Fantasy Breaking Into Death's Apartment

[MalumMalice_]

Jolene rolled her eyes at James' smug comment, puffing out a few more clouds of gray smoke as a small "fuck you" before pulling it away from her lips. Yeah, maybe it was childish, but the two always seemed to be at each other's throats with passive aggressive attacks almost every day anyways. You'd think that there was some sort of sexual tension there, maybe- both of them would deny it, however.

Before Stella could say another word in response to James' attempt at trying too hard for sympathy, the door swung open, and in walked the large brick wall of a man from her apartment earlier. However, he didn't look as brutish and scary as he did before when he had pretended to be the police breaking down her door- instead, he almost seemed like a giant teddy bear, now. The sound of his voice was almost soothing and nice, even past all of the intensity.

As soon as she noticed that the box he was carrying held a lot of her own personal things, her jaw dropped slightly. "You...you went through my stuff?" she asked, slightly horrified at the mental image of the large man digging through her underwear drawer. Also...the handcuffs? What made him think those were any sort of necessity?

However, her mood instantly changed when she heard a familiar meow and a jingling little bell. "Oh my god, you brought Bourbon?!" Stella cried, crouching down as the fluffy brown cat ran to her side. She almost wanted to cry- through all of this confusing mess, the one thing that could ever make her feel even slightly better was her little baby. Stella scooped him up into her arms, looking back at the people in front of her as Garrison roasted each of them individually. He seemed to be the boss, really, but of course she could never be sure.

Stella was brought back to reality though when she was spoken to again, reminding her of her current impending situation. Stella Waters was dead, as far as society knew, at least- she just didn't know how this was even possible. Garrison was truly being sympathetic, unlike the other three who weren't really sure what to say. Jolene had already walked out of the room after putting her cigarette in the ashtray that was already way too full, leaving Stella with the men.

All she could do was nod, and follow the older man into the back so he could answer her questions. Once away from the main foyer in the back room of the post office, Stella sat down in a plastic folding chair that was positioned around a large wooden table, attempting to make herself comfortable as Bourbon nestled into her chest. He purred softly into her ear, almost making her feel like she was back at home for a moment.

"So...I...I just don't even know what to ask first," Stella murmured, staring at a small crack in the table in front of her. She was almost afraid to make eye contact with anyone at this point. "I'm...dead...so why am I still here? I don't really believe in ghosts, so I don't feel like that's an option..." Her voice trailed off for a moment as she paused dramatically before continuing, "Can I just have, you know, some sort of broad yet detailed explanation?"

 

[Slade]

James trailed behind Jolene, putting out his own cigarette on the ashtray. Receiving another warning glance from the old man, he rolled his eyes, emptying the contents of the circular ashtray into the trash bin below the desk, before finally disappearing into the staff room with the rest.

The post office’s staff room was something halfway between the typical employee break room, and a storage room for packages waiting to be picked up. On one side of the room was a large metal shelf filled with boxes and mailers of varying sizes. The other side was lined with kitchen counters complete with a microwave, a mini-fridge, a sink, and an espresso machine, each of which looked to be at least ten years old. Miraculously enough, despite all of the group’s gross ignorance of proper appliance maintenance, the devices managed to run perfectly fine -- after a gentle strike or two to the side, of course.

In the centre of the room stood a mid-sized conference table -- white, and wooden, and most definitely acquired from the nearest IKEA. By the time Stella had entered the room, Axel had already made himself comfortable in his usual seat. A chilled bottle of microbrewed beer -- a gift from one of their new neighbours -- was pressed against his cheek. At the sight, James let out a barely audible sneer, taking his place at the head of the table.

“Frying pan,” Axel mumbled under his breath, almost looking like a petulant child.

His features twisting into a subtle smirk, James only shook his head, shooting Jolene a certain sort of look, as if they were sharing an inside joke. A fresh bottle of the hipster beer sat ready in front of him prior to his arrival. While he waited for things to settle down, James raised the opened bottle to his lips, deciding to watch things unfold on their own.

Axel slid the last of the six-pack towards Stella as the latter finally took her seat. Garrison decided to sit beside her, holding out a calloused hand when Bourbon leaned over to sniff his fingers. “Well, first of all, you’re not a ghost. You’re just … not that woman -- Stella Waters, that is.” He gently stroked the top of the cat’s head.

“It’s true.” Axel nodded. “Ghosts tend to be a lot more high-strung. Just try visiting the docks after 3 AM.”

“Anyway, the short of it is …” Garrison took a deep breath, his bushy, white brows furrowing into a look of concern. “... well, all the campfire stories, the old maid’s tales, urban legends, whatever you kids are calling it these days. All true, but I think you probably could've guessed that by now.”

“What you are -- well, it’s a little more complicated,” James piped up, putting his now half-empty bottle down in front of him. He had to give it to these hipster kids -- as annoying as they were, they knew their alcohol, at least. “Even the Otherworld --”

“--that’s what the the entire supernatural community likes to call itself--” Axel clarified, eager to be helpful.

“--isn’t sure about the specifics, but we know it had something to do with an event from long ago.”

“Aye, that’s right.” Garrison turned his chair around to face Stella, his dark eyes almost seeming to twinkle with delight. An almost childlike grin wormed its way across his weathered face. His hand rested on the conference table, fingertips drumming against the wooden surface. The old man had always been the best at explaining these things to the Benighted. Perhaps it was his natural talent for embellishment, or perhaps it was his own undying enthusiasm for the subject matter. At sixty-seven, he was, by far, the oldest of the group, though he was also the last to have stumbled upon the Otherworld. Needless to say, the simple knowledge of it reignited in him that sense of youthful awe not many were fortunate enough to regain later in life.

“You say you don’t believe in ghosts, sweetheart, but do you believe in fate?”

Axel burst out laughing. “Gary, that sounds like the start of a terrible pick-up line!”

Bam! Garrison’s hand slammed against the table, startling the poor cat in Stella’s lap. “Not now, Sparrow!” He held out his hand before the young man could attempt another smart alec remark.

