of again. He reached up, brushing his hands into Jimmy's hair and giving it a strong ruffling until the man's big, sad eyes scrunched up into something lighter. He pulled him down, giving him a soft peck, the sign Jimmy seemed to be waiting for before he let himself relax. "We'll talk about it more at the next stop."
"Okay..." Though he still wore his concern all over his face, Jimmy backed up with a nod and a tentative smile. One Tango returned. A small reassurance in hopes the guitarist wouldn't let it consume him for the next few hours.
Everything packed up, Tango dared to step out into the storm. The trailer only kept away the worst of the weather, but it'd be a mad dash for the car. Tango took a deep, final inhale of cold air-
"It's nice, isn't it?"
If he wasn't choking on his own tongue Tango might have screamed. His head whipped around, smacking his wet hair against the side of his face.
It was Scott, a raincoat just barely tossed over his shoulders despite the muddy clothes beneath. A stack wood blocks was at his feet while the dying final third of a cigarette clung for dear life between his fingers. It entranced him, not bothering to look up at Tango for a solid five seconds. Not until it became apparent that the voice had been shaken out of Tango.
"What?" The shorter sputtered.
"Up on that pedestal. Makes you feel special, like you're on top of the world." He flicked the bud up, then out into the dirt. "It's crazy how long you can go without noticing. Eventually, though, you make a mistake. And he'll remember you're just human." The smile he gave Tango wasn't genuine, nor was it smug or hiding any disdain. No, it was something far more infuriating. Pity.
Tango turned full-body towards the fiddler. "With all due respect, 'cause I don't mean this rudely. We're not you guys."
Scott's eyes bore into his skull, that gaze that saw through everything. Picked everyone to pieces and left nothing unseen until he knew exactly what to do, in theory. No one knew better than him. Over the last few weeks Tango had come to understand. It was what had got him this far, and it was what would take him farther still. But Tango had more of something else, he liked to believe. Simple, old experience. Something Scott couldn't have yet no matter how hard he looked. He'd just have to wait for it to happen to him, just like everyone else did. For all his cleverness, Tango wondered if he caught the irony of warning Tango about experiences Jimmy also had, or if he let them colour his opinion of Jimmy so deeply that he believed it didn't matter.
Scott looked away, leaning his head back against the trailer and letting out a sigh before he pushed off. "Maybe." He conceded. "I guess you'll find out."
Warnings: Pyramid Schemes, Misunderstandings, Minor violence, unrequited crushes, sexual implications
It had been six weeks since the party. Six weeks of what felt like unending drama. If Scar hadn't known about Scott and Pearl's broken friendship before he and the rest of campus certainly knew now. What with the ice patch in the shape of Scott's name that had caused at least two broken bones and a concussion. And the firecrackers set off in the hallway that caused themselves second degree burns. Scar didn't know what he would do with himself if he didn't have his friends to entertain him.
Grian seemed to agree, as evident by the way he cackled like a dying parrot watching both escorted away by security from their latest game of water buckets- as opposed to water balloons- that devolved into a game of water buckets- as opposed to water fists. One might be inclined to complain about the two interrupting their picnic, but Scar was sure the both of them saw it more as dinner and a show.
"I swear, that party was the worst idea I've ever had." Hiccuped the hysteric brunet. He'd attempted and failed three times now to pick up his sandwich and eat it before the giggle fits took him. Rude, as Scar worked very hard on those PB&Js.
Humming to himself, Scar asked, "What, was it really that bad?" If you asked him, he would say the party before it was much worse. Only one person had been interested in buying his candles, after all, and he'd been accidentally locked out of the house.
But Grian rolled his eyes, leaning back on his elbows to look down at his companion. "Scar I think I permanently damaged at least four friendships and ensured two more would never happen. In terms of social events I think that's a failure."
"Oh, don't be so hard on yourself." He assured as he pulled one hand out from under his head to press it to his heart. "I mean, we wouldn't be out here together if it weren't for your party!"
To that, Grian did relax, his sarcastic grin falling into something softer. "That's true, I haven't enjoyed my time on earth as much as I have with you."
"Aw, geez, G. You're making me blush." Scar fluttered his eyes jokingly, or rather, attempted to. It was more like a weird, lopsided twitch in his eyelids. It got a snort from Grian which was all it needed to do.
He sat himself up, flinging his arms out towards the student mulling about the grounds. "And besides that, I think you're exaggerating. Sure, Scott and Pearl are trying to assassinate each other but the rest of your friends seem perfectly fine. Better than fine, even, in some cases." He closed his hands in on two in particular. On the other side of the plaza at a stone table and benches with books scattered across it, sat remarkably close. Tango's face was twisted in a large grin as he leaned in towards the taller Jimmy. Turning to Grian, Scar gave his eyebrows a waggle. "Dare I say you initial mission might have yet been a success."
But Grian did not smile, or laugh, or even roll his beady black eyes. No, instead they narrowed, face twisted into concern. "Uh, Scar?"
"What?" Scar turned back to the lovely couple. Except there was no lovely coupe anymore, only their books. Tango was stood up, a few feet away, hand reached out. And Jimmy? Someone might have thought the terminator was after him with how fast he was sprinting away. "Oh..." Was all he could say. The picnickers shared a glance, before Grian was on his feet and bringing Scar's wheelchair to him.
It took a minute of fumbling, but once they were off they were at Tango's side not long after he plopped himself back down. He took one look at the pair before deflating against the table. "What do you want?"
"Hey, buddy." Tried Scar, placing a comforting hand on the tech major's shoulder. He tried not o flinch at how hot it was. "What's going on over here?"
An inhuman noise left the man as he let his face fall against the stone table. "Jimmy hates me."
Grian gave him a pointed look. See? But Scar ignored it. What did he know, anyways? "Oh, I'm sure he doesn't hate you."
"What did you fight about?" Grian chimed in without an ounce of tact to be had. Ever brutally direct. Lucky for them, Tango seemed too miserable to care, only hiding his face in his arms.
"I messed up. I don't know how, but I totally blew it."
That seemed obvious, but was not much to go off. Grian plopped down beside him on the benches. "Alright, walk us through it."
With a sigh that sounded more like a pipe leaking gas, Tango began. "Well, we've been talking more since that stupid party, yeah? A lot, actually, almost every night. He said he was getting kinda behind on work because of it."
Scar quirked an eyebrow, leaning forward propped up on hi palms. This sounded juicy, or at least something he could use to blackm- convince Tango to buy his latest batch of calming candles that arrived last week.
"So like, a couple weeks ago he asked me if I wanted to go to Beef's-"
"The place with the really good all-day pancakes?" Scar asked jokingly, already knowing the answer from the hundred times Tango had told him.
Tango, unaware of the teasing jerked forward, hand thrown out dramatically. "Yeah! Exactly! It's my favourite place, you know?"
"You don't say." Grian drawled. Once again, it was missed.
"Yeah! So I was like, of course. And he even picked me up and paid for the whole thing so I wouldn't waste my money. There's even-" His hand flew up like he was stacking something invisible. "There's this jumbo-mega-super-chocolatificated rootbeer float thingy on the dessert menu that I always wanted to try. And he got it for us! It even had these funny curly straws."
Scar smiled. "Just the one?"
Tango nodded too vigorously, a crack sound coming from his neck. Man, did he need a massage. He was in too deep into his story to notice it or Scar, though. "Yeah, it's like twenty dollars, way over priced, so we got one to share. He wasn't very good at eating it though. He got a big chunk of icecream on his face at one point, so I had to- gh-gya! No, wait! That stuff doesn't matter!"
"So, wait." It was Grians turn once again to interrupt, giving Scar the side eye, with that flash of violet he'd become so used to. "Tim asked you out to dinner, in which he picked you up, paid for your meal, and shared with you a large dessert? Did he pull your chair out for you, by chance?"
The blond gaped, giving them both a double take. "I- Yeah. How'd you know?" Then he shook his head. "Not the point- not the point! The point is, I started complaining about the price of the float, talking about the ingredients and breaking down their wholesale prices and cost of labour, and how their profit margin is through the roof! You see-" Scar cleared his throat, interrupting the man before he could start going into numbers. "-right. And so Jimmy started going on about how smart I was and then he asked me if I could help him out with his biochemistry work, which I agreed to of course cause he's my buddy now."
"Of course." Both Grian and Scar chimed in together, sharing a look. Biochemistry, really Jimmy?
"And so that's what we've been doing for a couple weeks now!" Tango finally concluded. Or, at least reached the actual beginning. He immediately deflated. "But he's been acting all weird the last couple hang outs. Not really paying attention. And then just now we were joking around when he got all quiet. Then he suddenly got up and ran away apologizing? I don't know what I did."
Scar tutted as Grian asked. "And Tango, exactly how close was he to your face at the time of getting quiet?"
Befuddlement crossed his expression, lifting his finger up to his nose and measuring seemingly from memory alone approximately the distance Scar had witnessed earlier, which could not have been more than three inches. Grian sighed while Scar could not hold back his laughter any longer. If Tango whipped his head between the two any faster he might have given himself whiplash. "What? What's going on?"
"Tango he thought you two were going to kiss!" Grian blew up, the sleeves of his big red sweater fluttering out like the wings of an enrage bird. "He has a crush on you!"
One could hear a pin fall. It took Tango nearly ten whole seconds of absolute stillness during which Scar was pretty sure he saw the light momentarily leave his eyes before he visibly rebooted and- "WHAT!?"
"Homygod-!" Scar clutched his chest as he gasped for air, unable to compose himself long enough to calm his now exploding friend. None of the words that fell out of Tango's mouth after that were coherent. At some point he leapt out of his seat, unable to stay still any longer, and began pacing back and forth.
It took another minute before Grian was able to get both other men into an only semi-hysterical state. Tango's freak-out swiftly descended into misery and regret. "Oh god, he does hate me! What have I done? What do I say to him now?"
"Well, do you like him back?" Scar asked, still trying to catch his breath. It seemed like a logical first question.
"I..." Tango fumbled. His expression shifted, from sadness to guilt to worry. It was, unfortunately, an experience Scar was all to familiar with from his youth, and he had an idea what was coming next. "I don't... I've never tried to feel that way before."
Well, that was certainly and interesting way to put it. Grian balked, "W- pardon?"
"I mean, it took me like eight years just to figure out happy and sad. I don't know the first thing about love! I've never needed that before!"
"Join the club."
"I gotta- I'd have to do so much research. But that'll take so much time!" His hand dug into his hair, steam practically visibly coming from his head. Dare say, to Scar's overactive imagination, it really was visible. "What am I supposed to say to him now? I don't wanna lose my buddy..."
Grian's expression softened. "You know, you don't have to feel the same way as him."
"Dare I say no two people do!" Scar added.
"That sounds like a mess." Grumbled Tango, though he began to uncurl himself. The doubt was written across his face.
The brunette shrugged and with a big smile he said, "That's the beauty of humans, is it not?"
It was Tango's turn to share a look with Grian, one Scar couldn't begin to decipher. Whatever it was, it seemed to be the last push he needed. With a big sigh he got up once more. He shook out his limbs and began to look around. "Alright, where is he?"
"We'll help you look." Grian assured.
So, Tango went one way and the pair went the other.
Perhaps it was a bit uneven. Grian had been friends with Jimmy for the longest of them all, and he knew Jimmy's schedule and habits like the back of his own hand. Or maybe it should have been obvious that the basketball player went directly to the basketball court in the nearest park. Either way, they found him, curled up under a nearby tree with his face buried in his hands. A cautious approach it was.
"Hey, buddy." Scar practically whispered. "How you doing down there?"
Jimmy barely moved, peaking out between his fingers before they slammed shut again and he curled further inward. "Horrible, go away."
Well, that didn't work. Which meant the ball was in Grian's court.
He kicked him.
"Hey!" Jimmy screeched, nearly falling over in his attempt to get in a more defensive position. "What the heck?"
"We talked to Tango." Grian announced, pointing in the general direction they last saw him.
At the mere mention of his name Jimmy withered, his face turning a bright red. "Oh gosh, how bad does he hate me?"
"Oh, the both of you-!" Grian flung his hands up, giving Scare a glare before stomping off a few feet. You deal with this.
Scar cleared his throat. "I don't think he hates you at all, Jimbo. I mean, who could?"
"I could."
Scar hushed the shorter.
Jimmy looked up at him miserably with his big puppy-left-out-in-the-rain eyes. "But I completely messed everything up."
"You mean the kiss?"
Like a snail, back in. Even more delicate, then.
"Why don't you explain what happened?"
It took a moment, but the lanky man unfurled himself, ragdolled out over the roots of the tree. "Alright. I guess it started after that stupid party. We decided to exchange numbers. You know, after we put him out."
"Put him out?" Grian muttered over his shoulder, almost immediately breaking his uncaring facade.
"Yeah, he caught his hair on fire at some point near the end, before the police arrived." His gaze squinted at Scar. "Come to think of it I think it was one of those calming candles-"
"And after that?" Scar moved him along.
"... Right. Well, He said he really liked talking to me and wanted to meet again. At first it was fine, but then... He's just so..." Jimmy let out a weird whimpering squeak as his face goes beet red. Instead of trying to speak he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. Utterly intrigued, both confronters huddled closer until Jimmy finally turned his screen to them. It was open to a text conversation.
You: We just got to the beach :)
Tango: Have fun, wish I coulda come.
You: [attached photo] Live vicariously
Tango: Woah, hey, that file size is gonna make me overheat, what are you a model?
You: Haha ^////^ stop it
"That's an interesting compliment." Was all Scar could say while Grian fake gagged. That didn't seem to be all, however, as Jimmy reached back over and flicked his finger down.
Tango: Yeah then it just licked all the way up my arm!
You: I think that means it liked you. Or it wants to eat you
Tango: I'm not even tasty!
You: Well Norman seems to say otherwise
Tango: I bet you're way tastier than me, better watch out!
Two noses wrinkled. Talk about aggressive. But Jimmy kept scrolling.
You: It was really loud there today, though
Tango: Yeah, maybe next time let's do it at my place or something.
You: I'd love to :) And I'll bring some snacks as thanks
Tango: Hey, I could order a pizza too, make it a "netflix and chill" night. :D
You: I'm pretty busy with school, sorry :(
"I think I'm going to be sick." Scar mumbled. Maybe he was selling candles to the right guy after all.
Scroll.
You: I see what you mean, the hearts in the curly straw is really cute
Tango: It tempts me every time I go, but it's so expensive.
You: Well now you have me yearning too!
Tango: lol let's go there and order it some day. :)
Just above the chat was a screenshot of a review for Beef's, of a very tall, very colourful glass filled with root beer. Topped with scoops of chocolate and strawberry ice cream, coated with heart-shaped sprinkles and a pair of peppermints atop a large dollop of whip cream, all drizzled with a red syrup in a heart-shaped pattern. Out the back was one enormous curly straw that rounded in the shape of another big heart before splitting two ways.
Grian turned around and screamed into his sweater's sleeve. "Oh." Was all Scar had.
Jimmy pressed a hand to his cheek, which was so red Scar thought one might be able to cook an egg on it. "I got so caught up, I didn't know what to do. I'm no good with... with this sort of thing at all. When I asked Lizzie and Joel they said I should give him a chance, though."
Scar leaned in, "Go on?" Man, did he wish he has his recording app going. This was all prime cuts of information that would last him years of overhead lording.
The athlete began fiddling nervously with his fingers, eyeing the pair before ducking his head. "Don't make fun of me?"
"Never." They lied.
"I've- I've never taken anyone on a date before." He finally admitted. "I had to look it up online. But, I made a check list so I wouldn't mess up! See?"
They eagerly snatched the phone out of Jimmy's hands, trying desperately to hold back their gleeful squeals at the sight of a notepad doc, clearly marked with a long checklist. Pick up, pull out chair, offer to pay, it was all there. All marked off as complete. An absolute goldmine. Grian managed to sneak a photo while Jimmy was fretting.
"It went so well. At least I thought it was, but..." His face was back in his hands. "Then we got the float, and it was like every time I took a sip he had to also. And I just kept thinking about the stupid straw and how it's connected and the saliva..."
Scar bowed sagely. "The indirect kiss."
A small nod from Jimmy was all the acknowledgement he could manage. "It was just so... so gross!"
Silence. Grian squawked first, "What?"
"I know it's weird, you don't have to say it!" Jimmy swiftly chimed in, looking defeated. "I just can't do it. It's why me 'n Scott broke up. I can't do..." He made a circling motion with his hands splayed out in front of him, pointed ever so slightly downwards to ensure the two men knew exactly what he was talking about. "... any of that. But even just kissing... I get nauseous. I don't know how you do it."
"We don't." Grian whispered to himself, too low for Jimmy to hear. Given how deep into his misery he was, Scar wasn't sure he would have heard at regular volume.
"He never made a move on any of our study dates before, so I thought maybe I was in the clear, for a while at least. But then today happened and I thought I could give it a try just to see. But he wasn't leaning in and I realized he wanted me to do it and I really really tried but I just couldn't!" He slammed his hands down on the ground, on the verge of upsetting himself. "I messed up so bad, I should have just told him I'm not worth his time in the first place."
"oh, Jim." Scar soothed, reaching out to give his shoulder a squeeze. "I don't think you have anything to worry about."
Jimmy looked highly doubtful. But before he could say anything further someone called his name. It was Tango, full sprinting as fast as his little nerd legs could carry him, waving his arms wackily like a tube man of the inflatable variety. That got Jimmy off the ground, although as a flight risk. Grian had to snatch up his wrist before he disappeared.
"I think you two need to have a talk."
Jimmy looked between them and the rapidly approaching herald of his doom. A deer caught in the headlights. There was no escape at this point, though, so instead he asked meekly. "What do I say to him?"
"How you feel." Scar said simply. "About everything."
Tango stopped a good several feet from the trio, shockingly not out of breath yet, but looking like he was about to have the most terrifying conversation of his life. Maybe it would be. With a final glance towards Scar though, for which he returned an encouraging nod, Jimmy slowly approached his new friend.
As fast as Scar's wheels could carry him over the grass they bolted. He and Grian gave them as much space as they needed. From afar they watched, eyes out for any negative signs. Scar had a feeling it would work out just fine, though.
"Maybe my party was a success after all." Grian mused.
Scar let his head lull back towards him. "Oh? Not upset about the other pairs anymore?"
For that, he got a toothy grin, "Are you kidding? These two alone generate enough blackmail material for the rest of my life."
He gasped, jabbing his finger into Grian's side until the man began to laugh. "I knew it! That's why you were so upset we were paired!"
"Obviously!" Grian doubled over, "But nothing you could give me could compare to Jimmy having a crush on Hal's glorified calculator of a cousin!"
It may never be that Scar understood what Grian meant by that, but what he did know is that a few more of his friends would be happy as themselves. And as long as they bought a few more candles, that was all he needed.
Hello, I know I vanished for a long time. If I'm honest I simply haven't been able to write for mcyt. I've been slowly chipping at the next chapters of Birdsongs and Bamboozled, but I just haven't had the insporation or drive. I miss writing for the ranchers, though! :<
I wrote a short story a while ago for an event. I never posted it here since it was a gift for someoneelse, but recently I wrote a bit of a rancher-focused sequel to it that I'll have done soon.
My question is this: should I be posting the original story here? I'm unsure if it's proper to do so or if I should simply post the sequel. I'd appreciate the help!
Summary: The Life Pilgrimage is the biggest music festival of the century, set to take place all across the continent. Small-time rock band, GIST, and the up-and-coming alternative band, Empire, are both lucky to be among the hundreds set to make appearances, but there's just one problem. Neither can afford the travel expenses on their own. For better or worse, they're stuck with each other for the next five weeks as they try to make their dreams come true.
And, perhaps, among the chaos and music, two unsuspecting souls find one another...
Ships: Jimmy/Tango (slow burn romantic), Joel/Lizzie (romantic), Jimmy & Scott (platonic), Jimmy & Lizzie (familial)
Warnings: Anxiety, embarrassing memories, awkward moments, fighting, drugs, smoking, drinking, arguments, lying, implied sexual encounter, age shaming, mild sexism
By the time the trailer pulled up to their assigned spot in the sandy lot, Impulse had already rejoined his car. Fwhip and Skizz raised their beers as Jimmy carefully parked right beside them. They met Jimmy at the door, face splotchy and chipper. "Took you long enough!" Fwhip said, far too loudly.
Jimmy rolled his eyes, shoving him out of the way with the butt of his guitar case. "I like going the speed limit when driving a giant brick, thank you very much."
"Bah! Remind me to teach you how to drift."
"You can't even break!" Gem shouted from her chair, waving her empty can at her twin. "Hi Jimmy! Hi Tango!"
"Glitter Girl!" Tango popped his head out from behind Jimmy, huge grin reaching ear to ear. The trailer pair stumbled out the rest of the way, taking up the empty space in the folding chair circle where none had been set up yet. Surprise painted his expression. "Are we really the third group here?"
"No, Scott and Pearl got here first. They just haven't come back yet."
There was a tension in the girl's words, and Jimmy caught the way Fhwip hid his cringe behind another swig of his beer. His brow knit. "Where are they?"
Skizz, pointed his joint towards the far end of the lot where a neon green trailer blocked the view. Guitar strap tight in his grip, Jimmy started to make his way over, only stopping when Tango grabbed hold of his free hand. "I'm just going to tell him we're here, he'll want his stuff and the receipts." Jimmy said. Though it did little to assuage his concern, Tango let go. Skizz and Gem stole the man from Jimmy as he walked away, trapping him in with hurried whispers Jimmy pretended he couldn't hear.
The smell hit long before he reached HHH's trailer. One of the many Jimmy kept his distance from. Their own group created enough smoke, he didn't need a migraine. Next was the noise. Scott's laughter was burned deep into his memory, of course. It stirred something in his chest. It was light and airy, something he only used to be familiar with. Scott had never stopped laughing, but when was the last time he'd laughed like that around them? Weeks , his mind offered helpfully.
Years , his heart whispered more honestly.
Despite being in the open air there was no wind. Smoke lingered like a miasma, daring Jimmy to enter it in order to reach his bandmate. Taking one last deep breath of fresh air he approached. "Scott? Pearl?"
