Teh tumBLARG

pickupthatfuckingcan: Just foolin’ around

Mon, 13 May 2013 15:12:15 -0400

pickupthatfuckingcan:

Just foolin’ around

chrysogenum: eri in a tracksuit reference for B since he’s...

Sun, 12 May 2013 19:46:00 -0400

chrysogenum:

eri in a tracksuit

reference

for B since he’s sick.

grenouille-kun: Eri’s (new?) hoodie design. The flap can tie in...

Wed, 08 May 2013 21:01:09 -0400

grenouille-kun:

Eri’s (new?) hoodie design. The flap can tie in front of her face with drawstrings, leading to a tighter pull around the face than with a traditional cut. Technically the colors are orange and blue (Avatar shout out!) but I’m still enamored of purple + magenta.

I pity her for running in this during the sweltering summers. At least it’s a loose fit.

"How do I help cure my son of his game addiction?"

Tue, 07 May 2013 18:17:00 -0400

You are 46.

(When did that happen? It feels like just yesterday you were approaching 40. Have you always looked this old?)

You are 46 and at a point equidistant between your college graduation and your retirement. If not closer to your retirement. This troubles you sometimes and comforts you sometimes.

You are 46 and struggling to stay relevant in a field that would be perfect for someone 20 years your younger. You find yourself slowing down in ways that you don’t expect.

You are 46 and at the office on the weekend again. There’s just so much work that needs to be done. Business has been hard, and you’ve just managed to make it pass the pink slips each wave. You’ve even started to take unpaid overtime. This is your life, you feel like you’re racing just to keep up. Once upon a time, you wanted this. The fast life, life on the edge.

You are 46 and you think about home. How could you not? You think about the things that you could be doing instead. Does the lawn need mowing? Could you and your family be out doing something fun? It’s the weekend. What are you even doing here? Regardless, your spouse has been equally busy. Work has been equally hectic over there.

You are 46 and you can’t remember the last time the two of you have managed to have a night to yourselves. Everyday has been the same. You go home, you eat a quick dinner that someone prepares, watch some TV, sleep. You’re tired all the time. When given vacation days, you just sleep in and try to enjoy the house you feel like you barely live in. Your spouse is in the same situation, and somehow, you two get yourselves through it. The only thing that keeps you going is coffee and the fact that you guys are raising a child. A child that has to get through college.

That’s right. You are 46 and your child is now 14. Maybe it was a little late to have a child. But you didn’t meet your spouse until late, and you were both working all the time anyway. You two talked it over on and off for over a year. Who has time to raise a child anymore? But in the end, it was decided. It feels like just yesterday that you two were teaching him how to walk, how to talk. You’re proud of him, in your own little way. He’s doing well, going through middle school about as well as any middle school student can be expected to do. He’s had trouble in his one class but neither of you were free to go talk to his teacher. It seemed to pass anyway, the emails stopped coming.

You are 46 and you are sitting at your desk suddenly wondering if you are a bad parent. But you can’t be a bad parent. You’ve sacrificed so much for your son, your family. You two are raising him in a decent community in a decent school district. You got what you think is the best house on the block. A maid comes by every week. He even has a private tutor who should give him an edge over all of the other kids, or at least keeps him par for the course. You can’t be a bad parent. He’s a good kid. You haven’t really talked to him in months, a few scattered conversations here and there, to catch up, (who needs to catch up with their own son?) and you try to catch a glimpse of him at least every day, but he’s started to retreat into his room. He’s got his friends. He’s at an age that you remember distancing yourself from your parents. It can’t be bad right? He’s growing up normal. You’re raising him to be a normal teenager. You were worried sometimes. He went into afterschool care in elementary school. And then straight to a baby sitter when you two were too busy. Were you guys not spending enough time with him?

You are 46 and you can barely recall not ten years ago, you watched your son at his kindergarten play. He was a little pig. The teacher was the big bad wolf. He had a house made of sticks and ran to his friend’s brick house when it was blown over. You didn’t get to attend many of his other events afterwards. Some of his soccer games, as long as they were on the weekends, some of his school projects and a few of those parent nights here and there. But work was busy. You had to be there. He understood. He’s not a bad kid. You aren’t a bad parent. You’re at work for him. You’re at work for your family. You have to. To allow him to have all of these opportunities in the future. So he will go to a good college. So he will have a good life. Your spouse feels the same, your spouse has made the same sacrifices. You’re in this together. For him. You aren’t bad parents.

You are 46 and coming home. You try to think about the last time the three of you went out to do something interesting, to have fun with life. When was the last time you took days off just to enjoy? When was the last time you did something fun with your kid? What is he into now, anyway? You don’t even know anymore. Video games probably. All of the kids were playing video games. You vaguely recall reading an article about video game violence and how they were bad for kids. How video games were addicting and should be banned. But you’re sure your kid isn’t like that. He’s a good kid. Not a bad kid. You’re raising him right.

You are 46, and you come home to a row. Your spouse is yelling at your kid. Your kid is yelling back. You are told, angrily, that for the last ten hours, your child has been playing video games on his X-box. That apparently he has been doing the same thing every day for the last two weeks. Your son denies it. But you can see in his face that he’s been found out and is cornered. There are logs, the video game machine records how long and how often things are done. A teacher had called to say that he was falling behind on his work, but you didn’t think it was this bad. He needs to be punished. You’re supposed to lay down judgment. What do you do to your son in this case? How should he be punished?

You are 46 and you think back to how badly your son wanted an X-Box. How it meant the world to him that you got it for his birthday. How the steady flow of subscription money and surprise gifts were somehow supposed to replace the lack of time you had to be with him. He’s addicted, you’re told. And you can’t deny the fact. Addicted or obsessed. It wasn’t healthy. Spending ten hours mindlessly or mindfully in front of a screen doing repetitive motions was not healthy. You aren’t a hypocrite. You are trying to raise your son right.

You are 46 and you sit down to talk with your son. To get his point of view without emotional distraction. You know why your spouse is being this emotional. Your spouse is scared, worried. You feel it too. The need for panic, for drastic action. You two are not bad parents. You two need to figure out what to do in a reasonable manner. You want to take your son, shake him, and tell him that these games are ruining his life. That if he plays games all day, he’s not going to get anywhere in life.

You are 46 and you are trying, to the best your ability, to tell your son that he needs to stop playing games so much. You search in your mind for a good cut off point. Only on the weekends. Two hours a night. You will need to limit his playing for his sake. It’s for his own good. The emotion in your son’s face shifts from fearful and angry to more despondent. He accepts your terms. Only two hours a night at most and weekends. And he’s already played too much for this weekend so he needs to stop for today. He is mature about it, and you pat him on the back and complement him for not complaining.

You are 46 and you are lying awake in your bed. Next to your spouse who is having fitful sleep. It’s Sunday night. No, Monday morning. You think back to the argument. You think back to the emotions that ran through your head. He should be grateful, for all that you two have done for him. For how much you’ve sacrificed for him. You’ve raised him better than this. Right? He is not a bad kid. You are not a bad parent. He should know better. Teenagers. Teenagers these days. They just didn’t know what was good for them.

You are 46 and you go to the kitchen to get some water. Hopefully this should help you sleep. As you pass your son’s door, you hear cursing. Cursing like you’ve never heard from his mouth before. You are alarmed and you burst open his door. He’s playing games again. You look at the digital display on his desk, 3:21 AM. You need to be up in three hours. He needs to be up in four. You get angry. You shout. He turns around finally wide-eyed. A deer in headlights. You see on his screen he has died a violent death, a bullet to the head. He curses again, this makes you angrier. You shout some more. You ask if he wants his X-Box taken away. You move over to the side of his desk, despite his protests and a rapid list of excuses. You almost rip the power strip from the wall. He’s crying now. He’s actually hugging his X-Box. This makes you angrier. He pleads with you. He apologizes over and over.

You are 46, and now that you’ve had a moment to collect yourself and you realize what you’re doing, you pause. Do you really want to take away his X-Box? It is all the world to him. You’ve sunk a lot of money to pay for services and games. You did this because you love your son, and you want him to be happy. It hurts you to see him like this. So upset, so pathetic. Hugging an inanimate object like it was his friend. He must have been addicted. He was playing violent games. They were bad for him. Those games should be banned.

He’s not a bad kid.
You’re not a bad parent.
You’re not a bad parent.
You’re not…

You are 46 and you wonder how your life has come to this. You wonder how you ended up being such a bad parent, despite everything you tried to do. Beside your best intentions. Despite your best efforts. You recall now all of your worst fears and all of the panicking you did when your son was young. Did you burp him right? Were you holding him right? Was he getting too much television, or too little? Were you sending him to the right preschool program? But he turned out all right. But he’s not all right. He’s not a bad kid.

You are 46 and you are sitting in your living room with an X-Box in your lap. You can hear your son sobbing from his room. He says he hates you. He blames you for everything. How could you be such a terrible parent? How did you end up doing everything wrong?

You are 46 and you watch the kitchen clock blink 4:00 AM. You have to get up to go to work in two hours. Your son has stopped sobbing. You don’t know what to do. You can’t just give the X-Box back. It’s hurting him. You know it must be hurting him. But you can’t take it away. It means so much. It was an investment you told yourself way back when. It was an investment in your son’s happiness. It was representative of all of your missed love. To take it away… But he was addicted. This was trouble. You should just throw it away. But…

You are 46 and you were constantly out working and thinking about your son. You were doing so much for him. Work was so difficult. You had to put in the hours. You had to put in the effort, even if it left you exhausted when you came home. You wonder why you are such a bad parent. How other parents managed it all.

You are 46, and you post a message onto Reddit at 4:30 AM, asking for advice. An X-Box on your lap. A dysfunctional family upstairs. You are out of ideas.

“How do I help cure my son of his game addiction?”

grenouille-kun: Subway surfer Eri, complete with Flaming Muffin...

Fri, 19 Apr 2013 23:44:51 -0400

grenouille-kun:

Subway surfer Eri, complete with Flaming Muffin Cult T-shirt.

It felt like a long time since I’ve drawn her and I wanted to define her character design.

Open Mike

Mon, 15 Apr 2013 11:44:00 -0400

Tuesday morning on the highest floor of Stephenson Hall, there was a knock on the door to Mike’s suite. More than a knock. Maybe it was a knock five minutes ago. Now it was more like someone was hammering on the door with his or her fist.
Mike groggily reached for his Weave device. 6:56. He had an hour before his first class still. Who could possibly want to wake him up before seven? He vaguely wondered if he should put on a shirt and cracked the door open.
Lex.
Somehow it wasn’t a surprise.

“Michael.” She crossed her arms, possibly to hide how red the side of her hand was, “Nice to see you’re finally wake up.”
“Alexandria.” Mike stifled a yawn and scratched at the back of his head, “To what do I owe the honor of this early morning visitation? Surely not official prefect business.” He’d been quiet recently. Nothing to give the prefects any trouble.
Lex shrugged in a way that caused the pin on her lapel to briefly catch the light, “No, this is actually a social visit.”
Mike squinted at Lex before letting her in. “You know, most people would have called or emailed or done something to indicate beforehand that they were coming over to visit.”
“Well, apparently your Weave device is malfunctioning because I sent a missive about thirty minutes ago to both your personal and school accounts.” Lex sat down in the overstuffed recliner while Mike checked his messages. She visibly sank into it. “Is this why people always look ridiculous when they sit in one of these things?” she furrowed her brow, “And could you please put on a shirt or something?”
Mike shuffled over to his bed and collapsed face first. “Nope,” his voice was slightly muffled by the pillow he was talking into, “You’re just going to deal with my half naked body until after my alarm goes off.” He shouldn’t have let her in. “And you didn’t answer the question. What’re you here for?”
She tried to sit up twice in the chair but failed and gave up, “It’s about Vu.”

Vu? She didn’t refer to Esp with Anderson? “What about Espoir?”
“Could you go talk with her and find out if she’s all right? As a personal favor to me.”
Mike raised his head from the pillow, “You can’t do that yourself?”
“It’s not because you’re better at this than I am, we just aren’t exactly friends and you happen to—”
“Are we even exactly friends?” Did Lex actually have friends?
“I consider you my friend.” She folded her hands on her lap, her brow twitched. Huh. Was that betrayal or shock on her face? Mike thought Lex just spent a lot of time scowling.
“So why not friends with Espoir?”
“I just haven’t gotten much of a chance to talk to her out of class or club. You know who she constantly associates with.” Right. The Nemesis and the Ex. Not exactly friendly territory for Lex. Mike could understand avoiding Az, he just couldn’t imagine Eri doing anything that could cause such a rift between her and Lex.
“Well then, why don’t you just go and ask her yourself anyway? Just swallow your pride and maybe you’ll become friends after this next exchange.”
Lex smoothed out her skirt while rolling her eyes, “If only it was that simple. I know she’s not all right. I could see it in her face all of yesterday. You want to hear what happened?”
“I have a feeling I’m about to hear it regardless of what I answer.”
“I utterly crushed Vu in debate club.”
“Congratulations? I thought that was your dream come true or something.”
She shook her head, “Not like this. Two weeks of preparation and she could barely piece together her argument? No. I crushed her like she was a freshman at her first debate. I openly used a logically fallacy half way into my second retort as bait and she didn’t even respond to it!”
“How horrible.” Mike frowned despite his sarcastic tone.
“That’s not it. Earlier, we were doing a lab in Chemistry, and she didn’t even disagree when I split the work for the experiment. She allowed me to take basically all of the experiment for myself. Not a single word in protest. She spent most of the period just staring at the lab report or out the window!”
“Chemistry is Espoir’s favorite, isn’t it.”
“Yes. Yes it is.”
Mike waved an arm at Lex, “Okay, fine. You’ve convinced me to go talk to her.” Tuesdays he generally ate lunch with Esp and the others anyway.
“Thank you Michael.”
“But I really suggest that you go talk to her too.” He lifted his head in time to watch Lex squirm a little.
“I suppose.”
“Don’t ‘I suppose’ me. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Lex shifted her eyes away from Mike, “My reputation definitely precedes me. And our classroom and extracurricular interactions tend to get quite spirited.”

Mike tried to imagine how “spirited” they could get. Esp was no shrinking violet, but she wasn’t the type to get hot under the collar. No, if anything, things would freeze over. Ah. So that was why Lex didn’t describe things as getting heated. But still, this was really strange coming from Lex…
“It’s not like you to worry what others think of you.”
“I’m not stupid. If I approached her with my concern, she’d end up clamming up on me, thinking I was out to get her or something.”
“Life isn’t always a competition, Alexandria. It’s not all about winning and losing.”
“Spoken like a true loser.” The alarm went off. Mike hit the snooze automatically as Lex succeeded in finding her way out of the recliner. “You’ll talk to her today then? I’ll be back tonight for a debriefing.”
“Oh, Alexandria, I had no idea you were like that. The problem is I only wear boxers.” Mike rolled onto his side and waggled his eyebrows, his boxers on full display.
“Cool it D’Errant.” She looked away.
Mike sat up and slid off his bed onto his feet, “Well, I’d wear briefs if you really wanted me to.”
“You are a horrible and disgusting person.” Even her neck was starting to turn slightly pink.
“Well, you know where to find me if you want to talk. Or have a ‘debriefing’ if you really want to call it that.” He sauntered closer to Lex, and put a hand on her shoulder.

Lex suddenly turned around and placed a hand on the back of Mike’s neck, pressing her body into his. For a moment they froze, their faces close, his wide eyes two inches away from hers, still intense as ever. Her breath tickled his lips, he wasn’t breathing. Lex then pushed Mike’s face aside to whisper in his ear, “Is this what you’d want from me?”
Mike shrugged Lex off and turned away.
“I thought as much.” The color was still in her face, but it was lessening, “Tonight, Michael.” She walked towards the door.
“S-sure.” Mike’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat, “I’m okay with that.” And then he realized what Lex was actually talking about, “I mean, yeah, see you tonight.”
“And don’t mess with me if you aren’t prepared to lose.” The door shut behind her.
Mike stood in the middle of his room, listening to his alarm come off snooze. A shower. A cold shower. That’s what he wanted.
“Az, you crazy bastard, this was what you were dealing with?”

Lunch hour. Or at least, Mike had an hour for lunch. Most students elected to have a thirty minute study hall with tutor access during the day rather than take a full lunch. Mike cared not for those things and liked the look of two lunch periods on his schedule.
Esp was eating alone. Well, she was reading her Weave device while eating, and seemed fully engrossed in it. Mike placed his tray opposite of Esp’s and pulled a chair up.
“Hello, Espoir.”
“Hey Mike.”
Lunch today was chicken on rice. Surprisingly, Esp had her chicken intermingled with the rice. It didn’t look like she made any attempt to organize any of it. And it was largely untouched.
Mike mixed his chicken into the rice to even out the sauce before taking a bite and asking, “So, what are you reading?”
“Schopenhauer’s Parerga und Paralipomena.”
Mike blew a low whistle, “Payne’s translation? That’s not exactly light reading, what part are you at?”
“The last chapter of the second volume, but I’m not going through the whole thing. Just bits and pieces that I bumped into online that I wanted to read myself.”
“Yeah, that’s not something you want to handle without a professional.” But Esp could handle it, if she tried.
“You’ve read it?”
“Parts. I was told there would be hedgehogs.”
Esp didn’t laugh, not even sarcastically. She seemed to have completely missed the reference.