Even James had taken to looking down at the wooden surface, his head propped up by the knuckle pressed against his temple. His lips were pursed into a hard line, the deepening dimples on his cheeks betraying any attempt at hiding his amusement. Even he had to admit that the old geezer became rather endearing when he got into it, and boy did he get into it more often than not.

The old man cleared his throat, commanding silence into the room. His gaze shifted back towards Stella. “Well, do you? Believe in fate? Because the truth is, it doesn’t exist. Not as it was. Not anymore.” Garrison continued, “As you know, time is a strange thing. The gods fear its unpredictability. Humans fear its inevitability. Yet their fear, our fear, is fruitless, for Time is a domain that no god could touch, that no human could shape to their will.”

He paused in an attempt to invite intrigue. Axel had by now behaved in his seat, the unconsumed beer bottle all but forgotten on the side of his face. He’d heard the story before, of course, but he always loved hearing Garrison retell it.

James appeared less interested. He put his own drink down, staring at the condensation forming on the bottle. The droplets appeared to defy physics, descending towards the table in a unified direction, forming the tiniest pool of water at the base of the bottle. The formation slithered towards the centre of the table. It weaved itself upwards, twisting and turning upon itself, until the once formless liquid assumed the silhouette of a hooded woman.

For a moment, Garrison watched as water took shape, half-amazed even after all this time. And then, understanding, he continued his tale with even more vigor than before. “Only once did someone manage to trick Time itself. She was the spawn of an unholy communion between man and god -- a pariah in the eyes of both realms. And so she sought to prove herself, to the gods who looked down on her, and to the humans who saw her as naught but an abomination.” The translucent spectacle of water shifted to reflect Garrison’s words.

“And so, the half-blood thrust a dagger through her ribs, driving it upwards until the tip of the blade kissed the walls of her heart. A substance of crimson flowed out of her body. It screamed of mortality -- that which Time coveted above all, and that which human, but not god, could give.

Her blood drew Time to her, but before Time could tighten its grasp upon her, she pulled out the dagger from her chest, and cut off the hand that clutched at her neck. After all, she did not suffer from the weakness that came with dwindling life force, for the strength of a god was beyond the reach of Time.

Time froze, the moment turning into infinity and nothingness all at once, before it disappeared once more, its severed hand disintegrating into grains of sand. Worn, the half-blood fell into a slumber, collapsing into the remains of Time, blood and sand merging as she slept. When she awoke, she travelled to the heavens, the realm of the gods, where she presented her trophy to them.

Pleased, they celebrated her, and called her Lady Fate.

The goddess of wisdom took her offering, breathed fire into it as she forged it into glass, and shaped it into a mirror. Her work finished, she hung the mirror along the Great Hall, for all the gods to see and admire. The mirror revealed past, present, and future at a passing glance. It became the gods’ favourite object, for it reflected reality in the Earthen realm, and allowed them to watch over all of creation. This made order easily enforceable, and for a time, the gods and the humans lived together in peace.

But, of course, everyone knows that all good things must come to an end.

To this day, it remains a mystery who, or what, caused The Shattering. Some say it was a human whose hubris made them desperate to transcend the gods. And yet some others say it was a god who had grown envious of Lady Fate’s increasing renown.

Whatever or whoever it was, one day Lady Fate’s mirror simply shattered into small shards, embedding themselves across time and space. Lady Fate herself was nowhere to be seen -- and this remains true, even to this day.

And the shards? Little by little, we have come across them. The first was an Oracle of Delphi, back in the days of Ancient Greece. The Pythia, as all the Pythias before her, was revered by Athen-borns and slaves alike, but in time she drew suspicion to herself. She did not age, when all the other Pythias before her did, and though at first, the people simply thought it divine will, a Hero eventually discovered the decaying corpse of the real oracle underneath Apollo’s temple. Is this starting to sound familiar to you?” Garrison paused to take a swig from his yet-untouched drink. “And so it was known: The oracle was a false prophet, a demonic entity lurking beneath the mask of the holy.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re a demonic entity,” Axel cut in, chuckling, offering Stella a half-shrug. “You don’t think she’s a demonic entity, do you, Gare?”

But the old man was now completely lost in his own tale, and did not seem to hear anyone else. “A group of mystical beings -- sorcerers, werebeasts, faeries, incorporeals, and everything in between -- finally agreed to put their differences aside in order to subdue this powerful creature -- and thus the Council came to be. As they captured the false oracle, it finally revealed its true form: Nothing but a seemingly harmless piece of paper, the ornately-painted borders of which were lined with gold and silver. It was a portrait of a woman in blue robes, interposed between a black, and a white Greek pillar. The moon laid beneath her feet.

It would take centuries -- the concerted efforts of scholars, who attempted to find ways to wield the power of the false oracle, and trackers, who attempted to find the rest of the shards -- before we were able to unravel the mystery behind the Pythia. In the late fourteenth century, the Council was finally able to put together its findings: Predictions of the what the other shards may look like, and what they might come to mean. You and I have come to know it as the Major Arcana of the Tarot Deck.

Over 2800 years since Delphi, we’ve only found eight of the predicted twenty-two shards. The last one was found eighty years ago, by the Berlin Underground. The Emperor, it was. The Council predicts that, in the wake of a yet unknown major calamity, a record-breaking three cards will appear in the first three decades of the new millenium.

And now here we are.” Garrison took a deep breath, smiling, satisfied with himself.

James made a gesture with his hand, his fingers curling into a fist. The suspended water droplets lost form, and plunged to the surface. “Near the end of the decade, we shall find Death. Or so the Council says.”

“See?” Axel spoke up as well, shrugging. “You guys didn’t really expect me to be able to explain all that while I was pedalling across the city, were you?”