Blankets woven with geometric stitching were strewn about, bags for pillows. Jimmy had never seen a hookah in real life before, but the man with a handlebar moustache- Joe?- had an exceptionally ornamental one set up. The sort of thing that one did not ask about unless they had time for an incredibly long story. One that involved at least three tourist scams and an unrecognized near-death experience. Cleo was sprawled out next to him, in an animated conversation with Scott, who himself was leaning against the trailer in the shade. The first to notice Jimmy's presence, however, was Pearl, who leaned back and shouted, "G'day, mate!" It immediately captured the whole group's attention, though delayed.
"Jimmy!" Scott slurred. Too loud for him. His pupils were blown out, and he nearly lost the bottle he swung up in greeting. Even his hair was out of place, free of spray and style not unlike the HHH's au naturel ways. The shawl was also not his. Not as far as Jimmy knew, at least, but it was far from the more flattering clothes he tended to have tailored. A few drops escaped his beer bottle, hitting him right in the eyes, and Scott laughed along with the other three. "We were wonderin' when you'd get here! Fancied a few detours, I bet."
The blond's cheeks warmed. It was the first time in days he seemed genuinely happy to see Jimmy, even if under the influence. Maybe he was just too high to recall, or maybe distance really did make the heart grow fonder. Hopefully it was the latter. Jimmy couldn't unsee the tightly wound ropes after the last few days. He would be so lucky for them to unravel themselves. "We just got here. Your stuff's all where you left it in the trailer. Do you want to lay down?"
"Come, come, have some tea with us." Cleo cooed, arm batting at the air for Jimmy to come join her on her blankets. Joe seemed to agree with a giggle that might have been words in his head.
Jimmy took a step back, hands up, "Oh, uh, no thank you, I-"
"He can't have any." Scott told them, smirking. The fiddler stumbled up onto his feet. Too quickly, it seemed, as he nearly fell back down again with a groan and a hand slapped tight over is mouth. Jimmy shot over instinctively, but Scott leaned back against the trailer instead, waving Jimmy's outstretched hands away. "Doesn't agree with 'im. Even just a bit makes him freak." He laughed, gesturing wildly at something not there. "Remember that time, in your first year, when you took a hit from that monstrosity Fwhip made from a coconut? You thought everyone was trying to step on you and fell off the porch crying like a bitch!"
"You and Joel didn't exactly help." Jimmy muttered under his breath, trying to stomp out old smoulders. They'd been just as high as him and hadn't known he was having a bad trip until it was too late. They'd also learned the hard way Lizzie was not an effective lookout with anyone but Joel. The poor woman walked away with about as many bruises as Jimmy himself trying to keep the rowdy college boys from killing themselves once it went tits up, and swore never again to volunteer. It worked out, because Jimmy swore never again to take anything not handed to him by a doctor in an office.
None of that meant he was happy to have it shared with complete strangers. Especially not ones that immediately broke out into laughter.
Scott leaned into him, putting all his weight on Jimmy. He must have meant to whisper, with the gesture he made, but his voice was as loud as ever. "Speaking of mistakes- where's Yoko?"
"Excuse me?" Jimmy's head snapped, nose wrinkled.
Pearl shushed him, rather conspicuously, while the other two continued their giggle fit. But Jimmy's focus was squarely on Scott as he wiped his sniffling nose. Despite his state he still managed to level one of those looks at Jimmy, the ones that used to fill him with embarrassment and guilt but now made him want to roll his eyes. "Don't play coy with me, dear." He pestered, pressing his finger to Jimmy's cheek with a bit too much pressure. "C'mon, was he good? Worth all the trouble? Share with the class, I have twenty bucks riding on whether he-"
"Stop it." Jimmy lurched back, snapping his hand around his ex's forearm before he could fall. He fought every instinct to let him. To get away from him before his words turned nastier. There was a roiling in his stomach, between the stench of the camp and the things spilling from Scott's mouth uncensored. From the twitch in Scott's smile, an uncontrolled variation of the expression Jimmy had grown used to, he'd gotten what he wanted.
Something wasn't right. Scott could be a bit annoying when high, but this was too much. "What did you take?" He asked.
Wrong question. There was an immediate snap from teasing to cold. He shoved the blond away, straightening up. The two were about the same height, but Scott always knew how to give himself a presence Jimmy could never muster. A hand placed itself squarely in the centre of Jimmy's chest and pushed, "None of your damn business." Hissed Scott.
Unfortunately, neither took into account the absolute mess around them. Something cylindrical caught under his heel, and Jimmy went tumbling back. If they weren't already against the green trailer he would have gone straight down, but as it was his case slammed against the plastic and his feet caught themselves in the mud. It left him with his knees bent and arms splayed out for balance.
The camp went quiet. Scott seemed frozen in place, face stuck between surprise and befuddlement. Even in his drugged up state, though, it was too human. He turned away, allowing himself to collapse to the ground. "God, you're such a fuckin' drag." It might have been intended as a whisper, but the whole group heard it plainly. "If you're just here to play mommy leave us alone, go find daddy to keep you entertained instead."
Jimmy didn't wait around. Not to keep being insulted, not with the mounting pressure behinds his eyes. His voice cracked as he stomped off, unable to stop himself from blurting back. "At least he has a heart. I didn't do anything."
"Of course not, you never fucking do." It came like venom, clear as day despite muffled by distance and barriers, piercing right into Jimmy's chest.
He couldn't wait for this stupid trip to be over.
-
Tango was twiddling his thumbs in his chair, watching the gap before him. About five feet, almost wide enough for either person slumped in their chairs on either side of the gap to lay down. Their chairs were tilted outward, leaving Joel to awkwardly face the trailer. Lizzie had a thousand yards of field in front of her, perfect for her stare.
Joel broke first, of course.
"Look, babe, I'm sorry. Okay?" He threw an arm out, the other going to rub his neck, covering the purpling mark. "I thought it was fine!" Tango had never seen him so pathetic, ready to fall to the dirt and beg for forgiveness despite the rage in his voice.
Lizzie's face screwed up in pained disgust, shaking her head. She refused to turn towards her husband. "I just... I thought you had higher standards, Joel."
"C'mon, It wasn't that bad."
Pink hair flew. That one got her. " Not that bad ? The guy's geriatric! He's even older than Tango! I thought you had better tastes than that! Oh- uh, no offence ." She whispered the last part towards the bassist. There was choice words on the tip of his tongue, but at the last moment he decided to be wise and only offered a smile and a wave.
"Geriatric- It's Etho Slab !" Joel now balked, shooting up out of his seat with balled fists. "You're telling me you'd turn down Tina Turner if she was here right now?"
"First of all, women age way better than men." Her hand swiped out, tossing away her poor husband's argument. "Second of all, Tina would have treated me like a queen, not fed me freezer burnt pizza bites and made me pay for her beer. Thirdly, yes, I would. She's, like, sixty. Really, Joel, get some standards."
The couple continued to argue, and Tango decided to retreat before he heard any gory details he was not ready to learn about one of his idols. He snatched up his beer from the dirt, chucked it back, and shot to his feet. "Looks like we're out, better go get some more!"
Neither paid him any mind. He took it as a blessing and bolted for the trailer. The screen door shuddered as it closed, mimicking the sound of Tango's sigh. "I'm getting too old for this..."
"Please, you're barely middle aged!"
His head whipped around. Gem was sat at the table next to Corona, folding to fit everything into their laundry bags. The sheets were torn off almost everything, piled in a big mound in the middle of the floor next to her. She stuck out her tongue, "Ain't no way I'm waiting to do it after you two lovebirds had the run of the place."
His lip twitched, "I think you severely overestimate the amount of time and energy we had to get here before dusk." Despite his words he sat down to help, picking up a pair of pillow cases. "Besides, we stuck to our own bed."
"Really?" Her nose twisted incredulously. Uncalled for but understandable, given the availability of a multitude of options that were not the worst for once. He shrugged. There wasn't much to explain, just habit. What will you do when you get home, anyways? Pretty sure your double is buried under a broken bicycle. A little nagging thought invaded. Put a deep clean of his bachelor pad of an apartment at first priority, he supposed. If Jimmy didn't change his mind by then. He rested his head against his arm, pillow case wrinkling in his grip.
"Oooh," Gem's voice grew closer, and Tango knew folding wasn't happening. "You have spilling beans, I can tell."
"There ain't not beans!" He snapped.
There wasn't a lick of trust behind those raised eyebrows. "You're telling me you and Jimmy spent all week alone and nothing happened?"
"Nuh-uh." Sure, they had kissed. And sure, he stumbled backwards into a serious conversation. But couldn't a guy have a bit of breathing room? Telling Gem felt like throwing a promotion party after only hearing you're probably on the short list. A good way to jinx it.
"C'mon, old man. You know I'm teasing."
"Is that what you call it."
"I'm rooting for you!" She laughed, throwing a dryer sheet over his hair and rubbing it in until he whined about it. "You're usually such a third wheel, it'd be good for you."
A third wheel? Why not just stab him in the gut? "Gee, thanks."
"Hey, if you guys get together you could even bring him around to practice!"
Tango's heart stopped.
"I mean," Gem waved absently towards the corner where Tango had left his bass. "He's all interested in that now, too, right? He could come around and you could show him how it's done and impress him. Two birds with one stone, you know?"
It seemed to have finally occurred to her how quiet her companion had become. Her brow knit together, even as her smile remained. "Tango?"
He gaped like a fish, before snapping like a clam. There was no way he was having this conversation without talking to Impulse and Skizz about it first. Besides, she shouldn't hear it from him. Gem loved them all dearly, and them her, but Tango knew he was always bottom of the totem pole when it came down to it. She lived with Impulse, practically adopted by him. Skizz was the outgoing one of them, able to speak where Tango couldn't. Of the three options, he was the last one who should talk to Gem about their future. That's an excuse , his own mind betrayed him. Maybe it was right, but so was he.
Tango swallowed the lump in his throat. "Who knows... You don't know how these things are going to go." He said, not meeting her gaze. "Maybe it's not meant to be. I don't want to put the cart before the horse, you know?"
Gem's lips pulled tight. The unspoken words were far too loud in the space they took up between them, and Tango knew he'd fumbled his dodge. Maybe. She was always a bit too smart for her own good. At least they remained behind the curtain, even if she was painfully aware they were there. If she pulled at the curtain, though, Tango didn't think he could keep it from her.
She never did.
"Well if you get together, you better tell me first!" She huffed, starting in on the laundry for real this time. There was a slight tremble to her voice that tugged on Tango's heartstrings. "I need to take credit for introducing you two."
Neither the bands combining their funds nor first introductions had been by her hands, but Tango shrugged and smiled anyways. "Sure thing, Glitter Girl."
They folded in silence, the laundry bags filling up fast with both their hands working. It was going to be an all afternoon affair as usual, especially with the sheets. Outside, Joel and Lizzie's argument escalated, though it sounded harmless. A nearby group almost drowned them out with guitar practice, some country tune Tango didn't recognize. When Gem finished her final bag she pulled it across her lap and rested her chin on her arms. She let out a sigh, "I don't want it to end."
Tango watched her from the corner of his eye as he tied off his bag. "Concerts can't go on forever."
"Why not?" Her voice was caught between a bratty whine and genuine heartbreak.
"You get tired." He muttered, letting himself fall back across the seat to where the table blocked Gem from view. "Impulse might have a heart attack, you'd lose your voice..."
"I wouldn't."
"You gotta stop eventually. We're just fleshy meat sacks, we get tired, old, hungry." A moth flitted across the ceiling, bumping against the plastic light cover. They ought to open the window more. "You can't get stuck on one thing, Gemmy. There'll be other concerts, and other things besides concerts."
"But I like this one."
"Then enjoy it while you're here. Take pictures, get a tattoo, make an irreversible mistake. It'll help you move on." He gave his arms a stretch, showing off the expanse of little marks, inked and scarred, across his skin over the lip of the table before tucking them behind his head. "That's what we did in our day, at least."
Gem snorted. "No offence, but Impy still zones out when you say 'boogie'."
"Ah, that's just what disco does to a man." An ache was starting to form in his lower back, forcing him to sit up and face the music. Gem's eyes were ever so slightly red, but thankfully remained dry. "You had to be there, except be glad you weren't."
"You guys are so dramatic." She rolled her eyes and stood up. One by one she hooked the drawstrings onto her arms, two on each before tossing the last two to Tango.
He squeaked as on hit him in the face. "Hey! You're gonna break all my bones!"
"See? Drama queens!"
The inevitable was held off just a bit longer, but even as he laughed along side her he couldn't shake the anxiety growing against his heart.
heya, if you’re feeling like you don’t want to write anymore/it’s doing you more harm than good then maybe give it a rest for a moment yeah? I love to read your fics and whatnot but if writing ranchers is really weighing down on your heart and soul then maybe it isnt worth writing; you should enjoy writing your works more then I do reading them and if that’s not the case then you should probably take a step back and try something else that brings you joy!!! even if that’s just writing for another fandom/writing for your own original work! you being happy and proud of what you make is much more important then anything else! and you deserve to get all the engagement you do and even more!!! you’re writing is amazing and I binged some of your fics when I first saw em!!! It’s normal to feel burnt out, you use a bit of your soul when you write and if your heart isn’t in it it’s bound to hurt you.
so um that was long but yeah, don’t force yourself oki? your art is phenomenal and it’s normal to burn out, just let yourself rest and find out what you want to do and you’ll be oki :3
Thank you, I glad you like my work, and I'm so sorry but burn out isn't the problem I'm having. I couldn't force myself if I tried, I have a lot of ideas! But I feel like I'm the only one who enjoys my work, as if no one is actually reading it but only looking for ranchers. Like I could mash my keyboard and no one would tell the difference. Which is usually fine, because my stories are for me first. But it gets lonely and makes me wonder why not just enjoy the story in my head with myself instead of spend the time and effort writing it down.
Which is silly, I know people enjoy my work. I know they get excited enough to reblog it before even reading it and that must mean they enjoyed the last thing I wrote, even if I never hear what they thought of it. And I know most people don't know what to say, because I also don't know what to say usually either, which is why I'm so bad at being active. And that makes me feel worse. It's not something that should dishearten me when I'm the same way and know better.
It's a bit uncomfortable for me to talk about this so maybe I'm too vague to understand, sorry. I'm not the best at communicating with others. I probably shouldn't have posted about it here in the first place, I'm sorry. I do give myself time to my own writing and other hobbies, so you don't have to worry about that. I just... Can't write fanfic right now.
I wanna give you all the comfort hugs I could give (if you'd be fine with them!) Because you deserve to have your fics blow up like crazy! I love your writing so so much! Any work I've read of yours has been an absolute treat!
That being said. It can also just be unavoidable sometimes. It sucks when you end up in a rut feeling disheartened and burn outs happen but I hope you'll also allow yourself a break and/or rest from time to time to spend on others thing that are fun when you've hit a wall with something you do enjoy doing. Maybe it needs a bit of time before it'll feel better again. Maybe you'll find different ways or things that will give you happiness and motivation to create whatever it may be! Writing, art, could be anything. Please make sure to take care of yourself first and foremost!
I'm definitely gonna try my best boosting your works as much as I can as just a tiny blog here <3
I might have said the wrong things here and made it worse, if so I'm very sorry for overstepping! But I sincerely hope I haven't..
You're a wonderful person and I want nothing more than for you to be happy, I mean that genuinely 🫶
- Crys
Thank you. I usually try to make things for myself first, so I feel bad that I feel bad about such a silly thing. I'm happy in other parts of life of course, I just wish I could write.
I try to avoid being a person who posts their troubles on social media, but I haven't been able to even look at a fic doc in weeks. Like it's pointless to write my ideas out because no one else will read them or don't care what I wrote as long as I have a cute ranchers scene in it. And I feel so entitled for thinking that way, I know it's just because I'm not very interactive and I do already get more engagement than I realistically should. I feel so disheartened even when I don't deserve to. I don't know what to do to snap myself out of this rut...
Summary: The Oasis crew is pinned down by pirates who mean business, but can love bridge the gap between them?
Ships: Jimmy & Lizzie (familial), Bdubs/Impulse (Romantic), Lizzie/Joel (Romantic), Jimmy & Tango (Undefined)
Warnings: War, violence, military, guns, fantasy politics, trauma, space, betrayal, minor deaths, disassociating, lying
[AO3]
“What do you want?” Bdubs snapped as soon as a face appeared on his comm. Etho tilted his head back in a laugh.
“Still grumpy?”
Nostrils flared, “Of course I’m still grumpy! You send me planetside for this cockamamie scheme dreamed up by some love struck nitwit replacement who’s gonna stab you in the back!”
There was a long sigh, picked up by Etho’s comm as static. Bdubs didn’t relent, glaring at his captain and dearest friend. Or so he thought he was! Look where that got him, back on earth in the middle of nowheresville waiting to get discovered and killed by the enemy! Just looking at Etho’s tired face was annoying him right now, so he went back to shovelling manure. He couldn’t even say it was nice to be back surrounded by his horses at that moment.
Despite losing visuals, Etho continued talking. “Joel’s not your replacement, Bdubs, he’s a new friend.”
“A new friend that’s gonna get us killed.”
“A new friend that’s given us new opportunities with our primary employer.”
“Oh, stop it!” He growled, throwing his shovel far too hard against the barn wall and startling Lulu. “This is all a big scheme against us. No way Pluto’s ever gonna trust pirates like us to do something as important as infiltrate the Resistance! That Martian’s already betrayed his own planet for Pluto cause of some chick that beat him up! And now he’s got you wrapped around his finger telling you to send your first mate to Earth while you go traipsing around the back end of the solar system? It’s divide and conquer! They’re getting you to betray me so that they can betray you!”
There was a long silence, which only made Bdubs seethe more. Of course Etho had no rebuttal, he was right and he knew it. He was always right! Bdubs lets Etho out of his sights once and he goes and replaces him with some bloodthirsty pilot with too many close ties to a freaking planetary government-
“I’m not replacing you, Bdubs.” Etho finally interjected on his not-so-inner monologue. His tone, for once, was serious, and without the video feed Bdubs wasn’t sure if it was because he was angry or upset. “Everything checks out, I would never send you off like this if I wasn’t sure about this plan. If we play our cards right this will have us set up for years getting a fat paycheque from Pluto. Get us all new suits and pilots.”
“Yeah, by selling our souls. Who cares about this stupid resistance anyways, they’re nobodies.” He grumbled, running his hand through Lulu’s mane to calm them both down.
“Nobodies with a gundam.”
Bdubs paused, still too angry to look back at his comm but knowing Etho was right. Not that it was the business of pirates like them. Whether the planets wanted to fight. Better even, if they were distracted. What did it benefit them to take up a side and help them? All of them were their enemies at the end of the day simply for being states. If Bdubs wanted to be a soldier he woulda signed up for the federation, but he stupidly followed his best friend into space to get away from it all. Now he was stuck infiltrating some goody two-shoes hero wannabes sticking their nose into a planetary war?
“Dubs, look at me?”
He resisted, burying his face into Lulu’s neck. He old mare snorted. Finally he put visuals back on, knowing he was doomed.
Etho’d removed his mask, giving him a sombre look. “I’m not replacing you, and we aren’t selling our loyalty to the Plutonians. This is just a job like any other. At the end of this I’ll bring you right back here and we can laugh about these suckers while drinking away all the money we swindled from them, same as always.”
“Same as always.” Bdubs repeated bitterly.
“Same as always. I wouldn’t let Joel onto this crew if I didn’t have faith in him to put us first, and you bet if I catch a whiff of any funny business him and this whole deal is out. I’d never pick them over you, buddy.” His expression softened into a tentative smile. “You just gotta charm some recruits until they trust you enough to take you on. Who could resist a charmer like you?”
“Nobody!” Bdubs puffed up his chest even as he knew exactly what Etho was doing.
“Mhmm. You worm your way in there and send back some good info. It’ll be easy as pie, you’ll be back before you know it and we’ll be waiting, sitting on more Plutonian credits than you’ll know what to do with.”
It sounded much simpler when Etho was describing it to pump up Bdubs’ ego. He left out the part where Bdubs had to spend several months just cobbling back together his old stables and fixing papers to make it look legit while reaching out for any contacts whose advocacy could be bought. Never mind the months if not years of work after that. The next however long of his life was gonna be the most precarious balancing act of honesty and crookedness, of a good ol’ farmer whose life was upended enough by the EF to turn to a life of smuggling in hopes of helping end this war. The recruits he’d be working with might be idealistic idiots but one wrong move from him and the top brass would suss him out and ditch him faster than a cat in the rain.
But Etho trusted him to do this, and no matter how much he complained they both knew he was gonna do it. “I ain’t gonna like it, though!” Bdubs concluded with a huff.
“I know.”
“Right, fine then.” He took a deep breath and smacked his hands down onto either side of his face. “Let’s do this, we’ll swindle all sides of this stupid war for every penny these suckers got! Ain’t nobody but us matter!”
“Just us.” Etho agreed, smile stretching into a mischievous smirk. “Everyone else is disposable.”
-
“Thank you so much for showing up, everyone!”
The crowd cheered as Arianna waved a tearful goodbye, walking back into a kaleidoscope of lights. The instrumental of her last song played over fans begging her for yet another encore, but she was gone.
Before the video hit its last seconds Bigb hit pause and scrolled back to just before her last performance. A smile stretched across his cheeks at the twirl she effortlessly pulls off to mark the beginning, and hums along.
“Statz?”
Bigb sucked in a breath to keep from screaming. He flicked off his communicator and stood to attention, “Yes’sir!”
But in front of him stood a fellow officer, just as startled as him. “Uh, there’s an incoming communication from Admiral Symmetry on Animalia wishing to speak to the director or Littlewood.” They explained.
“Oh, uh, right. Yeah.” He chuckled, taking the connector from them before turning around to knock at the door he’d almost forgot he’d been leaning against.
Martyn’s muffled voice called, “Come in.” When Bigb turned around the other officer was already down the hall. He sighed and pushed inside.
Ren and Martyn were poured over the sea of papers on the director’s desk. Both of them looked like they needed a coffee three days ago. They barely acknowledged Bigb’s entrance, Ren busy flicking between physical and digital pens while Martyn was busy handing them to him. “What do you need?” Martyn muttered, voice utterly defeated.