There was a silence as Esp played with her chicken while reading and Mike attacked his rice and vegetables.
“So, where is everyone?” The broccoli had been defeated.
“Well, Johnny and Sammy invited me to eat in their booth, but I’d rather not end up a third wheel. Az and ‘Rika are doing their thing. Plotting to take over the world or something.”
“So that just leaves little ole you.”
“Yep, me and Schopenhauer. And you, I guess.” Esp looked back down at her Weave device and nodded. And then looked around in a distracted manner.
This wasn’t like Esp at all. Mike took another stab at his chicken, “Hey, you wanna talk or something?”
Esp shrugged indifferently, “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“Well, no then. There really isn’t much to talk about. I’m fine.”
“Little birdy tells me that you aren’t just fine.”
Esp narrowed her eyes, “Who’s the bird?”
“Goes by the name of Schopenhauer?”
“What about my reading?”
Mike pointed at Esp with his fork, “When’s the last time you picked up a book so you could read a bit at the end? The Espoir I know would read the whole damn book so she wouldn’t miss any of the context. And there’s no way you picked up on that passage if you were fine and not looking for some kind of philosophical musing to make yourself feel better. Also your chicken and rice is all messed up.”
Esp looked at her food, “Well, the sauce is all over the place anyway…”
“The Espoir I know would have tried anyway.”
“Well maybe you don’t know Espoir well enough to make those kinds of statements.”
“Maybe Espoir doesn’t know herself well enough right now to make those kinds of statements.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mike popped a piece of chicken into his mouth and leaned back, “You know you really suck at keeping a poker face when you’re feeling off right? What happened, did you melt into a puddle or something? Salt content too high?”
“What are you even talking about, Michael?”
“Not to toot my own horn, but I’m a pretty intelligent guy. And I can tell when someone else is pretty intelligent too. So stop playing dumb and just talk to me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course I’ll understand I— What?”
“I don’t understand how I feel. What I feel.” The fake smile was gone, but no ice had formed. She kept looking at her food but put down her utensils.
“What’s up, Espoir?”
“I guess I miss someone? That’s basically how I feel. But they’re right there. I see them every day. Why do I miss them?”
Mike turned a piece of chicken over with his fork, “Have you felt this way very long about this person?”
“I want to say no. But I don’t remember when this feeling started. It kind of just snuck up on me. I’m just so used to controlling how I feel. This is just…”
“Unlike anything else you’ve ever experienced?”
“Basically.” Esp looked up, “Well?”
“When did I become your feelings guru?” He buried a piece of chicken in his rice.
“When you volunteered.”
“Naturally,” Mike stretched his arms, “First, relax. I’d say go tell them how you feel, and see if that makes you feel better. And sit them down and talk with them until you’re sick of talking with them or you both fall asleep, whichever comes first. Hopefully, that should make you feel right as rain.”
“Are you sure?”
“There’s no harm in trying. And you have my number if it doesn’t work out.”
“Thanks, Mike.”
He nodded and then began polishing off his lunch. Esp started eating with earnest, but didn’t finish before the bell rang.

“Have I really been in that deep of a funk?”
“So deep that a little birdy prodded me to do something about it.”
“Schopenhauer again, or are you just a druid or something?”
Mike shrugged.
“One last thing.”
“Yesss?”
“Does… Does Az like ‘Rika or something?”
Mike smiled, “Of course he does, but I think their friendship extends past anything romantic.” He gave her a wink. She couldn’t have been more obvious.
“Right. Thanks.” And she was off. Mike chuckled quietly to himself. He wondered if he should warn Az. Probably not.

“H-hey, Vu! Um. E-Espoir?”
“Wellington.”
Lex opened and closed her mouth twice before continuing, “What’s up?”
“I’m going to be late to class, will this take long?” Esp pushed her glasses up slightly, causing a slight glare.
“No, I just thought I’d check up on you, as you really weren’t yourself yesterday.”
“Here to gloat? My apologies, Wellington, I was in a mood that had me distracted. But I’ve made up my mind and shaken myself out of it. So next time I’ll be at the top of my game again.”
Lex pushed some hair behind her ear, “Um, well good.”
“You better be ready.” Esp turned and left.
Lex stood there in the hallway until the bell rang again.
What the hell. How did Esp get the better of her?
Lex vaguely suspected that this was Mike’s fault.

grenouille-kun: I made truffles once. They were sticky and...

Thu, 04 Apr 2013 10:18:40 -0400

grenouille-kun:

I made truffles once. They were sticky and misshapen and actually melted in my locker before I got them to the French class they were for but they did taste really really good.

Birthday Esp

Mon, 18 Mar 2013 22:10:00 -0400

“When’s your roommate’s birthday?”
Eri was lying on Az’s bed, reading manga on her Weave device and stuffing her face with snacks. It was that kind of afternoon for her, a laze around, feeling mopey kind of afternoon. She looked up at Az’s question confused.
“Isn’t it August 24th like it says on her papers?” Master hacker here should have known that from day one.
Az shook his head, “That’s what you’d assume, right? She said because of the circumstances of her adoption, it’s not her real birthday.”
Eri nodded as she considered this concept. She rolled onto her stomach and reached for another stick of Pocky. It annoyed Az to have people eating on his bed, but this was a special case. He reached over from his desk and grabbed a stick himself.
“And she isn’t telling you?” Eri manipulated the stick in her mouth, slowly nibbling it away.
“Of course not. How else could she play these games with me?”
Eri shrugged and finished off the chocolate covered biscuit before reaching for another one. She switched her Weave device into sleep mode.
“So, you have any idea otherwise?”
She shook her head, “Nope. If I had any idea, I’d have told you. Why the sudden curiosity?” August 24th was still a few weeks away.
“She told me that if I wanted to throw a party for her, I’d have to do it on her real birthday.”
So this is what Az wanted to talk about. Eri took the stick of Pocky out of her mouth, “Well then that could be any day.”
“Yeah, so I threatened to celebrate it every day, but then she demanded presents and cake every time.”
“Called your bluff pretty well.” Eri opened a package of koala shaped crackers with strawberry filling. She threw one at Az who caught it and popped it into his mouth.

He let it crunch for a few moments before saying, “Hey, do you want to talk about it?”
“What? Es’ birthday party?”
“You know what I mean.” Az tilted his head towards the small pile of empty wrappers and bags on the floor.
“I’ll just eat a little less at dinner. Honestly with my daily calorie intake this is like pocket change.” She ate just as much if not more than Az did despite the 20 centimeters difference between them. Of course Az sat in front of a computer all day and Eri was at the gym all the time, kickboxing classes this summer.
“‘Rika, if you don’t want to talk about it just say so.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to talk. It’s just, look, I’m fine. I’ve been stood up before. Some girls get nervous, especially when they aren’t sure.” Eri didn’t look at Az. She picked up her Weave device and acted busy.
He imagined her sitting at the cafe at a table for two with that small box of chocolates and maybe a drink, waiting. The first ten minutes would be hopeful. The next fifteen would be worried. After that, it was the worst kind of waiting until the confirmation email came and she could drag herself out of there.
The box of chocolates was the first thing that was emptied into her mouth after she had settled in. Eri had entered the room through Az’s window carrying a bag from the convenience store. She had immediately kicked off her shoes toward the door of the room. She then unbuttoned her waistcoat so it hung loose and had practically ripped her tie off her neck before undoing her nice dress shirt to the third button. She then proceeded to flop on Az’s bed and rummaged around the bag of sweets.
Eri was also probably wearing that lacy underwear set that Kei had forced her to buy considering how much she picked at her bra straps. Not that it would have been relevant on a first face to face meeting, the thought and mentality was what counted. Az really didn’t know what to say even if they were to talk about it. The only girl he dated he ended up in a relationship with.
Esp didn’t count as dating, yet.
“Did you like her?”
“I barely got to know her. We had just talked online and swapped pictures after a few weeks. I dunno. I guess she was cute.” The past tense indicated that the email had done more than just canceling the date.
Az reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. Times like these made him really wish he was better at comforting people.

The door to the room swung open, pushing aside one of Eri’s discarded shoes. Loch was back from his rendezvous with Kei. One look at Az’s bed told him enough.
“Oof, tough day, Erika?” He nudged an errant wrapper closer to the pile on the floor on his way to his desk.
“Yeah, it’s whatever.” She waved her hand loosely and then tipped the rest of the bag of koala crackers into her mouth.
Loch gave Az a look and then said, “Well, if you want to—”
Eri suddenly sat up. “So what are your thoughts on giving Es a surprise birthday party?” Her voice was muffled by the strawberry filled contents of her mouth.
Loch considered these words with a slight frown, “I think she’d be greatly perturbed by the idea, though she’d probably end up having fun.”
“That still doesn’t change the fact that we don’t know when it is. Long story, Johnny.” Az said, preempting the obvious question.
Eri finished chewing and swallowed, “Well, why not just have the party be on the 24th anyway?”
Az pointed at her with a smile, “The one day that she thinks we wouldn’t use because she’s already confirmed her birthday isn’t that day. I like how you think.”
“Are we really conspiring to surprise Espoir with a party? I can think of more foolish ways to die.” Loch pulled out his Weave device, “I’ll ask Sammie what she thinks.”

“So Es, any plans for tonight?”
Esp turned to see Eri leaning back on her chair dangerously. The kind of lean that would make mothers gasp. She looked quickly at the date. August 24th.
“I was thinking about staying in.”
“Well, wanna go out instead?”

Suddenly twenty different thoughts tripped over each other to get out the door so they could start racing.
“W-what?”
“No big deal, I just feel like eating something besides cafeteria food tonight.”
Esp did her best not to sigh in relief, not that she really had a reason to sigh in relief, “Sure, what do you have planned?”
“Mmm, dunno. What do you think?”
“I’m up for something spicy. We could go back to that burrito place.”
Eri blinked twice and furrowed her brow. Was this another game that Esp was playing? “Why not that Sichuan place out in Kowloon?” This was one of three places they had picked out beforehand.
“That’s pretty far for a night out.”
“Well, it’ll be my treat!”
“Hey, this isn’t for my birthday, is it?”
“Why, is today your birthday?” Eri winced, why didn’t she make it any more obvious?
“No.” At least Esp was quick about that, “I’m just saying, I’m not a very big fan of celebrating things like that.”
“Any reason why?”
“Bad memories mostly. I haven’t celebrated since I was like eleven.”
“Would it really bother you if people did celebrate it?”
Esp shrugged, “I don’t know.” Her voice was hoarse.
Eri took it as a sign to abandon the mission.

null_tag: But we already got a cake and everything!

The text was big on her display, but Esp wasn’t paying attention.
Eri shrank the text size and typed back:

Ign15: Az, I have a bad feeling about this.
null_tag: Relax, how can you get upset over cake?

“So… is it just us two?”
“Actually… I invited a bunch of people. They said they were free.”
“Oh.” Esp looked slightly surprised and perhaps a little disappointed.
“Should I not have?”
Esp shook her head and adjusted her glasses, “It’s all right. I just have this feeling you’re hiding things from me.”
“Sorry, I forgot. Should I go through the list of people coming or something?”
Esp shook her head, perhaps a little more reluctantly than she was willing to let on.
“Don’t worry. We’ll go on a date later, all right?” Eri gave Esp a nudge with her elbow.
“Right.”

The Sichuan restaurant was on the ground floor of a high rise. It was a cosy place, with a pretty famous mapo tofu and an infamous numbing hot sauce. Supposedly it could cause permanent nerve damage, but that was probably just rumor. When Eri and Esp had arrived, the rest of the party was already sitting at a large square table with drinks. Seven other smiles reflected by Esp’s own.
Az and Loch sat at the other end of the table, directly opposite Eri and Esp.
“I think she knows,” said Az to his menu.
“Well, she’s still smiling, it isn’t all bad.” Loch replied to his menu.
“She’s like a shark, if you see the smile, you’re in trouble.”
“Debatable, but she doesn’t yet know who planned all of this, it could have been any one of us.” He flipped his menu over with a flourish that made Az snigger.
“It’s not exactly hard to deduce who out of the seven of us care enough to arrange something like this.”
“True. Well, best of luck to you and Erika, I’m going to focus on enjoying my kung pao.” Loch flashed a cheerful smile at Az.
“When she comes in the night to murder me I’m going to squeal and tell her it was all your idea. Also you’re bringing out the cake.” The cake was indeed tucked away behind Loch.
“Sammie will protect me.”
“What’s that, dear?” Kei turned her head, “I heard my name.”
“Nothing, Sammie, you’re a peach.”
Az looked across at Esp. She was getting recommendations from Eri on one side and a girl he didn’t wasn’t familiar with, Helena she said her name was, on the other. Esp was still smiling. But it seemed glassy almost, the muscle on her neck were tense.

The meal passed without incident, the birthday girl was quiet throughout. Eri tried to keep the conversation headed in Esp’s direction, but she didn’t say much. The conversation was dominated by discussion of the day’s summer classes. There was a test in the optional Romance of the Three Kingdoms class, and as a curveball it had been proctored completely in Chinese. From out of their usual circle was Cheyenne and Helena. Cheyenne was of course the gymnastics captain, who Eri knew all too well, but Helena wasn’t very familiar to her. She seemed to know Mike and Kei though and had tried earnestly to talk with Esp, who barely responded. When the food arrived, Az and Eri challenged each other to a hot sauce arms race that was won by Kei.
Esp just kept smiling through all of it. She barely touched her noodles.

They brought the cake out after everyone had finished. Eri volunteered to take care of the check.
When they were about to start singing, Esp got up. “Tha—” Ice crackled in her voice, so she cleared her throat, “Thank you for coming tonight, for my sake. Now if you’ll excuse me, I should go.”
And she left.
For a second everyone was stunned.
Eri was the first one up, but then realized the waiter hadn’t returned with the check or her credit card. Her momentary hesitation meant that Az was the first out the door after Esp.
By the time Eri was out with everyone else, Az and Esp was nowhere to be seen. Loch received a hurried text from Az that said they were headed for the train station. They gathered up the cake and left without another word.
Az and Esp sat on a bench near the station. Az had one hand limply on the shoulder of Esp, who was sitting up straight and looking forward. Every so often her shoulders heaved and her face scrunched, but no tears came out.

In the 3rd floor common room that night, seven people sat around an uneaten cake. They all shared the feeling that they had done something wrong, but they didn’t know what.
“Did she end up saying anything to you?”
Az shook his head, “When I finally caught up to her she just stopped running and sat down, trying hard not to cry.”
Eri hugged her knees tighter, “I told you…” Not that it mattered.
“Do you want to go check up on her?” Az rubbed his neck and wished again that he could comfort people effectively.
“Yeah, sure.”

The room was dark. Esp was in bed, covered in her blanket, her back to the door.
“Es?”
No response.
Eri walked over to sit at the foot of Esp’s bed, “Es, talk to me about today?”
Esp still didn’t respond, instead she scooted closer to the wall, away from Eri. Eri used the extra space to lie down, her back to Esp’s back.
“Espoir?”
The girl unraveled herself so that the backs of their heads touched.
“I’m sorry, Es. We didn’t know…”
“Today isn’t my birthday.”
“Well, we knew that.”
“I actually don’t know when my birthday is. Today was just the day I was officially adopted.”
“Oh.”
“And later it became the last time I saw my mom.”
Eri turned around and hugged Esp the best she could.
“I’m sorry.”
“I should have said something, it’s not your fault.”
Eri shook her head, her face in Esp’s hair, “I’m still sorry.”
“…Thank you.”

After a while, Eri got up, “It’s not about the day though.”
“Hm?”
“I don’t think birthdays should be celebrated for the date. It’s more about celebrating the person. To celebrate that they’re here with us.”
Eri shuffled over to her desk, and opened a drawer. She took out an envelope and placed it on Esp’s desk. “I got you a present. Happy Birthday, Es.”
She left, locking the door behind her.
Espoir closed her eyes hard and tried to stop crying. She wasn’t even upset now, she was… Happy? Relieved? She was tired. She couldn’t understand the choking feeling in her heart.
Eri had gotten her a present.
A few moments later, Esp sat up, turned on her desk lamp and wiped her eyes. She opened the envelope.
Pictures.
Happy pictures of Eri and Esp, of Esp and Az, of Loch and Kei and Esp, of the whole group in different combinations, much like the pictures that dotted Eri’s side of the room.
Esp looked at her own wall, barren and pristine. She had actually told herself she preferred it that way.

She found her roll of tape from under her bed and started posting.

grenouille-kun: E and D I did this a while ago, but then I got...

Mon, 18 Mar 2013 20:27:00 -0400

grenouille-kun:

E and D

I did this a while ago, but then I got depressed and thought I couldn’t draw so I left it alone without finishing it.

Sigh. Just keep swimming.

I DIED.

Dreams of Kei

Sat, 16 Mar 2013 13:49:00 -0400

“Um Samantha?” Az waved his hand in front of Kei’s face. The girl stopped staring out of the window and snapped to attention.
“You okay?” They were doing homework in the common room. Kei hadn’t touched her problem set in ten minutes.
“Oh, it’s nothing.” Which meant that it was something, but she didn’t feel like talking about it. She picked up her Weave device again and reread an email before tucking it away.
Az furrowed his brow. To his limited knowledge, Kei talked about everything. At least to Eri. He looked around the common room. Where was Eri? What would Eri do? This was her best friend. He wasn’t good at this sort of thing…
A few desperate minutes passed before Az’s Weave device buzzed angrily and he looked at the time again. Right. Eri was waiting on his support. “Mm, well if you change your mind any, you could talk to me on chat? Or talk to Eri? Yeah I’ll tell Eri to talk with you.”
Kei nodded and smiled in bemusement as Az quickly shoved everything into his bag to run to his room.

“What’s the matter, Sammie?”
Kei refocused from that blank stare zone. She looked down at the peas and carrots she had been absent mindedly been sorting for the last five minutes. She then looked up at Esp who had an eyebrow raised in concern. Strange how much she could do with those eyebrows.
“Oh, it’s nothing. Just thinking about things.”
“What kind of things? Feel like sharing?” Esp was idly cutting her left over chicken into tiny pieces of equal size.
“It’s nothing.” Kei giggled a little and began eating in earnest.
Esp stopped moving her utensils. Kei tried not to notice that Esp’s eyes were trying to burn hole in her head. It was a while before Esp started cutting again.

The door to the bathroom opened. Kei turned to see Eri walking in with her towel and shower caddy.
“Hey Sammieee! Can I use your shower? All of the stalls are being used on my floor.” The showers were never that busy. Eri was just uncomfortable showering when other people were showering too. Kei never asked what Eri did after practice.
Kei waved the hand that wasn’t busy brushing teeth and turned to spit in the sink, “Sure thing ‘Rika.” Kei’s bathroom was technically shared. It was just shared with no one, so Eri could shower with the peace of mind that no one else was going to be here.