 

[MalumMalice_]

((WOW okay that is so much to look at xD I understand it's story telling though so it's good. I love your detail, you're a better writer than I ever hope to be! I'm extremely hungover and I didn't sleep until like 5:30 am, and woke up around 8 and couldn't go back to sleep T-T so sorry if this reply is meh))

All of this felt like a dream. A whimsical, confusing dream. However, as the story went on, Stella realized that there was no way her own brain could make this up. It was just so detailed and beautiful, but scary at the same time. She was afraid to interrupt, because it was clear that Garrison didn't appreciate it very much- at least in Axel's case. The way he spoke was soothing, and a little nostalgic. It brought her back to when she was a kid and her own grandparents would tell her stories of their youthful adventures and tales they had heard from old friends.

Stella watched the condensation in awe as it trickled and swirled into different shapes in front of her, depicting the words that the large man was saying. Bourbon's eyes widened at the sight as well, clearly impressed by the tiny droplets of water that flowed past him over the table. At one point, his tiny, fluffy little paw batted at the liquid, but alas, it merely pulled away and left him disappointed.

All of this was almost incredibly overwhelming, and Stella clung to every bit of the story, listening intently as Garrison told her the tales of this "Lady Fate". When he was finally finished speaking, the brunette finally worked up enough nerve to speak.

"So...what happens when all of the pieces are found...?" she murmured timidly, watching as the water seemed to melt back into its original form, "What does this mean for me now?"

 

[Slade]

“No one really knows. Rumour is, with enough pieces, you can alter reality itself. But they’re just that -- rumours.” Garrison shrugged, scratching his beard. “What we do know is the last time a Shard went unchecked, a global war broke out. Bad for Otherworlders and the Benighted alike.” Arms crossed, he shifted in his seat, refusing to look Stella in the eye anymore. Now that the story was over, he knew what was coming next. It wasn’t exactly something he looked forward to.

Neither did anyone else in the room, it looked like. After moments upon moments of excruciating silence, Axel finally found the will to speak up. “Right,” his voice trailed off. “I guess this is the part where we tell you you're kind of in our custody now.”

“I mentioned trackers, didn’t I?” Garrison continued to stare at the puddle in the middle of the table. “Well, we’re one of them. Rogue Otherworlders, dangerous artifacts -- Council wants something, we hunt it down.”

“Shards are top priority, as far as the Council is concerned.” Axel put the bottle down, leaning over to try petting Bourbon, who only hissed in response. Rejected, he jerked back in his seat. “Once we turn you in, we’ll be legends.”

“For the record, the Sinclair House down the street has a well-equipped torture chamber in their basement. They’re competition,” James said, looking every bit serious, as he always did. He motioned for Axel to give him his drink, as the former’s own bottle stood empty in front of him. “Try anything funny, and the entire Council is immediately notified who you are.”

“I wouldn't worry about it too much. Boss is exaggerating,” Axel tried to reassure her, sliding his beer towards James. “Last time I was there, they’d thrown out their iron maiden, and did away with the cat o' nine tails. They’re experimenting with newer, more compassionate techniques, I think Evelyn said.”

((Ahaha sorry about that, I just wanted to infodump to get the main premise out of the way XD I think you're an awesome writer and our styles mesh really well, actually! Try getting some hair of the dog, maybe. Hangover headaches can be nasty))

 

[MalumMalice_]

And with that, all of the sympathetic kindness had flown out the window. Stella's heart skipped a beat with the mention of custody. As the other two continued to talk, she felt as though her heart was stuck in her throat. This couldn't be right. At this point, she knew she was important and that people were looking for her, but she wasn't expecting this kind of plot twist. The people who "saved" her were really the ones that were out to get her in the first place.

"Yeah, sweetie, you'll be worth a fortune," Jolene added with a smirk, examining her long, dark fingernails, "and Mama needs a new acrylic set, you know? These are starting to kind of grow out, and it doesn't look too hot."

Stella turned toward the cold, older woman with something sounding like a small gasp. "Are you fucking kidding me? Torture?" At this moment in time, she wasn't sure what was to be taken seriously or not. "What the hell will be done with me once you supposedly 'turn me in'?" Stella continued, only pulling her hands away from Bourbon long enough to do air quotes. The ground below her felt as though it were beginning to crumble, sending her into a deep spiral of horror and mass confusion.

The story that Garrison had been telling was nice and entertaining, but now all of a sudden, Stella didn't want to hear any more of it. She wanted to go back to her shitty apartment in Southside Riverview, to where the only things she had to worry about were the power going out and whether or not she would get to go to the movies that Tuesday evening when tickets were half off.

Now, all of this shit was piling over her, and she had no idea to crawl her way out of this one. She was Death, of sorts, and now she was paying the price.

 

[Slade]

At Stella’s question, Axel shrugged. He didn’t really know if any of them thought far enough to consider what would happen to her after a job well done. In any case, he sure didn’t waste his time wondering about things like that. It was the first thing a good tracker had to learn, after all, if they wanted to keep their sanity intact.

“Look, if it’s any consolation, we’re not so bad.” He pointed at the Siamese cat in Stella's lap. “I mean, we let you keep your cat and all, and Gary even took the trouble of hauling your stuff here.” Garrison nodded in agreement, although he didn’t really look entirely convinced. Axel continued, “And unlike the Sinclairs, I’m pretty sure the boss has no plans of torturing anyone.”

“You will stay upstairs in the meantime,” James said. The second floor of the post office was a three-bedroom apartment shared by him, Jolene, and Axel. Glancing his wristwatch, he stood up, preparing to make his leave.

“Aw, boss, you’re leaving already?” Axel pouted.

“Council business early morning.” His back turned to everyone else, James raised an arm, offering a slight wave as his farewell for the night. He turned the corner, disappearing up into a set of creaky, wooden steps.

Garrison sighed. Well, it was getting late. He turned to Stella once more. “You have any more questions, sweetheart?”