“There’s a communication from Admiral Symmetry.” Bigb dared to approach, trying to avoid stepping on anything important. This news seemed to finally grab their attention, now watching Bigb like a hawk as he placed down the connector. Ren swiftly accepted the call, waving at them as he waited for reply. Martyn dropped his papers in a huff and flicked his wrist at Bigb to follow him right back out the door. It closed just in time to cut off Ren’s greeting to the distant Admiral. Now Bigb was stuck at his post once more, except with an irritated Martyn keeping eye on him.
“Ssso...” He began, knocking his head against the wall. “Nothing too fun in those papers I assume.”
“Oh god, just, don’t get me started.” Martyn groaned, hand flying up to cover his eyes.
“That bad, huh?”
“I’ll leave it at we’re lucky to still have our jobs, and we aren’t even out of the swamp yet.” His hand dragged down his face and out in front of him. He stared at it for a painfully long moment before he continued. “First Jimmy and Tango, now Cleo...”
“You still have me.” Bigb attempted to joke. Instead of laughing or chastising him, though, Martyn gave him a grimace. “Don’t look too happy about it, geez.”
“No- I don’t mean it like that. It’s just...” He sighed. “Sorry. You’re right, but you’re one guy. Everyone in this base now has their work cut out for them to make up for more than the loss of some pilots.”
Bigb turned to stare at the far window. Compared to other bases theirs had become pitifully inactive, down to skeleton crews for nearly everything. After all, if even Cleo, their best and most loyal pilot, wouldn’t stick around, then why should the rest of them? “Maybe them leaving was a blessing in disguise.”
“Bigb!” Martyn snapped.
“What? Even before he left Jimmy was sending whole teams to their graves. And Tango was a good mechanic, but he always caused trouble and stole military equipment for his personal projects.” He shrugged. “We wouldn’t have any trouble if they were never here. At least now we can rebuild.”
There was another protest coming. Martyn always had a soft spot for Jimmy, they’d all known it. Why, no one was sure, but he was the one who sob story’d Ren to accept Jimmy. It’d been repaid with problem after problem, aging the poor man by several years. Bigb never got along well with Cleo, but they could always agree taking Jimmy aboard had been a terrible idea.
When he zoned back in Martyn was still ranting about team unity and Ren’s health. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” He conceded putting up his hands in defence. “I spoke out of turn, sir.”
“I swear every year they come out of the academies with less and less discipline.” Martyn grumbled, before the door swung open.
“Martyn, we need to talk.” Ren called from inside. Martyn nodded, first to his boss, then to Bigb, before he closed the door behind him. He was alone once more. Back to watching the concert-
There was a beep on his comm. An email. Bigb opened it up, eyes wide. A large header decorated with images of Arianna in various dance poses took up most of the screen. Fanclub mail, at least at a glance. Most of the message was fluff, apologies for cancelled streams and updates to future events. Bigb smiled to himself as he read through it, until he reached the end.
Every true Arianna fan knew she signed her letters off with hugs and kisses. This message ended in a singular purple X.
He swallowed hard, and flicked to the donation link.
-
Lizzie’s week had been going quite well up until now.
Every time they docked in Animalia was usually good. All the fresh air and greenery, and none of the weather of earth. Her favourite gelato place was there, and her favourite jeweller. The very place Joel had gotten their rings from all those years ago. Only one of many fond memories set in the brightly coloured bricks of the market. There was the time she’d made the terrible choice to shave her head just because her parents said she couldn’t, or the time she had the world’s most delicious muffin and forgot to write down the bakery, or when Jimmy...
Well, not all memories were best to dwell on. And if the gelato wasn’t as sweet as she remembered some days then it wasn’t anyone’s business but hers.
Joel had even promised to take her out on a date, and wasn’t that wonderful? They hadn’t had a chance to go out in over three months, so busy with the increase in EF ships in their usual routes. She’d gone out to find a new outfit just for the occasion, something fancier than the drab work clothes that increasingly filled her closet on-board The Relation. It paid well to be a Plutonian privateer, but there wasn’t much point if she couldn’t enjoy it now and then. They’d dress up, eat a nice meal at a fancy restaurant, go dancing, perhaps Joel had even managed to get tickets to the theatre, though the curses he spat at his computer the night before made her suspect it wasn’t the case.
Yes, it was a wonderful time she was having, looking through some nice accessories in the market, fantasizing about what was surely to be an amazing date. She should have known better. Because that was when the ghosts showed up.
It started as a voice. A common one. She’d never been the best at discerning voices, and she spent much of her time off the ship in crowded places. It was easy to stumble past a group of young men and think she heard a familiar laugh before they said something else. This voice, though, was uncanny, and constant. Not quite what she remembered, but close enough to make her jump every time it carried through the crowd. She’s moved along, trying to escape its range, every word souring her mood. This would be a good day, she couldn’t let a voice ruin it for her.
No, ruining her day was Etho’s job, apparently. They’d all been called back, feddies mobilizing to cause problems and scare off their prey.
Maybe her sour mood had left her prone to seeing things. That was the only explanation she could think of. All it took was blond hair and a blue shirt in the corner of her vision to have her head swivelling like an owl. A very stupid owl imagining dead people running into alleys between feddies. She picked up her pace back to the ship.
Joel was there waiting for her, holding out her helmet and suit. “We’re waiting for them to launch.” He explained. “Boarding parties will launch first, then we get to have fun.”
“I was hoping for some flowers, perhaps a box of chocolates.” She whined, even as she slipped on her uniform. Joel leaned forward, helping her to zip it up, and brushed away a strand of hair that had gotten caught under the collar.
“This is the ship we’ve been watching for the past six years. I’m betting the payout will leave us all the time in the world for as many nice evenings with flowers and chocolate as you could ever want, love.”
And that, Lizzie could look forward to.
Pause was already waiting for them in the launch bay. Behind him Joel’s Talos Custom was prepared, vibrant paint job showing off its many thrusters that made it an absolute pest on the field. Lizzie knew better than anyone, she’d trained long and hard to squash it at one point. Joel gave her a peck on the cheek before descending into the pilot’s seat. “MSF-22 Talos Custom ready for launch.”
“Heading out.” Pause announced, and flagged the crew. The little mobile suit was gone in a flash. Moment later, when confirmation came through that the launch was successful, a second suit moved into place.
Lizzie took a deep breath, puffing up her chest as excitement tingled down her neck at the sight of her precious darling. She hardly waited for the go ahead, pushing herself off the railing towards its cockpit high above. Nothing felt quite like home like slipping down into her seat. She batted the dangling brown fish charm for luck and closed up. “MSC Axolotl ready for launch.” She bellowed into her mic.
“Heading out. Crush ‘em!” Pause replied. The launch rail squealed and Lizzie felt herself pressed back into her seat for only a brief moment before she was staring out into space.
-
Zed slammed into a wall as one of the workers rushed past. Alarms blared right into his ear, sight made difficult by the red flashes. He did his best to breathe, in and out, in and out, at a reasonable pace rather than the hyperventilating his heart demanded.
By the time he’d gotten a hold of himself the hallways was emptied of every other worker, leaving him pressed to the railing all alone. Whether it was a relief or one more thing to panic about he hadn’t yet decided. How could he, when he hadn’t even decided where to go? You’ll be needed in the launch bay, his mind told itself. But hiding under his bed seemed far more appealing. His curiosity tugged him towards navigation, and his headache told him to get to the bathroom as quick as possible.
The only option for now was forward. He dragged himself, clung to the rail as a lifeline while he inched closer to the next doorway. Outside the window, Canary launched passed, shooting at an enemy that effortlessly dodged its attack. Zed yelped as a stray bullet hit the shields just outside the glass. Into the interior of the ship it was.
Door by door, he made his way forward, searching for any signs of life. His hope rose at the sight of an engineer floating up ahead, only for it to plummet when a stray helmet bumped into the body and it tilted lifelessly. He did his best to keep his lunch down and rushed by.
Finally, entering the hall that led to the cafeteria, he heard it. Several people shouted at one another, and, though he couldn't tell who it was, anyone at all might bring tears to his eyes at this point. The flashing red of the broken alarms was the only light to guide him forward towards his crew-mates. The relief that washed over him when he was able to pick out a familiar voice only ushered him forward.
"That ought to do it, just be careful." Bdubs' voice was muffled, but Zed would recognize it anywhere.
A smile broke across his face. He rushed around the final corner. "B-"
It was not Bdubs which he saw. What he saw first was a row of men, four of them, dressed in dull, unfamiliar suits whose true colour was masked under the harsh red lights. Helmets obscured their faces, but Zed didn't need to see them to know they'd never met. At their feet was Katherine, curled up as she was held under one of their boots, hands and feet bound behind her. And from the right-
It was Impulse and Bdubs. Except they weren't hand-in-hand as Zed had come to expect them. No, another of the strangers was pushing the centre of Impulse's back until he was down on the floor next to Katherine while Bdubs trailed behind them, shaky hands clutched around his gun as he watched.
It took Zed several moments to realize how exposed he was, floating freely out of the corner. One set of eyes locked on him. Katherine gave him a grimace. Was it supposed to be reassuring? But it was enough to snap Zed out of his shock and dive back around the corner.
One of the strangers spoke. "What now, sir?"
Bdubs' eyes widened, blubbering for several moments before he threw his arm towards the freezer. "Th- Just throw them in there and lock it up, I don't care! Just get them out of our way!"
One raised his gun. Zed almost jumped right back out of his spot. It was Bdubs' cry that filled the hall. "Hey, wait- wait wait wait a minute, wait!" His hands went up. "Don't- You have a whole crew to subdue don't waste your damn bullets on prisoners!"
"Cowardly rat." Katherine spat. "You might as well, 'cause when we get out of this-"
The butt of a gun connected with her jaw. "You ain't going nowhere." Hissed the raider. "Our employer is paying a pretty penny for your crew and assets."
"Yeah, yeah, so careful with the merchandise meatheads!" Bdubs waved the more violent pair off, pushing the prisoners towards their calmer companions. Katherine screamed and kicked and flailed, refusing to give up, but Impulse hardly moved. His eyes were open, Zed could see as much, but they were empty. He jostled like a ragdoll when pushed, not an ounce of fight in him, even when a plate of food floated by and splattered across his shoulder.
This was bad. Why did it have to be me? Zed wondered as he dove for a new hiding spot. If these guys could take down Katherine and Impulse, what could a scrawny scientist like Zedaph do?
A wild kick from Katherine sent a stack of trays across the room, smashing into everything within range. It hit one of the strangers on the head, smashing the lens of his helmet. In retaliation another socked the poor pilot across the face, adding to her growing collection of bruises. Despite the force of the impact it could hardly be heard beneath the trays clattering against tables, walls, pots and vents-
Bingo.
Katherine made eye contact with him one last time as the guards yelled at her. Zedaph could only hope she caught his nod before the freezer doors closed. He bolted across the room before they turned back, the clattering items covering his stressed curses. The dish tray had been tipped, creating a continuous cacophony of silverware and metal dishes bumping about the room. He snatched up a pair of kitchen scissors that passed him and floated up to the ceiling behind one of the ventilation pipes.
One of the guards left behind had headed into the hall, leaving the cracked helmet guard at the door alone. Under his breath Zedaph prayed as he crept closer and closer to the vent above the freezer.
The whole ship lurched. A powerful hit somewhere on the port side from the enemy ship. Whatever was happening outside was breaking down fast. It threw the guard off kilter and Zed took the chance to rip the vent cover open. He could barely fit his arms and head through the air duct. Scissors tapped awkwardly on the other side.
Eight long seconds passed in panicked silence before Katherine's shoulders floated by. He took a stray glance down at the guard, only three feet below him. Still looking out, head jerking ever so slightly whenever a particularly loud crash occurred. Good enough for now. Despite the shake in his hands Zed did his best to awkwardly manoeuvre Katherine until her tied hands were in view.
It was harder than he thought it would be, cutting through zip ties, upside-down, arms crushed through a vent, trying not to cut into the woman's flesh, the target floating away repeatedly, while keeping quiet as to not alert the guard close enough for Zed to kick them in the head. If he had any trust in his strength he might have done it. Even with the surprise advantage, though, there was no way Zed could avoid the semi-automatic he cradled.
There were several dents in the mangled plastic of failed attempts before finally, finally, he snipped though the tie. Katherine darted away, only part of her visible as she shook off her bindings. Freed, Zed released his hold on the scissors in her general direction, hoping she would grab them to free her legs and Impulse with much more ease.
He could only hope that's what she was doing, however. A sharp pain blinded him, ripped through his thigh and echoed silently in his ears. He squealed something incoherent, cut short as his ankle was grabbed. Then, he was flying across the room. A table's edge smashed into his spine, knocking the air right out of him. Katherine's shouts from within the freezer barely registered in the back of his mind. A shadow loomed over him. The guard.
"Can't be helped if you're trying to escape, eh?" They taunted as the barrel of their gun pressed against Zed's forehead. He clenched his eyes closed, life flashing before his eyes-
There was a scream and the gun fired. But not into him.
His eyes shot open. Katherine was in front of him, barrelling straight past with her fist shoved against their attacker's neck, the blade of the scissors embedded into his flesh. The guard's hands went limp around his gun and she snatched it up before Zed could breathe again. Before the other guard could get back through the door. Bullets filled the man's chest the moment he did, pinning him to the wall for the briefest of moments before the bubbles of red seeped out.
"Are you okay?" She asked, as if he were the one inside the freezer.
His reply couldn't get past the lump in his throat, tears pricking at his eyes. Her hands reached out, and he found himself letting out a sob into her shoulder, clinging to the younger woman like a child in an instant. There was no way around it, he knew there was no way around it. But it didn't hurt any less, watching the corpses float by, just like their own lost companions in the hall. What difference was there?
Katherine was stronger, or perhaps just unfortunately used to the sight. They'd never been close, Zed only knowing she was some type of mercenary before being recruited. He had the sudden urge to ask, know everything about her just so someone might. Though she blinked and breathed, her face was as mangled as the corpses, and despite her strength looking at her felt like he couldn't tell the difference. One day she and all the pilots would be just like them. They were already dead.
Not quite. Not yet. That thought, more than anything, finally snapped him back to the here and now. It always did, when the mobile suits slogged their way back into the ship. He choked down a new sob, pulling away just far enough to rub at his eyes. A soft apology left him for the stain on the woman's suit. He finally looked passed her, searching for their third companion.
Impulse was in the doorway of the freezer, still staring off into space, face twisted in a pain Zed could not begin to imagine. "Oh, Impulse." He muttered, floating over to the mechanic. Zed couldn't say he'd ever quite gotten along with Bdubs, but the weight of what they'd witnessed was finally falling upon them.
Impulse shook off his hand before it touched down on his shoulder. "We... We have to get out of here. Get to the bridge and warn them."
"There's no way we'll make it before him." Katherine mourned, only able to manage misery on her face despite the spite in her words.
Zed sniffled, looking around as he mentally mapped out the ship. "We don't have to. There's an emergency comm on the next floor up that we can use to warn them. Judging by the damage it might be okay." He turned to Impulse. "You know the inner workings better than I. Is there a maintenance shaft that we can use to get up there and to the bridge?"
The nod he gave was almost imperceptible, still lost in his grief, but there was a nod. His movements were clumsy, but he pointed the way. Katherine and Zed each grabbed hold of the man's arms and guided him out with them. No one else would die today, not if Zed could help it.
-
Pain made it hard to follow the fight from screen to screen. Tango did his best, but that damned Talon in particular was running circles around Nimbus, and Canary wasn't doing much better. Jimmy was rusty at space combat, at that, not as precise as Tango knew he could be. With Katherine missing and half their crew in disarray they were well out-matched by a couple of pirates of all things.
Another wave of pain rolled through his skull, forcing him to lean away from the setup. Stellaris waited in holding, hung up like a useless rag without its pilot. Behind it was an entirely different set of containers. Tango's brow furrowed. Macaw.
Tango had never worked on the gundam, never even knew it existed. Surely, though, Zed had to have default settings set up for it for emergencies like this. Against his bodies' wishes he hunched himself back over the computers, searching through the files while he called up to the deck. "This is Tango, I'm going to try to get Macaw ready for lau-"
"No."
Grian's stern voice rang out like the toll of a bell. No? "No?" Stress snapped his voice, the single syllable biting into his own throat. "What do you mean no?"
"Do not touch Macaw. I'll tell you if you need to prepare it."
"You're not going to go out there?" Tango couldn't help shout. The heat of Mercury pumped through his veins as he watched another of Jimmy's shots go unnoticed by the tank-like suit. "They're losing! We're down a pilot and being invaded!"
A sigh crackled through the comm. "The Macaw is incredibly energy intensive to run even for a short while. Resources the other mobile suits might need. Never mind that it takes me away from the bridge. It is an absolute last resort. Do not touch it unless I say so."
Bull, Tango wanted to scream at The Resistance leader. What was the interference with the pirates on the way here then? Just a show? And if it weren't a gundam he would have ignored the orders entirely. Only Grian could pilot the stupid thing, though.
Whatever the reason, Tango didn't think anything was good enough to leave the pilots in their current position. Not when Jimmy couldn't land damage on either enemies. "Whatever." He grumbled, abandoning his task to fall back against the rail. There was nothing else Tango could do for Jimmy now.
Talos flitted by once more, nearly running straight into the debris falling from the ship and disappearing out of view of the functional cameras.
... Unless...
Tango shot up, nearly collapsing right after from the agony of the motion. There was no time to wallow in his pain. He pulled up the ship's defence systems across a dozen monitors. Many parts came up red, as expected. Completely down from the boarding pod and continued assault, leaving their port as vulnerable as the suits fighting under it. What was still online was unmanned, no doubt flesh giving in where metal had not. They were at the edges of the locked sections. Theoretically, accessible. Theoretically functional. He searched...
Bingo. He punched in the comm once more. "Sir, it looks like FG-P4 is well within range of the enemy mobile suits."
It took a moment before the reply came, no doubt pulling up the same screens Tango was seeing. "FG-P4 is within the lock-down zone in port side, we don't have any gunners to operate it."
"I've assessed the damage I could to the surrounding area, it's superficial, just disconnected from the system which can be quickly fixed and a puncture that makes it inhospitable. The main damage cut off from FG-P4's location and the pilots have drawn fire farther below. With a space suit it should be safe to get down there and fix it."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying," Tango growled, trying to keep himself from blowing up at his boss through his pounding headache. "That if you can't be bothered to crawl into your murder robot then you can at least grab a helmet and get our asses down there!"
-
The enemy was fast, Lizzie would give them that.
Though, with her opponent sporting a gundam frame, maybe she shouldn't give them too much credit. There was exactly one battle, back on Pluto, where she had the privilege to fight alongside Pearl and her Gundam Owl. The computing power of those machines were in an entirely other league of their own, only the pilot able to give it any limitations. An issue mitigated by their almost sentient pickiness. Pickiness she was all too familiar with.
And though she did not know much about the only recently unearthed Gundam Canary, it was obvious what type of beast it was. It darted about, barely kept in line by Joel's Talos while Lizzie pushed in further, body blocking them from the only other escape as they pinned the two suits to their own ship haul. Another beam emitted from its rifle, glancing off Axolotl's armour. A powerful weapon for sure, for long ranged attacks, but Etho himself had helped her turn her baby into a juggernaut with the best ALG credits could buy. A lot easier to find when not stuck at the back of the solar system. No matter how good the pilot, a gundam frame wouldn't be an automatic win. Not against her.
She turned her nose up ever so slightly as the particles dissipated, and began moving in. "Joel keep an eye on the gundam."
"Oh gosh, babe, what are you doing?" Joel's exasperation came out as a static undertone. "Etho said to avoid damaging them unless he gave the signal, remember."
"I know! But this is our date night, Joel. I want to have some fun!" She pouted to herself It swiftly turned to a grin as she hammered one of the buttons. Her favourite button. Axolotl began to vibrate. A latch under her back armour released, and she jerked back to catch the handle of the Dardanelles. Not that it could float away, with the large tubes connecting it directly to her second reactor. Its length snapped to Axolotl's wrist and elbow joints for support as its systems connected and inner workings whirled to life. A flick of a toggle switch brought up the bombard attachment's monitoring screen. On it, Axolotl's excess thrusters cut off and diverted power straight into her most beloved weapon.
She watched giddily for the moment their opponents realized something was happening. Nearly too late they moved, if not for the second it took for the bombard to warm up before firing. A large beam a full metre wide hit right into the haul of The Oasis, punching through the roof on the other side. Canary's entire arm could have been disintegrated, but not only had the pilot been swift enough to get out of the way without running straight into Talos, it had contorted itself into a crescent to avoid the beam entirely. A good thing, given the hole left in the ship, blown wide open like a paper target.
She whistled. Timothy, was it? Against better judgment she opened up comms. "I can see why Canary picked you." She praised.
"... Wh-at?" A ghostly voice crumpled by static replied. Lizzie sucked in a breath. Why must you do this with every young man? She chastised herself.
"I said-" And as she spoke she warmed up Dardanelles once more. Communication had thrown the enemy pilot off guard, the tip of one of its wing-like appendages shattering where they were just barely not fast enough. "-I can see why Canary picked you. It's a shame my captain wants to sell it or I'd love to see what it can really do."
Shockingly, the gundam pilot did not rise to the bait. The other mobile suit- Nimbus, was it? - certainly did though, barging between the two. "Hey! You ain't selling nothin' of ours!" Came a scratchy communication before the Nimbus levelled its gun at her. The beam did as it had done before, barely leaving a scratch. What a wasteful fighter. Lizzie hadn't needed to do a thing herself. A tether shot out. It smacked the bulkier enemy's hands and shattering one of the fingers, sending the gun off into space. To the sound of their enemies cursing the tether wound back up into the underside of Talos' right arm. Just in time for Joel to dodge an attempted attack from Canary.
Lizzie couldn't have that. Joel still owed her a proper date like he promised. She fired Dardanelles once more. Overheat warnings blared, Axolotl unhappy with the constant barrage. The blast threaded between the two fighters, putting another hole in The Oasis' port side. Just enough space for Joel to dart off to a safe range. Once more the four returned to their stalemate.
"You should be more careful with that." Lizzie tutted their opponents, hoping for another step out of line. Nimbus and Canary both seemed to have learned their lesson though, huddling together. A minor mistake, allowing Axolotl and Talon to close in on them. At least, Lizzie thought so before the barrage descended. A ship gun brought online despite the port-side damage. A shield for the retreating suits.