Kei stared as the mirror started fogging up. She wiped it down once and started flossing.

“You know, you really shouldn’t do that too hard. You’ll kill your gums.” Eri had at some point finished and was blow drying her hair with Kei’s hair dryer. Kei looked at the waxed string. It was pink. And her mouth tasted of iron.
Though only wrapped in a towel, Eri gave Kei a little hip bump. “What’s bothering you, girl?”
“It’s nothing.” Rehearsal made it more convincing.
“You got Az and Esp worried enough to prod me to do something. That’s not nothing. Sorry for being busy all of today.”
Kei waved this apology away and sighed, “It’s not really that big of a deal. It doesn’t mean anything. It really shouldn’t bother me that much.”
“But it does, which means it is a big deal, even if you don’t think it should be.”
The taller girl looked over at her blue haired friend, who was checking her armpits and pretending not to notice Kei’s shifting glance. Despite all of that muscle, Eri always looked somewhat fragile to Kei, especially like this. The scars that peeked from underneath the towel and acted as soft highlights on her arms and legs didn’t make her look tough, only more vulnerable.
“Okay.” Kei discarded her floss and turned to face Eri, “You know how I’m going home this weekend?”
“Yeah? What’s going to happen?”
“I think I’m meeting my first suitor.”
Eri’s curious expression dropped into one of dread, “Oh.”
“I’m not positive, but I think that was what my mom hinted at.”
Then Eri said the words that Kei had been trying to avoid this whole time.
“Did you tell Johnny?”
It had been one of those busy days where Kei didn’t see Loch until after curfew.
“…Not yet.”

Here she was at 24. Praised highly, Kei rose through the ranks quickly in Keiretsu Corp through her hard work and wide success. Definitely her father’s daughter, it was said, whoever got to marry such a woman was lucky indeed.
And every time she was so praised, she saw the collar around her neck shrink tighter and tighter until she could hardly breathe.
She hurriedly pressed commands into her Weave device, checking for updates into the projects she was supervising. Something to get her out of this, some kind of excuse. She hated meeting suitors. She hated acting cold and indifferent and constantly bored. She hated her little game of picking out all of the suitor’s faults to report to her mother. She didn’t blame them, but couldn’t help hating them as well. She hated her parents. She hated herself. She hated the collar and chain around her neck. She hated the inevitable future that came rushing towards her. It was a foregone conclusion that she would work in her father’s company. It was a foregone conclusion that she would be married off to some affluent rich guy. The former wasn’t so bad. It was the latter. Though they had ended it, though for 1578 days her heart had ached quietly in her chest, though they had now spent less time together than they had apart, it was the latter that was killing her.

The door slid open, “Samantha dear, it’s time.” Her mother, kindly and sweet and expectant, smiled at her from the doorway.
Kei was dressed in a houmongi that cost more than anything else she had ever worn. Her hair was ornately decorated and pinned with a family heirloom. A professional make-up artist had been around to accent her face and neck and nape. She put her Weave device down. It was too late now.
“Yes, mother.” Kei’s mother led her out of the room by the chain. It was with those gentle hands that the collar was first placed around Kei’s neck. Her father had merely locked it.
“Hopefully this one will finally suit your tastes.”
“Yes, mother.”
“I respect a refined taste in men, but don’t you think it’s been long enough?”
“Perhaps, mother.”
“Well then, let’s hope this will go well.” It was with a loving smile and warm, gentle hands that Kei would be strangled to death.
Kei opened the door to the guest room and slid it closed before moving across the room to sit down in her best seiza by the table. They would talk over tea. Two generations ago, she would have had to perform a tea ceremony, and he would be judging her. She couldn’t say that the times hadn’t changed.
She was staring at the table wishing she still had her Weave device as the door slid open again. She didn’t look up, she wasn’t ready.
“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”
That voice.
Kei jerked her head up. It had so many years yet it was familiar. But she had never heard it in perfect Japanese—

Kei opened her eyes. She was still 17. She sat up in her bed. Still at St. Jerome’s. Those things were still seven or eight years down the road. She wiped at her eyes and smiled. What a relief. Of course it was a dream. A silly little dream about something that was a long way off that ended in an impossibility. Who was it at the end? Who was the suitor? The voice seemed so…
She turned to look at the boy lying next to her, blissfully unaware. The issue had been pushed into the back of her mind when she was reunited with Loch, only to rise back up in her sleep like a bad dream. Maybe not completely a bad dream. That mysterious yet familiar voice…
Kei snuggled back down into bed facing Loch. Perhaps it wasn’t such a mystery after all. She could hope after all. His eyelids fluttered and his nose twitched as Kei stroked his cheek.
“Something up, Sammie?” He said, sleepily, reaching across the bed to hold Kei closer.
“No, nothing, it was just a dream.”
Just a silly dream. She smiled again.
Loch woke up completely when Kei started to cry in earnest.

Academy Valentines

Tue, 19 Feb 2013 12:33:00 -0500

The beginning of February was a flutter of activity. End-semester evaluation examinations (not really E-SEE at all) followed by Lunar New Year’s would have been enough for the shortest month of the year, but it was followed quickly with well…
“Time for Valentine’s Day!”

Kei barged into an empty dorm room, holding aloft several shopping bags full of ingredients. With no one to receive her surprise, she deflated a bit. Eri and Esp were supposed to be here. This was their room and she had told them beforehand that they would be doing exciting things. Kei puffed her cheeks and turned to leave, nearly crashing into Esp.
“Where’ve you been?”
“Restroom? Am I not allowed?”
Kei waved her hands as best she could while holding bags, “No, no, I saw your room was empty and I was slightly disappointed.” A nervous giggle. Kei still felt uncomfortable whenever she had to interact with Esp alone. She may have intimidated people once they learned who her father was, but Kei did whatever she could to alleviate any perceived tension. Esp did nothing of the sort and even seemed to emanate an aura of ice when she wasn’t trying to suppress it.
Esp shrugged and blinked twice, defrosting her eyes. “Oh, right we’re going to be making chocolate, right?”
“H-how did you know?” She hadn’t told anyone. She had even lied to Loch about why she was going out and she never lied to Loch.
Esp raised an eyebrow at Kei’s flabbergasted look, “Well ‘Rika said that was probably what was going on, you know you announced the same surprise last year, right?”
“But it could have been anything else! What if I said we’d be making teddy bears instead?”
“Well, the bags from the specialty sweet shop kind of seal the deal.”
Kei looked down at her bags then looked back up at Esp again, utterly defeated.
“Fine. So where is ‘Rika anyway?”
“Probably in the gym, I tell her that cramming doesn’t work for tests or meets, but she doesn’t listen.”
Kei snapped her fingers, right. Eri did say she had a meet this weekend so she didn’t know if she had time to spare. Kei had optimistically assumed that Eri would be able to make it.
“But it’s going to be Valentine’s Day in two days!”
And Esp was faced with the crushing task of letting Kei down.

The school did not officially celebrate Valentine’s Day. St. Jerome’s actually had an official policy against student relationships that was especially strict due to coeducational housing. Whenever student government proposed an amendment to make the rules more lenient, the school counter-offered by suggesting that the dorms be gender segregated entirely, instead of separated on certain floors and mixed on others as they were currently. The amendment would be dropped immediately after.
In practice, St. Jerome’s turned a blind eye to relationships as long as the couple remained inconspicuous. Thus many couples thrived quietly behind closed doors and open windows, empty classrooms and packed events. And leniency was being practiced elsewhere; individuals in the student body were allowed to host Valentine’s Day themed events to a certain degree. For example, the winter ball that happened around this time of the year was officially an exercise in preparing students with proper table manners and behaviors befitting a formal environment followed by a group lesson in ballroom dancing. Unofficially afterwards there was unstructured time and a DJ was invited. Certain clubs also had bake sales to raise funds around this time. Heart shaped chocolates and pink frosted brownies aside, it seemed rather normal. And in a very rare and strange turn of events, prefects were given the option to replace their regular ties for pink and white striped ones for a certain week in February. No decorations were put up, and certainly there was no open exchange of Valentine’s goods, but everyone knew that the underbelly of the student body was all candies and cupids this time of the year.
“But you’ll make chocolate with me, right? I signed out the downstairs kitchen for this time slot and everything.”
“Samantha, please. Don’t make that face at me.” Esp felt like she was in the process of stepping on a puppy with three legs. “I did do all of my homework already since you said this could take the whole evening, so I’ll come with.”
“So you have someone that you’d want to make chocolates for, huh?”
Esp blinked twice in a measured manner. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Kei merely giggled in response. Now this was interesting.
“Soooo, do you want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?” Kei swore Esp’s glasses nearly frosted over. Or was that steam? Whatever it was, Esp’s poker face didn’t falter.
“Okay, if you don’t want to talk about it now we can do it over chocolate making, it’s fine.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” But Kei just hummed away merrily, walking towards the elevator. Esp scratched her head, not sure what to do. She followed after Kei. “There’s really nothing to talk about.”
The elevator went ding.

“So while we’re waiting for the truffles to cool to room temperature, we can start on the peanut butter cups or the coconut bars.” Two bowls of ganache rested covered in plastic wrap, a frantic hour of work.
Esp wiped her forehead with the back of her arm. The sleeves of her dress shirt were rolled up and she was wearing an apron with “BAKE IT EASY” written on it. If she knew it was going to be this much work, she would have changed into something less stuffy. Kei went back to humming to herself. She had a similar apron (it said “COOK THE KISS”) on over her tee-shirt.
“Or if you want a breather after all of that intense chocolate action, we can talk about who you want to give these to.” Kei smiled and sincerely as she could, given the circumstances. She tried her best to not tease people, but Esp was usually so nonplussed.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Now, Espoir, come on. You know about me and Jonathan…”
“No, I’m not hiding anything from you. I’ve just, never liked anyone.” Esp waved her arms vaguely, “Never as more than a friend.”
Kei tilted her head curiously, “No one? Meaning you wouldn’t give this chocolate to anyone?”
“I mean, if I have to, I’d give them to a bunch of people.”
“Okay, but what if you have to give all of it to one person?”
“All of it?”
“Every single last piece of your share.”
“Samantha, we’re making an absurd amount of chocolate.”
“Well, I did plan for ‘Rika to be here too, but I guess we’ll have to split it differently. The rest goes towards the student council bake sale. …Oops.” Kei raised a hand to her face in apology, “Sorry for roping you into student council business without saying anything.”
Esp waved the apology away, “It’s fine. I don’t mind it, it’s kind of fun. It’s like chemistry, only more hectic.”
“You don’t get to cook much, do you?” Kei winked, “It’s only like this when I’m juggling three truffle recipes at once. Usually it’s a lot calmer.”
“Yeah my dad had an aide who would cook all of our meals. I would watch, but I was never allowed to participate.”
Kei clapped her hands, “Wait a second, let’s not get sidetracked. What’s this about you not liking anyone? Out of the guys, who would you give it to?”
Esp shrugged, “I don’t know, Az?”
“Hmm. It looked like you had to think for that.”
“Well, he is the guy I’m closest to that isn’t Mike or Jonathan. Clearly Jonathan is off limits, and Mike already has a growing stack of chocolate sitting around on his desk despite his lack of effort. I just don’t understand him sometimes.”
“Yeah neither do I.” Kei wiped some chocolate off her hands, “So Az by process of elimination, huh? That’s all? Don’t you at least enjoy exchanging banter with him?”
“Sure it’s fun and he’s definitely sweet, but I’m not struck by him or anything, you know?”
“He’s going to be so disappointed if he hears.”
“So let’s keep this just between you and me.” Esp sorted through the remaining bags and pulled out the shredded coconut, “So what do we do with this for the coconut bars?”
“Well, that’s supposed to go overnight so we can really save those for later and work on the peanut butter cups first.”

After a few minutes of mixing and Kei checking her phone for the recipe again, Esp spoke up, “I guess I could grow to like him, romantically.”
“Who, Az? But that won’t do.”
“Well, I don’t know then. Because I’ve never had a crush on anyone or really fallen in love before. And honestly, I’m not sure how it works. I know guys have liked me before and I’ve been on dates, but I’ve never felt the same back. But I’ve been able to pretend at least, holding hands and giggling and having my heart rate go up while the boy awkwardly tries to pamper me and makes a fool out of himself. And it’s eventually the same, right?”
“That’s not the same at all.”
“Alright, fine, so what’s it like for you?”
Kei went red, “F-for me?”
“Yeah, so what’s loving Jonathan like under the hood?” Esp smiled and raised her eyebrows suggestively.
“W-well we haven’t done anything like that yet.” Kei got brighter red.
“Of course not, it would be terrible if he got caught sneaking out of your room in the morning.”
“Of course.”
“And that’s why there’s someone sneaking down the stairs at around five in the morning and Jonathan’s been all yawns in class even when he doesn’t have night duty.”
She was practically incandescent, “H-how did you find out?! We aren’t no really—”
“No, I guessed. Night duty prefects quit at around four thirty and kids start waking up at around six. Prefects are also expected to patrol, meaning when he’s on night duty, he’s not expected to be at the desk all the time anyway.” Esp crossed her arms, “And I really meant, what are your feelings like? Any other implications are your own.”
“Oooooh, Espoir, you’re so mean!” Kei balled her fists and stamped her foot. It would have been more fitting for a girl ten years her junior. Esp was about to apologize when Kei got a hold of herself and cleared her throat.
“So you want to know what love is like.” She smoothed down her apron while thinking. “It’s all of those physical things that you hear about, pangs in your chest, an elevated heart rate, a shortness of breath, dilated pupils, but that’s what you notice about yourself. Reactions and not actions.” Kei started dabbing chocolate and scoops of peanut butter into wrappers. “I guess you start to spend more time with them, and then you realize that you always enjoy their company, moreover that you’re always excited to be with them again. After that, well, it’s the small things first.”
“The small things?”
“The way his hair smells, the warmth of his hands, the way he adjusts his tie and pin before he leaves his room, his grape tomato pyramids at lunch… It’s small things that I can experience about him over and over again without tire or loss of interest. And those small things make me like him more than I think is possible but it just keeps growing. Some days I wake up and I wonder if I’m even fully me anymore and not some weird amalgamation of the two of us. And it’s not like he completes me or anything. It’s more like he complements me and extends my being in a very Jonathan Lochmann kind of way. And I care about him. The big things and the small things and whatever stories he care to tell about his day no matter how inane. Not that he’s the only thing that matters, but he matters most to me. I feel almost entangled with him, like I’d know his spin where ever he was.” Kei looked down at the two sad looking peanut butter cups she made and her rapidly cooling chocolate. “Aargh, I was so distracted! Also we have a Physics p-set due on Thursday, don’t we.” Kei was still half blushing, and it seemed to grow as she was describing her feelings.
“Yeah, I did it, it’s not bad.” Esp looked at her own reflection from the back of a metal spoon and tried to imagine herself blushing while thinking of some special someone. “I’ll tell you.”
“Hm?”
“If I ever feel like how you described.” That was basically as much as she could promise.
“Oh, you might not even realize it when it happens, these are just things that you notice after a while. Anyway, we’ve got a long ways to go!”

Esp barged into her room and immediately collapsed onto her bed. Five straight hours of making chocolate. Ridiculous.
Eri hadn’t returned and Esp would probably go down to the gym to make sure she didn’t skip dinner soon. And if she did, well…
Esp looked at the bag of chocolate in her hand, mostly truffles of different varieties with a bonbon and demented peanut butter cup mixed in. It was a sizeable lot of sweets already, and half of the chocolate they made was still in the fridge hardening overnight. It was enough to ruin at least one dinner and send a lactose intolerant person scampering to the bathroom. She vaguely wondered how Eri dealt with the chocolate she got from her teammates and if she would really eat enough chocolates to actually ruin her dinner, considering how much Eri tucked away every night. Esp turned the bag in her hands. Suddenly it was very small.
Esp got up with some effort and tried to stretch away the knots in her back. Eri would probably help her work them over if she didn’t fall asleep on the spot. Esp set the chocolate on Eri’s desk for now. No point in having all the chocolate melt in her hands as she walked.
She tried to think about small things about Az, but he was a blur, his details smudged in her mind. She would probably have to start paying attention. Eri on the other hand, she could picture crisply. There was that single dimple on her right cheek when she smiled, the squishy yet rough calluses on her hands, her lack of personal space around those she cared about… It was funny that Esp got a jolt of happiness whenever she saw Eri smiling but wanted nothing more than to wipe Az’s grin off his face when he was smiling. Clearly one was contagious and the other was far too smug.
Soon enough, she was outside the gymnasium, where the sounds of a solitary pair of palms slapping bars could still be heard. She waited until she heard the dismount and the coach’s voice before she stepped inside. She found herself looking forward to the smile that Eri always seemed to have prepared for her, wide and happy. Could she someday feel the same about Az? His smiles had been getting softer and less grating.
“Hey Es! Did I just practice through dinner again? The coach was grumbling about something about food!”
Or perhaps she was going about this the wrong way completely.