 

[MalumMalice_]

Feeling a little like giving up all together, Stella just shrugged. Her shoulders drooped slightly as she continued to pet Bourbon, his bottom rising into the air as she scratched further up his back. What the hell was she supposed to do now? All she wanted to do at the moment was sleep, and pray that she'd wake up in her bed in bed the next morning in her shitty apartment back home in the real Riverview.

"I think I just need to be alone for a while," she murmured, standing after grabbing up the cat in her lap. She glanced down at Garrison, her face expressionless and unreadable. Of course she was scared- who wouldn't be? There had to be a way to fix this and get out of this wretched situation.

Jolene waved as the other man said his goodnights, and headed up the stairs. Once they could no longer hear the creaking from the rickety wood, she turned back toward the group and sighed. "I'll show you where you're to sleep tonight," she murmured, nodding her head in the direction where James had disappeared to, "Get your things and let's go." Her tone was cold and uncaring, which made Stella feel uncomfortable.

Maybe she could just bolt toward the door and run away...She kicked herself mentally, not wanting to leave stupid ideas floating around inside of her head. They would surely catch her in probably minutes, maybe an hour or so if she was lucky. Then who knows what would happen to her? Would they lock her in the basement, or sell her to the Sinclairs so they could torture her? No...if she was going to escape, it had to be done the right way.

Jolene started to head up the stairs, and Stella nodded toward Axel and Garrison before setting the cat down onto the floor. She soon replaced him with the cardboard box full of her things, and followed the blonde woman to her bedroom for the night.

Once upstairs, the place almost tripled in size. There was a small living room off to the side of the staircase, poorly decorated with an old, ugly red couch, a wooden coffee table, and a small TV- the kind that was popular in the 90's with the large, thick backing to it. From the living room, one could reach what appeared to be a kitchen, and then three bedrooms on the other three corners of the apartment. One was for James, one was for Jolene, and the other was for Axel. The blonde led her to the farthest corner of the room, where she turned the knob and opened the door.

"This is Axel's room, normally, but you can just crash here for right now," she informed her showing her in, "It kind of smells, but you'll get used to it after a few minutes."

Jolene flicked on the light switch, illuminating the room in a dim manner. Bourbon soon came flying in, plopping herself right down at Stella's feet and meowing. The room looked more like a college fraternity douche stayed here, not a thirty year old man. It was almost a little weird, but the brunette didn't judge. Sports posters from Riverview's teams lined the walls, along with other magazines and memorabilia scattered across the dresser and floor. There was a few articles of clothing skewed over the room as well, but other than that it was decently clean. It did smell a tiny bit, however.

Stella turned back to the blonde, looking at her for a moment. "Thanks," she murmured, which Jolene took as her cue to leave.

"Alright, have a good night, then," she murmured, exiting and closing the door behind her, leaving Stella in silence with her fur baby.

 

[Slade]

By the time the group had gone upstairs, James’ door was locked, his lights turned off, and his room absolutely soundless. He’d always been blessed with lightning reflexes, after all, and so was quick to set aside his book, and shut off the lamp shade the moment he heard creaking up the stairs. James spent the rest of the night eavesdropping on idle conversations, rolling his eyes whenever he caught Axel’s many sad attempts at humour. It wasn’t long, however, before he heard the sound of doors slamming shut. The entire floor finally succumbed to darkness. Content, he, too, closed his eyes.

By six on the dot, he had already gone through a hot shower, and two cups of coffee. Before he left, he made it a point to check Axel’s bedroom. The Shard was still there, of course, although whether or not she was faking sleeping was irrelevant.

Five minutes later, he was outside, zooming past the city’s dead streets through his power cruiser. Riverview had always been a wonder during early morning weekends, when its considerably large partier population had yet to walk the walk of shame.

Downtown was even better. Saturdays were days-off for most people in the financial district, leaving James able to do real business in peace. The ever-increasing sleek, glass skyscrapers started to look the same after a while, although one always stood out to any Otherworlder that was ever worth anything.

“Addington, Copeland, Reid, and Associates.”

It was one of those buildings that looked so serious and so boring that most people never questioned what business went on inside. Barely anyone noticed that the names on the signboard changed periodically -- in fact, they always coincided with the local elections. Of course, the system didn’t quite work as democratically inside the building. Even James’ surname had found its way on the grey signboard a few decades back -- and his family was, for all intents and purposes, no longer relevant to the greater scheme of things.

He stuck an overdue parking ticket on one of the motorcycle’s handlebars, and proceeded inside the building. Because of the time, he was the only one there, other than the willowy receptionist seemed hellbent on ignoring him until he took a number from the dispenser.

“002,” it said, and he sat on one of the expensive-looking couches, glaring back-and-forth between the lone receptionist, and the “001” written on the LED board above her. After a good fifteen minutes, she let out a heavy sigh, and a chiming noise finally beckoned him to come forward.

“I’m here about a bounty.” He slid his credentials across.

“What’s the case number?” The woman enunciated every syllable of her word. Every vowel rolled off her tongue a half second longer than was tolerable. James had to get out of here as soon as possible, for both their health.

“There is no case number for it yet.”

The receptionist stopped what she was doing, and slid the card back towards the dark-haired man. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr. Villarroel?”

James sighed, just as frustrated. “Just get me in a room with Copeland. We go way back.”

“Let me phone her secretary, sir.” She picked up her phone, her sluggish movements vaguely reminiscent of a tropical sloth. James drummed his fingers against the table.

“Hi, Josie. I have a James Villarroel here says he wants to book an appointment with Miss Beckett. R-R-O-E-L.That’s correct. Uh huh. Yeah. Yeah. Mmhmm. Yes. Uh huh. Okay. Yes. Okay. Thanks. Bye.” She hung up. “She can get you in on the fifteenth, at 1:30 PM.”

“That’s three weeks from now.”

The woman didn’t seem to hear him. Instead, she continued to type on her keyboard, her long, painted nails clacking against the mechanical keys. The familiar chiming noise rang across the lobby once more. The LED board above James read “003.”

James looked at his wrist watch. 07:46. He’d wasted enough time, he supposed. Time to go home.