Bullets clattered down Axolotl's arm, pinging off armour like rain. Even the heaviest mobile suit needed room for joint movement, however. A handful from hundreds punctured the inside of Axolotl's elbow. Momentum dragged her back as she lost control of the limb. Dardanelles dangled, half detached from its elbow and several holes shredding its tubes, leaving sparking wires exposed. "Oh, son of a-" She hissed, biting her tongue. Now was not the time to get frustrated. Not when their quarry was making a run for it.
-
It was difficult, looking out into the naked void of space and picking out the details of the fight, but he saw it. The bulky mobile suit's arm falling away limp. Tango yipped throwing his fist up just a bit to forcefully that it caused him to drift, if not for the cables clutched in his hands.
In the moment of confusion Jimmy and Skizz darted in opposite directions, the Talos forced to pick one. Skizz was that unlucky one, slow and easy to wrangle. A poor choice, as it let the Canary speed off to her preferred distance far, far back. There was no catching them now.
"How you like that, schnookums?" Tango called, throwing a thumbs up Jimmy would absolutely not be able to see.
A lovely, if nervous, laugh filled the comms. "Tango, what did you do?"
He made a noncommittal noise, before he felt a boot on his back. Arms crossed like a petulant child, Grian sniffed, barely visible through the glare of his helmet. An automatic barely held around his neck by its strap, floating free rather than pointed at the hole in the wall where pirates could appear at any moment. "We saved your life is what we did."
"I wouldn't mind that you extending to me, too!" Skizz shouted, cursing under his breath as he gave a swing and a miss with his hammer.
As amusing as Skizz's distress was, Tango had to agree. He pulled himself back towards the gun, using it as leverage to push another piece of debris out of its way. While the gun itself only had a few cut wires to fix, the gunport was disfigured, limiting its range of motion significantly.
In the meantime, Canary sent a shot down. It grazed the Talos, cutting into its foot. The first shot landed on the damned thing. More than enough to spook the speedster into backing up from Skizz and reconsider their strategy of flitting around like a mosquito. The larger mobile suit had abandoned its arm in favour of a mid-range rifle. It was clear she was no lefty, though, shots firing wide even with assistance.
A kick, and another. The wall panel broke free. "Alright." Tango announced. "Gun's fully operational. It's up to the crew now. I don't know if they've seen which one it was yet, but-"
"Wait, Tango."
When Jimmy said wait, that's what Tango did. He looked out towards the distant speck that was the Canary. "What's up, buddy?"
Static filled the comm, a button held down despite no words. "I... I don't know..."
"Another feeling?" Grian drawled, his helmet rolling with his eyes. "I don't have time for this, there's a situation at the bridge."
An AC attack smashed into the Nimbus' left pauldron, cracking it right off the frame. "I'm kinda getting pinned here, Jimbo!"
"No, it's just... Sorry. I thought earlier I heard..."
"We don't have time for hearing things, we have to shake these pirates off and get back to Sanctuary."
"Hey, Jerkface, give him a break!" Tango finally snapped, arm flinging out in a silencing motion. If there was one thing Tango had learned in their time together, it was to trust his partner. And if no one else would be on his side then Tango would be. "What do you need, Jim?"
-
Talos darted into the fray with his AC flail once more, forcing the Nimbus back into position for Lizzie. "Stay still, I'm trying to kill you!" She growled, aiming for the cockpit. The Canary's pilot may be a bit more precious, but the suits had refused to cooperate at this point and weren't going down unless taken down. Understandable, but one that made Lizzie's life significantly more difficult.
"Over my dead body!" Insisted Skizz, snatching up the lost chunk of his shoulder and curling up as best he could around himself. Her shots hit where intended but couldn't penetrate deep enough through the impromptu shield.
"That's what I'm trying to arrange." She grit her teeth. "So if you would just kindly-"
Screens went red. Axolotl let out an alarm, forcing her attention away from what was in front of her. Something was coming up on her rear and fast. Most thrusters down for the count from her previous shots and carrying dead weight, the poor mobile suit hardly had any time to spin itself around just to watch a streak of yellow crash into her. Both went careening, dipping straight past The Oasis. Her head smacked back against her chair and cursed. Next time she saw Etho they would have to talk about padding.
Joel shouted over comms, but she couldn't see him, all her visuals engulfed in the bright yellow of Gundam Canary, latched onto Axolotl's upper half like a little parasite. Jerking her suit back and forth did nothing to free them, unable to get the momentum needed. This was it! He only had to find the weak spots.
She thrashed and grabbed, awaiting her fate. No barrel or weapon pressed against her cockpit, though. Fine by her. Waiting around for fate had never been her style. The butt of her own rifle found its way into one of Canary's joints, trying to peel them apart. "Eugh! Get off of me, you-!"
"Li-zzie?"
Her heart nearly stopped.
"Lizzie?"
It's the ghosts. Always the ghosts. That's all that was left was ghosts. She couldn't be letting them haunt her while in the middle of combat-
The chest of the Canary peeled open. If Lizzie was breathing she might have had the foresight to shoot into the vulnerability, or hit it, or anything at all. Something other than watching it with unmovable terror and an even more debilitating needle of hope. It's just ghosts. No matter how many times she repeated it to herself she couldn't pull her eyes away.
The pilot stumbled, ankle catching on the edge of the cockpit. His body was buried in his suit, nothing uncommon in its shape for a pilot. Canary's scale did him no favours, but one could guestimate he was on the tall side as he straightened himself on top of the plate.
Space was vast and dark, and at the same time impossibly bright. The reflective visor of his helmet hid his face from view. But there was no need to see it. There was only one fool idiotic enough to leap out, untethered, atop an enemy suit. Who would have hands hesitate by his neck in contemplation whether to remove his helmet in space. Who would instead wave so delicately, only a bit embarrassed.
Lizzie wasn't sure of the sound she made. Only that she felt it roll up her strained throat from her roiling stomach, and that it broke into a sob before her hands could make it to her face. "Jimmy..?"
-
Jimmy's two-handed wave curled out of the way, smile falling away as a voice he'd thought he might never hear again echoed through the comms.
"Jimmy? Is- Is it really you, Jimmy?"
Her tone quickly escalated to hysterics. He wished it wouldn't. It made his own throat begin to close up, reality crushing down like a collapsing cave. A sore laugh bubbled out of him. What emotion were you supposed to feel in a situation like this? "It's really me, Lizzie." He said, mirroring her.
Mechanisms clinked and spun. The mobile suit was doing something, pulling itself open. For a moment part of him thought he might need to rush back into Canary. The part that had already gone through this before, back on earth, finding himself facing down those he formerly trusted. People who at one point he'd dedicated his life to fighting beside and saved him in return, before they found themselves on opposite sides of an unending conflict. Life would be that cruel to him, he didn't doubt. But someone somewhere chose to have just a touch of mercy on him today.
No doubt it was Lizzie. Who else would colour coordinate their pilot suit with their mobile suit? Who else would get away with it? And he only knew one person ridiculous enough to catch their ankle on the still-opening cockpit in a mad dash to let themselves float away, untethered, towards an enemy unit.
Only by some miracle did throwing herself out into space lead her straight to Jimmy. Perhaps, then, they were lucky that he was able to catch her with only their helmets smashing into one another. It cut through the moment as both nursed their foreheads. "That smarts!" He peeped, wishing he could remove his helmet.
And Lizzie laughed. Slightly distorted by the comms, pronounced rather than a noise made, deeper than her regular voice. It was so painfully familiar, dragging him right back to Animalia Station despite it being but a distant speck on the horizon now. Back to Pluto, in their old childhood home, their school, their hangar. Tears formed in the corner of his eyes as she tilted her head back, the shadow she cast on her self revealing her equally wet cheeks and elation twisted by a thousand other emotions. "You haven't changed a bit. You haven't..." A sniffle cut her words off, and she gave up, throwing herself around his shoulders and pulling his face into her shoulder. "Oh, Jim..."
I wish it were true, the thought. None of that was needed, though, not right now. As best he could with their bulky equipment in the way, he buried his face against her, imagine the itch of her curly dyed hair and the smell of old fashioned perfumes. It's magnolias and coconut, I've seen the real things now. It smells exact like them. He wanted to tell her, but that could also wait. It had been nearly four years since he'd hugged his sister, and he wasn't ready to let it end.
-
If Impulse was honest, he was simply going through the motions. Years of training, first on Earth and then on Sanctuary, gave him an endless collection of muscle memory for what to do in various situations. He knew The Oasis like the back of his hand-
You thought you knew Bdubs the same way.
Impulse was just going through the motions. Zed would ask him a question and he would answer. Katherine would order him towards a hiding spot and he would follow. Much of the ship was on red alert after their call. Injured crew-mates lay in the hallway as the medical staff tried to organize them. A few of the pirates had been subdued and restrained. Most were trying to put out the fires, literal and figurative.
They'd slowed down long ago. Once they were out of the danger zone Katherine had given them a pat on the back and darted off towards the launch bay. Unlikely anyone would let her pilot in the state she was in, if there was any crew there to begin with, but that wouldn't stop her from being ready to go out there anyways. Impulse wished he had her strength right now.
Commotion was densest around the bridge. It wasn't hard to tell why. Several pirates were lined up against the wall before the door, tied up and watched by double the number of guards. From the look of them Impulse guessed they hadn't made it this far on there own, but been dragged there for a purpose. That purpose became clear when the doors slid open and Impulse was staring at the imposed faced of a stranger, reclined in a foreign captain's chair and looking frustrated. Scar, of course, was as chipper as ever, more so at whatever upper hand he was babbling on about, with Grian stood by his side. And at their feet...
Impulse choked trying not to throw up. Hands tied behind his back and head hung low like a beaten dog was Bdubs. He was out in the open, full view of the pirate captain and the entire crew. If Impulse could look, he might see the glares of the people Bdubs had spent the last half a decade feeding. But his eyes wouldn't wretch themselves from the cowering form. He looked so small and so defeated, yet all Impulse could see was the barrel of a pistol. A stone cold glare he never imagined directed at him. The back of bleached hair getting further and further away from him.
Bdubs' head turned, one eye wide. The other was swollen shut. Dried blood stuck to his chin, his gaping revealing a new gap in his red-stained teeth. He seemed as though he wanted to speak, and suddenly Impulse had to look anywhere else.
He landed on Tango. His old friend was off to the side, half dressed in a space suit, leaning over an operator and their station. There was a screen pulled up, monitoring what seemed to be a stalemate outside. As their gaze met he straightened up, his eyes crinkling with pain that quickly turned to rage he threw towards Bdubs before making his way to Impulse's side. Hands grabbed hold of Impulse's shoulder to slow the short man's momentum and slide into a sideways hug. Impulse wanted to both pull him into a proper embrace and throw him off. He compromised by doing neither.
"Impy-"
"It's- not right now. Later." He croaked. It surprised even him, how much it had sounded like he'd already cried. A cascade of emotions fell across Tango's face. His old friend was a predictable sort, or maybe he just knew him too well. It ended where he expected, on a depth of rage Impulse himself had never been able to manifest towards anything. A comfort, in some way. He had someone who could feel that sort of righteous anger on his behalf, but thinking of who it was directed towards only made him feel sicker.
"That piece of shit."
He whined. "Tango."
"I knew it. The moment I met him I knew there was-"
"Tango. No," His voice rose a bit too high, but he couldn't hear this. "You didn't. You didn't know anything."
No one did. No one could. They had to not know. Because if someone did, then...
Tango's expression softened. His hand rubbed a comforting circle into his shoulder blade before falling away. Instead he pressed into his side, and much to Impulse's surprise another weight mimicked it on his right. Zed wasn't looking at him, but the engineer's wiry fingers were dug into his sleeve. Some attempt at comfort that was unnatural to him.
He would never tell either, but Zed had been a comfort- if a distant one- in those first years far from everything he'd known. He had Skizz, and he had... But there was a void where his family and coworkers and Tango had been when he touched down on Sanctuary. Terribly introverted, long convinced of his own genius, and an utter pain to get to know, yet somehow Zed had wormed his way into the periphery of Impulse's life. To the point were he'd imagined what it would be like if they'd all hung out; Him, Skizz, Tango, Zed and...
That's what he'd do, when they got back. The very first thing, he'd drag all three of them to a lounge and they'd be there 'til he'd forced them all to get along with drinks and games and laughter. Until they could forget this mission entirely.
"It seems we've reached an impasse, Mister Slab." Scar announced all too happy with himself and the situation. His arm flung out towards his prisoner. "Your spies and boarding party are all caught, and it seems our pilots are none-too interested in fighting each other any longer."
"It would seem so." Captain Slab's voice strained, sounding utterly exasperated by the situation. It lacked the weight one would expect from someone whose potentially years long operation had been ruined. "This is a bit of pickle, though, Scar. See, I got backers who expect things of me. Put a lot of trust into me to get things done, promised a lot of money."
"Ah, not a mere thief but an entrepreneur. I can respect that." The Oasis' captain leaned onto his knuckles, ignoring the glare Grian was sending him. "But not something that changes the situation. Your backers will have to accept that you've failed."
"They aren't willing to do that, unfortunately. You see my conundrum."
It was a stalemate.
A clap echoed throughout the bridge, all eyes turning towards Grian. "Well, then, I have a proposal for you, Captain Slab. It seems you have two options here. Return empty-handed to your backers, informing them you're no longer capable of the job, and suffer the consequences it would reap-"
"Very tempting, I must say." Drawled the enemy captain, all but melting into his chair. He hardly seemed like captain material at all, completely surrendering to his fate.
"- Or," Grian's pointer went up, silencing. "You could abandon your former employers and instead throw your lot in with The Resistance."
The bridge went quiet. A strange noise crackled from the back of Tango's throat, "What?" It was a touch too loud, and if not for the open communication with their enemy Impulse suspected the many wary eyes on their leader would be up in arms. Bdubs, too, jerked his head towards the men he had betrayed, good eye blown wide and stammering. A protest, a plea, just shock? Impulse couldn't bring himself to analyze it to figure out. He wasn't even sure of his own emotions about the offer, only painfully aware of an odd, burning pit in his chest that was quietly growing with each passing second.
Slab's eyes narrowed, nails distressing the corner of his mask. "I see. And exactly why would I choose that?"
"Well, for starters, the other option isn't exactly viable for you."
"Joining you wouldn't make my connections or coffers any happier, I gotta say."
"This isn't a volunteer program we run, you would be paid for your services and you would receive our protection like any other crew."
"I didn't exactly get into the pirating business because I enjoy taking orders or abiding by lofty morals. My crew would agree."
"All the more reason not to stay loyal to our enemies." Grian flicked his wrist dismissively, far too much confidence in the situation Impulse wasn't sure was actually going his way. He supposed that's what made the difference between leaders and followers, though. "It's a loose connection, we won't even stop you from doing as you please. The same privateer deal as you currently have. Details can be worked out later, but all I'd ask is that you be an extra set of hands for us when paid to do so, and avoid undermining our efforts in your other affairs. You're pirates, I imagine you would enjoy a world where every freighter didn't carry an entire entourage of EF guards and you needn't spend so much time forging papers."
Despite the flimsiness of the argument, Slab looked off in consideration. A long pause fell between the two parties, both crew holding their breaths. Then, Slab sighed and shrugged. "Ah, you know. It's tempting... But there's some slight complications with your offer."
This, Grian finally seemed a bit put off by, eye twitching. "Such as?"
"Well, part of our current contract is the loaning of equipment and pilots to our operations. I've grown rather fond of them, y'see, and I'd hate to lose them-"
"You won't."
Both crews jumped. Impulse looked around, eyes falling on Biffa as he scrambled to pull up a new feed. A man with a feather woven into his hair sat beside Slab seemed to be doing the same. Four faces appeared, two to either side of the main feed. Skizz, looking oddly torn, and Jimmy, eyes puffy and lip pulled tight with nervous energy.
On the other side were who Impulse could only assume were the enemy pilots. A man of martian descent, with an undertone of green to his skin that matched the strip in his hair, who looked like a cat who just had a bucket of water dumped over him, and a woman whose bright pink hair filled the cockpit. She wore a determined expression. There was something very familiar about her large blue eyes and the shape of her lip. It took the feeds being combined, placing her right next to Jimmy, for him to realize what it was. From the murmurs around him, Impulse guessed he wasn't the only one who put two and two together. Beside him, Tango had gone rigid, eyes darting around accusative, ready to pick a fight with anyone who spoke. He didn't calm until Impulse placed a hand on his back.
The woman- Lizzie- straightened up in her seat, determination in her red rimmed eyes. "If you take his offer, Joel and I will follow. Consider our contracts with- with our mutual employer cut."
"Lizzie?" Slab almost stuttered, mask of professionalism shattered by his own pilots.
"We've been thinking, lately, about our position in your crew and our relationship with our employer." She started, and the unwinding in Joel's brow told she spoke the truth in that regard at least. "It's your choice, sir, but we stand with you and whatever trouble comes of our desertion. And- and as part of your crew I would vote we take their offer."
The depth of the exhaustion on Slab's face was incalculable, becoming one with his chair as a hand came to rub circles into his forehead. "You could at least wait to tell me this in private." He muttered. Any illusion of control was long gone, and Grian and Scar both had the expression of the cat who got the cream. There was little option left for the enemy captain.
"... Fine." His slouch straightened, and he cleared his throat. Jimmy and Lizzie's faces lit up. "I'm not agreeing to it, but I'm willing to entertain a conversation."
"Excellent!" Scar held out his hands in welcome, while Grian rounded him. "There's an asteroid not far from us. Let us exchange crew and make repairs while we speak."
"I suppose." Slab agreed. "I have a feeling my pilots would like to meet yours face to face."
Hands grabbed at the ties around Bdubs' wrists, pulling him up off the floor.
Tango cheered, matching the pleased expressions of the pilots even as other crew-mates gave each other wary glances. They weren't out of the water yet, but it seemed obvious which direction it would go. While war could be cruel and peace was preferable to continued fighting, these wounds were still fresh. Mentions of repairs only brought reminders of the great tear in their haul which cost lives on both sides, and the rope was still tight on their prisoners.
It's not what Impulse could think about. No, that burning pit had become a chasm, threatening to consume his entire being. It pricked at the back of his eyes and tightened his throat, made his knees shake in a way that if they were planetside he would not be standing. And as they dragged Bdubs by, their eyes locked one last time. He couldn't begin to decipher the emotions he saw while drowning in his own.
Somehow, two people at each other's throats had cared enough to end the conflict. But it wasn't them. Somehow, everything would be back to the way it was only hours before. Everything but Impulse's life. The doors slammed shut between them, leaving Impulse with only the bitter thought...
What was the point of any of it?
-
Scar let out a long sigh as the last of the crew piled out of the bridge, stretching out in his seat like a cat ready to take a nap. It was certainly how he felt, after all the unnecessary excitement.
"They should be here in a few minutes." Grian announced, eyes sweeping over the open room as though someone might have been able to hide. "They're just checking on the prisoners and then they'll be escorted here. I have a few rough notes ready but I think as long as we're fair to them and don't step on any toes they'll be happy to join us."
A hum filled the room. Scar threw his hands up behind his head. It was always strange when the screens were off. Manual windows were an option The Oasis had but the ship's standard, like most, was through cameras. Somehow an off screen was a much more terrifying void than that of space itself. He rarely saw it, always being the last to enter the bridge after the rest of the crew had set things up. It was a captain's job, after all, to surround himself with those who knew things he didn't, could do things he can't, and trust that they were good enough to allow him to make informed decisions that affected the three hundred crew-mates aboard.
His head rolled towards Grian, a smirk on his face as he watched the shorter man write on his tablet. "We really got lucky, huh?"
The stylus paused, a curious beady black eye on him, brow cocked. "I'd say so. From the looks of it their employer spent a lot of money on their suits." He pulled at the hem of his jumper, never happy with how it bunched in low gravity. They were opposites, Scar couldn't imagine wearing such heavy clothing that drowned him, leaving absolutely everything to the imagination.
"Oh, not that." Scar waved dismissively. "I mean it's nice, but Zed's a miracle worker, and we have Doc's good graces now, too. I mean it's lucky we were able to come to an agreement."
The warning was predictable. "Not quite yet." The small snort was a surprise, though. "But, it is a miracle opportunity."
"Yes, yes, you are the miracle worker. Bright ideas and the brains to take hold of any scrap of luck you can get. That's why I'm here!" He flung his arms out in dramatic form, earning an eye roll. They'd had this conversation many times, of course. How Grian wished he cared just a bit more about their lofty goals more than watching Grian work. It was simply the truth, though. Scar's eyes shone as he reclined back into his chair once more. "Who would have guessed? A bunch of underhanded pirates, so dedicated to the long con as to get spies in our ranks, taken down by happenstance such as the enemy pilots being long lost siblings."
"It's a small world, I suppose. Especially where Pluto is involved."
He laughed. "Indeed!" A brief silence fell, during which Scar tilted his head, flicking on his own tablet to get ready for the meeting. Among the notes were files, scraped together on what they could find of the whole pirate crew. Nothing too well hidden. Jimmy's file, too, was among them, elaborating on his past both on Earth and Pluto. It was remarkable, really, how much one could find on a person who was theoretically in hiding. "Lucky we brought dear little Jimmy with us. Mot would say it was a very delicate mission for a first timer. And That gundam of his is like a neon sign. Even with Zed's inventions, pulling it apart to hide while in port was a hassle and a half for not much benefit. I suppose it was a good thing, though. Who would have guessed we would run into two oddly well-funded pirate crews?"
A loud clack filled the room, the stylus pressing just a bit too heavily into the tablet screen. The only sound in the room besides the soft hum of computers on stand-by.
Grian sighed, flicking it back into his pocket and heading for the door. "They're taking too long, I'm going to go get them."
"It's strange, too." Voice an octave too high, to be heard over the swish of the door "I always thought our screening process would have been good enough to catch someone who disappeared into space for a decade like Bdubs."
The door shut. Scar closed his eyes, smile quirking. Yes, what noble cause could ever compare to watching a man like Grian work?
-
Tango found Jimmy by the bay entrance, foot tapping twice a second, wringing his hands for having nothing better to do with them. There was a bandage wrapped around the older's head, and his gaze was bit foggy with painkillers, but he seemed otherwise no worse for ware. Warmth filled the pilot's heart, accepting Tango's hug and taking up his right hand. "Thank you. You saved my life. Again."