One

Tue, 29 Jan 2013 11:34:52 -0500

It didn’t seem right.
The boy at his computer frowned. If you were some kind of elite gymnast that could leap from the nearby fire escape onto the narrow ledge of the window into this room, you would be struck by how typical this cluttered scene looked. Or perhaps you wouldn’t be struck, because it was extremely typical.
The boy sitting amongst papers and books and empty soda cans looked extremely average, especially in Hong Kong. He was still in his school uniform, white collared shirt, tie draped, dark blue pants, because he was too lazy to change into something more comfortable. With brown nearing black hair and similarly dark eyes contrasting pale skin, his half American heritage was immediately noticeable, but it didn’t make him look unique or exotic. Other details of his face, the shape of his eyes, the height of his cheekbones, the flare of his nose, the set of his jaw and the point of his chin, all added to his foreign look, but it strangely made him look more generic. A composite of the every-guy in Hong Kong. His hair wasn’t long enough to be in his eyes, nor was it long enough in the back to be a mullet or ponytail. At best it was unruly. At worst it was shaggy and his sideburns were vicious. His eyes were round and slightly larger than most, but he was usually squinting at a monitor anyway. Uninterestingly exotic, he had the kind of features you’d see in an automatically generated face in some advertisement or public service announcement, smiling and enthusiastic. Except he wasn’t smiling. He was frowning, and the bags under his eyes betrayed a significant lack of sleep. But you couldn’t identify him simply by the bags under his eyes. They would probably go away after a few good nights of sleep and then you would really be stuck. This was exactly what he wanted though, he didn’t want to break the mold, he wanted to be exactly like the mold. He wanted his police sketch to be no more than the default Asian/Caucasian mix features. He didn’t want attention, because he was kind of a hacker. And if he got attention anyway, he wanted it to be as diffused and untargeted as possible. Not that he’d get the attention, he was a small fish in a big ocean after all. This boy was Az, a student at the somewhat prestigious St. Jerome Academy and his circumstances were curious even if his looks were unordinarily typical. And right now he was perturbed.
Az took a sip of his soda and frowned deeper. Something was off. He stared at a certain window opened up on his monitor as his computer clicked busily away. It was the fourth time he was doing a scan on the client, and he still didn’t like it. It wasn’t because there was something wrong, nothing was wrong. Just off.
His computer wound down back to idle as the program finished crunching numbers. It first displayed a list of a few thousand entries in reverse chronological order then loaded up a map of Hong Kong and highlighted the locations corresponding to each entry before connecting everything chronologically. Az clicked on the map, cycling through the last two weeks of pathed data points, the exact same two weeks of pathed data points from the previous three times he had done this scan. Nothing, no warnings, no alarms. The client didn’t go anywhere near suspicious territory, suspicious persons, or the police. It meant that he was clean, spotlessly clean. And that was what Az didn’t like. The client was too clean.

“Can’t I just take the job already?” Erika’s frustration was evident in Az’s tinny earpiece. He didn’t blame her, she’d been waiting close to a half hour in the cold for his Weave trawling background check to finish, a process he had claimed took no more than five to ten minutes depending, and she was not a very patient person to begin with. “Come on Az, you’re killing me here.”
Erika was sitting on a bench opposite of a small Weave cafe, right outside Hong Kong Station. She had left her room expecting a typical balmy fifteen Celsius Hong Kong winter and got something eight degrees colder. She wore her arrow hoodie over a tee shirt and sweatpants, not being lazy enough to ruin her school uniform. Of course the uniform included a jacket that she wished she had on. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so cold If she was actively moving around or flitting in and out of buildings and other heated areas like she expected to be, but instead she was sitting on a metal bench, trying to keep a low profile, out in the open. The thick, but not thick enough, material of her clothing hid her small but powerful frame. With her hood up in a futile attempt to retain additional body heat, it was somewhat difficult to discern that her dark hair was cropped aggressively short and was usually styled in attention grabbing ways. Especially since it was currently squashed flat underneath a tightly drawn hood. A few strands of blue highlighted hair still peeked out, teasing at her eccentricities.
Speaking of eccentricities, her name was pronounced with a long “I” sound and an emphasis on the last syllable instead of the first, despite what Az and the spelling would have you believe. Her bright blue eyes were fairly atypical for a Chinese girl, and this was intentional. Sometimes her eyes were violet or orange colored instead. She owned a fairly extensive collection of colored corrective contacts. Glasses were no good for running and jumping around, and regular contacts were deemed too ordinary for her tastes. When she did wear her old, utilitarian, thick framed glasses, at night or early in the morning, her eyes were a deep brown. Lower on her face, the bridge of her nose retained a noticeable groove from some past accident and the cartilage was bent out of shape, making her nose look slightly flattened. Finally, a lack of baby fat on her face and a strong jaw gave her a masculine appearance. In fact, sitting there with her hood up and shivering in the cold, she was easily mistaken for some impatient delinquent boy, waiting for something or other. Despite trying to not attract attention, she still got a few curious and suspicious looks, and she was quite sure that that one police car had driven past her twice.
Az sighed, “Take it easy, Eri. You’re fine. If anything was going to happen, it would have happened already.” It was an open job, any other Courier could have just waltzed in and taken it, but if they were going to, they would have done it about twenty minutes ago, if not earlier. That also was off. This should have been open season. They should have had to fight for this job.
“I know, that’s why I’m so nervous. What if they’re just waiting for me to make a move?” Az grimaced; this wasn’t ridiculous paranoia on Erika’s part. She really was a sitting duck out there, if it traveled down the Weavevine that she was gunning for this job and someone was trying to get the jump on her, they were just given thirty minutes to set up. “Also you’re not shivering your butt off in this weather Mr. Always-Indoors.”
With a sigh, Az started to relent. “I don’t know Eri, it reads fine on the screen, but I can’t shake the feeling that something’s up.” These jobs were supposed to be easy in, easy out, simple. If it was obviously risky, Az and Erika didn’t take it, and Erika was usually the first one to sniff out anything fishy. They deferred to her gut whenever it was a tossup, and her gut had never been wrong so far. And right now her gut said it was safe, even if Az’s was uneasy. And his gut was generally less sensitive. Off.

They had streamlined this process into a science, or at least an algorithm. After the background check, she got the attention of the client, usually a guy in a suit, he pulled out a chip or an SD card or a memory stick, it was placed into the Bag, more of a box than a bag really, the Bag was locked, and she on her way. But those were repeat clients or jobs that had referral ID numbers that Lucky Dan had checked up on and approved. This one was not only a new client without any referral number, but the order was also made with a temporary Weave account and half of it was paid up front, which was strange. Sure, the Weave account had been made two weeks prior and all the collected statistics pointed towards signs of a clueless tourist who couldn’t find his way around Hong Kong so it was most likely safe. The client had actually circled around a specific Weave cafe several times after querying its location twice. And Az had told Erika that there had been two weeks of this serial incompetence, very typical and generally hard to fake.
Erika could also understand Az’s paranoia, mostly. It was all in the name of keeping her safe. And she still hadn’t thought up an explanation to how a tourist got in contact with the Courier service if he had never made any online queries about secure delivery of goods or about Hong Kong’s Courier service and never used privacy mode. It was like cracking a safe blind without any errors.
But the client was there. The tourist that owned the temporary Weave account that placed the order was sitting in a Weave cafe. He was using a public Weave hub and his last three data points had all been in that location. He had entered, bought something, and logged into a touchscreen hub next to the door, despite the fact that he could access the Weave on his phone. Erika watched the man tap slowly and methodically at the touchscreen through the window. He was wearing a large sweater and khaki pants and had a large knock off brand bag on his back, the sort you’d bring hiking or that you’d buy for a vacation and leave half empty. He was probably from the Mainland and was balding, overweight, mustached and too old to keep up with this newfangled Weave business. But these things only added to Az’s feelings of off-ness, not only was the guy a complete tourist, he was technologically inept. What could he possibly have to send and to whom?

Erika clicked her tongue in disapproval and stood up, “Oh come on. Did this scan bring up anything different?”
“No, Eri, it didn’t.” Exactly the same as the previous three actually. No new information. Not that he was really expecting it to be different, Az was just hoping that maybe he’d catch something that had been staring him the face.
“Then let’s go! Good job confirming what Dan had already confirmed an hour ago.” Lucky Dan, who Erika and Az by extension worked for, did this for all of his delivery people. A small ounce of prevention on top of the protection they all got. Az liked to think the protection was established simply because it was a basic rule of hospitality that messengers were left unharmed, but it was more likely to be Triad based protection. If they didn’t explicitly have Mob protection, it could be implied.
“Come on, Az, this was the only open job available today. We can’t just back out of it.”
“Actually, we can. You can. Just don’t pick up. Walk away.” Lucky Dan didn’t need the Courier service. He was making plenty with the regular lower security delivery service he ran. The 80-20 cut from Erika was just an added bonus, and there was probably some subtle kickback from the advertising she inadvertently did by picking up jobs efficiently and effectively.
“But then what was the point of coming all the way out here? I just wasted an hour and a half I could have been using to finish that chemistry p-set!”
“Wasn’t the point of coming out here because you wanted to avoid the chemistry p-set? To put it off and do something else first?” Az’s problem set also lay unfinished before him. He had called Erika to see if she wanted to work on it together, but by that time Erika had already left campus and was trying to set up a temporary account hijack by herself.
“Well, yeah.”
“What, do you suddenly have a burning desire to do it? Log onto a Weave hub and we can get it done together.” Az swore he could hear her roll her eyes.
“Ugh, Az, you know what I mean. It’s right there!”
“Your chemistry grade could really use the help.”
“Thanks Dad, I’ll keep—” She quickly corrected herself, “I mean, sorry.”
“What?” It took him a moment. “Oh. Don’t worry about it, Eri, it’s whatever.”
She continued after a slight pause, “Anyway, I’m aware it’s suspicious. I’m ready for trouble. If anyone in a ten foot radius so much as breathes the wrong way, I’ll bail so hard you’d think I was a Grammaton Cleric.”
Az sighed, “I don’t even know what that means, Eri. But fine. Go ahead.” There really was no point in stopping her, not that he could do anything really to stop her. He would have found something in the scan if there was anything to find.
Honestly, for the same reasons Az found the tourist fishy, he also found the tourist safe. Unless he was a really good actor deep undercover, it was unlikely that he was some kind of set up or threat. Two weeks in character just to catch a high school girl in the act of doing questionably legal activity? Ridiculous. Couriers didn’t do much different from other sorts of privatized messengers. They were just further off the grid and more expensive, for when you wanted absolutely no possible links in between you and your contact. Even if a link was discovered, it would lead interested parties to a shut down temporary Weave account, its data and movements probably erased and definitely irrelevant. Not that they could pursue an arrest or investigation from the potential account hijack, at least under current laws. A complaint had to be registered by the account owner before any investigation could be initiated, and tourists weren’t going to complain about someone accessing their Weave account unbeknownst to them hours before it was automatically shut down, mostly because they would never find out. The proper authorities also had no reason to contact them, as the account was never used in a way that would trigger even an alert. A few complementary subway swipes and ferry tokens left on the account used, some online chatter with strangers, and two or three unusual location pings registered weren’t monetarily significant enough or malicious enough to even warrant an automatic email. It was a victimless gray area.
Erika and Az also avoided shady jobs. Erika only met clients in parks and cafes and other public areas in full view of many curious eyes. Even if she was cloaked on the Weave, the people around her would react to a scream or struggle. Not that she’d ever let it get to that point, evading and running made for a much more effective plan. Lucky Dan’s was also only listed as a Digital Information Only Courier service for those who knew where to look. No papers, no physical goods, mass produced consumer level digital storage devices only, nothing larger than a hard disk. Her Bag was only big enough for such at any rate. It meant that its protection and security features took up more space than there was storage space, but in its own way it kept Erika safe. Not only did it keep her light and balanced, it was a physical barrier against big trouble. If she was stopped, she wouldn’t have anything incriminating on her. Current laws dictated that digital storage devices could only be accessed by authorities with a specific search warrant, if the Bag was open in the first place. It could only be unlocked through a secure unlock code from Lucky Dan, and trying to crack it open would inevitably break whatever was inside. They also took jobs from law enforcement, or at least what Erika assumed was law enforcement, even when trying to be undercover or inconspicuous, upon interaction they still acted like cops. Most of them worried about Erika’s wellbeing, and were only okay with letting her deliver for them because she convinced them that she was of age and definitely not still in high school.
And in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t that big of a deal. Sure, some money was made and information exchanged hands, but Erika wasn’t even that important in the city, there were fifty or so other Couriers in Hong Kong alone, and there were certainly bigger fish to fry. Anyone that Erika would catch the attention of definitely would go after a few bigger names first. Lucky Dan’s was just another blip in the map. Perhaps this protected her best, she just wasn’t important enough, she didn’t register in enough radars. Her deliveries, though perhaps somewhat attention grabbing for their speed, were still too infrequent and haphazard to really make a name for her despite speculation from Courier Watchers. And this was just fine for Erika. It wasn’t about fame or fortune; it was about running across the city and having fun. Perhaps Az had different ideas, but he was satisfied by the mental exercise supporting Erika provided and never really complained about it.

“Okay, here goes.”
Erika double checked that her Bag was secure around her torso and her earpiece was snug in her ear. She walked calmly across the street and opened the cafe door, careful not to make a beeline for the client. She looked at the menu and ordered a quick drink, chai and lemonade fusion, and obtained an access key for one of the public hubs. Taking the hub next to the client, she waited for a reaction. The client didn’t even notice her, his eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. Erika retrieved her drink and came back before he had moved even a finger, still clearly entranced by whatever he saw on the touchscreen.
Erika cleared her throat, “Excuse me, sir. Are you expecting to make a delivery?”
The man looked at her in a confused manner. “Sorry, no English.” He continued in Chinese, “Do you speak Mandarin?”
She grit her teeth. No English and asking for Mandarin probably meant no Cantonese, great. Erika hated speaking in Mandarin to native speakers. She was sure they were silently judging her and grading her speaking ability. It didn’t matter if she was supposed to be fluent in Mandarin by now and that she used it on a daily basis in school, she always ridiculously nervous in these situations. If only the tourist spoke Cantonese, she would be so much more comfortable in Canto if he didn’t speak English. Most of the businessmen that she talked to used Canto. If Az wasn’t so horrible at it, she’d make him converse in Canto all the time.
Erika sighed and replied in Mandarin, “You have, a delivery?” She spoke in a halting lilt that all of her Mandarin teachers had complained about but couldn’t fix
“Breathe Eri, breathe,” The voice in her ear said. She cursed at Az in her head. He didn’t have to deal with this sort of thing. He should be forced to talk to strangers in Cantonese or Mandarin. See how he’d fare.
The client pointed at himself, in somewhat disbelief, “Me? No, I’m not expecting anything. Sorry.” He then quickly turned back to his careful touchscreen deliberations.
“Eh?” Az voiced his disbelief at exactly the same time Erika did. Az’s panicked typing clattered in her ear.
“Uhh, do you, have something, need sending?” The words spilled out of her mouth in a haphazard manner, she made meaningless gestures with her hands that could only serve to confuse.
After a moment of figuring out what Erika was saying, the man’s eyes lit up, “Oh, you’re that person. I expected someone taller.” He handed her an orange plastic and metal tab with 238 printed on it. When Erika gave him a look, he explained, “This is that locker key you dropped right? Your friend told me it was quite important to you, but he was busy so he even paid me to wait here and deliver it. Very generous fellow. This is a convenient place too, right next to the station.” The clattering in her right ear stopped.
“Oh, you’re leaving, for going home, soon? It’s, good luck, that I caught you.” She clamped down on her jaw to prevent it from continuing to wander.
The “client” laughed hesitantly, “Uh, yes, in three hours. I was getting worried because I thought you’d never show up.” He raised an eyebrow, “Are you going to take this key or?”
She accepted the orange plastic and metal tab and awkwardly shook the man’s hand before returning the access key and leaving the cafe with her drink.

Outside, she flipped out slightly.
“What the hell was that about?”
“That wasn’t so bad. You were almost intelligible.”
“Oh shut up. I’d like to see you do better. Anyway, am I supposed to deliver this key or something? I thought we didn’t do physical goods.”
“I think we’re supposed to use it. The man was probably a proxy, our real client doesn’t even want /us/ seeing his face. He’d obviously not trust his proxy to handle his goods either. Whoever our real client is, he’s really paranoid,” he thought for a second and added, “Or she, can’t rule that out.”
Az rubbed his hands together conspiratorially, this was exciting. Though he’d heard stories of people using the courier service this way, it was still the first time they’d actually encountered one.
“So I’m supposed find this locker and then go to where again? How much time do I have left?”
“The clock just started, don’t worry, over eighty minutes until default. Plenty of time. Alright, considering you have a key for a locker, we’re probably looking at an older locker depot without Weave support. What’s the number on it?” Did anyone really care enough to put locker depot locations in Hong Kong on the Internet?
“Two thirty eight.”
“That high? It must be a fairly large locker depot then…” Apparently someone cared. “Okay, so it looks like Hong Kong Station keeps its numbering between locker depots, and only the first two floors have Weave capable lockers. The rest haven’t been replaced yet and still use those keys. So your locker should be on level L2 by customer service.”
“Roger that.” Erika chugged the rest of her drink, tossed the cup at the nearest garbage bin, did a little stretching, made sure her hood was secure on her head, and dashed off.
“So what’s our itinerary after the locker?” Hong Kong Station was little more than a block away, a short run for Erika.
“Well, once you have the contents, if it’s acceptable, use the interchange to Central. Ride the Tsuen Wan and transfer to the Kwun Tong Line, then ride that until you hit Wong Tei Sin.” Az pronounced each line and station name carefully. He didn’t want to give Erika the satisfaction of correcting him.
“You mean Wong Tai Sin station?” Erika said with slight relish, “I’m headed for Morse Park then?” It was a common drop off point for this sort of work. Plenty of people around, kind of anonymous, but still easy enough to find someone you’re looking for.
“Yeah, the swimming pool.”
“It’ll be pretty crowded this time of the day, will I be able to find this guy okay?”
“Actually the swimming pool is closed early today for maintenance or cleaning or something. Hm.” The receiving party loaded up on his screen now that the job had been officially accepted. It was also a temporary account. It figured really. “It looks like you’ll be looking for another tourist. So basically someone that’s hanging around the swimming pool who isn’t obviously a janitor on break.”
“Okay, seems easy enough.”