It was a little past 8 AM when he’d finally returned. Not too bad, it seemed, considering the whole apartment was still fast asleep. The kitchen was his first stop, and a frying pan made its way to the gas stove soon enough. For such a tiny space, it was packed with relatively high-quality ingredients -- a variety of herbs and spices, and fresh, local produce. A thought occurring to him, he decided to head to Axel’s bedroom once more.

“How do you like your --” he opened the door, eyes immediately picking up on the proverbial elephant in the room. Or its absence, so to speak. James pinched the bridge of his nose, taking in a deep breath as he let the realisation sink in. Once he’d sufficiently calmed himself, he proceeded to Jolene’s door, making a slight gesture with his hand as the knobs on the stove turned off by themselves. He knocked on the door. “You’re headed downtown today. Check Waters’ office first. She’s not here.”

Without another moment to lose, he returned to the living room, less than amused with the snoring, blond man who had locked himself into a cocoon of blankets. Honestly -- how was a woman and a cat able to get away undetected when the living room was so cramped and creaky? With his foot, James nudged the lump under the covers. It stirred ever so slightly, grumbling to itself. Sighing, James decided to leave the figure alone for now, and instead attended to his phone, scrolling through the contact list until he hit the names starting with “L.”

“The Shard is gone,” he said as soon as the line picked up. His voice -- or perhaps his words -- appeared to finally rouse Axel from his sleep. He sat up, greeting James with a horrified look, which the latter reciprocated with a stony glance.

“Morning,” James said, breaking gaze as a muffled voice spoke through the phone. “No need. Proceed to her apartment right away. Scope the entire Southside if she’s not there. Have Sarah forward any and all known addresses of friends and family. Axel will scout each one.” Without waiting for an answer, he hung up, and put the phone back in his pocket.

On any normal day, Axel would have revelled in that tiny moment: The boss was too cool for “goodbyes,” like a character straight out of a TV show. Alas, today was no normal day, and Axel soon found himself collapsing back to his sleeping bag.

“Damn it, boss, it’s my day off!”

 

[MalumMalice_]

That night, after everyone had gone to sleep and the house was silent, Stella crawled out of Axel's bed. Bourbon gave a bit of a protesting meow, being that he was curled up on her chest fast asleep before she had decided to move. On the floor was the box Garrison had packed some of her stuff in. Kneeling down on the floor, she dug around a bit to see what all he had brought here with him. A few articles of clothing, her wallet, a baggie of cat food (to which she gave to the cat moments later), and the handcuffs. God, if only her phone had been packed as well.

It only took a couple of minutes to find a backpack in Axel's closet, to which she dumped the contents out and shoved them behind some clothes. God, he keeps this place looking like a shit show...she thought to herself, shaking her head. How did people live like this? Her ex-husband had been similarly messy, but Stella's OCD mannerisms had nipped that in the bud pretty quickly after they had gotten married.

"Don't worry, buddy," she whispered to Bourbon, who sat chewing contentedly on a few pieces of kibble, "we're gonna get out of here. Although...I'm not sure what we're gonna do after that. Maybe go to Paris?" She shrugged, and the cat stared up at her with wide green eyes. Stella stuck out her bottom lip, pouting for a moment before kissing the top of his fuzzy head. What am I saying? I don't have money to go anywhere. She sighed, shoving the clothes, wallet, and cat food into the backpack before sliding it under the bed and crawling back under the covers to wait for the right moment to leave. With the knowledge that James had to leave very early, Stella had decided that the best time to get the hell out of there was after he was gone.

Unfortunately for her, however, there was little sleep that night. Stella had lain awake for hours, stressing about how she was going to escape, going over best and worse case scenarios, and plans for her future on the run from these people. By the time she heard James starting to awaken, the sun was barely peeking through the curtains a few feet away. She heard the coffee brewing, rustling around the kitchen, and inevitably the man walking back down those creaky stairs to exit the building. Stella waited ten minutes after the sound of his motorcycle engine disappearing, and slid out of the bed.

It didn't take long for her to change clothes, slip on her shoes, and zip up Bourbon within the backpack she had packed the night before, leaving it open slightly so he could have air flowing inside. Stella took a deep breath. She had at least an hour before James would return, so she had to get out of the apartment and back into regular ole' Riverview. She still didn't have too much of a plan, but thankfully, it was almost the end of the month- rent would be due, but...obviously, she wouldn't be going back to the apartment. There was plenty of money in her account, so maybe she had a chance.

Slowly but surely, after about five minutes of walking back and forth to and from the door, Stella quietly cracked it open. She peeked outside, seeing Axel bundled up in a pile of blankets asleep. The house was silent, so she assumed (and hoped) that Jolene was too. Without making a sound, the brunette crept across the living room and down the stairs.

She breathed a sigh of relief once she was in the main foyer of the post office, realizing that the hard part was over. On her way out, she caught glance of a shine in the corner of her eyes. Oh my god, the keys to Axel's bike! Snatching them up, Stella headed outside, unlocked her new mode of transportation, and headed off down the street.

Two hours later, she was held up in a motel in South Riverview, attempting to figure out her new life.

((Im gonna be super dramatic about this lol- gonna have had her stop by a drug store, cut and dye her own hair, come up with disguises etc lol))

 

[Slade]

If someone ever stopped him to ask what “playing with his feelings” meant, Axel finally had the perfect moment to turn to. One one hand, no one was allowed to touch his bike. It only took him near five years of trial-and-error precision engineering to perfect its form to suit all his needs. To have it so rudely taken away by someone who couldn’t even appreciate her during their first meeting… it was just cruel beyond words.

On the other hand, the boss responded by nonchalantly dropping his own set of keys into Axel’s palm. “Yours until we find her,” he said, walking around as he turned on the computers and opened up the post office. Axel stood there for a full minute, feeling every bit like he was a moment away from passing out.