"And you saved all of ours." The mechanic shrugged, giving a soft smirk. "It's what partners do, right? Don't keep track."
"I'll try not to, but that's a hard ask." If his memory was capable, Jimmy would remember every little thing Tango did. That was far too many things, though. Some days he was pretty sure Tango even worked in his sleep, with how much he tossed and turned, unable to shut that insane brain of his off.
Tango coughed awkwardly, looking off towards the door in front of them. "So, uh, I guess you don't have to call your sister now."
His cheeks warmed, unable to wipe the smile from his face. How long had it been? He'd been on earth for over a year, of course, a few months in space before that. But even before then, Lizzie had been sent on some mission she couldn't spill the details of. Half a decade since they were both on the same planet together. It was a mini miracle. Or a very big one, given the circumstances. "Yeah..." Was all he could say, too many thoughts and questions fighting for attention.
It must have shown on his face. Tango was giggling, pressing their shoulders together. "Well, I'll leave you too it, then. Wouldn't want to impose."
Jimmy's head flicked towards the other, eyes wide. "What-! No, no you aren't imposing! Tango, stay, you have to meet her!"
"With this ugly mug?" Tango joked, though Jimmy could hear the underlying anxiety. Ridiculous, as who wouldn't want to meet Tango? It was a thought he'd had before. Sure he might be a bit silly, and an absolute nerd with strange- illegal- hobbies, and his self-confidence was twiddling its thumbs below the lowest layer of hell. But how could someone not love such a warm and caring person? Lizzie would understand where he was coming from, he was sure.
Well, when all else failed, threats worked. "If you don't stay I won't sleep with you for a week." Tango's eyes went wide.
"Wh-"
"Excuse me!?"
Their heads shot up towards the doorway. There she was. Stripped of her pilot suit down to her work uniform, dyed and decorated a bright pastel purple compared to the drab dull greens of the man behind her. Her long pink hair fell around her shoulders, free of the confines of her helmet, and there was the remains of a nice makeover half-smeared off.
It was like the room filled with fireworks, sugar pumped directly into his veins. Tango would tease him endlessly for the squeal that unwillingly escaped him, a match to Lizzie's own, before the pair collided in a hug. Muscles refused to sit still, a small bounce ever present in their step. "Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Lizzie!"
"Jim!" She shrieked right back. Her grip was attempting to crack his ribs. "Oh my gosh, Jimmy! I can't believe it, you're really here!"
He laughed incredulously. "I'm here? You're here!"
"I'm here!"
"You're here!"
"And you're here!"
"Joel's here..." A voice whispered. The strange man had his hand up awkwardly, a smirk already half gone by the time both sibling's eyes were laid on him. "... Too..." He shuffled back a step, muttering under his breath to himself.
Lizzie seemed to agree, dragging Jimmy by the wrists over to this fellow. "Oh, yes, yes, yes! I've always wanted to introduce you two. Jimmy! This is my husband, Joel!"
He was only a bit taller than Lizzie, standing maybe a centimetre or so above Tango's height. Not fully but clearly martian, with sharp eyes and the beginnings of a scruffy beard. His handshake was firm, more than Jimmy's own, with surprising strength behind it. "It's nice to meet you, lad. Lizzie talked about you a lot."
"Oh, it's nice to meet you, too. I think she might have done the same about you." Jimmy beamed, and snickered as Lizzie' sputtering. Indeed, though never named, Jimmy recalled more than a few talks where Lizzie could not hide her daydreaming. "You're bloody annoying to try and hit, you know that?" He added.
Joel puffed up his chest, "That I am!"
"And who's this?"
Jimmy first turned to Lizzie, and followed her gaze over his own shoulder. Stood farther back, half-hiding himself in the shadows of a container, Tango awkwardly waved when he realized all eyes had descended on him. This day couldn't get any better.
Well... There was one way...
Practically skipping over to the mechanic's side, Jimmy took up Tango's hands into his own, rocking them back and forth. It calmed Tango for only a moment, before Jimmy's expression must have given him away. It was too late, though, too bad for him. A beaming smile overtook Jimmy's face as he turned to his bewildered sister, and said. "This is Tango, my husband!"
-
It had been a long, exhausting day, and all Etho wanted to do as he returned to his own ship was go to bed. A single miscalculation on his part- that he could rely on his pilots to leave all the reconnaissance to him and simply take orders without asking questions- had cost them their six year operation. Grian was right, there was no way he could report back without the full force of Pluto coming down on them for all their wasted time and money. If his crew would even allow him to.
Really, he should have taken out Jimmy when he had the chance, like Joel said.
He passed by his crew, taking care fo the returned prisoners, mourning the handful they had lost. Beef was in the process of passing out dinner. Without checking to see who it was for, Etho nabbed the top-most container from the stack in Beef's arms, earning a barrage of complaints. "That's for lactose-intolerant-"
"Sorry!" He called back cheerily, picking up his pace. There was only so much time left before Joel returned to the ship and tried to start yelling at him. A ticking clock to when he needed to be tucked in.
Of course, that didn't mean he couldn't mourn his bad luck, opening the lid to macaroni without cheese. Some herbal sauce lay over it instead, mocking him.
So devastated by his worst plight of the day, he hardly paid attention to the crew around him. At least, until he found himself passing a dimly lit corridor, stacked crates blocking the glaring lights above. Tucked away not nearly as successfully as Etho imagined he hoped, was a strike of bleached hair.
Bdubs looked awful. Sweaty suit half-peeled off, bruises up and down both arms and face swelling bad enough it made Etho wince. There was a red rash around his wrists, The Oasis giving no kindness to an arrested traitor. A bloody rag dangled from his hands, held as limp as his arms over his knees. His old friends was staring off into space. Etho suspected the puffiness of his eyes was not all from the barrage he'd taken.
Despite what his crew-mates might at time claim, Etho wasn't heartless. Reports were scarce between them, but maybe he should have said something earlier, about the way Bdubs was going about his infiltration. Maybe he should have picked someone else entirely, someone more expendable than his oldest friend. With how things have gone, maybe he shouldn't have conceived of the mission at all.
"You good?" Etho asked stupidly.
Bdubs gave him the response he deserved, a disgusted snort wet with blood. "Am I good."
What would Beef say? Something better than what Etho could come up with. He tucked his dinner under his elbow and turned fully towards his friend. "We talked out with The Resistance. They gave a good deal. We're gonna be working with them from now on. If you wanted-"
"No."
Bdubs struggled up onto his feet. Fingers raked through his wild hair, pushing it out of his face to make room for his headband, which he pulled up off his neck. He wouldn't look at Etho, eyes narrowed on the horizon still. "No, I don't got no reason to be anywhere else. I'm back. For good."
Etho's eyes darted, taking every inch of his expression in for any break. His shoulders slumped. "Welcome home."
A writing demon possessed me, I've... I've finished the next episode of Gundam Birdie.... Now if only an editing demon would come by and possess me instead, please!!! ;o;
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Rancher's Week, Day 1: Canary in the Deep Dark
Jimmy carries the heat of summer in his soul, and every season, he uses it to hold off the inevitability of the encroaching winter. When the unthinkable happens and he ends up in the midst of the Winter Court, depending on the kindness of strangers to survive, he finds himself juggling his own survival, a potential war, and a burgeoning understanding with the Winter King that leads him to wonder: are the Winter and Summer fae so different after all?
as promised: the first chapter of the ranchers SEN fic! this fic takes place inside the au I created for Stretching Endless Night. I'm hoping posting this first chapter will actually get me to. write the rest of it. since I've got so much of it written. jazz hands!! enjoy!
In order to continue supplying food for a growing station, Commander Tango Tek, second to the head of engineering on the space station Prometheus, takes a six month study with the Empire-2 station at the behest of his admiral. There, he meets their botanist and horticulturist, Jimmy, a man he's only communicated with in communiques, voice memos, and documents. When they meet for the first time face-to-face, Tango realizes they both have something very interesting in common.
In the face of all odds, two androids fall deeply, horribly in love.
(6711 words)
Tango flips a switch on his navigation panel.
“It would be funny,” he says, slowly, enunciating as the recorder picks him up. “If I were to start these with some outlandish startdate. I would find it hilarious, I think, but I don’t know how many other people would. So…
Stardate 2105.47: I’ve just made brief contact with the Ring-style Space Station known as the Empire-dash-2. After discussion of docking procedure, I was forwarded the…passkey for the docking sequence and I should be arriving within two hours of my current time. That time is…in hour format…8:07pm. Lookin’ forward to meeting them, as much as they’re probably lookin’ forward to meeting me. I’ve never spoken to them in person—it’s all been electronic. So…it’ll be interesting, to say the least!” He nods, feeling some inclination to sigh—despite there being no way to. Motions he’d learned and copied from his peers.
“Thus begins my month-long stay with E-dash-2. I can only hope some work with hydroponics actually gets me somewhere. They tell me the guy’s a genius, so I’m inclined to believe them.”
Tango jabs his finger against the stop recording button. After a beat, the small, LCD screen flashes SENT in dark, bold letters. Leaning back in his chair, Tango folds his arms over his chest, and sets his boots on his console. The ship around him hums faintly, enough to be heard if he pays attention to it. As he leans back, he surveys the inside of his ship, the LTS-111, the small craft that he called home. In comparison to other ships on the Prometheus, it’s smaller, built for short term travel between locations, a cool, dark grey inside. There’s two swivel chairs at the helm, a large front, port window, overlain with his control panel, above and below his chair. Behind him, a door opens to a short hallway—mess hall and his room, just a plain, grey-white with one bunk. There’s a crate with his belongings, of which there are few, a plant on the windowsill to keep him sane. The mess is devoid of food and drink. It’s a luxury he doesn’t need. It’s nice when he can, but it’s nothing but an experience for him. Nothing to be gained from poorly made HASA meals full of crude protein. The edge of his boot catches the lip of the console, pulling at the rubber. He’s tucked his flight suit into his boots. His eyes follow the bright red and gold stripe down the side—division colors. Commander, engineering and technology. On his sleeve there would be the same designation, as was on all of his uniforms. Even the plain black, well fit shirt underneath, even his boots. HASA; Commander. Luckily his boots didn’t have a commander or engineering tag. If he felt so inclined to sand off the small rubber HASA branding he could.
His eyes follow a line across the ceiling, to the small strip of light that brightens the room. He runs his fingers over the seam in his sleeve—habit, again, but he’s not sure from whom.
The hour passes slowly. Tango spins simulations in his mind, projects from the ship's computer the schematics of E-2. He can see the docking station there on the map and traces out the line from there to the botanical garden. He spends time memorizing that path, and out to other locations, and rolling the names of his new compatriots around in his language acquisition program. None of these things are foreign to him—he’s built for new experiences, new learning opportunities. He can feel where known things end and new begins, and craves to fill the space, often and continuously. When that hour ends, there’s a tinny beep from his communications panel. He looks over the message displayed.
LTS-111 prepare docking sequence.
Tango dials the coordinates into his navigation system, overriding the current charting program to pilot into the docking bay. As he does, a crackling voice jumps to life.
“LTS-111, this is Fwhip, Commander of E-2. Do you copy?”
“E-2, this is Commander Tek of Prometheus. I copy. The Rift is ready for docking procedure.”
“Commander!” The voice—Fwhip—laughs. “It’s good to have you. Glad to hear you made it safely.”
Tango nods to himself.
“Myself as well. Looking forward to meeting you all.”
The line clicks out. Tango resettles in his chair, sitting up straight, taking in the sound of Fwhip’s voice, the designation, the information. He files that away.
The curve of E-2 comes into view, stark white and grey, glittering gold where the paneling reflects light. He watches as the shining craft sits suspended amidst stars, its own field of gravity and oxygen and life shining a faint blue in the light of the nearby sun. He feels that warmth through the front viewscreen, despite the gold foil and shade to block it. It’s nice. In the closest approximation to nice he could get. He pulls the seat’s harness over his chest, snaps it in place as he begins standard docking procedure—slowing to a noticeable crawl, flipping on his communications panels, and switching to reserve thrusters. The Rift was made with older tech, anything he could salvage and amass from ships being decommissioned. It functioned—better than the standard HASA ships and was fully compliant—well beyond what he’d ever expected. Though he wasn’t quite human enough to have real expectations.
The ship settles into a launch port on the far side of E-2. Tango takes his time collecting his belongings. He wanders into his room as the ship powers down, settling into a dull hum. He repacks his bag, giving a quick once-over of the bunk before he lifts the trunk into his arms, the weight negligible. He settles the plant in the corner of his bag, making sure it’s settled before he slings the bag over one shoulder and sets the crate on one hip. His startup keycard sits in his front shirt pocket, and his credentials badge in his back pocket.
The first thing he notices as he enters the launchpad for E-2 is how clean and bright it is. The launchpad is devoid of anyone working, and there are certainly no other docking ships. The two other ships Tango can see are relatively new and clean, parked closely together. He glances around the space, looking for any sign of movement. His footsteps echo quietly around the empty chamber. To his right, beyond a stabilizing membrane is the winking stars of space. There’s a planet in the far distance, but it’s much too far to see anything notable.
The bay door to his ship closes as he steps toward the winding steps up to the lofted second floor. He starts up the steps, lifting the crate into his arms.
“Commander Tek!”
Tango startles. Looking up to the second floor, he sees someone lean over the railing, waving enthusiastically. Tango squints at him, surrounded by the white facade of the walls around him.
“Commander Fwhip?” Tango says, cocking his head to the side. He sees Fwhip nod again.
Tango smiles a little, eyebrows furrowing despite it. Fwhip. The intonation matches what he heard crackling over the communicator of his ship, though, of course, without the static. He’s wearing stark black, with a large diagonal line cut in red across his chest, up to his collar, and over his shoulders. Tango realizes for a moment that his jumpsuit may not have been the prime choice for meeting a commanding officer—no matter the rank or office. Especially considering that he was supposed to be both a liaison and a researcher.
But as Fwhip meets Tango on the landing, he shakes his hand firmly. There’s a spark, somewhere, in his eye, his heart rate elevated as Tango greets him. He’s winded, too, like he ran all the way here. Tango feels a piece of information in his mind click unexpectedly into place.
“Commander Fwhip,” he says, copying the smile Fwhip is giving him more fully. “It’s a pleasure.”
“Oh, please,” Fwhip laughs. “Commander, the pleasure is ours. Congratulations on your most recent publication.”
Tango nods. Somewhere, something kicks in his chest, just the faintest flicker of painful phantom sensation. It took him two years to publish that paper—and it was a damn shame he had to die to get it published in full, despite Doc and Etho’s help.
Fwhip’s hand is warm in his, enough to notice the change in sensation between them. He can feel Fwhip’s heartbeat in his palm and the way his breathing stutters for a second when Tango and him shake hands. Fwhip looks down at his hand. Tango lets go first, the noticeable white lines on his skin pulsating in and out. His hand feels stiff as he stretches it, feeling metal extend and retract.
“You’re…” Fwhip starts. Tango sees him frown, just the smallest change between his eyebrows.
“An android?” Tango finishes. He watches color rise to Fwhip’s face as Tango tilts his head, expression neutral, amused, even. Fwhip laughs, even if it’s born from a touch of embarrassment. Tango hums something low, a version of a laugh he can manage to sound normal.
“It’s not strange, if that’s what you think I think,” Fwhip says, leading Tango toward the stairs. “Unexpected maybe, but—to be fair, they didn’t tell you anything about me, either.”
“That is very true,” Tango says. He feels that itch, then, that want to know, to delve deeper. He shifts the box in his arms as they round the stairs, reaching the upper platform. “I think most people are surprised to find that I’m an android.”
“That’s a shame—you’re brilliant for more reasons than just being an android,” Fwhip says, and the click comes back again, like he’s cracking a combination lock one number at a time.
“I appreciate that,” Tango says, inclining his head. If there were anything in his face to indicate blush, he would be bright red. He hums instead, tilting his head back and forth in a dismissive sort of shake. Fwhip backsteps to walk by his side, raising his eyebrows over his glasses.
“So,” he starts, motioning to the door. “Did you have any questions about the ship as you settle in?”
Tango looks down at his shoes for a second, letting the thought spin in his head. He nods, just once.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’d love to hear more about the botany division—I got a real short mission briefing with Admiral Xisuma before I left. I know we were in a hurry to find the sweet spot of travel.”
“Of course,” Fwhip says. “Lining up that parallel can be real difficult if you don’t time it right.”
“The Admiral’s got an eye for interesting navigation patterns.”
Fwhip laughs, nodding his head.
“Glad to hear you’re in good hands,” he says, opening the door for them. Tango follows him into a brightly lit hallway, lined in white and cream and bright floor lights. Along the edges are colored lines, intersecting and dividing—red, blue, green—to locations Tango can’t see. He follows Fwhip down a corridor, further from the launch platform. Tango knows this layout—further down the hall is a passenger elevator meant for the science team. They’ll take it down four flights to the belly of the ship, where many of the labs rest, tucked away. The ship's rings orbit each other, so he’ll be in this ring for as long as he’s doing research. They’re relatively straight forward, broken into divided sections inside. He traces the pattern out in his mind as Fwhip begins to speak.
“Well, to give you a station briefing, our main team fluctuates, but I’d say we have about 15 to 20 of us at any given time on command, and then a hundred of personnel and staff besides ourselves. I work closely with Lieutenants Scott and Pix, and both of them know our botanist pretty well,” he turns to Tango as he calls for the elevator, pressing his keycard to the small panel next to it. The numbers above the sliding doors illuminate in orange, bright and blocky. Tango raises his eyebrows.
“His name is Jimmy,” Fwhip continues. “He’s a Lieutenant Junior Grade, but he’s incredibly good at what he does. I’ll let you two get acquainted when we get down there.” The elevator doors slide open. Fwhip gestures Tango inside before he himself steps in, pressing the button for their floor. Tango sets his trunk at his feet, toeing it off to the side and out of the way. “He spends most of his time down there, so you may not see him much at all besides when you’re working.”
Tango hums. He screws up his face into an approximation of thinking, running the words over in his head. A junior lieutenant. A higher officer, for certain, but for him to be teaching Tango—there feels like there should be a catch. Tango pulls at the seams of the phrasing, the intonation. His eyebrows furrow.
Fwhip answers his question before it leaves his mouth.
“He basically revitalized the hydroponics system overnight—nothing’s changed in the watering or feeding system, but the plants grow like crazy now,” Fwhip folds his arms, glancing over at Tango as Tango folds his hands behind his back. “I think it was his specification for a while, so as soon as he got here, he requested the transfer, and his work brought him up the grade.”
“That’s impressive,” Tango says, a touch quiet. The only other person he knew who’d ever done something like that had been Mumbo, and most of his ideas were feats of engineering so large they required a three-room modified lab space and a blast chamber. Meridian supplied that—though Prometheus—himself included—was sad to lose him to their sister station, especially after how long he worked with Tango.
“He’s written a paper on it—it’s in the works of being reviewed now,” Fwhip says. “I don’t know how likely it is to go through, though.”
Tango hums again.
“Why’s that?”
Fwhip shrugs.
“He’s just not a nice guy to work with,” he says. “And I don’t mean that to be rude, either.”
The elevator doors open. They spill out into a lackluster hallway, still the same bleach white as the floors above. Taking a sharp right, they follow the curved edge of the ship down the green line, toward a series of crew cabins. Fwhip gestures toward a room closer to the middle of their row. As they stand there for a moment, he offers Tango a keycard.
“We got you a room—well before we knew that you…probably wouldn’t need the bedspace,” he says, shaking his head apologetically. Tango waves his hand. “You’re welcome to it, though.”
“Oh, I’ll absolutely take it,” Tango says, trying that smile again. Fwhip smiles back this time, one that touches his eyes, and makes Tango smile harder.”I like having my own space. Normally I have an office, so this’ll do just fine, I think.”
He presses the keycard to the door as Fwhip lifts his crate into his arms, struggling under the weight for a moment. The door slides open. Inside, as the soft yellow lights raise to bright, is a sparsely furnished room. Fwhip carries his crate into the room, setting it at the foot of the double bed. The room is small, clean, tidy. He turns in a small circle as Fwhip sets the crate down, nodding his head.
“This is great,” Tango says, dipping his head. “Thank you.”
Fwhip nods, clapping him on the shoulder.
“Absolutely,” he says. Moving past him, he gestures back to the hallway. “I’ll be forwarding you the ship changelog, so you know who’s on shift at a given time, and when meals are, if you have any interest.”
“That sounds great,” Tango says, moving with him to the hall. He follows Fwhip back down the hall, back towards the elevator. They diverge at a second hallway and down a third, following the winding corridor through the ship’s interiors. The walls shift from opaque to translucent as they follow the path down, with more and more people shuffling about. Fwhip moves through the hall easily—Tango navigates with a bit more difficulty, skirting past doors sliding open and bright lights and the new rush of people. As they weave through, Fwhip says:
“Figured I’d show you down to the lab,” he checks his wrist, a brief flash of numbers and notifications that Tango doesn’t quite catch fully. “I’ve got a bit before I have to be back at the bridge.”
Tango hums.
“Great—I’ll…hopefully be able to find, uh, Jimmy?”
Fwhip nods.
“Mhm—” he says. They pause at a lab closer to the end of the corridor. Through the high ceiling and tinted glass, Tango can see the warm yellow and purple light that floods the space. The lab stretches further down the hallway and out of sight. Fwhip tilts his head toward the lab.
“This is it?” Tango asks.
“This is the one,” Fwhip says. He steps back from the door, letting Tango tap his card, the door sliding open for him. It stays open for a moment as Tango steps in. Fwhip checks his wrist again.
“I’ll let you find him,” he says. “Hopefully you’ll get a briefing before you leave to unpack.”
Tango nods, smiling again. The warmth of the room starts to roll over him as he stands still—cooling kicks on to adjust, like a sigh out of his chest.
“Thank you, Commander,” he says. Fwhip nods, dismissing him, before the door shuts between them, and Tango stands, alone, in a room full of plants.
He picks his way around the lab for a long while. The quiet is nice, the sound of air circulating and the soft hum of lights and electronics. He hadn’t run this particular section over in his schematics—something about it almost felt invasive. He wanted to learn it for himself, standing in the center of the room, hands braced on the work table. The equipment portion of the lab is its own self-contained room at the front of the lab—big enough for a table, several workstations, shelves of equipment. He rounds the table as he spots a secondary sliding door, obscured by the semi-translucent, white glass.