After a few minutes of distant chatter and a lot of light measured breathing, Erika spoke up again, “Found the locker. Man, I know some people like their privacy, but this is getting ridiculous— oh shit.”
“What is it? What happened?” Az felt sudden apprehension. Was this a set up? Did Erika just land in trouble? His mind raced, was there any indication that this was all just a set up? He poured over the background check again. There wasn’t anything…
“It’s a memory stick with the United States Seal on it, Az. The eagle and shield and stars and everything. It’s got government property written all over it.”
Az exhaled heavily. He hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath. “American?” he said, regaining his composure, “Does that mean our client was some sort of spy?” That Mainlander had passed through Hong Kong Station after all. Then again, almost everyone who was in Hong Kong passed through it at least once.
“Well, you’d only say that because you didn’t see him face to face. He definitely did not give the feeling of secret agent man.”
“Well then, maybe our actual client is a spy of some sort?”
“For the Chinese on the Americans or vice-versa? Man, this is why I don’t like finding out about what people want me to transport.”
“Well, you would have seen that much anyway, so we would probably still be having this conversation.” Az smirked despite himself. “What do you think is inside that thing?”
“No idea. Can we speculate on the train?” Erika slipped the memory stick into her Bag and waited until she heard it snap locked before she ran off again.
“Sure. You headed towards the interchange yet?” Az started running his program on this other account as he talked.
“Of course, running over now.” Weaving in between people, she did a quick dive over a slow moving cart into a roll before reaching the stairs and sliding down the railing. She flipped over the railing half way down and broke her fall with another roll before continuing down the passageway. If anyone found it odd, no heads were turned in her direction. The interchange was not crowded and Erika quickly found her way to Central Station. She swiped through with her hacked Weave card while jumping the gate and got to the train as soon as the doors opened.
By the time the train headed off, Az had additional information about the job tracked down.
“Your recipient seems to also be an actual tourist. His or her first two weeks of actions have been fairly typical tourist fare. Saw a lot of major sights, shopped at malls, ate at restaurants. Third week is still loading up. I don’t expect much change. He or she will probably have another key or something to give you.”
“Great. So who’s going to confirming the delivery? You know how the Bag works.”
It wouldn’t open unless Lucky Dan sent a confirmation signal.
“Well, our recipient better have a solution.” He refreshed a few pages on his internet browser. “Be advised that there’s another courier headed towards Admiralty from Wan Chai.”
“I’ll keep an eye out then.” Most rival Couriers weren’t a problem. In fact, there was almost a certain kind of camaraderie amongst the community. They didn’t exactly get together on Saturdays for a meal and a card game, but you could expect a helping hand or at least a thumbs-up from other Couriers on the streets or the underground or the rooftops, if they could identify you. What ruined it for everyone was a combination of the anonymity that all Couriers used to protect themselves, and a few bad eggs. A few were sure that the business was zero sum, and someone else’s losses translated to a gain for them. Losses in the form of life and limb. So it was always safer to be cautious when around other Couriers. You really couldn’t tell friendly from unfriendly until you were in eyesight, and that could be closer than they’d like.
To keep a safe distance, most Couriers used a tracking program. Though it was extremely difficult to tell who a Courier was behind their proxy temporary account, they had to complete jobs with the same temporary account they claimed the job with. The whole of the Hong Kong Freelance Courier service relied on a barebones Courier website that was just barely Weave compatible. This made them trackable, as to hijack an account on the fly and then maintain another account along with your personal account without being flagged by the White Hats was probably impossible to do on a Weave device. It was much easier with a computer or a second person. As such, Erika found herself switching between two temporary accounts at once through virtue of having Az around, one to claim and finish jobs with and the other for getting around under the radar. It wasn’t impossible that someone else had a similar set up, and there wasn’t a rule against another Courier working with an HQ, but Erika would never find out about them and they would never find out about Erika, which was fine by her.

Erika tucked the Bag away under her hoodie as the train entered Admiralty station. She also looked down at her Weave device and pretended to check her email, successfully blending in with the rest of the train. The doors opened and passengers mingled, Maxwell the prerecorded voice reminded people to be courteous and allow passengers off the train before boarding. He then repeated the reminder in English and Mandarin. By the time the message was over the doors stood clear and were promptly closed. Erika had found a seat in the transition. As much as she made out running Courier jobs as an adventure and a race against the clock through a treacherous city, the subway was still faster than running, and the distances were quite far. Also, she had an hour and a half to get across the city.
Perhaps this was an extraordinarily long time to get a message across, but nothing was more discreetly secure. You could send things encrypted through the Weave of course, and you could go for a much cheaper regular deliver, but everything left records. Records of encryption had been used more than once to secure a search warrant and delivery persons have been pulled over and searched. Both cases were for the same high profile corporate espionage case, but it was precedent enough. Besides, some things were just better left off the Weave, company secrets now never left copy and write protected memory sticks that were signed in and out. Recording Studios snuck demos and new singles out the backdoor. Trade deal discussions happened in person in quiet corners of extravagant parties and VIP lounges. Product prototypes were reviewed and examined during unrelated meetings. These were all things that were supposed to be facilitated and improved on by Weave integration. The Weave even offered augmented reality video conferencing for those who could afford the price tag. These were used for the first few months after integration, but slowly companies realized that using the Weave was inviting a third party to the table, a mercenary third party that could answer to anyone, a third party that they might not want to have listening in on and holding on to their secrets. Now most of those meeting rooms gathered dust.
Moreover, simply by tapping into public Weave feeds, people could infer what was happening. One of Erika’s more regular customers was this one information security company that had east and west offices in Hong Kong. They never said why they relied on her so heavily, but after some research, Az summarized that they were having issue with a competitor peeking at their data stream between offices and figuring out by bandwidth use when they were making releases and doing updates, which the competitor would then consistently beat, releasing and updating the day before. They tried using an in-house runner, but their competitor learned quickly to carefully track company cars. So they turned to the Couriers, which seemed to fix their problem.
Their competitor could probably do similar things before the Weave, but it would have been so much more difficult and costly. With the Weave, it was as easy as logging into certain public hubs and knowing what to look for. It was easier in concept than execution; there was no way a person could sieve through all of that data in any meaningful fashion. Weave tracking/fishing/filtering programs were also technically in violation of the terms and conditions of service, but that didn’t stop those enterprising few from taking all that the Weave had to offer. Was it even an unfair advantage when it was just interpreting and manipulating publicly accessible if hidden data?
Whichever way the debate went, it was a unique situation that offered Erika exactly the kind of job she wanted. A glorified delivery girl she may have been, but scaling fences, jumping gaps between rooftops, rolling through planned open space, even weaving in and out of a crowd to shave minutes and seconds off her delivery times, that was what she lived for.

After notifying Az that she was switching back to her personal account, she checked her email for real. It was slow, the data had to redirect from the school to her current moving location underground and back after all. However considering not five years ago there was no signal underground, it wasn’t exactly a hassle. She’d accumulated a few messages since she last checked it right after classes ended for the day, a few promotions from online stores and two notices from the school. One was a reminder that the gymnastics team would be having a meet at the end of the week. The other was more interesting.
“Hey Az, my roommate’s arriving tonight!”
There was a pause, and then Az changed channels, “Sorry, say again?”
“Remember how I got that notice that my roommate request was fulfilled? Well, she’s arriving tonight!” This was exciting. She’d been on a waiting list for about half a year now.
“Oh right,” Az buzzed, his voice laced with static, “I remember seeing something about transfer students coming in this week in the faculty memos.” The proxy they used to disguise Erika’s personal location wasn’t the best. Its signal fidelity left much to be desired but Az never got around to fixing that yet.
“Are you seriously reading teacher announcements now?”
“Hey, they don’t encrypt them. I might as well, it’s handy for knowing things in advanced, like fire drills.”
Erika sighed and flicked through her old email, the program took a moment to respond, “I wonder what she’s like.”
“Well, aren’t you going to go find out right after the job?”
“Nope, I’m going to at gymnastics practice until eight thirty or so, and then a shower and a late dinner means I won’t be back in my room until around nine.”
“Seriously? When are we going to do the chemistry problem set then?”
“When I get back to my room? You’re welcome to come over. It’s not that bad of an assignment.” This was a ridiculous understatement, but they both chose to ignore that fact for now.
“No, when you get back, you’ll be busy getting to know your new roommate. That’ll take a few hours at least, meaning the earliest we’d start this in the wee hours of the morning.” There was a hissing pause, “Or at least you will.”
“But Az, I’m inviting you over so we can both get to know my roommate. I thought you’d jump at any excuse to meet the new kid.”
“Normally, yes, but there’s a quiz coming up in Chemistry that I can’t really afford to bomb. She’s not going to be on it. This p-set will be.”
“Ugh you make everything so difficult.” But she really didn’t want to do the p-set alone, “Fine. I’ll come over right after dinner. Won’t even go to my room.”
“Thank you, Eri.” His singsong voice was slightly clipped by interference, “Relax, you’ll get to know this, Espoir Anderson, soon enough. You’re going to be living in the same room for at least half a year after all.”
Erika had had a single for personal reasons for the first few years of her time at school. It was nice, but lonely. Sammie encouraged her to apply for a double at the beginning of this year, which was a good idea, but unpaired doubles were rare. Most students either applied for a single or had a roommate in mind. The student body also didn’t change much during the year, so Erika ended up with a double room as a single occupant, which was probably lonelier than a regular single. There was some relief to the fact that the empty half of the room was finally being filled.

“Stay alert, another Courier is headed towards Mong Kok from the other direction.”
Erika nodded absentmindedly and got off the train. She was transferring over to the Kwun Tong line at Mong Kok, the last transfer she’d need to make. Mong Kok, Kowloon, and East Tsim Sha Tsui stations all had increased security presence since the Re-assimilation protests a few years ago that organized a coordinated shut down of all mass transport between Hong Kong Island and Kowloon. Transportation was shut down for a day before the protest was broken up by soldiers. The Mainland had almost kept the soldiers posted at the stations to discourage a repeat protest, had the Hong Kong government not insisted on handling the situation itself. Now there still was increased police presence at Mong Kok, despite it being years since the last protests. They were friendly and mainly they directed lost tourists. But they had made arrests in the past, for disruption of the public peace and loitering with intent or some other bogus charges, so they were not to be trifled with. If you weren’t hopelessly lost and clueless or in need of police intervention, it was best not to attract their attention at all. Most couriers counted the three stations to be neutral ground for that reason.
“So I’ve pulled up some of her files off the school database.” The voice in her ear chimed in after a few moments of silence.
“Who, Espoir? Are you seriously doing this?” Erika looked around while maneuvering through the crowd, trying not to be too conspicuous. Her hair could usually get her flagged down even on good days, so her hood did not come down despite the dry heat from the overhead vents and the press of the crowd.
“Hey, you were the one that wanted to know what she was like. I’m helping you the best way I know how. She’s coming in with a 4.0 unweighted GPA, smart cookie. And she’s from St. Catherine, our sister school in Maryland. Not bad at all.”
Erika sighed, “Alright, if we’re going to be doing this, did she do any notable extra-curriculars? Anything about her family? Likes or dislikes?”
“I’m not looking at a biography, just school records. She did student government for one year, Debate Club awards, intramural football and volleyball. Looks like full marks on her SATs and ACTs, standardized tests for college which she’s apparently already taken. Also, hot damn, she was above the 95th percentile for her school’s entrance exam.”
Erika had scored just above the cut off percentile, “Okay so she’s basically the model student. I’m going to be rooming with Ms. Perfect.” It wasn’t exactly a prospect she was looking forward to.
“Hey, it might help your grades. Actually, I wouldn’t go as far as perfect. It looks like she has no volunteering hours and she only had one teacher recommendation for transferring. It makes sense, St. Catherine is ranked higher than us. She’s not exactly going to a better school.”
“So she’s probably not transferring for academic reasons. Maybe something in school that was bothering her?” Erika tried to imagine what kind of harassment a high achieving student in that sort of elite cutthroat environment would be subjected to.
“Hong Kong is a pretty far jump to get away from something in-school, especially since we have another sister school in New York, which isn’t extremely far away from Maryland. Besides, there would probably be a note or something about such an issue. So if there is an issue, it isn’t school related. Hey, they even have a photo attached. I’ll send it over.”
It was a portrait shot, possibly done for photo ID. Espoir was wearing a white blouse with a crest or symbol on the breast pocket. She seemed to be of Asian descent, though she was tan enough that Erika wasn’t sure. Her hair was dark brown to nearly black, and just long enough to touch her shoulders. It was arranged quite neatly and framed her face well. Under glasses with bottom half frames, her eyes were a murky green and her eyebrows carried traces of either boredom or disdain. Her nose had a rather elegant curve that made Erika trace the groove on her own nose unconsciously. Her thin lips were curved up in a slight smile, a smile that had no effect on her eyes whatsoever. Altogether, with high cheeks and an almost majestic chin, she gave the impression of some pristine and icy mountaintop. Her expression was almost queenly, the sort of invested disinterest that you’d expect from someone who was above all of this. Erika felt the bottom of her stomach drop while imagining trying to get to know this person.
“Wow, she looks intimidating.”
“I know, but she’s really pretty, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, she is—” And Erika bumped into someone. She looked up, saw who it was and froze in terror.
So engrossed she was with her new roommate’s photo, she ran headlong into Sam1710’s chest. Sam1710 was not a nice man. Nicknamed the Big Game Hunter or BGH, he was one of the top couriers in the city, moving anything he could fit in his larger sized Bag. There were half verified claims that he had direct ties with the Triads and did a lot of their dirty work for them, drug distribution, gun running, extortion money, bribes, whatever. BGH was also a notorious career changer for other couriers. After a run in with him, you were either serving as his lackey out of fear or out of the game completely. And if he couldn’t convince you to join him or cease and desist with words, he would convince you with his hands. Rumor had it that Sam1710 was a double black belt in at least two martial arts and could easily take on a man double his size. Not that he ever needed to, his group of lackeys was usually more than most people could handle. He was someone you wanted to spot fifty meters away and then plan your route around. He was not someone you wanted to literally bump into.
Though Sam1710 was only a little taller than average, he still towered over Erika and was about three times as thick. He wore a muscle shirt even in the cold, prominently displaying his arms. Arms that probably could snap Erika in half like a twig with ease. But this was Mong Kok station, and this chance meeting had already caught the attention of the police officers on duty.
Sam1710 looked down at the smaller hooded figure that just bounced off him and then toward the cops. He spread his hands in front of him in a non-aggressive manner and said “Sorry, didn’t see you there,” in Cantonese. Anywhere else, Erika’s panicked hesitation could have been costly. Here, BGH walked around her and moved on. No other words, no threats, no recognition.
Danger gone, Erika blinked carefully. She didn’t know if she was offended or relieved he didn’t look twice at her. She was sure that he would at least have said something. There were no good pictures of Erika as a courier, but she always wore this hoodie. It had a red arrow running down each sleeve from the shoulder and up the top of the hood from the base of her neck, tracing the route her arms and head had to take through the hoodie. Erika had ordered it online and never saw anyone else with the same design or color scheme, red on purple, and hoped that it made her look iconic enough. She was expecting consequences for that visibility, and it turned out she wasn’t even famous enough for that. Or perhaps she was so small time she just didn’t register on Sam1710’s radar. She only made maybe one or two deliveries three or four times a week, and only information at that. The praise and speculation that came with being a hotshot newbie that went on online the Weave apparently had no effect on the outside world. Oh well.
“You just run into another Courier, Eri?” And there was Az, the last to hear about these things. It wasn’t his fault, Erika clammed up when she was afraid and he could only detect people of interest when they went past a Weave hub or a checkpoint.
“Yeah, but he didn’t recognize me or anything.”
“Well, that’s a relief, I think.”
“You think? It was Sam Seventeen Ten! The Bejeech! I am so relieved!” If somewhat disappointed.
“No then not a relief. He just doubled back, with another Courier. You should probably get moving.”
Erika looked back. Towering a head over everyone else, there was Sam1710 again, one of his lackeys in tow. The lackey pointed at her direction. Sam1710 nodded and quickened his pace. There was that other reason why he was called Big Game Hunter. Erika ran.
“Az, I need to catch a ride at the very last second.”
“If you can make it to the Kwun Tong line without hurting yourself, there’s a northbound train arriving in about three minutes, I’ll give you the countdown.”
It was a hard run through a crowd, and it wasn’t long before the police caught on. They weren’t about to abandon their stations, but each concurrent station was harder and harder to avoid.
Erika got there just before the train arrived and burned some time by ducking into the bathroom. The ladies’ side, though she got a few strange looks. With a drop of her hood and a softened expression, there was no doubt that she was, though strange, a girl. The studs in her ears only sealed the deal. She took the chance to splash some water in her face, keeping her ears alert for the sound of her pursuers. Sure enough, they arrived after a few seconds, she didn’t try to hide where she was headed, only her destination. Because if they were going off her online profile, they were sure she was a boy. Ign15, her Courier code, was registered by Az, allowing her one last ace up her sleeve.
“Train’s here, leaving in thirty seconds, Eri. Watch your time.”
She moved over to the door opening. As expected, Sam1710 was standing outside, facing the male side. His lackey must have gone into the bathroom to smoke her out. Erika waited for a group of women that were heading out together and snuck out behind them, putting her hood up again.
“Twelve seconds.”
Erika walked faster, not fast enough to attract attention, or make it on time.
“Eight seconds, Eri.”
Sam1710 turned and saw her. She broke into a sprint.
“Six, five…”
Dodged around a tourist group, she gunned for the nearest half-filled car.
“Four, three…”
Making it into the train, she looked back. Sam1710 was running at her, closing the gap between them faster than Erika had expected.
“Two, one. Doors closing.”
Sam1710 smashed into the train hard, but the doors held. Momentarily stunned, he shook it off as the train started moving. Erika watched him wave her goodbye while smiling. It was a strange smile, playful but predatory. She briefly imagined it would have looked more fitting if he was wearing orange with black stripes. And then the train pulled out of the station.
Erika exhaled heavily and sat down hard, drawing a few looks from the other passengers. That had been far closer than she was comfortable with. She had planned many contingencies with Az and it was good that they worked when necessary, but she wished it wasn’t necessary at all. It was easy to forget how dangerous it actually was when she and Az were so busy playing it safe.
“—ello? You alright Eri? Everything go okay? Eri, come in.” Az actually had been going on for a few moments now, ever since the doors closed, but Erika’s heart had been pounding in her ears too hard to hear. Without Erika’s commentary, Az wasn’t actually able to tell if Sam1710 had boarded the train or not.
“Yeah, yeah Az. I made it just in time. Thanks.”
“Thank god. That looked damn close even from here.”