The boss’ Harley was every bit as amazing as he imagined it would be. He almost felt a pang of guilt, like he was cheating on his quaint and much less shiny bicycle, but he had a job to do -- and on a weekend no less. A bluetooth earpiece was attached to his ear. It was a Christmas present from Gary’s wife, and he never really had any occasion to use it until now.

“Another dead end. I almost feel bad. Almost. You positive these are her friends, Sar? They sure don’t seem like it,” he said, a fingertip pressed against the earpiece as he spoke. None of them knew what she had been up to for months -- perhaps even years. “Anyway, I’m off to the ex-husband’s. Last one on the list. Over.”

“Axel, you don’t have to say over everytime you’re done speaking.” The familiar voice of Garrison’s granddaughter rang through the earpiece.

Axel let a brief stint of silence linger between them. “See? It’s hard to tell when you’re done talking otherwise. Hey, Sar, can’t you just hack her phone and triangulate her location or whatever? Over.”

“Dude, I’m not CSI. You watch too much TV. Over.”

“You heard her, Sparrow! She’s not CSI. She's a med student.” A third, muffled voice joined the conversation. There was a lot of button-pressing noises in the background.

“Careful, Gare. Gina’s not going to forgive you if you go through a third one in two years. Over.”

Garrison’s annoyed grunt was crisp and clear through the line. “Anyway, no use hacking her phone. I have it. She forgot it in her apartment.”

“Oh, because you didn’t bring it the first time around, but you remembered the cuffs? Over.”

“That wasn’t for her. That was for you!” If there was anyone who could ever make the word guffaw work, it was Garrison. Garrison guffawed a lot. Garrison made guffaw his own. “Anyway, she’s nowhere in Southside. I’ve bribed all those skater kids in the streets, and no one’s seen her.” He looked up at a shabby-looking building that seemed on the verge of collapse.“Well, there’s just this motel at the end of the district.” He took a deep breath.

“Good idea, Nonno.” Sarah’s inhumanly fast fingers ripped through her keyboard as she had a new slew of things to google and compile. “I’ll get up a list of budget motels and hostels around the area, and we can check those next.”

Axel groaned. More work. “Wish this day would be. Over.” He pressed a button on the earpiece, and the flashing blue light went off. He knocked on Scott’s door.

On another side of the line, Garrison’s earpiece was starting to be filled with interference and static. “Think I’m going to have to hang up now, sweetie. Love you!” He hung up after hearing Sarah’s reply, any hints of affection or good nature in his expression gone as he entered the nearly rundown motel.

The receptionist -- a fresh-faced, freckled teenager -- appeared determined to avoid eye contact. “Look at me when I’m talking, boy.” He leaned forward on the counter.

“Yes, sir?”

“What’s your name, son?”

“Ri … Richie, sir.”

“What you doing, Richie?”

“I … I’m working, sir?” The bright light on his computer screen reflected against the teenager’s spectacles.

“You’re a good kid, Richie, but you’re not half as smart as my granddaughter, you know that?”

“Err, Y- yes, sir.”

“Well, tell you what, Richie.” He cracked his neck, and then went the knuckles. “I’m looking for someone, and soon as you tell me something, I’ll leave you to your Facebook. We got a deal?”

 

[MalumMalice_]

On the way to that motel, Stella had stopped at a drug store to pick up a few things. The frizzy haired cashier gave her no indicator that he was even wondering what she was doing with her purchases, staring blankly at the computer screen as he scanned her items over the counter. She was a little surprised, but relieved that he wasn't asking any questions. There needed to be no unnecessary contact with anyone until she knew she was safe.

"Your total is coming up to $26.44 today," the teenager murmured, his voice making him sound as if his mouth were full. Stella cringed slightly as she started to pull out her wallet. "Would you like to donate a dollar to our 'all dogs go to heaven' foundation today, ma'am?"

She paused, looking up at him. Oh my god, dogs? Dogs always needed help. No, this can wait. I have shit to do. "Oh, um, no thanks," she replied with a forced smile as he bagged the rest of her things up for her. Stella went to give him her bills when she paused, making eye contact with this stranger.

"Please?" he asked again, his expression unchanging somehow, "the dogs need your help...Nobody ever donates and my boss is gonna kill me if I don't have anything..." He brushed a lock of his frizzy brown hair out of his face, only to have it spring back right where it started. God, this guy was pathetic.

"Jesus, fine." Stella nodded, pressing her lips together firmly as he took the cash from her, a small smile escaping his thin lips. The cashier handed her the plastic bags and her change, and she bolted out of there as fast as she could. "Bourbon, that was absolutely ridiculous," she murmured, and her cat gave an agreeable meow from the backpack over her shoulders.

Once she was settled in her motel room, she got to work. At the drugstore, she had purchased only the necessities- scissors, a box of hair dye, gloves, and some snacks. Only the necessities- that's what she told herself anyways. She had to eat, right?

Stella looked into the mirror on the wall in the shitty motel bathroom and sighed. She had never had short hair, so this was going to be difficult for her. Before she could think twice, she started cutting. Locks of her dark hair hit the floor, and she gasped slightly. "Oh my god. I just cut my hair...oh my god."

Stella bit down on her bottom lip, looking at herself with a sad expression. "Guess it's too late to stop, right?" she said with a shrug, glancing down at Bourbon who sat near her ankles. He batted at a piece of her hair with his fuzzy little paw, cooing in response. It wasn't long before more and more of her hair was littering the floor, and Stella was finished. It wasn't that bad- just a tad choppy. Other than that, it could pass for a decent haircut.

Next was the dye. It didn't take too much time to cover her new do in the black goop, and after letting it sit for about a half an hour, Stella jumped into the shower to wash it off. The color from her hair caused the water to run black at the bottom of the tub, and she hoped it didn't stain.

A few minutes later, Stella was looking at herself once more, but this time, it was almost as if a completely different person was staring back at her.

 

[Slade]

“Brown hair, blue eyes. Tiny as a bird. She been here?”