Tango presses his loaned keycard to the scanner, watching the door slide open. Stepping inside, he stands amongst a huge lab filled with rows of vegetables, aquatic plants, and small trees. He can see potatoes, carrots, beets, neat and lined in suspended troughs of water and sitting in cups on the floor. Along the walls are digging and planting tools organized haphazardly, strewn about in small piles. The air is warm and humid as he walks his way around a series of rows—it almost feels like its own planet, like the atmosphere alone were thick enough to taste.
Tango walks along a row, watching the plants with a careful consideration, as if they would move, or reach out to him, or something. But they’re just plants—unmoving beside the slight wave in the airflow. He reaches out after a moment, brushing one of the leaves, feeling it between his fingers. It’s rhubarb. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen rhubarb before. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen this many plants before.
Moving around the hydroponics, Tango wanders around the other side of the lab, watching as it stretches out and further back, rows of plants in tight lines, purple lighting and tubes for irrigation running across the ceiling. He turns into a slow circle, moving back through the rows as he does. The rows loop around back to the supply stations, where Tango walks backward, trying to see the end of the lab, where else it could lead, where else he could explore.
His foot catches under him, sliding out as his knees buckle and he lurches sideways.
He yelps loudly, flailing as he falls, losing his balance and smacking into the shelf behind him. A handful of ceramic plants pots and glass beakers fall with him, smashing to the ground as the shelf comes loose. Tango scrambles up, slipping again as he lands on his hands and knees, fumbling as he tries to scoop the glass into a reasonable, unnoticeable pile, to fix the shovels that must’ve fallen with him, the stacks of gardening gloves under his right boot. He mutters to himself as he does, babbling as his mind whirs with simulations. They were always there—right? That’s fine! He tries to stack a pair of gloves back on the shelf, watching them slide directly off.
Shoot. Shoot! Damn it!
“Shit—” he mumbles.
“Hello?”
A voice calls out from the other side of the room. Tango hears a door shut. He pushes the broken shards of a pot near his knee together, like he could even try and fix the shattered pot. He searches wildly for the voice as he does.
“Hi—” he manages, voice warbling unexpectedly. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to.”
“What?” the voice comes again. “Who…”
Tango follows a shape through the row of plants as a man in grey steps around toward him. He blinks, owlish and confused, as he stares at Tango. Tango can see the name stitched into his quarter-zip.
Jimmy.
“I’m so sorry—” Tango starts again, but the man—Jimmy—is already halfway to kneeling in front of him, taking the broken pot from him, scooping the rest of the shards into his hands. Tango realizes, all at once, that he’s still sitting on the ground, surrounded by the carnage of him falling unceremoniously over into the stand. He starts gathering the tools around him into his arms.
“It’s…it’s alright—” he sighs, a trickle of confusion, of agitation, leaking into his voice. “Walk me through it, what happened?”
“I walked into it—” Tango says, feeling foolish all of a sudden. It’s not a tangible feeling. He just knows something is churning and curling in him and he can’t place what. “One minute I was turnin’ around lookin’ at this place and the next—wack.”
Jimmy hums under his breath, something amused. Tango blinks at him as he rights the shelf and replace the items from the floor.
“Wack?” he says, starting to laugh. “I…yeah. Sorry, I don’t organize things very well, it seems like.”
“I don’t either, I’ll be honest…” Tango says, shaking his head. “You’re Jimmy, then?”
Tango scrambles up with glass still in his hands and Jimmy turns back to him as he looks around for somewhere to put it. Jimmy nods his head over to a waste bin, dropping the shards of clay pot into it.
“Mm,” Jimmy nods. “You’re…?”
Tango makes a half-sound as he turns back to him, waving his hands.
“Commander Tek,” he says, sticking out his hand, smiling a bit lopsided. It feels lopsided at least. He’s trying to copy what he knows, and he thinks he’s failing. “Er, Tango. You don’t have to call me Commander.”
Jimmy raises his eyebrows.
“Ah—Fwhip told me you were coming,” he says, tilting his head a little, something like a smile coming to his face. “You’re sure just Tango?”
Tango nods.
“Too fancy with the whole thing. I prefer just Tango, anyway.”
Jimmy smiles in full. The action alone splits his face in half, stretching up to his eyes. Tango copies him, after a beat, something that falters just a little bit as he does.
Jimmy takes Tango’s hand. As he does, a buzz of electricity spikes up Tango’s arm and to his elbow, pooling there, zinging cool and bright. Tango startles, jolting back, making a small, sharp sound that gets lost as Jimmy audibly yelps. It didn’t hurt, but it felt new. Tango likes new.
He feels something wash over him, even as he jolts—memory, knowledge, understanding, like an imprint of knowing the man before him before he even did. Jimmy blinks, a furrow coming between his eyebrows. Tango, for a split second, wonders if the feeling is mutual.
“Sorry,” he blurts. The static shock dissipates as he shakes out his hand. “Sorry, I might still have glass….”
Tango looks over his hands, prodding at the silicon for any shards left there. There aren’t any, though—he even brushes them together, trying to feel for anything. Tango glances back at Jimmy. He’s looking him over, that curious, owlish expression on his face again. His mouth quirks up a little, the sides of his mouth lifting.
“You’re an android,” he says.
Tango’s eyes flick over his face for a moment. It’s completely symmetrical, brown eyes clear and bright, hair neatly parted. His movements are smooth as he steps back and adjusts his sleeves and reaches to gently brush something from Tango’s jumpsuit.
“So are you,” Tango finally says, mouth quirking up. His mouth tastes like static electricity.
“Huh,” Jimmy says, soft, thoughtful. The edges of his mouth fully curl up in a way so human and so foreign. Tango catalogs it immediately. “That’s so interesting.”
Tango huffs out an approximation of a laugh—which causes Jimmy to laugh in earnest. The tension dissolves as he laughs, and Tango feels his shoulders drop. That tingling feeling still hasn’t left Tango’s hand. He wonders for a moment if it ever will, or if every time they brush together it’ll light up like static, or if maybe they just happened to be carrying just enough electrical discharge to shock each other. Tango hopes it doesn’t happen again. He’d like to be friendly without risking a shock.
“So,” Tango starts as they stand together in the hydroponic farm. “Is there a reason ESA lets you use terracotta and glass in space?”
Jimmy shrugs.
“They want it to feel more like Earth,” he hums, amused, turning away from Tango. He wanders a bit before Tango startles to catch up, following him through to the lab room. Jimmy pushes up the sleeves of his ESA sweatshirt. “Not that I would know what that feels like…though I do like it.”
They step through to the lab with the door hissing shut behind them. The humidity and heat follow them in, clinging to Tango’s jumpsuit. He can hear Jimmy mumbling to himself under his breath as he circles the large lab table in search of something. Tango tracks him with his eyes, pausing in the space where Jimmy once was, folding his arms. Jimmy fumbles around for a moment, digging through his cabinets, with Tango watching over his shoulder.
“That’s nice,” Tango says, eyes following him. Jimmy hums, nodding in response. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen Earth myself, either.”
“Oh yeah?” Jimmy says. When he turns back, he’s holding a data pad, a thumb drive and a blank badge. He lines them all up on the table, sitting next to each other. “Have you ever been planetside?”
Tango nods.
“A few times with my old crew,” he starts, waving his hands back and forth. “Some dry and dusty ones for sure. Not too exciting.”
Jimmy tilts his head a bit. He’s still smiling, and Tango, for a moment, can’t take his eyes off it. He isn’t sure anyone’s ever smiled at him for that long, or maybe he’s misreading it—emotions were a fickle, strange thing. Maybe Jimmy was simply happy.
Tango leans against the table, back pressing to the side of it, glancing down at the data pad and keycard for a moment. Jimmy looks away as Tango catches his eye. Tango thinks he sees him flush as he turns back around to the computer.
“They haven’t really briefed me on why you’re here,” Jimmy says. “Why’d they send you?”
“To E-1? We’re uh…our science director was looking for a secondary project to help bolster our food supplies—stretch it out a little longer?” He folds his arms over his chest. “Our admiral’s been in contact with Fwhip a few times conversationally, but we normally reach out to the Meridian, a station in our system, for help, but they weren’t having any hydroponics success. So…here I am.”
Jimmy nods absently as he continues typing.
“Hopefully I can give you something useful to take back,” he says, glancing up to Tango. Tango nods, raising his eyebrows.
“I mean, they say you’re the best,” he offers. It’s true—everything Pearl had told him seemed to point directly to whoever was running the botanical experimentation lab on E-2. And here he was, an android, standing in front of Tango.
“Do they?” Jimmy asks.
“Mhm!”
“That’s very nice of them…I uh, I’ve got a badge for you,” Jimmy says, sliding the piece of plastic toward him. Tango picks it up, turning it in his fingers as he listens. It has a small symbol on it, like an overlapping square and a green stripe all the way around it. When he looks back to Jimmy’s face for a moment, he notices that same green stripe around his upper arm. Green. Science. It was fitting. He fits that bit of information right next to what he knows Prometheus’ color to be: nearly the same shade.
“It’ll get you into this lab and ones like it, um, all the way down this hall,” Jimmy unlocks the data pad, pushing it toward him. “And you can record anything you’d like on this pad.”
“Oh, thank you, that’s great, actually” Tango says. He tucks the card into his pocket, where it rests against his chest. The data pad is blank, no notes, no sketches, and no documents. Just the time and date. From what he can recognize, he’s been aboard for about two hours. “Is, uh, is there somewhere we can share notes, or should I be handing this off to you periodically?”
“Whatever you write there will also be stored on the lab computer,” Jimmy says, gesturing back to the screens behind him. “Either of us can access it at any time. It should recognize you as having access to the console, so there shouldn’t be too many problems with that.”
Jimmy studies him for a brief moment before he picks up the thumb drive, twisting it in his fingers. Tango watches the movement, eyes flicking between it, and the pad, and the screen.
“So,” Jimmy starts again. “I can’t say I was expecting an android, but that does make this whole process a lot easier.”
He holds out the thumb drive—Tango holds out his hand. The small bit of plastic that falls into Tango’s palm is lightweight and bright white. He holds it between his thumb and forefinger, frowning just a little.
“What’s this for?” he asks, setting the data pad on the table again. His hands feel an itch to turn the drive around in them, nervous ticks surfacing as he receives data and writes to disk. The humidity, Jimmy’s expression, the curious glint in his eye, the buzz of excitement he can nearly feel in the air. For an android, Jimmy was certainly animated, certainly running high on emotion. Tango could reach out and grab it, if he knew he would catch something.
Jimmy nods a few times, leaning on the table in front of him.
“That right there,” he says, pointing at the drive. “Is all of my research. That way you can just—” he mimes a plugging motion, patting the back of his neck. If Tango’s chest could cave, it would have, as he feels some gear shudder and start again. “Get it all.”
Tango blinks. His vision stutters for a moment, fading out on the edge as he tries to process Jimmy’s comment, his voice. He feels that tug at his eyebrows as they furrow, a copy of a motion he’d seen so many times on so many faces. Jimmy’s research rests in the palm of his hand, still cold, despite the heat leaching from Tango’s synthetic skin.
“I think—” Tango says. What a stupid turn of phrase. He knows—he’s not thinking this time. He knows. “I can’t do that.”
Jimmy hums, face morphing into concern for a moment. Tango sees how his posture stiffens, almost a gut reaction to the change in Tango’s voice. Write to disk. Catalog. He softens his stance as Jimmy pipes up.
“What d’y’mean?”
“I think I’d rather just learn it from you,” Tango says, closing his fist around the thumb drive. “I’ll keep this, but I would like to learn from you, if that’s alright.”
Jimmy raises his eyebrows high on his forehead, nodding a few times. His dark eyes go wide, too. They flick across Tango’s face, looking for something, before they land on the table in front of him as Jimmy raps his fingers against the plastic top. Tango tucks the data drive into his pocket, where it rests with the keycard, sticking his hands in his pockets to give them something to do.
“Oh—I mean—I, sure. Sure, we can do that,” Jimmy stutters, shaking his head. “Yeah, that should be fine, you should be able to learn that way.”
“I hope so,” Tango says, nodding. Jimmy nods with him, that color briefly back in his cheeks. “I’d at least like to try. It’s what I’m known for, honestly.”
“Mm,” Jimmy says, face settling on that half-pleased, half-curious look. “Sure. That would be nice, I think. I don’t know how much I have to teach, but I can try.”
“I’m sure you’ve got plenty, Mr. Plant Guy,” Tango quips, patting him on the shoulder as he rounds around him. Jimmy laughs. The tingling sensation of touch before has gone now, and the new touch offers nothing but the sensation of soft sweater fabric, of coolness from Jimmy, and a brief flicker of information that he doesn’t quite catch. It feels like energy he can’t process. A line of code that doesn’t slot itself into place. He gives his shoulder a quick squeeze before he pulls away, gesturing to the door.
“Do you think you might be able to walk me back to my cabin?” his shoulders shrink a fraction. He tries to quickly run the simulation in his mind, etching out the turns of the hallways in the belly of the science department. All he can remember are faces, half-recognizable from research and names partially unobscured by association. “I lost track of how many turns Commander Fwhip made.”
Jimmy shrugs, nods, patting the table as he pulls away.
“Sure,” he says, fishing his keycard from around his neck. “My cabin is close to that area, so I know the way back pretty well—-”
“You have a room?”
The door slides open in front of Tango, the cool air of the hallway flooding into the room. He steps through, into the empty, well lit space, with its green stripe and green carpeting. The white-yellow lighting smooths out the edges of the walls around them, dotted with windows of the station’s central core as they slowly rotated around it. Jimmy pauses for a moment to watch as Tango does, before he nudges him with his elbow. Tango turns to follow.
“I like the bed,” Jimmy says, making a pleasant, almost chirping sound. “And the sleep cycle. And a space for my things that isn’t the lab.”
Tango nods.
“Our secondary engineering lead gets onto me when I don’t rest, but I prefer to not have to,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, waving one hand about. That gesture was from Doc, who loved to make things more nonchalant than they had to be, gesturing with his part-plastic, part-metal arm. “It wastes time.”
“You’re a busy man, Tango,” Jimmy says. He pauses just as he’s about to say Tango, like he had meant to say Commander, but had skipped the instinct. It stutters as he speaks. Tango feels a little bit of a twist, somewhere in the gears of his chest. Maybe everyone should just call him Tango. It felt a lot better, somehow. It felt earned.
“I try to be,” Tango says, waving his hand again. “I’m built for continuous learning—neuroplasticity. It’s what I’m meant to do…kind of.”
“Interesting…” Jimmy hooks a right at a fork. Tango notes it. “I don’t think I’ve met an android without a base program. And it was HASA who decided that?”
Tango nods.
“That was the plan, anyway. So far, it’s worked out alright. I have no issues, our technicians make sure I’m running smoothly, I can run my own diagnostics as far as I’m aware. And…I get to take back knowledge to our ship,” he sticks his free hand back in his pocket. They take a left, following the curving wall. “That’s a win to me.”
“That does sound nice,” Jimmy says, frowning a little, mostly in his voice than on his face. As the wall evens out, Jimmy slows to a stop. Before them, on the leftmost side, are a row of doors, which Tango recognizes. He marks down their exact location, how the wall hugs the left, looping back around on the far side. Jimmy splays his arm out, gesturing to the doors. Tango manages a smile.
“Thank you,” Tango says, nodding. Jimmy hums.
“Of course, glad I could help,” he says. He looks pleased, now, none of the nervous flit that he had when they’d first met. Tango, too. He feels settled, somehow, like he was already beginning to understand the space around him, already acclimated to new gravity and new routine. Jimmy’s easy smile and tone of voice made that all the easier to do.
As Tango steps away, toward his door, he turns back to Jimmy, who’s folded his arms over his chest. Something’s there, in Tango’s chest, maybe just a trick of mechanics, something he can’t really place. It smooths out any bumps in logic programming. It makes things even, whatever the thing in his chest is. Jimmy makes a noise, and Tango’s eyes flick up to his face.
“Y’know—not to jump ahead or anything, since I know we’ve just met. But if you wanted to, my cabin is a bit closer to the lab. If you ever feel like you want a roommate, you’re more than welcome to stay there,” Jimmy starts, clasping his hands together. The small smile on his face hasn’t really faded, and his voice is even with curiosity. “There’s—there’s only one bed, but you said you don’t sleep. So it should be fine.”
Jimmy continues to babble, now, eyes flicking down to the patches at Tango’s knees.
“I can always request you to the room next to it—I think that one’s unoccupied, too. If you ever want to sleep, that is. But you can let me know. Figured it might be nice to have a roommate so you’re not lonely,” he finishes, shrugging a little. Then he startles, blinks, and waves his hands. “Unless you like being alone.”
Tango tries to make a sound to dissuade him from that idea, but it gets caught in his programming and his vocal filter and it kind of sounds like a wheeze, or maybe a laugh, but he shakes his head several times, copying Jimmy’s easy smile from before.
“No, no…” he assures. “That sounds really nice, actually. I’ll…I’ll let Fwhip know that I’d like to do that.”
Jimmy visibly relaxes, and the smile comes back to his face, and he laughs a little, an actual, natural laugh.
“Sure thing…” Jimmy scrunches his nose. “Roomie.”
Tango feels something flip-flop over as he jumps, shaking his head again.
“Don’t call me that—” he manages, before Jimmy waves his hands again and says:
“I’m just joking, Tango!” and reaches out to clasp his shoulder. That rush of static only prickles for a moment, leaving a warm sensation in its wake. Tango feels it trickle down his elbow and to his wrist as Jimmy steps away from him. “Have a good night, alright? I’ll see you at 0700.”
Tango nods, realizing he’s still smiling just a bit, even as he steps into his room and the door slides shut behind him. He stands at the threshold, with his back to the wall, for a long moment, letting the memories play in his head as he does. The quiet hum of his room and the orange-yellow lighting soothes his otherwise spinning mind to a controlled simulation. Even still, Tango’s hand and arm prickle faintly with sensation he can’t place, and a warmth in his chest he’s not sure he fully understands.
Pulling away from the door and into his room, Tango furrows his eyebrows and starts an internal diagnostic.
I, um, I heard it's WIP Wednesday? (Shh, it's still Wednesday...)
I don't know anything about sports, but have proof I've worked on Gundam Birdie ^o^/
"No."
Grian's stern voice rang out like the toll of a bell. No? "No?" Stress snapped his voice, the single syllable biting into own throat. "What do you mean no?"
"Do not touch Macaw. I'll tell you if you need to prepare it."
"You're not going to go out there?" Tango couldn't help shout. The heat of Mercury pumped through his blood as he watched another of Jimmy's shots go unnoticed by the tank-like suit. "They're losing! We're down a pilot and being invaded!"
A sigh crackled through the comm. "The Macaw is incredibly resource and energy intensive to run even for a short while. Resources the other mobile suits might need. Never mind that it takes me away from the bridge. It is an absolute last resort. Do not touch it unless I say so."
Bull, Tango wanted to scream at The Resistance leader. And if it weren't a gundam he would have ignored the orders entirely. Only Grian could pilot the stupid thing, though. Whatever the reason, Tango didn't think anything was good enough to leave the pilots in their current position. Not when Jimmy couldn't land a hit on either of their enemies. "Whatever." He grumbled instead, abandoning his task to fall back against the rail. There was nothing else Tango could do for Jimmy now.
Oh, I've been working on Gundam Birdie again recently after getting some recent comments on it and rereading it. I know I'll never finish it but I love it too much to not try!
But there's um... two characters that run the bridge of The Oasis that I want to replace due to (not so recent) events. They aren't very important to the story so they don't have to be anyone I know well, so I was thinking Biffa and Python from the earlier seasons of Hermitcraft might do? But I've never watched them... I want to avoid current Hermits and Emperors and their friends so I can fill out the side casts with them later. NPC characters would also work. If anyone has any suggestions please share!! >~<
Summary: Tango is the muscle for the Tuff Guys, a gang that deals primarily in money lending. How he got here he can't remember anymore, and his only moments of respite from his awful job is hanging out with Scarland's accident-prone mascot. His life gets infinitely more complicated though, after he's assigned to put the pressure on a new client who seems to know way too much about him. The situation quickly escalates from there in ways Tango could have never imagined.
Tango was balancing two large pizzas and a box of cinnamon sticks in one hand, and his phone an a carton of hot wings in the other, trying to type out a message to Etho through the grease, when he heard a familiar screech. It echoed through the street, turning several heads and nearly toppling the pizza. He looked up and across the street. Sure enough, there was the giant blue bird head up against the Scarland walls. It'd become a regular sight, though not usually like this, when Tango wasn't looking for him. On occasion the ascot was sent out to interact with the queues, he knew that much. But Solidarity was several metres away, and not giving it any mind. Tango's eyes narrowed, and eventually he gave in to curiosity.
He was glad he did. The source of the screech was a group of children, around six or seven years old, all in the process of trying to climb the mascot. No doubt they'd run off from their parents in line to greet Solidarity. They were getting rambunctious, however, and Solidarity hardly seemed in control. One of the kids yanked on his big yellow cheek. The head tilted, a gap forming in the neck. Tango panicked.
"Hey, hey, you're gonna hurt him doing that! Watchificate it there!" He sprinted over, hurriedly dropping his food and just barely making it i time to snatch up the little girl before anything happened. Though a pout and cranky whine was directed at him, she let him place her back on the ground without hassle. Solidarity managed to shake off the other two to adjust his head.
"My mom says we're going to ride the Bamboozler with Solidarity!" The youngest child declared, hiding behind the little girl.
Tango raised his brow, "Yeah? Well, then you should be extra super mega careful then. Solidarity's the one that makes it go! If he gets hurt, no ride."
The children went quiet. They stared him down, a particularly judgmental council trying to deduce if he was telling the truth. Like a hive mind they all turned to Solidarity for the final word. Though a bit ruffled up, he stood tall and declared. "That's right! It's my special coaster. I control everything!"
"Even without fingers?" The girl asked, crossing her arms. Solidarity waggled his feathers.
"Yep!"
The youngest leaned in, brow held low and expression serious. "Even without pants?"
The mascot jumped, letting out his signature squawk, before his wings flew to cover his yellow bird legs. "Oh, dear! I suppose I'll have to!"