The rest of the way to Wong Tai Sin was largely uneventful. Az had Erika switch temporary accounts and lie low for a few minutes at Kowloon Tong station to throw any would be pursuers off her trail, but no one showed up. She was in Morse Park soon enough with plenty of time left on her timer.
The doors to the swimming pool were shut so Erika had to wait around in the cold again. She hung out by the bilingual sign outside the entrance explaining the early closure and how to find out more about the status of the pool on the Weave. She read it at least ten times over and appreciated the subtle differences between the Chinese and English translations. She even noticed how the sign had had a hinge fixed after it fell apart or something. Just as Erika was about to start running in circles out of boredom, Az chimed in again.
The temporary accounts both the sender and recipient used were obviously proxies, the sender even having the audacity to use the actual person connected to the proxy account to have his or her message sent out. Honestly, that level of secrecy on top of the basically untraceable nature of the Courier service was overkill. Why did it matter that the Courier saw what you looked like if the Courier would never see you again? No names were asked, and no Couriers were ever called to testify. As far as the records show, they never met anyway. It was pointless to distance yourself even further with two temporary accounts soon to be deleted between you and the recipient. It was totally off and Az hadn’t even realized why.
“Okay, this is strange. You know that temporary account you’re supposed to deliver to? It got shut down.”
“That’s not a good thing, right?” Erika got up on her feet and looked around quickly.
“It’s not that bad, it just means the account doesn’t exist anymore.”
“Okay so…?” As a precaution, Erika started walking away from the swimming pool in a manner that she hoped was convincingly unhurried.
“So we’re not getting paid today. Better call up Dan and tell him that the recipient’s a no-show.” The job was paid 75% up front by the sender and 25% by the recipient. Lucky Dan took a large portion of the total, roughly eighty percent if Erika remember correctly, leaving Erika and Az to split the rest. It wasn’t very much, but roughly 500 HKD cash every job wasn’t bad. It certainly was a lot of pocket money for two students. Of course, they were paid out of the recipient’s payment. This was rare. The large upfront payment was there to ensure that the delivery wasn’t going to be compromised in any way by outside forces. Az and Erika had maybe experienced one other no-show, and that was because the client was involved in a police cubicle raid.
Erika ran a hand through her hair in a frustrated manner. “Are you serious. After all that trouble?” Somehow her chemistry problem set was to blame for all of this. She was sure of it.
“If we’re lucky, Dan will throw us a bone after he’s sold the information or something.” Lucky Dan was Lucky. They were not. They really couldn’t count on Dan’s charity, especially since Dan could just tell them to find someone else to serve as their patron. Erika was Dan’s only Courier, and Dan didn’t need a Courier to keep afloat, any money he made was pure profit. That was why he kept her around despite all the trouble.
“Has another job turned up?”
“Eri, you said you were only going to be doing one. There’s no way you’re going to be able to report back to base and get another one in before gymnastics practice. And no. There are no new jobs.”
“This sucks.” She switched channels again and buzzed in on Lucky Dan.

There were no two ways around it, Lucky Dan was greasy. Enormous from eating his own leftovers every night, he had a rather cutthroat way of dealing with clients and employees alike. His regular delivery service was definitely involved with the Triads, and he had a general air of shadiness about him. It wasn’t the only thing that was in the air around him. Day in and day out, the portly man was marinated in grease and sweat in his steamy little kitchen. A day’s work left him rank, but the stench was masked by the nearly viscous scent of monosodium glutamate that saturated the immediate area around the remodeled first floor apartment. This was his take-out place, Lucky Dan’s Famous Chinese, which served as a front for his more lucrative goods and messages delivery system. He wasn’t a bad cook, so the place actually saw some business as a restaurant to oblivious people and desperately hungry clients alike.
It was how Erika knew she was close. The wave of sticky sweet “savory” flavor in the air that made her gag. She was about to turn the corner to the take-out place when Az suddenly had an idea.
“Wanna find out what’s on the memory stick?”
“Kind of. How?” Erika drew back around the corner and looked around suspiciously.
“Well, I’m remotely connected to Lucky Dan’s computer right now through your device. He left a vulnerability unpatched, and I just guessed his password. It looks like he doesn’t update because his warez would get detected or something.”
“So you’ll transfer the info onto my device through his computer? That’s kind of cool. Can he tell you’re there?”
“Not if you distract him.”
“Why are you whispering too? He’s not going to hear you through my earpiece.”
Az coughed importantly and continued in his regular voice. “Right. So, how about it?”
“Might as well find out what the Americans were up to. Especially because it was so important that we couldn’t see the sender’s face but it was okay to just abandon.” Something else that was completely off. Whatever, these things already happened. Az tried not to dwell on them.
He smiled. Erika didn’t usually go along with his riskier plans.
Erika walked into the take-out place. It had three walls and a steel shutter for a fourth. Inside was a low half-wall counter backlit by a dank and old menu that promised to ruin any good impressions you had of Chinese takeout, a set of tables bolted to the floor and mismatched chairs, and a kitchen hidden in the second half of the gutted apartment. The entire place was covered in that sort of thin layer of grime and grease that was typical of most seedy places. The sort of muck that was impossible to remove with anything short of industrial cleaning agents. Anything less merely spread the muck around more evenly. Its back door was actually an entrance into the apartment complex. It was rumored that Lucky Dan, who lived on the floor above it, came to squat on the emptied apartment below him through pure luck. And either the landlords were incompetent and never checked as long as the money came in, or Dan was involved with the Triads. It was more likely the latter. Lucky Dan himself came out to greet Erika. He might have had delivery boys coming in and out all the time, but he was the only permanent staff member.
“So, uh, what brings you here today?” Cantonese was the only thing he spoke and yet he still sounded awkward and shady while talking.
“I called you around twenty minutes ago about the no-show recipient.” Erika’s Cantonese flowed smoothly and her pronunciation was sharp.
“Oh, right, right. Wait a moment.” Lucky Dan entered a passcode on his computer to remotely unlock the Bag. He murmured something indiscernible about the little eagle emblem and began loading its contents up on his computer. Erika took the chance to order a small carton of General Tsao’s Chicken to go. It was the one thing that she found palatable from Lucky Dan’s menu. She was offered free food, leftovers, all the time by Dan because she “need to uh, fatten up, yeah?” The dish tasted quite good, if the source of the chicken was a little dubious and the taste was probably all in the sauce or actually MSG.
As Lucky Dan went into the back to cook a batch, Erika gave Az the go ahead. She watched Lucky Dan’s computer start copying the entire external drive onto her Weave device while listening out for any change in Dan’s movements. By the time Dan returned, the deed was done and Erika was trying to find a way to lean on the counter without getting grease on her hoodie. She received the bag of slightly yellowed carton, complimentary fortune cookie, single use chopsticks, and napkin with as much grace as they could be allowed. She waved her Weave device by the cash register to pay.
Outside, Erika was beside herself with curiosity.
“Good job, Eri.” Az said, “I don’t think he noticed at all.” His voice was a little strange, a little off.
“Yeah, I had him go cook something. I hope you like spicy chicken. So, so, what was on it? Also, everything alright?”
Az took a moment to respond, almost like he was thinking over his words carefully. “I left a copy on your device. Why don’t you take a look?”
Erika fumbled with her Weave device in one hand while trying not to tip over her food with the other.
The copy of the external drive was called ARTEM KERROV.
“Az, this is…”
“My father’s name. Yeah.”
“Well, couldn’t it be another Artem Kerrov?”
“How many other Kerrovs have you heard of in the news? I’m pretty sure his family is the only ones that spells their last name that way anyway.”
Erika walked over to the station in silence. She was on the train before she spoke up again. “This is big, isn’t it.”
“I have no idea. Eri. I have no idea.”
“I’m sorry Az.”
“No, it’s that it’s encrypted too. I can’t open it in a meaningful way yet. I honestly don’t know if this is big or not. It could be nothing. It could just be an after-report. It could be an archive of papers he’s helped write. Or it could actually be something big.”
“I’ll be back on campus soon if you want to talk.”
“Nah. I’ll, I’ll be fine. Go to Gymnastics.”

Erika climbed up the fire escape and entered her room through her window. Or at least she tried to. The window that she kept unlocked for these occasions had mysteriously locked since she left. Also there seemed to be a coat of dust missing from the sill. She peered into her room. The room peered back. Looking at her like she was some kind of alien or more likely some kind of burglar was her new roommate, running the vacuum cleaner. Erika waved.
The window opened and Erika smiled in what she hoped was a disarming manner. Espoir didn’t smile back.
“Hi.”
“Hello. Erica Feng, I presume?” If her eyebrow went any higher, it would pop off her face. It exaggerated the look of disdain she currently wore.
“Erika, actually.”
“Ah. Well Ehree-ka,” She pronounced it carefully. “I’m Espoir Vu.” Not Anderson. Strange. Was Az’s information wrong? Then again, not many girls were named Espoir. Perhaps this was a recent thing.
“Espoir, it’s good to finally meet you.” Erika extended a hand.
“Likewise.” Espoir did the same and they shook.
Erika took the chance to look around at the once vacant side of the room. There was a bed now, with light green sheets and pillows. The desk had been dusted off and populated with school supplies, a lamp, a laptop, and textbooks. A vaguely ergonomic wheelie chair sat in front of it. An old dresser and a wardrobe set had been moved in from storage. The wardrobe was currently open to reveal a modest amount of dress clothing and stuff that Erika would call “nice” in mostly neutral colors. Two cardboard boxes of books were stacked one on top of the other on their sides to function as a makeshift bookshelf. It was all set up in a very organized manner. The bed looked professionally made, and the clothes looked freshly ironed. In contrast, Erika’s mess of a bed and unironed clothing looked even worse than they actually were.
But there was not one photo and no posters hung up. Erika’s side of the room was louder in color and definitely messier, but it was also covered with smiling faces and memories. And the centerpiece of her cluttered wall was her Flaming Muffing Cult concert poster. Espoir hadn’t unpacked anything that could be considered frivolous or fun either. Erika’s laptop on her desk was stacked left and right with video games and translated manga. Her chemistry problem set sat on top of the laptop, and she had been planning to move everything off her desk onto the floor to work on it. But now that just seemed juvenile. And Espoir was vacuuming, something Erika had neglected to do most of her school year.
“Well, I gotta go change and head over to practice, so if you excuse me.” Erika set down the bag of quickly cooling food by her desk and walked over to her dresser to pull out a leotard and sports bra. She grabbed her wrist guards from on top of the dresser and left as quickly as she could. Espoir didn’t say anything, and upon seeing the door shut, she turned the vacuum cleaner on again.
So much for first impressions.

Conclusions and Introductions

Tue, 08 Jan 2013 05:18:51 -0500

Maggie and John are characters created by my friend Sean.

London. Near Tower Bridge, overlooking the Thames. John was back in England after over a hundred and fifty years. He figured he may as well finish circumnavigating the world by visiting the place where he first got impressed into the Royal Navy so long ago. After years in the Americas and the Far East it was a nostalgic return to one of his favorite cities. Not that there was much to be nostalgic about after a century and a half of change and chaos. The Tower Bridge was new, for one. And the Thames may have even been dirtier than he’d left it if that was possible. Perhaps so much progress was more troublesome than worthwhile.

John turned around to make sense of his surroundings when he saw a curious sight: Maggie the Magician looking much older and bedraggled. His timeless suit and top hat were faded and disheveled. On his face hung days if not weeks of haggard growth. Maggie’s eyes searched the crowd and finally landed on John, who waved briefly at his old friend. Maggie rushed to the familiar face and took John’s hand almost greedily.
“John, my good friend! How long it’s been?”
“Ages and ages, Maggie.” Over sixty years, actually. They had only met thrice in the 18th century, seven times in the 17th century, and before then… John’s memory was hazy before then. Regardless, they treated each other as old friends. It occurred to John that perhaps from Maggie’s perspective their seeming chance meetings were more continuous, the magician had mentioned that John’s presence was like an anchor, whatever that meant. This time traveling business, magical science or scientific magic, John never really paid much attention to it and Maggie never seemed too eager to share.
“Yes, yes indeed. I’ll tell you, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”
John smiled, “I’m glad to be of such service.” Strange, surely they met not long ago? At least from Maggie’s perspective. The faded magician was constantly slipping through time after all.
Maggie placed his hands on John’s shoulders, “I was honestly afraid that I wouldn’t see you again.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Not much, not much. As it is said, do not worry about the future, it comes soon enough.”
“What’s going on, Maggie? You don’t seem yourself.”

The worn magician let out a sigh and let go of John. “I haven’t been myself in many years, John. In fact there was a point where I thought I’d lost myself completely. But I’m here now, I’m back.” He turned to look out into the Thames. “I’ve come back to say goodbye.”
“Maggie?”
“I know, I know, it’s not goodbye for either of us technically. We have countless meetings and partings yet to come. However, this still felt like the right thing to do.” He coughed and finally looked John in the eye, “I’m dying.”

John nodded slowly. This was an inevitability, a given. Everyone died. Everyone else died. But coming from Maggie of all people? He was the closest thing John had to a constant companion. They had even promised to find each other at the end of time. Sure, they spent mere hours together in a century and doubtless Maggie spent the rest of his time sightseeing, but they always met up eventually. Always.
John accepted what Maggie said, but he still found it strange.
“Do you know what of?” What couldn’t the future cure?
“Time traveling, actually. Exposure to so many times and places has finally caught up to me. Doctors can’t name or treat any one cause without naming and treating many. They tell me the entire regimen that I’d have to undergo would kill me faster than my illnesses together. So I’m better off wasting away. That and the effort to make these jumps is becoming too much.”
“Then stay here, stay now. You’ll at least be somewhat comfortable and you wouldn’t have to jump again. Modern healthcare has gotten better. Less leeches.” The words of hospitality escaped John’s mouth before he remembered that he currently had no place to live. Such were the perils of starting anew again. But no matter, it would be quick to reestablish a life in this city. He had had lifetimes of practice after all.
Maggie shook his head, “I’ve got one more stop to make before the end.” He exhaled deeply and lifted his hat to rub at his head, now surprisingly bare, “I may die like everyone el— most everyone else, but it wouldn’t make any sense to die with regrets.”

They started walking along the river bank, towards the Tower Bridge. Neither of them had much to say.
Pausing so Maggie could catch his breath, John asked, “Why now?”
“Sorry?”
“Of all of the time in the world, why choose this point to make your goodbye?”
Maggie nodded, “I see I arrived early. To be honest, I feel like that question is about to answer itself and I’ll leave it at that. I guess I have a thing for book ends and unfinished business.” Maggie winked, “That said, I was going to ask you to sate a long burning curiosity of mine, but perhaps I have sated my own curiosity.” He chuckled, “Yes, yes indeed, and you actually cannot yet.”
“If you’re sure, Maggie.” Older Maggie was always more cryptic, as if years of jumping around the timeline had caused his mind to start jumping around as well. “May I ask where you’re headed next?”
“To finally fulfill one of my oldest promises. I’m going to go as far as I can into the future, hopefully to the end of time.”
“I’ll be waiting then.”
“Will you really, John? After billions of years without meeting another human being? Will you even recognize me after a trillion years? Will you even recognize yourself? I lost myself after half a

grenouille-kun: Christmas Cheer

Sun, 30 Dec 2012 00:00:00 -0500

grenouille-kun:

Christmas Cheer

Christmas Cheer

Sat, 29 Dec 2012 04:50:00 -0500

There was a knock on her door frame.
“Merry Christmas, Es.”
Az stood in Esp’s doorway, wrapped in a scarf and a sweater. He held a slight package wrapped in festive colors in his hand.
Esp pretended to check her wrist for a watch, “You seem to be quite a few days off.” More than a week and a half actually. She turned her chair around to face Az and tilted her head, “Leaving for the break then?”
“Not me. I assumed you’d be heading back to New York or New Jersey or something.”
“New Hampshire actually, and no, I’m staying here. To keep you company, I guess.”
“I’m touched.”
Esp turned back to her desk, “Sure thing, Az.” There was the very familiar feeling of the elephant settling into the room. “You actually caught me in the middle of present wrapping.”

“Did I really? This is kind of last minute, isn’t it? You’re usually more on the ball about this sort of thing.”
“Yeah, ‘Rika was making a mess of her presents so I helped her out.”
“Oh. Is that why.” Az rubbed the back of his head. So if he gave Eri his presents to wrap…
“That said, that wrapping paper and folding technique look really familiar.” Esp glanced over her shoulder, “Why don’t you come in?”
Az walked out of the doorway and sat in Eri’s chair. “So where’s the roommate? Out delivering gifts? I wouldn’t put it pass her to actually pop out of a chimney to do so.”
“She’s out getting food with her team, actually, a holiday brunch if you will.” She finished tying the bow on the present and secured it with just enough tape. “There. Now we can do this present exchange thing correctly.”
“I was kind of planning to just give you your present and be on my way.”
“On your way to what? I thought you weren’t going back to America.” She pulled a wrapped package out of the modest pile by her desk. It looked rather similar to the one Az was holding.
“I guess. Incidentally, Eri did wrap all of the presents she had by herself after you gave her some pointers, right?”
“She was at least competent enough to insist on that, yes. No handing all of her gifts off to someone else to wrap.”
“Hey, I didn’t just give her everything.”
“Ah yes. If only because you couldn’t be bothered to wrap up everyone’s presents. I saw you give Mike his gift unwrapped.”
“I gave Mike a gift card.” And Mike had given one back in exchange before he left for his flight. It was for the same store.
Esp rolled her eyes. Guys. “That’s hardly a gift.” She raised a finger at Az’s open mouth, “Also let me also pre-empt you by stating that anyone who has to resort to the excuse that ‘it’s the thought that counts’ clearly has not put much thought into said gift.”
Az shrugged. “I’m sorry I have lower gift standards than you.”
“Well, I at least appreciate that you bothered to have your gift to me wrapped.” She held up the gift in her hand and waved it at Az’s eye level, “Do you want to do this exchange now, or what?”