Richie’s job was hell on earth to begin with, what with the barrage of shady patrons the motel had on the regular. But having to deal with Pimp Hulk Hogan here? That was the last straw. Richie was almost tempted to give the old man a piece of his mind, if it didn’t mean probably getting a leg drop in return.

“I’m not going to let you bully me,” he wanted to say, in his still-squeaky nineteen-year-old voice. Instead, his mouth betrayed him, and said, “There … there’s a lady who just came in this morning. Sounds like her well enough.” It’s for your own good -- Richie could almost hear his Judas mouth say.

“Room number?” Thunderlips tapped his index finger at the desk.

Not a chance, pal!

“205. Second floor.”

The tapping finger turned into an outstretched palm. The man wanted the keys, but thankfully, there was no way Richie could betray himself -- and that poor woman, whoever she was -- anymore. “I … I’m sorry, sir. Only my manager has access to the spare keys, and she’s out on her coff--”

“Then why am I still talking to you?” The titan grunted, and headed towards the stairs at once, hunched shoulders and all. Richie could only presume he was going up there to throw things around in between fits of incomprehensible yelling and the occasional variants of “Hulk mad! Hulk smash!”

There was definitely something wrong with the old man. Richie almost felt sorry. He could see the guy hitting his right ear, while muttering something to himself. Maybe his hearing aids stopped working.

Taking a deep breath, the teenager pushed the silent alarm. Not a moment later and his manager entered the building. She gave him a confused look as he passed her.

“I’m sorry, Bertha, but I quit.”


“Any updates, Jo? Sparrow?” Garrison was holding the phone in his palm. His earpiece had long stopped cooperating. He couldn’t believe Gina spent so much on this piece of crap.

“I don’t know.” A man’s voice came out of the speakers. “I think I might’ve accidentally scared her ex off. At least that’s one less person she can run off to, eh?” Silence, and then the voice appeared once more, this time sounding more irritated. “Gary! Am I on speaker?”

Garrison grunted, walking through the halls of the second floor. “That stupid earpiece stopped working, and you know how hot my phone gets after a while.”

“Well, we’re at a dead end here.” Axel sighed. “I’m off to Silas’ to pick up some supplies, then I’m going home. Still light out, so I might have time to take Jodie out somewhere, after all.”

“Uh huh.” Garrison was only half-listening, having reached the end of the hallway. The dirty, off-white drapes might have obscured his figure from outside, but he could clearly see the approaching police lights in the distance.

Siren calls were not at all unusual in Southside -- in fact, it was so commonplace that both cars and pedestrians had long stopped bothering to give way to any active, emergency vehicles.

That was good for him, but he shouldn't be so complacent either. Bummer. He had a good feeling about this one, too. “Send my regards to the kid. Have to go. I think that snitching ginger called the cops on me.”

The man on the other line chuckled. “Try not to get caught, Gare. We don’t have the money to bail you out.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Struck with another idea, Garrison decided to give up on the chase, instead heading downstairs. “Hey, Ax, don’t forget to get the lightbulb on your way back. Jo’s been complaining. It’s been days.”

“Ugh, do I really ha--”

Garrison hung up, managing to avoid the police just as he flee through one of the fire exits. A man of his description was a dime a dozen around these parts, so with some luck, he wouldn’t be hassled at all. Just needed to keep his distance, and then some.

He circled the perimeter, checking every nearby street and alleyway, eyes checking racks and metal poles, paying closer attention to the narrow spaces. Soon enough, his efforts finally bore fruit: Axel’s bicycle was hidden somewhere behind a pile of garbage bags and discarded furniture. Garrison laughed -- guffawed. He took a photo of the scene that would surely result in one of Blondie’s classic tantrums.

Going back to business once more, he took his phone off its case. On the back of his phone sat many small, circular chips of varying colours. One of the chips was attached to his phone -- faintly blinking to confirm that it worked fine -- but the rest of them threatened to slide off the surface at the slightest hint of movement. His granddaughter had given him a pack of the things the last time he’d misplaced his wallet. Never really thought he would find actual, good use for it one day, but he was never one to speak too soon.

Garrison took the black tracker from the pack, and put his phone case back. With his free hand, he examined the space underneath the car seat, stopping only once he found the latch to the secret compartment. He’d seen Axel do it a couple of times, though Garrison never really bothered to find out what was inside. With the right manoeuvring, he got the top half to pop off.

Impressively enough, it contained more things than it looked able to. There was a bunch of coloured vials -- and Garrison immediately recognised the embossed logo of Silas’ bar on the caps. There was no question; he was pocketing all of those before the wrong person -- the likes of himself, for example -- took them and died. There was also a pack of those overpriced Davidoff Magnums -- possibly to console James whenever the latter was in a bad mood. And there, somehow, beneath it all, laid what seemed like a perfectly good lightbulb.

“Oh, you are kidding me, Sparrow,” Garrison muttered under his breath, finally sticking the tracker on the roof of the compartment. He held the lightbulb in his hand as he activated the device through his phone. Finally, some good news. The tracker started blinking, and his phone confirmed its GPS location.

Returning the bicycle in its place, he made his way back to his pick-up truck -- the red, rusty Silverado that never failed him. It still had all of its tires, too, which, considering the amount of time he’d spent in the Southside today, was something short of a miracle.

Garrison placed the lightbulb in one of the cup holders, and his phone on the mount in front of the vent. All things considered, his car had always been nothing short of immaculate -- save, perhaps, for the area above the glove compartment. It was riddled with faded, and slightly scratched-out stickers of Powerpuff Girls and some other talking animals.

He passed the flashing police cars on his way out of the Southside. There that kid Richie was, stumbling over his words as he tried to explain the situation. The cops looked annoyed more than anything, but also thankful that, perhaps for once, it was a false alarm and not another dead hooker.

As he passed the bridge connecting the two parts of the city, he tapped on his phone until a familiar deep voice answered.

“Axel told me the police were called. You okay?”