He got a grim nod from the trio. The sort of respect only children and war veterans could muster filled their gazes. They all saluted the mascot and ran back towards the line where a tired looking woman was calling to them. They Jumped and shouted as they explained their encounter. A snort escaped him. Whether they really believed their story or just wanted to badly enough, they'd bought it at least.
When he turned back to Solidarity, the parrot was still, beady eyes on him. "What?" asked Tango, shoving his hands into his pocket.
"You were good with those kids." Said the mascot, almost accusatory.
The pizzas came to mind. Best to collect them before rats appeared. He pulled at his collar, trying to hide his face from the hot afternoon sun burning his cheeks. "There something wrong with that?"
"Last time I saw you with kids you threatened them."
"Those weren't kids, those were drunk college students." Possibly teenagers, but who knew for sure? The point was they were annoying and should know better. "Besides, I mean... They're just kids?" Did he really look that much of a mean guy? He wasn't a fan of kids but who'd be mean to a kid? Life sucked enough. "Not like they know better..." Heat rose to his cheeks, and his hand went to the back of his neck.
Solidarity's head tilted to the side. That was how Tango knew he was hanging around the mascot too much, because the action was almost cute. "Well, I appreciate the help."
"Yeah, yeah." Tango grumbled, heaving up the pizzas. "I gotta head out. See you some other time. Probably tomorrow."
Solidarity gave him an uncharacteristically subdued wave, before he spun on his heel and marched up to the line to do his job. It wasn't his problem, he had pizzas to deliver. Even if it gnawed at his brain and he couldn't quite come up with a reason that seemed good enough to leave. There was a long list, but did getting the crap beat out of him really compare to having possibly somehow upset his only friend? Well, yes, of course. Except no, it didn't.
Tango pressed his forehead into the hot, greasy cardboard of the pizza box. What was wrong with him? Something curable with hot wings, hopefully. For his sake. If not, then one way or another his days were numbered.
Little had he known, that number was one.
Backstage was completely empty. Well, not entirely empty. A few operators and cashiers meandered around and there was a supply truck in the corner. In fact, it might have been busier than usual. But Solidarity wasn't there, so it might as well have been empty.
Except the part where Tango was standing in the entrance, awkwardly holding out his phone with a text left unread for over three hours, and people were beginning to stare. He hissed at himself, ducking into the shadows with pink cheeks. You're acting like a clingy girlfriend looking for her meal ticket, not a washed up middle aged man stalking a carny. Did mascots count as carnies? Did theme park count as carnivals? Was it the ephemeral nature of a true carnival which distinguished it from its more permanent counterpart, or was it the presence of parking lines under the tents? All excellent questions to ponder while he attempted to be inconspicuous while wearing neon red glasses and a leather jacket in summer.
It did not work. Tango was mid-pretending to scroll through messages when two deep blue eyes locked with his across the way. Pink curls swayed in the wind, half-buttoned lime green vest forgotten. A deep, unforgiving frown tracked his every motion. Finally, when Tango thought he really might be having his brain psychically microwaved, the woman jerked to the side and made a beeline for Tango, several words already on his tongue.
"Excuse me!" She snapped. Her hands jumped to her hips the moment she stopped. "You can't be back here!"
He threw up a placating hand, "I'm, um, just a friend of Solidarity's. I'll be outta your hair soon."
"Solidarity?" The name fell from he mouth like it stung her tongue. "Well, he's not here, he's, um- he's working. An extra special job today, in fact!"
Working? "It's his break time, ain't it?" His head lulled to look down at his watch. It was most definitely his break time, though on occasion he had needed to take his break at a different time. "I can just wait-"
"Oh, no you cannot!" Her face twisted. Tango was suddenly transported back to second grade getting caught daring another kid to drink a bottle of glue. The lady even wagged her finger at him like a teacher. Though, there was a strange tremble to her words. "This is employees only! Got it? Get out before I call security!"
Security... A snort escaped him as he recalled the first time he'd met Solidarity. "That's who I'm here to see," he joked under his breath even as he turned towards the gate. Not that the woman was particularly intimidating, but the last thing Tango wanted to do was get his friend in trouble for letting shady freaks in. The woman shooed him out, snapping and jeering like an old cartoon character with each step she deemed too slow.
Gates slammed against his back the moment his shoes crossed the threshold. Pinky glared at him through the bars, pointing two fingers at her eyes then to him, before she slowly backed away. Right into a bench. Tango watched with morbid fascination as her legs flailed and went right over her head. She popped up once more, hair everywhere and clothing skewed, but her eyes still burned into him as if it were somehow his fault. That was when Tango decided it was best to walk away. He did not get paid enough to waste his free time on this crap.
A somewhat gloomy weekday, the park was not overflowing as it often did. When Tango passed by the turnstiles, in fact, he could actually see the ticket vendors. Maybe a couple minutes to get in at worst, only bolstered by the fair being held, as the many signs informed.
They have, like, thirty food vendors, Solidarity had texted him not long ago. He'd never really visited Scarland despite having lived somewhere within twenty minutes away from it his whole adult life. The park opened long after he was the age one typically went with their parents, and he was luckily never stupid enough to drag a child into his mess of a life.
He stretched his neck over the crowd, but spotted no blue mascot beyond the gate. Of course he wouldn't just be standing there.
A child in line was staring up at him, brow furrowed in suspicion. In the near distance the Bamboozler hit its first drop, a cacophony of children screeching for their lives as the coaster plummeted.
"I can do what I want." Tango muttered to himself as he slunk to the back of the line. "Sounds fun. I'm hungry. Nothin' better to do. I can do what I want..." It was his chant, even as he waited more than ten minutes in line, handed over an extortionate amount of money for a ticket, and stood aimlessly in the front plaza.
... Now what?
Now he texted Solidarity, inevitably left on read until the parrot mascot got off work.
You: I guess fifty bucks is the price to see you
It wasn't as funny as it had been in Tango's head. Especially not after rewriting it four times to try and make it not sound like a stalker's threat. Not that he succeeded. Tango shoved his phone into his pocket and shuffled forward towards the nearest ride ticket booth. If he was in here already he might as well actually enjoy it. As much as a joyless grump like him could.
How much his stomach could stand, though, that Tango wasn't sure of. It felt like a waste to not try the Bamboozler at least once, being the park's star attraction, but perhaps it was best to test himself first. So, he headed to the Adventures Isle. Not too fast, and plenty quick with its large minecart themed seats that were five rows and three seats across. If he kept his eyes peering out to the rest of the park that was no one's business. Tango parked himself in a relatively short line for the volcano ride behind a tall man and his, thankfully, well behaved son.
The blond boy leapt up and down, but never pushed ahead, or even spoke. Much better than the children farther ahead despite how young he clearly was. Or maybe not. A gesture, finger tapping on his arm that was hazily familiar, made Tango wonder how voluntary the quiet was. His guardian wasn't paying attention, hunched over his phone. His brown, fish themed bucket hat hid him from the world. Very responsible. There was something familiar about the man's shoulders, something Tango could not quite pin...
... The default text alert blared.
"Shit!" Tango hissed, snatching up his phone and jumped to his texts to turn it off, then pulled down the volume sliders to turn it to vibrate. Language! His own brain provided in the absence of its deliverer. A muttered apology left him, barely comprehensible to himself, as he finally got to actually reading the message.
Solidarity: What does that mean??
Tango snorted to himself. Yeah, that was about the response he expected.
You: Nothing, your ticket prices are just ridiculous
Bright wide eyes stared at him from over the edge of his phone. From the angle of his dad's body he was also looking back at Tango. Shoot, maybe the kid wasn't as deaf as Tango thought. He jerked back, spine straight, "Sorry about that..."
A deer. Caught in headlights, is what Tango saw. Except Tango was the headlights.
Jimmy let out a noise previously only heard from a broken flute.
And now they were both deer.
The park did not have time for deer. "Alright, move on up please!" The ride operator called. A large gap straight to the entrance of the coaster had formed in front of Jimmy and the child. He didn't have to be told twice, speed walking forward while he forced the boy in front of him.
Unfortunately, in his daze Tango also simply did as told and marched after them. The operator pushed him into the loading area, and her assistant guided Tango to the front row of five. The front row with three seats, two of which were now occupied. Tango let himself be sat down beside the wide eyed blond boy. On the boy's other side Jimmy pulled his hat brim down as far as he could and latched onto the child's wrist. The safety bar descended.
"What are you doing here?"
Tango thought it, but the words had left Jimmy's mouth first. He laughed, no amusement behind it. "Me? Oh-" He glanced down at the boy. He was definitely listening to Tango. "Well, it's my day off. What are you doing here?"
Jimmy's eyes burned with something. Too bold, but Tango could hardly try to do his job and correct him with a gaggle of people, a safety bar, and child between them. Perhaps Jimmy knew that.
"I'm- Babysitting."
"Babysitting." Tango repeated, the word split as the coaster jerked to life.
"I'm quite good at it too, you know. A very important source of my income."
Despite the vague wording, the similarities between the boy and him were obvious. He might not be Jimmy's son, but they had to be related. Perhaps Jimmy suspected he would say as such, and that was the reason he stressed the last word so painfully.
The kid signed something at Jimmy. Something with who in it. Tango took a shot in the dark and flung his hands out where the kid could see them. Tango. That seemed good enough to the boy. That, or he no longer cared with the arrival of the first incline, wiggling in his seat with excitement as their cart was swallowed up by the artificial cave. The last thing Tango saw before the lights dimmed to only a glow was Jimmy's hawkish eyes peaking out from under his cap into Tango's soul. And though it might simply be because he was a coward, Tango got the distinct feeling he would not be facing the sobbing chicken he knew well by now if he went forward with his usual shtick.
It was quite the catch-22. No way to put his client in his place without leaving in cuffs. No way to leave said client with the right impression if he didn't. Etho would just have to forgive him for going with the option that didn't ruin his entire life and risk drawing unwanted attention to their very legal business.
Thoughts went out the window with a pterodactyl flying barely five feet overhead. The cave burst to life around them, revealing a tropical hidden dino world. A canopy of animatronic long-necks pulled back to reveal a man in a classic beige jungle exploration suit dangling for his life on the tallest of them. A triceratops stomped its feet as they went over the first shallow waterfall.
The boy threw up his hands despite only dropping maybe five feet, swaying with the world's slowest and gentlest rapids. Music blared between the shouts of the various characters. It was an admirable feat of engineering, the ride. Tango had expected something worn out and cheap from the reputation of the park owner, but not a single thing that looked like it might move didn't. Dino eggs hatched into the cutest little raptors, proto-birds soared in a large flock, and a thagomizer whipped out to break open a cavern wall to let them pass. Indeed, when the cart came to the final fall and slowed to a terrifying crawl as they tipped over only to reveal the awaiting maw of a t-rex, Tango felt the adrenaline rush through him and join in on the screams of his fellow riders.
Water splashed up, soaking the three front rowers the worst, much to the boy's terrified delight. They were saved from their fate by a track supported on the back of a different dinosaur. The surrounding swiftly turned from forest cave to lava field. They climbed, higher and higher, until the cart burst out the top of the volcano. Jimmy's arms stretched out around the little one. A very manly scream- from who? Probably both- filled the air, stolen away by the wind as they dropped down the exploding mountain.
Then, it was over. The cart pulled out of the obsidian field into the loading bay, bars rising up. The exit was on Jimmy's side, and Tango winced as the gangly man nearly tripped over himself getting out. Whatever dizziness he felt wasn't enough to stop him from snatching up the boy from his own seat. Tango tumbled out after them, dodging the crowd of small children to reach the exit gate first.
Jimmy hadn't gotten far. Just around the corner was a conveniently placed photo booth, ridiculous prices holding precious moments hostage. screens showed off the same moment from the last several rides. The boy pointed at one, and Jimmy's face twisted. It was there's. Jimmy, expression screwed in an exaggerated scream, one hand clinging to his hat for dear life and the other across the boy's front instinctively, the kid with his own arms in the air with his eyes blown wide, and Tango. He stuck out like a sore thumb, clearly not dressed for a day of fun and looking, accurately, like he hadn't had one in a decade. His expression was more constipated than anything. But that was probably not what Jimmy was so concerned about. Tango couldn't help sympathizing. He's crashed their trip.
Despite his presence in the photos, at the continued pointing of the boy, Jimmy sighed. "Oh, alright."
No money or card was handed over to the vendor, though. Instead, the little guy stuck out his wrist. The band around the scrawny thing was not the same indestructible coloured paper slapped around Tango and Jimmy's, but a hard plastic decorated with the visage of Princess Jellie. A scanner bumped against it, the vendor's customer service smile momentarily stretching into something slightly less fake while they grabbed for a folder. Jimmy and the boy exchanged grins, the sort no one would dare make with Tango in the room.
As curious as he was, Tango was suddenly painfully aware he should not be here.
He tried, then, to slink off. The plan was bamboozled, though. Grabby little fingers snapped closed around his sleeve. Both adults made a noise at the boy in the taller's arms. Brows scrunched up into something determined. "Hermes." Jimmy whispered urgently. The boy- Hermes- let go to sign rapidly at his guardian. From the look on Jimmy's face he, too, found it difficult to keep up with each sign, but Tango got the unfortunate gist of it from the few he could pick out.
He's a friend... less breaks...
"Friend might be a strong word, kid." Tango said. "We're more like... Work buddies."
Jimmy didn't like that answer even more than Hermes. Still, Hermes signed, free rides! Then latched onto Tango's sleeve once more. That was almost certainly not how it worked, judging by the ticket card sticking out of Jimmy's back pocket, but the kid didn't relent.
"Alright..."
Tango and Hermes both jerked their shocked expressions over to Jimmy, who looked utterly defeated with his gaze cast down and an almost pouty frown. "If... If mister Tango wants to come along, he can. You have to ask him nicely, though."
Hermes, decidedly, did not do as told, simply turning to Tango and signing, let's go! Over and over again. His eyes were shining with painful amounts of excitement and hope. How the hell was Tango supposed to say no to that?
How did he get into these situations in the first place?
A half-finished hesitant agreement barely got past his lips before Hermes had wiggled his way out of Jimmy's grip, latched onto Tango's wrist, and began dragging the two men towards the next ride.
And so went their day. To the teacups where Hermes almost made himself puke, then the Musical Vortex where he and Jimmy crushed Tango. The pirate ship where Jimmy really did lose his poor hat but was caught by a little girl and handed back, and a log ride when the sun came out mid-afternoon. A hall of mirrors and a haunted house lead into the fairgrounds, both men deeming the line to the Bamboozler far too long at that point.
They stopped at a shooting booth, where Hermes missed every shot in his three tries, desperate for a cowboy doll two-thirds his own height. Both men stepped up to the plate as tears formed in the kid's eyes, sure that they could at least win good enough to trade whatever they got in for the bigger prize. What neither expected was for Jimmy to also miss every hit and wind up close to tears. Tango thought himself pretty good, but he wasn't that good. Down twenty bucks on a single game, Hermes wound up shoving the hand sized cat squish plush into Jimmy's hands instead, much to the man's embarrassment. The rubber duck fishing and balloon pop were much more successful. Candy apples and tacos were even more of a hit with both the child and adults. These vendors seemed less pleased with accepting Hermes' little VIP band, but Tango was just surprised they did so at all given their independence from the actual park.
Tension could only last so long in a place like this. At least, the non-wallet related tension. It was still there, though, under everything. The weight in Tango's bones couldn't all be from the little boy sat on his shoulders- to get face-to-face with the llamas in the barn yet having never asked to be put down- but he could almost pretend it wasn't there. He could see it in Jimmy too. In the way he almost laughed- an expression Tango was never meant to see- when a goat took Tango out from the back of his knees, but cut himself off.
A pony ride finally took up Tango's newfound duties from him. He slumped down onto the wooden stands, a few feet from Jimmy and the utter mess he was making of his backpack trying to fit the plushies into it between the sunscreen and water bottles. A book wound up yanked out of place, a small ASL dictionary filled with colourful tabs. Backup, Tango guessed, judging from the fact that Jimmy had been much better at keeping up with Hermes' signs than himself. But Jimmy paused, eyes caught on the cover where a woman was signing to her daughter.
"You know quite a bit." He muttered. There wasn't anyone else around them.
Tango groaned, letting his head lull to the side. Hermes waved as he passed. "And?"
"You have deaf clients?"
Clients? He thinks maybe Skizz once had someone who needed the money for a hearing aid, always being the sort of kindhearted fool that asked those types of questions. For Tango, though, it was an artifact. Back from when he was still in college and hopeful to do something better with his life. Knowing multiple languages just made you better employee material, and it was useful when everyone was wearing earmuffs and masks while working on a project. But his intimidation factor with Jimmy was already falling apart. No need to get even more personal. "Something like that." He settled on. If he really wanted to talk, he had a friend for that sort of stuff now, anyways.
Jimmy gave him a look, but said nothing. Instead, he picked up the water bottle and held it out. When all Tango did was cock an eyebrow, he shook it at him. "You haven't had anything to drink since the ice tea nearly two ours ago."
Tango took the water bottle, making a point to shove Jimmy's hand away, and suspicion getting the better of him, gave it a long sniff. No strange smells, if it was poisoned it was scentless. Though there was something oddly soothing about the scent that was there. Cologne, maybe? Or body wash. It didn't matter. He tipped it back and took a long swig. Made a grand scene of chugging down as much as possible and sighing when he was done. Really, what idiot shared his things with his debt collector?
Jimmy seemed annoyingly unbothered, chin resting in his palm. He blinked lazily at Tango's display, who mimicked the blink thoughtlessly before shoving the bottle back into Jimmy's hands. "What's that VIP band, anyways?" Grumbled the older, slouching against the bleachers. "I only had to pay for myself and I think I spent a hundred bucks today, I need one of those."
"Planning on coming back?" Jimmy joked. It got little more than a grunt in return. He sighed. "It's a special band, from Sc- the park owner's charity for sick and disabled children. It's usually for Make-a-wish type cases, but his family knows the owner personally. I guess..."
Tango hummed. For a brief moment his actual job came back to him as money rotated in his mind. "Hope this didn't bite into your pay too badly." He drawled over his shoulder.
"His parents are paying for everything." Assured the man, shoulders slightly squared. An eye stayed on Tango, searching for some sign that it was satisfactory.
The questions cut off as Hermes skipped back over to them. Signs flew about in his excitement. Something about the pony and its fur. Tango really should brush up on his sign language. Jimmy nodded along, pushing the boy towards the barn doors. "I bet your brush wouldn't even work on them." He laughed, getting a head shake in return. "It's getting late, bud. We only have time for one more ride."
The swiftness with which his hands flew, Tango knew whatever it was he was dead set on it. It made how Jimmy bite the inside of his cheek and frown all the more tragic. "Um, I'm not sure we'll be able to get on it..."
Not the answer Hermes wanted to hear. The boy grabbed hold of his guardian's wrist and shook it, giving Jimmy the biggest, most pleading eyes he could muster. Who wouldn't cave? If there was someone with that power, it wasn't Jimmy or Tango. So, they marched. As they marched, all the way across the park, one particular ride came closer and closer, and Tango had a sinking feeling Jimmy was right.
Sure enough, they arrived at the back of the line to the Bamboozler. About twenty feet from the end of the railing. According to a sign board, about a fifty minutes wait to get on. There was no way Hermes was going to be able to stand still that long, even if they had the time. Hermes knew it, too, looking on the brink of tears.
Jimmy rubbed his back, "C'mon, big man, maybe there's something else we can ride."
Hermes jumped away, signalling no as loud and clear as he could. Tango looked up to the coaster where the carts were currently rushing through the double loop. "I don't even think you'd enjoy this one, buddy." It was a thought that slipped passed his filter. Was a kid of his height even allowed on the ride? It didn't seem to matter to Hermes, who signed at them both. There was only one word he could pick out from them, though.
Solidarity.
"What?" Tango's head darted up towards the coaster. Through the throngs of park-goers, up a platform, and half-hidden by machinery, there he was. Solidarity, waving and hugging riders as they exited. There was something not quite right about his movements, not as fluid or jumpy as Tango knew him to be.
"He wants to see Solidarity." Jimmy explained, guiding them away towards the toilets. "But Solidarity is mostly at the ride, not just out and about like the rest."
Maybe Tango should have pushed a bit harder for them to get in line earlier. It made sense, it was Solidarity's attraction after all. He could empathize with the desire to meet the mascot. There wasn't much a mediocre thug and a bum could do about that, though.
Or so Tango thought, anyways. A strange look overcame Jimmy and he grabbed Hermes' hand. "Let's go get cotton candy." The young boy didn't seem especially pleased, but the allure of spun sugar was too much to resist.
It became more obvious something was up when they were in sight of the cotton candy stand and Jimmy suddenly halted. "Actually, I really need to go to the bathroom. Could you take him and I'll meet back up in a minute?"
Now Tango wasn't an expert at parenting or babysitting, but leaving a six year old with a loan-shark did not seem like the correct course of action. He attempted to say as much. "Hey, I don't think-" But Jimmy was already running off. The abandoned pair stared after him for several more seconds, watching Jimmy turn in the exact opposite direction of the toilets. Not suspicious at all. Was he doing it on purpose? Trying to get Tango to take the kid as payment or use him as a distraction to escape, or some other messed up plan like that? Jimmy was already gone, though, so there was only one way to find out. Tango sighed, holding out his hand to the boy. "Alright, well... Guess we're getting candy."
That was how Tango wound up with a mouthful of cotton candy for the first time in nearly twenty years. It somehow did not live up to his memories, tasting too sweet with an odd undertone. Hermes was still in that lovely phase of life where he was creating those memories for his future self to be let down by. The excitement in the boy's eyes as it melted away in his mouth almost tricked Tango into believing he tasted wrong.
Cotton Candy doesn't last very long, though. It had been a good twelve minute since they were left alone, sitting awkwardly on a bench by the vendor. Most of the families were heading out of the park by then. Tango was just beginning to contemplate how much longer to sit before taking the kid to the lost and found when he caught sight of something bright blue in the rapidly thinning crowds. His heart jumped into his throat.
Hermes gasped. His paper cone hit Tango in the face as he threw it off. What did cotton candy have on Solidarity in the flesh- nylon? feathers? What did it matter, the entire reason both abandoned blonds were in the park to begin with was making a beeline for them. Tango had the self-control to not run up to the mascot, but his young companion had no such restraint. Solidarity had hardly waved a hello before there was a small child latched onto him.