They traded. Az raised his received gift to his ear and gave it a good shake.
“Well done. You just broke the expensive piece of glassware I bought for you.” Esp then raised her own present to her ear and gave it a tentative shake.
She met eyes with Az and gave a small sheepish smile. “What’s with that incredulous look?”
“You just admonished me for doing the same exact thing!”
“It’s only fair if I break your expensive piece of glassware in turn.” Esp smiled, “Besides, I haven’t done this in years and years.”
“What? Shake a present or get a present that you’re actually excited about?”
“That’s awfully presumptuous. And yes.”
“Yes?”
“Thanks, Az.” She turned back to her desk to clean up the scraps from her work.
Az shook his head and leaned back in Eri’s chair, shut out, again. Sometimes it was like Esp was on the other side of a thick layer of ice.

“You know, I kind of get the feeling you’re not telling me things.”
“That is correct.”
“Do you let anyone into that Fortress of Solitude?”
“It wouldn’t be quite the Fortress of Solitude if I allowed visitors, now would it?”
“Point. I’m sorry, Es. It’s just somewhat frustrating trying to get to know you when you refuse to let anyone get to know you. Mystery is only intriguing when there is something to be solved and found out.”

And what if you took a hammer to all of that ice?

Esp turned around again. “Excuse me? Is that what I am to you? A mystery to be solved? A puzzle?”
“No, Es. But that’s how you present yourself to the world, to me. I’d like to be better friends with you, but it’s like you constantly keep me at a distance.” Az watched Esp’s face work through a flurry of emotions, more emotion than he’d ever seen her express before.
“You don’t have to be alone, Es.” This was make or break, she could either relent or push Az further away…

She finally settled on a defeated look. “It’s whatever. People come and go all the time. I don’t expect anything more from them.”
“You can expect more from me.” His voice wavered, why was he suddenly nervous?
“Sorry?”
“I mean, you can expect more from me, and Rika, and probably from Sammy and Johnny too. But probably not Mike because he’s an asshole like that. But you have to let yourself expect more.” Az’s face felt hot. The scarf suddenly felt unseasonal.
“…I guess.” Esp avoided eye contact and instead turned her gift around and around in her hands.
“S-so how about it?”
“It’s a little of both.”
“What?”
“I haven’t shaken a present in a long time, and I haven’t felt earnestly excited about a present in a long time. As for why I’m staying for the holidays…”
Esp shifted and sat as upright as she could manage, “My adoptive mother died six years ago. Of brain cancer.” She said it in a quiet voice, but it was calm and resolved, like she had practiced this in her head many times over. Whatever impact she was expecting, Az was glad he was already sitting down.
Az opened and closed his mouth a few time. He wanted to say he didn’t know, but of course he didn’t know, the people in Hong Kong who knew could probably be counted on the fingers of one hand.
“They didn’t tell me it was terminal until she had no way back. I spent the majority of my mother’s last year of life thinking she was going to get better, that we would be able to do things outside of a hospital again. A picnic maybe, or a walk in the park. How quickly she went from always getting better to gone, I couldn’t deal with. I still can’t deal with it. Home has my dad and his new wife and reality, so I thought I’d stay here for the holidays to avoid the issue as long as I can.” She shook her head, “I know, it’s a really dumb way to handle…”
“But it’s the best way you can think of to deal with something you have no idea how to deal with.” Encased in ice, too numb to feel.
“I suppose.”

For a few moments, they were both lost in their own thoughts.
“I don’t see what this accomplished, Az.”
“My dad died a year back,” Az said, “You probably heard about it. He was killed by a gunman and there was some crazy media coverage for weeks. Because of that, because of all of the hustle and attention and nonsense, because it was so sudden, because I hadn’t talked with my father for months, I don’t think I’ve accepted it yet. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I understand what happened. I know my dad is gone. But it barely registers, it just feels so surreal.” He got up, eyes watering, “I want to say I know how you feel, but I can’t imagine six years of feeling this way. I don’t want to imagine six years of feeling this way.”
They hugged and awkwardly broke it off. It happened suddenly and neither of them was sure who did what first.

“I’m so sorry.”

“…Anyway, I should get going.”
They just sat around numbly for a while, frozen in thought. Az got up again and wandered towards the door.
“Yeah, I’ll see you later, Az.”
“See you, Es.”

Az stepped into the cool air and exhaled deeply. It wasn’t cold enough to see his breath, but he wished it was.

Background Info: The Weave

Wed, 10 Oct 2012 13:12:00 -0400

Among the many breakthroughs in the early twenty-first century, the Weave was perhaps the most influential and far reaching, or at least had the potential to be the most influential and far reaching. The Weave was not extraordinary in concept or in implementation, but in its level of involvement and cooperation. Built by several corporations and governments working in tandem, the Weave proved to be more widespread and integrated than any similar project before it, greatly increasing its effectiveness and usability. It was a successful attempt to finally make that constant internet connection that most people had and enjoyed more than a plaything or a distraction, interweaving the network with the everyday. For example, for a night downtown, the Weave would flag down a taxi and direct you to it through your phone or mobile device. Mass Transit would remember which stops you frequent and how best to get to them at the current time. Stores would display information about special discounts, daily deals, and recommendations based on previous shopping experience as you enter their doors. Menus at restaurants highlighted favorites and specials of the day, then orders could be placed expediently and tracked from the kitchen to the table. Clubs were accessible with a swipe and a wave, and you would be alert to what friends were nearby or inside and what the occupancy was like. The bartender could have a drink prepared for you as you passed by, and you could tip a standard amount with a swipe on your phone or mobile device. And all transactions were possible with a digital signature and a press of a button, thanks to the Weave.

At work, the Weave helped pave over all of the kinks of a typical day at the office, from keeping track of coffee preferences and paper jams, to hosting meetings and coordinating projects. At school, assignments were issued and turned in on the Weave, lectures and notes were posted and amended, tutors and tutorees could get in touch, grades could be accessed, and attendance could be reported. Everything was personalizable and individualized as the internet. Preferences from the digital world carried over to the real world and back. Most everyday activities were streamlined and simplified. No more forgetting your wallet, no cards to be stolen, and air tight security, a white hat team working around the clock to combat and patch over any vulnerabilities. Without a phone or mobile device, it was still possible to access the Weave through a Weave Port. And it was still acceptable to move through the city with cards and other physical items, but it was much more convenient to go through the city Interwoven, so to speak. Most people were not completely integrated, less than ten percent of all Weave users could be considered completely integrated, and most people still use the more mundane ways of interacting with the world in some aspect. Some people used the Weave only for transportation. Others swiped only their regular transactions with the Weave. The world wasn’t as nearly interactive and streamlined, but it still worked.
Of course, most of the world was still waiting on the wonders of the Weave. Only installed and integrated in eight cities so far, twenty cities were being surveyed and outfitted for the Weave, sixty more were on the waiting list, and everyone else was still petitioning and bidding. Hong Kong was the third and -at the time of installation- most populous city to be integrated with the Weave. It took over six months, nearly a hundred thousand kilometers in wiring, over a thousand sever farms, eight thousand ports and Wi-Fi hubs, and 1.5 billion HKD to accomplish the task. There was some debate for a while about the project’s utility, all hushed up by the time they finished and nearly forgotten by the time the subsidized subscriptions came out. The big question had been, before being pushed to the brink of uncomfortable half acknowledgement, was the Weave really useful enough to outweigh the violation of privacy?

Because everyone knew that the Weave tracked you. What no one seemed to appreciate when they opted in for integration was how much the Weave tracked you. Not that those things weren’t tracked before. Rather, they were tracked separately by many different companies and organizations. The innovation of the Weave was a unification and universalization of preferences and this tracking. The Weave brought all these different systems and databases together into one fabric that now covered the city. The overwhelming majority of what was tracked was simply used for anonymous statistics and logistics: Traffic patterns, bus routes, consumer trends, advertisement purposes, and the like. But that didn’t mean any single person was a part of a faceless mass. Everyone was assigned an ID number which was used in every single part of the Weave and was only viewable by select people and machines. Anyone could be tracked and tapped through that number. Anything that involved interfacing with a public computer of any type, whether it be subway gate, interactive menu, ATM, vending machine, bus, or secure access door, could and would be found somewhere on the Weave servers. Your name and personal information may be struck from that record, but the ID number never will. And this was just the anonymous things. Most other preferences were stored under whatever username you picked out. It may not include your name, but anyone could easily figure out what kind of person you were. Through the tipping app, for example, it was possible to identify you through how well you tipped, where you tipped, what you tipped for, and who you tipped. From that it was possible to extrapolate why, and also how to get you to tip again.
So this is where small takeout places in Hong Kong came into importance, like Lucky Dan’s Chinese.

Lucky Dan’s Chinese was a hole in the wall sort of place, carved out of what was once a first floor apartment after questionably legal zoning changes. It wasn’t very hard to find. Right off a major road, if eyes missed the dimly lit and dirty sign that read “Lucky Dan’s Chinese” in English and Traditional, it was immediately detectable by smell. The nearly viscous smell of MSG saturated the immediate area around the restaurant, if it could be called that. It had three walls and a steel shutter for a fourth. Inside was a low half-wall counter backlit by a dank and old menu that promised to ruin any good impressions you had of Chinese takeout, a set of tables and mismatched chairs, and quite possibly a kitchen hidden in the second half of the gutted apartment. The entire place was covered in that sort of thin layer of grime that was typical of most seedy places. The sort of grime that was impossible to remove with anything short of industrial cleaning agents. Anything less merely spread the grime around more evenly. Its back entrance opened up into the apartment complex, and it was rumored that the owner, presumably Dan, lived on the floor above it, and somehow ended up squatting on the emptied apartment below him, and either the landlords were incompetent and never checked as long as the money came in, or Dan was involved with the Triads. It was more likely the latter. There was no way that a shop that sold slop as poor as Lucky Dan’s did could stay afloat. And yet, there were orders coming in and going out of Lucky Dan’s all the time. He had to employ so many delivery boys, they took up nearly all the mismatched chairs. So that actual potential customers barely had a place to sit. Not that they ordered in. Often times they left without as much as a carton of rice. And then a delivery would go out, almost as if the customer had asked for their food to race them home. Perhaps if it were in some less secluded location, it would have been scrutinized more heavily. Certainly at least the place would be shut down for safety or health code violations. But it existed in exactly the right place. For Lucky Dan’s served a crucial role in the new world of the Weave.

It wasn’t just Lucky Dan’s, or just Chinese takeout. It could be Vietnamese or Indian, a catering shop or flower delivery. Whatever the case, many of these small stores have a side business attached to them. Off the grid delivery. With everything that the Weave tracked, it was hard to do things that would catch the unwanted attention of interested parties. Even if it wasn’t the Weave that was doing the tracking, certain individuals couldn’t be sure that they would be seen meeting up in a public area and exchanging certain items. To remain off the grid, they used a middleman. These courier services were built into cheap takeout places to avoid detection and were often run by the same owners. It was fairly simple. An interested party would walk into the takeout place and order the special combo with something else. At the same time a package would be slipped to the store owner and tucked into a special security case that would be loaded onto the delivery kid’s scooter and would head off into the unknown. That first interested party would walk out with some fried rice or whatever, and a second interested party would have some General Tsao’s chicken and a special package delivered. After which he or she would call the takeout place and confirm that the package was secure and payment was processed, and then the special security case would unlock. The takeout place would of course lack proper Weave integration, not being able to track who came in or left, and the security cameras were usually taped over after a few hours. A few hundred dollars may be strange to wire to a complete stranger, but it was perhaps the least risky part of the entire ordeal. Of course, there were other individuals who were so shy, they were uncomfortable even stepping near a takeout place like this. So this is where the couriers came in.

There were perhaps upwards of fifty individuals attached to these shops that worked as couriers and not just delivery boys with a side job. They handled receiving, transit, and delivery, often with a guarantee that was faster than traffic. Couriers used more efficient routes around the city than roads. They jumped fences, scaled walls, leaped over alleyways, ran across roofs, flipped over gaps. Misdemeanors for trespassing be damned, no obstacles could keep these messengers from their rounds. Perhaps it was still slower than the Weave and the Internet by many fold, but it involved encryption that could not be beaten. The slim containers that the couriers delivered goods in were rumored to be made with a mixture of the material black boxes in airplanes were made out of and diamonds. Anything that went in wasn’t getting out without the dynamic security code based on the decay of an undisclosed radioactive isotope that had to be called in to home. Even if the code could be cracked, it was useless without physical acquisition of the container. And even then, the container would only open when still in the presence of a courier. It was somewhat ironic that this was ascertained by using the Weave, but a courier that got caught because of things like this was a liability anyway. It wasn’t enough to move fast and efficiently, you also had to be Weave-savvy.

For all of its water-tightness, there was still wiggle room in the Weave. It was an inherent weakness in the design. The Weave had to account for the nearly one million people that commuted to work in Hong Kong. And the thousands of tourists and travelers that were there for mere hours to months. Often this was done through temporary accounts issued upon arrival in Hong Kong, and closed by the time the user left for good. Over a thousand such temporary Weave accounts were opened and closed daily. It was still a tightly run business, and most people wouldn’t have a use for exploiting such a thing anyway. It was perfect for couriers, as most people did not properly close their Weave accounts, relying on the bots that went through temporary accounts at the end of the day to do it for them. These were easy pickings for those interested in a throwaway identity for a few hours of delivering questionably legal goods. Any major activity on a supposedly inactive account would be immediately noticed and police officers would be there to pick you up at the nearest street corner, but a few uses of the complementary metro swipes were barely registered. The best couriers went through three or four identities a night.

Lucky Dan’s Chinese guaranteed special delivery within Hong Kong Island within forty five minutes and to Kowloon within an hour and a half. It made it on time, or your money (often thousands of HKD) half back. Their current courier was usually able to make the trips in thirty and seventy minutes respectively and never once defaulted on the guarantee. It was actually quite a sensation in the courier community, and Lucky Dan’s had gained notoriety for this particular reason. Most other couriers wanted to take the Lucky Dan’s Courier down, or figure out who he was so they could learn from him. And just like that, they were already barking up the wrong tree.

Because Lucky Dan’s Courier was a girl, and that was only the beginning of her eccentricities.

To start with, at 4’11, she was short enough to be mistaken for a middle schooler. Not that anyone would actually mistake her for a middle schooler. From the top, her first eccentricity was her hair, always at least some part a shock of electric blue. It was against student conduct handbook policies to dye or bleach hair during the school year, but there was nothing stopping her from dying it right before the school year began. Her hair was also cropped short, resembling a grown out boy cut at best, and something more interesting at worst. She generally haphazardly hacked off parts of it she deemed too long as they happened. Also, when she had the time and motivation in the morning, she’d style her hair in outlandish ways. Some days it was slicked back, some days it was spiked up, some days it was gathered into a fauxhawk, some days it was in a neat part. It was never the same two days in a row. She kept it interesting and out of her eyes.

Speaking of interesting, her eyes were also rarely the same color two days in a row. She had an extensive collection of colored contacts, all of them corrective, of course, as outlined in the student conduct handbook polices. Any sort of facial decoration besides modest earrings and makeup was forbidden, but contacts were allowed as long as they were corrective. So often her eyes were violet or orange or blue, as was her wont. When too lazy to put them in, her eyes were a deep brown behind utilitarian thick framed glasses. Lower on her face, the bridge of her nose retained a deep groove from some past accident and the cartilage was bent out of shape, giving her nose a slightly flattened appearance. The rest of her thin face was mostly unremarkable, a lack of baby fat and a strong jaw gave her a rather masculine look, a look that was further emphasized by the way she dressed.

Though partial to the occasional skirt or blouse, for the most part she dressed much like a boy, going as far as wearing the boys’ uniform during the school day, again, technically allowed by the student conduct handbook. Students were required to wear the approved uniforms and the boy and girl versions were outlined meticulously, but in no part did the handbook say that you couldn’t mix and match. In fact all girls were required to wear pants during laboratory classes anyway, so it wasn’t a far cry to wear a tie and a blazer and shirt with a different cut, it just wasn’t done. She of course preferred pants to skirts because it wasn’t as much of a hassle when doing flips and other sorts of acrobatics. She was a courier after all.

Most couriers were able to handle the physically demanding portion of their job with help from a background in elite gymnastics or track and field, and she was no different. An excellent gymnast, she scaled walls, vaulted fences, and ran rooftops with the best of them. Perhaps she couldn’t be considered very strong overall, but she was still comfortable benching her own weight and then some and routinely hauling herself through the air with only her arms. She wouldn’t be able to necessarily hold her own in one of those fights that sometimes break out between rival couriers, but that was assuming that the rival would be able to catch her in the first place, and she was very good at not getting caught.

She wasn’t too shabby on the Weave either, or so it seemed. Often, she’d catch trains just as they were leaving the subway station, and she’d almost preternaturally know which stations were crowded and where cops were patrolling. It was all very possible to track with the Weave, but being able to look into those raw data streams on the fly, or run as it were, was almost unheard of. Most people had a hard time flipping through the front end of the Weave and walking at the same time. That she’d be able to work the back end while leaping in between buildings and trying to figure out which way she needed to go required unthinkable mental coordination. Most people who speculated about these things simply decided to rule out the possibility, and called it luck. How could a high school junior keep up with school work, show up for gymnastics practice, brush up on the latest work-arounds in the Weave, and still have time to deliver two to three packages every other weekdays and over the weekend? She’d have to be two people.

And technically this courier was two people. To fully understand how she worked, you’d have to be able to listen in on the continuous conversation she had on the earpiece she wore while doing runs. She had a mission control of sorts, someone who smoothed out the details and increased her efficiency, again on the Weave. He helped her pick out identities and he had multiple maps of Hong Kong to pour over. She did all of the running and traveling. He kept his eyes out for opportunities and problems alike. She didn’t have her routes memorized, she didn’t know when the next train was coming where, and she didn’t keep track of patrols, other couriers or people of interest. That was up to him. Her responsibility was to make sure the package got there, and his was to make sure she got there. It was a weird collaborative realization of dreams they had. She wanted a cool excuse to run about the city. He wanted a cool excuse to practice manipulating the Weave. The money she earned, though only a fraction of what Lucky Dan raked in for each transaction, was still significant enough that splitting it earned them more individually than a more conventional part-time job did.