“Hey, boss. Better than ever. On my way there now, actually.” In the background, Garrison could hear an unmistakably Disney-like voice buzzing from the TV, and suddenly found himself thankful to be missing out for once. Garrison took his foot off the gas. “Checked out a motel on a hunch. Think I hit the bull’s eye. Might have spooked the receptionist too much, though. Cops all over the place. I can’t make contact.”

After a long bout of silence, James finally spoke, briefly overpowering Amy Adams’ singing voice in the back. “Did you see her, though?”

Oh, right. “Well, not exactly.” Garrison blushed, forgetting his ego for a while. “I found Sparrow’s bike near the motel, and the receptionist confirmed a woman matching her description checked in just today.”

“Ah.”

“Well, I did stick a tracker on the bike.”

Another moment of silence. James was trying to weigh their options, and Garrison was wishing the former would make up his mind faster. That music was grating to his ears.

“... Good work, Lucas.”

That's it?

“Don’t mention it, boss. What’s next? Do I go back? Stake her out?”

“... No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“What do we do then?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

He could hear the familiar ringing sound of the kitchen timer, followed by Axel’s voice. “Yo, Gary, better hurry up if you're coming over! Boss is cooking roast beef for dinner, and he’s almost done.”

“I’ll have Axel and Jolene take turns doing surveillance on her,” James said. “Couldn’t get a meeting with Beckett Copeland until three weeks. If the Shard wants to pay for her own lodging while we wait, then let her.” The line clicked off, and Garrison was left to the company of whooshing cars and the lively streets of a Saturday evening.

 

[MalumMalice_]

God, was she tired of eating Chinese take out and pizza. For the last week, Stella had been cooped up in her motel room, watching horrible romantic comedies on Life Time, sleeping, and attempting to eat. She had gone to a public library a couple of days after she had escaped to book the soonest flight to London, where she had ultimately (and quickly) decided that that's where she would be running to. There, she could start a new life, have more job opportunities, and figure everything out as she went along. For a moment, it was a magical, enchanting thought. Visiting Europe had always been a dream to her. However, as the days went by, she started to regret this decision.

Fortunately for her, however, Stella had snuck out in the early hours to head back to her apartment to retrieve a few things- Bourbon's litter box (she was oh so sick of taking him outside to poop- for God's sake, he was a cat) and food, her passport, a toothbrush, and some more clothes and personal items. She had considered bringing her phone along, but decided against it when she realized any decent hacker (Lucas' granddaughter) could find her location based off of that, so she stuck to just her laptop. Thankfully, she had no trouble running into any of the horrid people who had kidnapped her on the way there and back, which was a relief. Stella had considered calling the police and telling them what happened, but who the hell would believe her? She had died, but not really, and she went through a brick wall on a fancy bike to another dimension? Oh yeah, great story. Stella would be sent to the loony bin for sure.

Once she had returned back to the motel safe and sound, all she could do was wait. She found it to be extremely aggravating and boring, wasting away the time by sleeping and playing games on her laptop to entertain herself when the TV became tedious and boring. The only thing that Stella looked forward to was the free breakfast that the motel had provided every morning- it was refreshing to have something besides processed fast food.

Finally, the day came for her to leave. Early that morning, Stella packed up her things (leaving the litterbox behind, which was a sad day considering she paid a pretty good price for it), placed Bourbon in his carrier, and took off on the bike toward the airport. She was completely unaware of the tracking device that Garrison had placed days ago, which was blinking underneath the seat cover to show the group exactly where she was headed.

 

[Slade]

It only ever really took about two weeks until Axel had gone into full-blown mourning over his lost child.

No, not Jodie -- he’d clarified to the rest of the gang, who never really asked -- but his bicycle. With his granddaughter’s help, Garrison tried to console him by giving him direct access to the bicycle’s location. Alas, the tracker hadn’t moved in days, and really, it was heartless of the boss to forbid him from picking it up even then.

Two weeks later, and Axel had found himself taking after Jolene’s demeanour, at least when it came to his work at the post office. His greetings were reduced to groans, and his freetime was spent browsing the local bicycle shop’s clunky website.

As always, it was right around rush hour when James had gone to flip the CLOSED sign hanging on the front door. Axel was already behind the counter, phone in hand, ready for another idle day. He was already prepared with a sigh when a pop-up blocked the article he was reading.

Alert
Tracker #58435 updated its location.​

Eyes widening, he looked up, only to find out that the boss had since gone elsewhere. Axel nearly stumbled as he dashed towards the staff room.

“Jo! I got a notification! Where’s the boss?” Axel waved his phone in the air.

James was standing by the espresso machine, two hot mugs in hand. He carried the drinks back to the conference table, and continued to sip his coffee in silence. If Axel expected any response from him, the younger man had better start making sense.

Axel frowned, taking far too long to realise that the boss was waiting for an explanation. “My bike! It’s moving. It’s the Shard, isn’t it? She's on the move!”

“Could be a hobo.” James shrugged. It was too early in the morning for him to abandon his coffee. He turned to Jolene. “Call Lucas. Ask him to come over.” The three of them were hardly going to fit in his own motorcycle, after all.

“Gary lives twenty minutes away, boss.” Axel was looking at the updates on his phone, moving the map around to see where the bike could be headed. James had walked over to Axel’s side, looking over the latter’s shoulder, and right onto his phone screen.

Axel scratched his head, confused. “Looks like it’s almost headed … this way? Up North? She finally turning herself in?”

“Airport,” James said, taking what unfortunately was probably going to be his last sip of coffee for the morning. Well, not if he could help it. James turned to Axel. “You have my keys, and it’s your bicycle.”

Axel nodded, his baby blue eyes finally renewed with a sense of purpose. “Won’t let you down, boss!” He dashed out of the room and onto the streets. After a while, James could hear the roaring of an engine, followed by the annoyed cries of the early morning passersby.

James sighed, looking down at his now nearly-empty mug, and then back at Jolene. “Need some more?”