"Well, hello to you too, young man!" cooed the parrot, patting Hermes on the head. "A little birdy told me there was a very special boy waiting for me around here. Would that be you?"
If Hermes nodded any faster he might have gotten whiplash. Music to Tango's ears, Solidarity laughed. "Wonderful!" He lifted the boy up until he was sat on Jimmy's arm. "And what would your name be?"
Shockingly, though maybe it shouldn't have been, the mascot signed alongside Hermes. I guess it's more widespread than I thought. Better than Tango and his rusty ass doing any translations It made Hermes press his hands into his cheeks, nowhere else for the bundled energy to go. Then, he was off to the races.
Tango watched with fascination, Solidarity in full work mode. Everything Tango had come to know of him- the exaggerated movements, the chipper voice, the comedic wit, at one point the disdain for rude language- were pumped up to eleven. All just to make the little boy laugh. It occurred to him, with equal amounts of amusement and incredulity, that Solidarity had been doing essentially the same thing with him. Though, Tango doubted his boss would approve of complaining about how hot his costume was on the job. Nevertheless, a small smile slunk its way onto Tango lips as he watched over the pair.
Hermes then pulled a face, something whirling in his mind. A batting hand beckoned Tango closer to the pair. From his little bag Hermes produced a camera. One of those disposable ones Tango hadn't known they still made until the boy used it earlier in the day, and made note to find out where they sold them. He pushed it into Tango's hands. That was all he needed to do. Tango stepped back a good ten feet, holding the camera longways. The ferris-wheel stuck out just above the trees behind them, a perfect moment. Tango almost wished he'd saved him cotton candy for the boy to hold.
As often happened, getting the picture took standing in the middle of the walking path. For the most par, as people did, they went around. One man in a wheelchair, however, stopped entirely to watch the show as Tango carefully snapped the picture. "My, what a lovely scene." He beamed. "A perfect end to a perfect day, eh?"
"You could say that." Replied Tango, taking a second just to be sure one of them would be good.
"Well why don't you join your boy, then?" A hand extended out. Tango stared at it like an empty-headed fool for several seconds to long before he realized the smiling brunette was offering his services.
Hermes apparently heard, and was waving the man over from Solidarity's arms while the bird mascot's head flicked back and forth between the child and Tango. He chewed the inside of his cheek, before sighing. "Uh, yeah, yeah, thanks. But, uh, use this." Instead of the camera he offered up his phone. The last thing the kid needed was a random picture of Hermes with only some stranger- or worse, a not-so-stranger to Jimmy- among the rest. Thankfully, the man did not question it.
Like an awkward slug Tango shuffled over to the other two. The boy jumped down, grabbing hold of Tango's wrist and pulling him until he was shoulder to shoulder with Solidarity. In the process a wing half-wrapped around his shoulder.
Every nerve across the expanse of skin that connected with his friend felt like it was exploding. What was wrong with him? It was just a costume. All he was touching was faux furs and polyesters stretched over a frame. But Tango was encompassed, the first hug he'd had in... The fact he couldn't actually remember when made part of him want to cry. Or maybe it was the odd warmth seeping through the bird man. Even through the structure within he could feel it. The bend of a real body under it all. It wasn't just a blanket, a real human being had decided to wrap their arm around Tango's shoulders and pull him close.
It was all so utterly pathetic. Maybe that's why he wanted to cry.
Whatever. He could be a pathetic wash-up for now. He was Hermes guardian for the next thirty seconds while the wheelchair man finagled with the photo app and took several pictures. In each one Hermes struck a new pose, no doubt creating a strange little slideshow for Tango to discover later. "Princess Jellie!" The man delightedly shouted, forgetting to ask them to say it.
Nostalgia bubbled over in his throat, bursting into a laugh he did his best to muffle. Despite his intrusion, he hoped the kid looked back on this day fondly. That he would keep the photo album the picture wound up in, even if just in a box on an out-of-the-way shelf, instead of throwing them away like Tango stupidly had after college. How he spent dinner talking his parents eyes out of their sockets about holding one of the hundreds of little ducklings and how half the rides shot them straight up to the moon and back.
He hoped he'd manage to blot Tango out of those memories and never ask who that strange man on the periphery of his day was.
The photo man handed Tango back his phone, thanking him for allowing him to take the pictures before wandering off. What an odd fellow, Tango thought. He was the one who should be doing the thanking.
Solidarity, too, bent down to Hermes level and began his goodbyes. "Well, I'm sorry Hermes, but the Bamboozler won't run itself!" As he said as such, dopplered screams echoed over the park, and Tango couldn't help but snort. Hermes was a very understanding boy, though. He gave the mascot a grave nod, held out his hand for the most militaristic handshake Tango had ever seen. Solidarity made sure to shake it just a little too hard, turning their limbs into a silly wave that made the boy giggle one last time.
Tango came up beside the mascot as he stood. "Uh, thanks." Left him, instead of the dozen things he had been wanting to say all day, or the dozen new things he ought to have from the day itself.
"Have a lovely day, sir." Solidarity nodded. Unlikely he was allowed to acknowledge knowing Tango out in public, but Tango knew the friendly flap he'd always given him. The best one could do in full costume. With that he scurried off in a great hurry towards the nearest staff entrance.
It was then Tango realized that Jimmy was still missing. "We should, um, why don't we grab a lemonade and sit down for a bit, yeah?" Tang offered. Honestly, the boy looked dead on his feet by that point, and happily agreed.
By the time Jimmy reappeared a few minutes later, bolting like an Olympic athlete and sweating like he'd really run it, Hermes was half passed out against Tango's arm. He perked up when his babysitter stumbled to a halt in front of them, gasping for air while his silly light up runners slowly calmed. "Sorry, sorry! There was a huge line. I had to go to a farther toilet," Was his excuse. One Hermes seemed to buy, at least. They gave the poor guy a moment to compose himself, adjusting his stupid fish hat before they headed out,
Hermes barely shuffled a few exhausted steps before Jimmy scooped the tired boy up into his own exhausted arms. An offer to carry the kid for him made it all the way to Tango's tongue before he thought better and swallowed it. "How was the bathroom?" He asked instead, giving the man a pointed look.
"There was a fellow who insisted on chatting me up." Jimmy swiftly replied, as if rehearsed. What it exactly meant Tango would never be sure, but he got the gist of it. Paperwork, maybe, or payment.
They slipped through the exit gates, officially leaving the park behind. Both men stood awkwardly by the curb of the road, the crowd trickling around them. "I, um, I called his parents. They should be here any minute to pick him up."
"Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah." Tango cleared his throat, hand scratching the back of his head as he looked around for an exit of his own. None offered itself. "I... I should probably head out." He concluded lamely, and swiftly began shuffling away.
"Tango..."
It was a meek voice, barely audible over the crowd only due to proximity. Jimmy wasn't looking at him, eyes on the now dozing little boy clinging to his cup filled only by half-melted ice and blue-stained lemon slices. There was a slight tremble to the taller's arms as he tipped the adjusted the cup from spilling. Despite it, his expression that refused to meet Tango's relaxed. "Thank you." His voice cracked slightly, unsure. Or maybe a bit shaken. Tango would be, in his- ridiculous light-up- shoes.
But they were outside the park now. Tango had spent nearly four hours taking his reputation with the man down brick by brick, and all that was left was the crumbling foundations. So, despite the strain in his chest, Tango only said, "See on the thirty-first." Some small reminder, some attempt to re-lay the bricks. Jimmy didn't react except to close his eyes. Tango wished he could do the same.
Summary: Tango is the muscle for the Tuff Guys, a gang that deals primarily in money lending. How he got here he can't remember anymore, and his only moments of respite from his awful job is hanging out with Scarland's accident-prone mascot. His life gets infinitely more complicated though, after he's assigned to put the pressure on a new client who seems to know way too much about him. The situation quickly escalates from there in ways Tango could have never imagined.
It was another day at the extortion factory. Etho wanting backup to send a kid that missed his payment a message, Bdubs asking him to recount and re-sort the cash he thoughtlessly mixed up, scare off a so-called potential client that was most definitely a flight risk. The days were only getting hotter, making everything ten times worse, and like a bunch of wild animals on the Savannah they retreated into shelter.
You: If my boss doesn't hire a new guy soon I'm demanding a raise
Solidarity: Put in all your PTO at once and go to the beach, see how they like it
Tango snorted, cracking a smile as he reread the message before sending his reply. If only he got PTO in his line of work. Solidarity didn't need to know that, though.
"Alright, everybody, calm down!" Bdubs screeched as he threw open the office door, metal slamming against concrete. "Sustenance has arrived!"
Solidarity: Or you could go to Scarland every day, there's an expo starting next month until Halloween.
You: Flap twice if your boss is over you shoulder rn
A bag of grease collapsed against the table, the edge already tearing. Tango's nose scrunched up at the sight of the worst fried chicken in the city. "Really? Poultryman's worse and more expensive, why do you gotta go there?"
"Oh, shut up!" Snapped the shorter. He ripped the containers from the bag and lined them up like a buffet. "They is got the best coleslaw in town!"
Solidarity: *flap flap*
Solidarity: Fr, though, they have like 30 food vendors come in
"It's radioactive." Etho mourned, poking at the green slurry. It was snatched away.
"Fine, then! Last time I do anything for you guys!"
You: Are they there right now? I'm starving and I think my coworker just brought whatever he cleaned out of his drain for lunch.
Solidarity: That was more description than I needed.
"What in tarnation are you giggling about of there? You think this is funny?"
Tango looked up, clamping his mouth shut. Both were staring at him like he'd grown a second head, though Bdubs was about ten seconds from figuring out how to murder him with a french fry while Etho seemed more perturbed than anything. "What's got you kicking your feet and twirling your hair?" Etho asked.
"None of your business."
"It could be, though."
A face shoved its way far into Tango's personal space. He shrieked, pressing his phone to his chest. "What's your problem!?"
Etho stared at where the phone once was, adorned with his usual nonplussed expression. His gaze slowly shifted to Tango. "I didn't figure you to be such a diligent employee."
"What?" Balked Tango, fumbling to get his phone into his pocket.
As usual, he got no answer from the obnoxiously enigmatic man. Etho just threw his hands up and went back to his desk. "How's the cat thing, by the way?"
Changing the subject. God forbid he finish a single conversation. Tango sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Well, he doesn't immediately run under the bed when he sees me, at least." Were all cats like this when brought home? The only pet Tango ever had was a childhood dog. Dogs didn't have tiny needles on their paws, though. He rubbed at the latest spot along his wrist where Norman had gotten him.
"You could just toss it out, you know." Bdubs reminded him. Again. "I guess as long as you use your own funds to feed it."
"This guy's asked about the stupid cat every time I've met him, like it's his kid or something. I can't just toss out leverage like that!" Tango threw his arms out. "What am I supposed to do without it? Scare him myself? You ain't hiring new muscle, this is the best you get."
Etho fixed him with a look. The sort of look Tango pretended he didn't see because confronting the man about it would lead to more pain for Tango than his boss. Then, he said something truly ridiculous, "You still have the cleaning lady's number, right?"
"W- I'm not calling in a cleaner for a cat!" He threw his arms up. "If I wanna get rid of it I'd just dump it in the trash! No one would care."
"Not for the cat. For this guy who's about to die if you look at him wrong."
Tango scoffed, "Oh, I see. My pain is funny to you. Well, chuckles, let's see how funny you think it is when I lose the client!"
"I'm not sure you could." Etho laughed. Laughed. What was so funny about any of this? Jimmy was their biggest and most reliable cash flow right now. Reliant on a guy who had already been willing to run away from Tango before, and they'd put Tango on his case in the first place. Sure, his act had gotten Jimmy to cower at the start, but he was far too bold in that damn pizzeria, and even if he wasn't the buffest fella around he'd be more than an even match for Tango.
But Tango didn't say any of that, because despite the laughter it never reached the man's eyes. No, his eyes were cold with a warning. Do your job, or else.
Or else he could join Skizz on his vacation.
"Man..." Tango breathed out, tapping his phone against his shoulder and slinking off, tail tucked between his legs yet again. "I got a client to meet in an hour, I'm heading out."
"It's a life Tango." Etho's voice boomed through the half-empty building, halting Tango in the doorway. "Not a job."
"... I know."
He wasn't allowed to forget.
That morning, Tango woke up with something heavy on his stomach. It wasn't unusual back in the day, when he passed out working on a project, but Tango hadn't had reason to bring his laptop to bed in years. About a hundred increasingly crazy ideas went through his mind, most of which ended with him dead. When he dared finally open his eyes, however, a different type of panic set in.
"He was staring me down like he was going to eat me!" Tango shrieked, nearly crushing the soda in his hand.
"He was watching you sleep!" Gushed Solidarity, wings clasped against his cheek. "Oh, that's so sweet!"
The shorter scoffed. "He was definitely about to take a giant bite outta me, I could see it in his eyes."
"He's a cat, Tango. They just do that. It means he likes you."
That seemed impossible. It was only a couple weeks ago Norman was hissing at him for getting too close. Solidarity was the expert between them, but he couldn't always be right. He took a swig from his can as he thought back to that morning. Maybe there was still fish and chips on his breath? "Well, whatever he was doing, it was freaky. I mean, look at this!"
He yanked out his phone, flicking through his folders. It was easy to find, the last picture Tango took being from over a month ago. The picture was bad, blurry from Norman sitting up just as Tango took it. Good enough to get the point across, though. Tango held it up in front of the mascot, "See?"
The world quieted. Solidarity didn't move towards the phone, standing still as a statue. Tango waited, and waited, shuffling his feet. Just as he was about to pull his arm back, feathers reached out. The phone was plucked from his hand like it was made of thread-thin glass that would damn him if it shattered. Solidarity brought it close to the mesh in his left eye. There's a person in there. Tango looked away. Cool air whipped past, sending a shiver down Tango's spine, the closest thing to sound.
A noise, like a small bird. Tango's head snapped back towards the mascot. His whole body had an almost imperceptible shake to it. The phone was pushed back into Tango's hands, "'S cute." His voice cracked so badly Tango almost didn't understand him and was followed by a sniffle.
"You okay?" Tango asked, hesitantly placing a hand on Solidarity's shoulder. The bird-man shook him off, even as he nodded.
"Yeah." Solidarity gave the most unconvincing assurance. "Sorry, I- Um, I think my break is over, I have to- I gotta get back to work."
A lie. Tango knew his break time by now and Solidarity had at least fifteen more minutes. But, "Alright, I'll see you in a few days then." The last thing Tango wanted to do was scare off the only friend he had, if he hadn't already.
Solidarity didn't reply, rushing off towards the warehouse without even a proper goodbye.
No matter what angle Tango looked at it from, the picture of Norman was completely normal.
Solidarity: I'm sorry about earlier.
It was a simple message. Outstanding, in that it was a rare statement directed towards Tango. Even rarer that someone meant it. He'd be lying if it didn't calm the buzzing in his chest that had been going for hours since he got home.
You: It's no problem
You: Didn't mean to upset you
Solidarity: You didn't!
You: Just thought you'd like to see the cat
Tango paused, reading back the message Solidarity sent while he was still typing. He looked over the back of his couch at Norman, sat on top of his bed. Judging him. He deserved it, of course, but it didn't help. Was there cat photography etiquette he wasn't made aware of? Did he somehow capture Norman in the middle of agony and look like a pet abuser? His thoughts had been consumed by the conundrum for frankly an embarrassingly long time at this point before Solidarity chose to reach out.
Solidarity: It's just
Solidarity: I lost my cat right before we met.
Solidarity: It's hard to look at other people's pets
Was that really it? Could it hurt that bad to lose a cat? Then again, given the whole reason Tango had Norman in the first place...
You: Got it, won't show any more
Solidarity: No!
The reply couldn't have come any faster without Tango suspecting Solidarity of being a psychic.
Solidarity: feel free to send them! He's a cute fella.
Tango's gaze wandered back to his room. Norman was still staring him down. He lifted his phone. The shutter snapped.
You: Well, I can't send too many more. I think he's currently scheming my demise when I go to sleep tonight. You can have this as proof for the investigation.
A heart appeared on the corner of the picture, startling Tango. Was that a feature on text messages? When did they add that? It was followed by a string of emojis that he presumed roughly translated to the bird-like squeal Solidarity sometimes pulled.
Solidarity: Aww! He's watching your back!
You: That's what I said
Solidarity: No, you silly man. He's watching over you! Cats like to be in the same space as the people they like at a different angle.
Solidarity: He's hanging out with you
Well, that just seemed made up. So Tango told him so.
You: That sounds made up.
Solidarity: It's how cats work. I don't make the rules, I just relay them!
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Norman shift. Flipping apps as quick as possible, Tango snapped the picture right as Norman's mouth went wide, butt up in the air, before the cat leapt off the bed and headed for his food bowl. Tango sent it. Another string of emojis. Norman was halfway through a mouthful of kibble when Tango whistled at him. The plan to get his photo the moment he turned didn't pan out, the cat's face and face alone an almost terrifying blur, green eyes piercing through. He snorted, unable to wipe the smile from his face, and sent it. A new spam with laughing faces mixed in between the hearts and stars and cats. His face warmed as he hung off the back of his sofa, staring at Solidarity's utterly incoherent replies.
Sudden weight on the cushion next to him was what finally dragged his attention away. Red locked with green, and both froze. Norman was barely two feet from him, staring with slit pupils straight through his soul. This was it, wasn't it? His throat was about to be ripped open and he was going to have to fight the damn thing for his life. Claws dug into the pleather, confirming his thoughts for him.
Solidarity: You still there?
The beep of the text snapped him out of their mutual trance. Cautiously, Tango turned the camera back towards Norman and took another picture.
You: WTF do I do???
Solidarity: Language!
Not the time, Tango wanted to scream at the man, but chose against it as Norman stretched his head forward. One wrong move...
Solidarity: Put your hand out to him, slowly, just below his nose
You: you mean his mouth! You're trying to get me rabies!
Solidarity: Just do it! Big baby!
Tango swallowed hard. Preparing to lose a finger, he cautiously shifted forward, hand hovering closer and closer to the cat. Norman's head snapped back, putting all his weight onto his haunches. That was a hunting crouch, wasn't it? Was he being hunted? Tango swore he felt sweat begin to bead on his forehead as he pushed further and further. And when his hand was only a few inches away...
Norman's head lurched forward. It took all of Tango's strength not to pull his hand back. A little cold nose barely brushed against his middle finger, flexing as it sniffed. Even as he did so, Norman's eyes remained on Tango himself. Then, he jerked his head forward, and Tango let out a very manly cry as the cat pushed Tango fingers along his cheek and jaw. One-handedly, too scared to offend the cat, Tango snapped a picture and sent it.
You: WHAT DO I DO
A long string of tearing up smiling emojis was his reply. helpful.
Solidarity: Pet him you goof
Tango held his breath as he rolled his hand up to the top of Norman's head. He hadn't needed to do much else, the cat pushing into his palm, eyes closed, and falling forward until Tango's hand was over his shoulder instead. Tango pushed on until his hand was all the way down the cat's spine before lifting his hand back up. Norman meowed, and he flinched away as the cat batted at his hand. Slowly he repeated the process, the cat's paw dropping as he did so. A rumble began under his hand, just the smallest of vibrations. It took Tango several seconds to process what it was.
You: He's purring.
Solidarity: Congratulations, you're a cat dad now
Him?
You: But he's not my cat!
Solidarity: Doesn't matter. You've been chosen
A whine escaped him, head falling back. Norman rolling his head around Tango's hand, petting himself in the man's distressed absence. A cat dad? What did that mean? Would he start turning into a cat now? He was a middle aged man, he was hairy enough already.
All attempts to send another message to Solidarity were blocked by the feline, now very aware of Tango's ability to pet him. When Tango's nails scratched along Norman's jaw the whole creature collapsed onto his side, right into Tango's lap. Purrs grew louder. Tango's head felt odd, a bit light. When he dared stop the cat shot back up onto his paws and shoved his face right into Tango chin and meowed. His fur felt plush compared to the scratch of his own beard. I need to shave, he thought absently as he returned to petting Norman.
Picking the cat up got a funny little sound. The ease with which the cat allowed himself to be lifted and placed back down once Tango shifted to be laying across the couch was astounding, Especially given how recently the cat had been hissing at him. "That Jimmy guy must have spoiled you." He murmured, accepting the onslaught of headbutts. It paused, staring at him. Tango stared back, but swiftly lost the staring contest as his eyelids weighed heavy. To his surprise, Norman mimicked him, blinking sleepily before dropping his head down against Tang's chest.
"You must miss him, huh?" He said, mostly to himself. "If I'm a good enough substitute."
The cat, unsurprisingly, didn't reply.
The next time Tango blinked, the sun was glaring through his balcony windows. There was still a weight on him, Norman having shifted into a rag across his upper chest at some point in the night. He grabbed his phone. Several missed messages from Solidarity underlined the time, five-O-six. They were all just tips on where cats preferred to be pet, of course. They came to an abrupt stop when the bird man must have realized he wouldn't get any more replies.
Tango groggily found his camera app, trying to get as best a picture as he could of the sleeping cat. It was out of focus, and his nose was cut off. Good enough.
You: Fell asleep.
Tango hadn't even gotten a chance to exit his text messages before a little heart appeared in the corner of the picture. I have to figure out how to do that. He sighed, tossing his head back. How did he end up like this, texting a theme park mascot cat pictures at five in the morning? And why did he hope it kept happening?
-
Jimmy stared for an eternity at his phone, the darkness of his room making the light sting. He clutched his pillow tight under his chin, fingers absently running along it as he tried to ignore the pressure behind his eyes.
Despite everything, Norman looked so peaceful. Laid out as he does, paws stretched back and front, head hung limp with sleep. Jimmy could almost feel the soft fur under his fingers. Norman wasn't there, though. He was in some apartment downtown, cuddled up to some thug. Without him, the anxiety crept in unhindered. Jimmy watched the time flick over to five-fifteen and his alarm, set only three hours ago, blared to life. Fishery took over his screen. Not a single muscle in Jimmy's body moved. He flicked the alert away, returning to staring at the blurry image.
When a sniffle escaped and he thought he couldn't take it anymore, he curled up around his pillow and began to count until he could breathe. You can't afford a sick day, you need those bike repairs, he reminded himself. He still didn't move.