He looked a great deal more average, perhaps on purpose. With dark brown hair and similarly dark eyes contrasting rather pale skin, his half American heritage was immediately noticeable. Certain other details, like the flare of his nose, the shape of his eyes, the set of his jaw and the point of his chin, all added to his foreign look. And yet, these details did not make him look more exotic somehow, only more average. If it was possible to be uninterestingly exotic, he would have been a poster boy. His hair wasn’t long enough to be in his eyes, nor was it long enough in the back for any sort of mullet or ponytail. At best it was somewhat untidy. At worst, his hair was shaggy and his sideburns were vicious. His eyes were fairly typical, if slightly larger than most. He was often squinting at a monitor anyway, so the size increase was hardly noticeable. The only things maybe unusual about him were the bags under his eyes after going days without sleep. Otherwise if you wanted to describe him, you’d be stuck with generic terms that hardly meant anything. This was exactly what he wanted. She got all of the attention with her flamboyant mannerisms, he continued to work unnoticed behind the scenes, together they deliver items of interest.

And all was good until one day an item of interest with no receiving target and no return address was given. As a rule, thirty minutes after waiting for a receiving person of interest to show up, anything inside the package was fair game. This rarely, if ever happened, and usually the information was given to Lucky Dan directly for possible resale. But Az liked taking a look, in case it was interesting. And this time it was very interesting. It was about Az’s father.

And this is where the story begins.

chrysogenum: grenouille-kun: AHH IT’S A BEING OF THE ETHERIUM....

Wed, 01 Aug 2012 14:29:32 -0400

chrysogenum:

grenouille-kun:

AHH IT’S A BEING OF THE ETHERIUM. TAT

Sigh it looks too much like Kat. On the other hand, I guess that’s a good thing since I cosplayed her…

haha i think you look like a strange mix of smitty and kat (i suppose it’s the eyes)

She is a strange mix of Smitty and Kat. Practical and technologically savvy! :D

Space Horror

Mon, 09 Jul 2012 03:19:00 -0400

On January 10th of the year 2196, Experimental Space Vessel UFS Lancelot abruptly ceased all communications with Mission Control without so much as a distress signal, roughly four light years away from home. Their FTL communication lines were filled with alternating static and silence. They were out too far for any rescue vessels to arrive on time. Mission Control estimated that the crew had roughly a hundred days of food and life support remaining. Lancelot would take around 150 days to reach. It was hoped that the ship would report to a deep space resupply in that time, or at least approach one. No such contact was made. One hundred and one days later, on April 20th, the UFS Lancelot and her crew of fifty five were declared officially lost. It seemed like the tragic end to an ambitious project. The entire Federation mourned the first major deep space disaster in human history. Its allies all sent their condolences. For a year, UFASA Headquarters in Houston-2 were draped in black.

When rescue vessels finally reached the last known position of the UFS Lancelot however, it wasn’t found adrift. There wasn’t enough debris to indicate an explosion or some other catastrophic event. There was nothing within a light-second of the Proxima Centauri gate that bore traces of UF technology. It was as if Lancelot completely vanished without a trace.

UFS Lancelot was out past Proxima Centauri doing experiments regarding stellar interference with FTL technology. Rumor has it that it was equipped with a prototype standalone FTL drive, capable of making warp jumps without established warp gates. If successful, mankind would truly be able to explore the stars and be free of a constant light speed dependent leash. UFASA has never confirmed or denied allegations of a standalone FTL drive. A confirmation would immediately cause uproar in all off-planet Federation nations, as the war making capabilities of such a device would be astronomical. The last twelve hours or so of communication, and many hours before, are still classified. Top brass has assured the public that nothing in its contents, that they have poured over a thousand times for even the smallest details, contain anything personal, only communication about the experiment. A recreation of the fateful experiment will be done outside the asteroid belt once the lost equipment can be reassembled.

Roughly four years after the disaster, the UF Mars Terraforming Project reported a blip appearing out of nowhere just outside orbit traveling towards Earth at an alarming rate. A scan quickly identified it as the UFS Lancelot. In one piece, more or less, but moving as if derelict. Its communications still filled with unresponsive static, its engines dark, its life support long gone. It was on track to enter Earth’s atmosphere in just over three months’ time.

After several painful weeks of closed door debate, the United Federation decided to send a reconnaissance mission to UFS Lancelot before making a final decision on whether to salvage its remains or destroy it. As such, the light cruiser, UFS Galahad, has launched from the United Federation Space Station. Only able to travel at sub light speeds, Galahad is projected to intercept and return to Earth from the Lancelot with a month to spare.

And that’s where we come in.

It is November 27th, 2199. The USF Lancelot is projected to intersect Earth’s orbit in February of the new century. We, the crew of the Galahad, are to assess the Lancelot’s situation firsthand. We will arrive around the last week of December and hopefully leave by New Years, to return to the UFSS by the end of January, possibly with the zero-gravity coffin in tow. We will attempt to reconnect the power of the ship, restart the engines, restore life support, reestablish communications, and find out what happened to the crew and contents of the USF Lancelot.

Our final briefing by Mission Control was …interesting. Almost baffling in its hoop jumping specifics. We are not to activate or access any electronic equipment save the reactor, the main computer, life support, and communications. The Engineering Bay is strictly off limits, and most of the cargo hold is also similarly restricted. We do not access the captain’s logs or the personal files of any of the crew members. We do not use the words “prototype standalone FTL drive” at any point when the mission is active, and we should try to respect the dead as best we can. If everything goes as planned and Lancelot goes back online, we are to contact Mission Control for further instructions. If things do not go as planned, and we are required to abort the mission or abandon Lancelot for any reason, our first priority is safety of ourselves, the Galahad crew. Our second is to report the mission failure immediately, from Lancelot herself if possible. Our third is to destroy the Lancelot or redirect it as per instructions to be given in the event of mission failure.

Now it’s clear and obvious to me that there’s something about Lancelot that Top Brass is insistent on keeping us in the dark about. I don’t exactly plan on finding out, but I’ll be damned if I shut my eyes as top secret things flash before my face. This naming is also too convenient. Send Galahad to find out how and why Lancelot failed? Possibly have Galahad take Lancelot’s place? What is the Holy Grail here?
There’s more. How did the Lancelot reach the speeds it is currently traveling at without engines? How did it disappear? How did it come out of nowhere? Was it a warp jump? If a warp jump, and we’re not confirming or denying the possibility of a standalone FTL drive, how did it jump without a warp gate? Where has it been for the last four years? And if everyone on board is dead, how did it find its way home? What else do they know but won’t tell us?

What happened out there beyond Proxima Centauri?

John the Immortal

Sun, 08 Jul 2012 03:04:00 -0400

The character of John the Immortal was originally conceptualized by my friend Sean.

I’m not one for actual visitors. Not that I don’t like them so much as I just don’t get them. Sure, strangers swing by all the time seeking remedies to whatever supernatural thing ails them, and in one odd case what supernatural thing made them happy, but never a social visit. It may be because I work from home or live in my office, depending on how you look at it. I tend to go out to talk to people as it is.
So you can imagine my surprise when the bell rings and the door opens and it’s John. Good old John.

Now when I say old, I mean that in a weird literal yet metaphorical sense. John looks young, like he’s around his mid thirties at most. He’s fit and healthy too, a wanderer and adventurer by nature, he’s seen his fair share of scrapes and close calls. But he moves like an octogenarian when he thinks no one is looking and is wiser and more experienced than anyone I know. He has this weight of centuries about him, like ancient ruins, or forgotten standing stones. People tend to talk in hush tones when he’s around without realizing. He’s addressed as sir and mister pretty much where ever he goes. I’ve seen even hoodlums and scoundrels clean up their act and tuck in their shirts when he walks by. Maybe it’s respect, maybe it’s awe. Most people would be pretty awed watching a colossus walk among men. John waves this away and says it’s nothing, just coincidence and the imagination playing tricks, but it’s easy enough to tell when you look him in the eye. His eyes are a deep blue, with a depth not unlike the ocean’s. In the right light, you can see the glint of fish swimming in them. They are what cause the weird phenomenon that is instant respect and awe. And you get those by being immortal. Or at least as close to it as possible.

John is immortal, maybe. He is mentally and physically around thirty years old at the same time he is mentally and physically hundreds of years old. Perhaps older. He can’t remember. The earliest he can clearly remember is when he was already like this, and waking up in a valley surrounded by monkeys somewhere in the far east. But sometimes, he once told me, he dreams of dinosaurs. This of course makes no sense, but it’s theoretically possible that this is John’s second go around in regards to the universe. It’s both exciting and disturbing. If John has a beginning, it’s as unknowable at this point as his end.

When John gets hurt, the wound undoes itself, much like it never happened. If he’s shot, the bullet clatters to the ground in front of him after a moment. If he falls off a building, he gets up without a scratch. When parts of him get removed, they come back without incident. Well, almost without incident. These things still hurt. Quite a bit, actually. He’s never drowned or suffocated before that he can remember and he’s not willing to experiment with that line of thought. In fact, he’s so unwilling to test this idea that he won’t go anywhere near the ocean except by plane. His reasoning being that he isn’t going to let his fears rule his life and he is less likely to end up in the ocean by plane crash than rip current or boating accident. After living for so long, statistics and probability dictate not so much chances as occurrences. It isn’t about whether or not and if, it’s about when and how many times. If it’s happened more than once in history, it’s probably happened at least once to John.

It’s always a treat when John shows up though he’s never around for long. For a man with all the time in the world on his hands, he’s quite busy. But he’ll stick around for a cup of coffee and catch up a bit if you ask. He’s in town today as a surprise for his oldest friend. Someone he hadn’t seen in years, actually. So many years ago, you could call it a past life. John does this. Every thirty to forty years, he tells me, he fakes his death or otherwise moves away. He forges new documents and papers for himself (when you’re hundreds if not thousands of years old, you find yourself skilled in the darnest things) and settles down half the world away as someone else. Any inconsistencies he’s able to iron out by counting on people believing in human error over the impossible. A guy who clearly looks thirty or so isn’t going to be born eighty years ago. He admits that lately with computers it’s been harder to pass all this off, and he won’t look forwards to this next transition in thirty or so years.

But even if he moves on, he doesn’t completely become a new person. Fred is a testament to that.

This was two “lives” ago for John. He fought in the war, alongside Fred and all sorts of other characters. John doesn’t talk much about war, though he’s fought in several. There apparently just isn’t much to say, war is war, whether it is with sticks and stones, swords and shields, or rifles and artillery. For all those soldiers that fight and die, it is never glorious, always brutal. Anyway, Fred is probably the last veteran from then that John knows is still living. But Fred’s time is nearly up. I offer to join John. Had to see a mortician about a body at the hospital anyway.

Fred is on a respirator. He doesn’t exactly draw breath when John enters the room, but his eyes widen considerably.
“Well, I’ll be. John, is that you?”
“Hey Fred. You still hanging on?”
The old man chuckles the best he can, “Barely, barely. This cancer’s nearly got me.”
John goes to sit by his bed, “I guess you knew I was coming? Jim tell you before he went?”
“Not quite, but when you get to my age, few things surprise you.”
“And I’m not your age, then? I mean, it’s been a while, but we both—”
“Blimey, John, look at you. Not a hair different from when I first laid eyes on you ages ago! One way or another, it doesn’t take an 90 year old man to figure out something’s different about you.”
They laugh and start catching up. I take my leave.

Jack Triage is in the basement. When he sees me come in, he gets up from his desk and walks briskly over to autopsy. No one’s currently on the slab, so he pulls the remains from the wall and trolleys it over.
It’s gray and looks like a dog’s been through with it, but it’s definitely something’s torso and arm. Long and spindly.
“You know, when you said mysterious body, I was expecting a little more body.”
“So I exaggerated a little. It’s hard to get someone excited over a torso. It’s not alien, right? Like extraterrestrial?”
We both put on gloves in a fittingly dramatic fashion.
“How did you come across this?”
“Ignoring the question. Encouraging. A man’s dog found it in the pine woods north of the university. Brought it to the local police precinct in a black ten gallon trash bag. It was tossed around for a bit before they brought it to the hospital for more testing. They couldn’t make heads or tails of it. So I was hoping you could identify it. But if it’s extraterrestrial…”
I squint and glower at the same time, “It’s probably something supernatural. Doesn’t seem fey though.” Much too large for one. Also lacking Dust.
“That gets me every time. I wish I had squinty vision. Not vampire, right?”
“Shut up, whatever works, okay? If it were vampire it would have crumbled to dust already.” It was rubbery, almost pliable. “Did you run any tests?”
“Yes, it’s gray because it’s got a metric shitton of mercury in it. No bones in any of that. No identifiable organs whatsoever. I mean, I was tempted to call it a horror prop of some sort, but it’s not made of any identifiable kind of rubber or plastic. It’s entirely composted of uniform cells and there are traces of DNA. Nothing adds up though. Except like, possibly alien?”
“I’ve got an idea, but I’d need a second opinion.” I set the remains down and start removing my gloves, “I’ll be down to confirm or deny my suspicions in a bit.”
“Alrighty, take your time. Just, I got some money riding on it not being alien—”
“It’s not from outer space. I’ll give you that much.”
Triage gave a little fist pump.
“If it were extraterrestrial,” I continue, “You would have never received the remains.”
I walk up the stairs as fast as I can without it seeming weird. I can imagine Triage behind me trying to make sense of this new information. I mean, it was true, someone else would have picked it up if it were truly alien. But the MiB and all that Area 51 nonsense isn’t real. Mostly because if there was a MiB, it would quickly run out of funding for chasing after wild geese to no results. Extraterrestrials have never visited, if I understand what the Seelie court tells me. We’re just another blue dot out of millions in the grand scheme of things. I just like messing with Jack’s head.

Now here’s the thing about hospitals. When someone tells you that Death stalks the halls, it’s only somewhat of an exaggeration. Death doesn’t need to stalk. I mean, it knows. It just has to swing by at the right moment. No stalking involved. Some waiting.
I only just notice the little girl that everyone else ignores. She’s standing by Fred’s closed door in a black raincoat, her hood up. Squinting again, I confirm. Her face is an off color porcelain white. Her irises are black and twinkle with stars.
“Hey there.”
She turns her head towards me and smiles slightly.
“I don’t suppose you’re also here to see Fred.”
A slight giggle, her hands clasp over her mouth.
“Well, do you know about any unusual occurrences around here? Strangers far away from home?”
A head tilt, some more giggling.
“Like a doppleganger?”
Her eyes look towards the top right corners of her eye sockets. They light up and she nods vigorously.
“Ah, well, I see. It was a messy going, huh.”
A shrug.
“By its own kind?”
A nod.
“Well, thank you for your time.” I resist the urge to pat her head.
She gives me a little wave and then continues to wait as I walk off. I feel her eyes trained to the back of my neck.
I’ll be honest, Death is always helpful and friendly, but I care not for the conversations.

I deliver the good news to Triage and make my way to the lobby. As expected, John’s sitting on a bench, looking sad.
He sees me and asks, “It was waiting, wasn’t it. Right outside the door?”
I nod and sit next to John, patting him on the back.
“I figured a while ago that it tries to avoid me. It’s probably as scared of me as I am of it. Two eternal beings, completely foreign to one another. No, not true. When I finally meet death, I will greet it like an old friend. If that ever happens.” A bitter laugh. “Even you’re not long on this earth are you? Well, I guess you’re a special case, but even then.”
“How did he pass?”
“Fred eventually decided that I was an angel, here to take him to heaven. An angel manifesting as his old buddy. He fell asleep peacefully, and by the time I was half way down the hallway, he was gone.”
I nod again. It never waits long at a doorway.

John gets up, “Well, I guess it’s time to head back, huh? I guess we could do lunch or something before I’m off again.”
“When you’re ready, man. When you’re ready.”
“I’ll never quite be ready. I’ve never been ready. I have watched and will watch every single one of my friends grow old and die. Every lover, every enemy, every son, every daughter, every grandchild and great-great grandchild. I have watched nations rise and fall, I have watched cities grow and shrink, I have watched civilization progress and regress. I have bore witness to thousands of births and thousands of deaths. I have seen times of peace, of turmoil, of war, of plenty, of famine, of building and rebuilding. I have practiced innumerable crafts and have learned innumerable skills. I have lived countless lives and seen more things than I can even begin to recall. I have felt every emotion a million times each. And they don’t wear out. I don’t get used to it. I have hurt for longer than most people are alive It is not a revelation that I will always end up alone.

“And yet I still live.

“Because every story ends, and it’s sad, but ultimately we know there are more stories to hear and tell. I guess that’s what keeps me going, stories. They may hold similarities but each one is different. Circumstances are different, characters are different, the setting is different, the storyteller is different, the story is never the same twice. And not every story has been told yet. So I’ll try to hear and experience as many of them as I can. What else is there for me to do?”

John shakes his head and turns back to me, “Come on. I’ve wasted enough time talking to myself. Let’s go find some food.”

I nod again and get up myself. It’s humbling to know that at the end of the day, immortals are just like anyone else, living their lives one day at a time.

We part ways in front of the restaurant after we finished eating. I encourage him to go to Fred’s funeral. Pose as his war buddy’s grandson or something. It would certainly help people find closure, people like him. John just shrugs. Funerals always make him cry. He tries to avoid them when he can. But he definitely considers it.

When I get home, I find myself unusually drained. I briefly consider calling up Dakota, but then decide against it. I check my messages again. Another possible pixie infestation. Ugh.

It takes a moment, but I go grab my cooler full of cold iron and my other fair folk hunting equipment before heading out again.

grenouille-kun: Cries. Was supposed to take a nap to deal with...

Tue, 03 Jul 2012 03:41:00 -0400

grenouille-kun:

Cries. Was supposed to take a nap to deal with searing pain…. and instead finished this.

*edit: s-such a positive response thank you everyone. Also: LOLING FOREVER KIPPI