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Writing Prompt Responses

Mirror of Erised - Mitch

The first thing she saw in the mirror is herself. Smiling, and looked so happy and without burden. A few face that she tried to forget appeared next to her, Zhang Fang and Lu Yue. Next come the pretty dresses, the nice clothes she wore that fateful day. They had fun, they tried all the rides and watched all the parades. The scene shifted to the three of them, walking around Huaihai. Purchasing cute accessories, watching a movie on cinema. They talked about boys and grades, about exams and gossips.


 


She saw herself laughing, her cheek red with excitement. But the eye of her reflection looked bored, almost sad. Aimless, without purpose. As she watched her reflection living a normal life, without a power and without the need of being scared of anti-supers and Raguel, she started to wonder if this is the life she truly wanted? A life where all she had in mind is to graduate, got a good job, marry a man, give her parents a grandchild, then life happily ever after until the day she dies?


Of course it is, this is the mirror that showed one's deepest desire isn't it? She cannot hide in front of the mirror.


 


Mitch took a deep breath and then closed her eyes as she let it out. When she opened her eyes, the reflection is gone. The mirror showed current self. Powered, labeled as dangerous, a thin smile on her face and black eyes staring with confidence and determination. The smile turned into a grin, as Mitch turned and walked away.


 


Bonus info: Mitch is demiromantic, she never experienced love before. She says 'marry a man' because that what her mom wanted (Conservative). If by chance she falls in love with a girl in this RP, then there she will be a scene of her coming out!
 
Lab Notes


Recovered from wreckage of unknown origin on the sea floor roughly 30 nautical miles west northwest of Ishigaki Island, Translated from the Japanese by Anthony Constanzo, QCIC Division. Missing sections are illegible, not redacted, if anyone cares. Not like anyone will read it anyway. This job is killing me I swear to God... I think I will classify this one director's eyes only, just to shake things up.


8/17/33 Three more subjects expired today. Weak. Disgusting. •••••••••••••••••••• there is •••• promising.


8/18/33 Nothing legible but the date who the hell keeps lab notes with a calligraphy pen at an underwater research facility? Buncha morons, that's who. You can tell, cause they're all dead.


8/19/33 Fish girl survived pressure test! Final test dropped pressure from 100 Mpa to just 100 in 1.37 seconds. Other candidate exploded. Fish girl cleaned up •••••••••••••••••••••••• eyes ••••••••••••


8/20/33 Fight match ups today. •••••••••••• excitement. •••••••• betting •••••••• fish •••• unbelievable!


8/21/33 The only legible word on this page is 'claws' and 'taihen,' which is not really translatable absent context, but basically means “big strange.”


8/22/33 Giant Squid? ← Not too sure of this. Some nonsensical scrawl following about the deep rising.


8/23/33 I have no excuse. Blood spatters obscure whatever else may have been on the page


What was the point of that, I ask you? Oh. That's right. Nobody is reading this. Talkin' to myself.

 (Lab notes post)
 
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This Is A Hold Up!

The charging station is lit up almost painfully brightly with old school LED arrays. There are more efficient ways to light in 2040 America, but a charging station that still has gas pumps is not the place you'd expect to find them. The place is so old school there is even a little bell above the door that jingles when the door is opened. It does so. A blast of damp cold air blows into the little glassed in space, bringing with it a bedraggled figure, caked head to toe with slush and snow and ice. The attendant at the cash register barely looks up, a strange mixture boredom and simultaneous irritation at the interruption of his boredom playing across his face. “Restroom's in the back. Try not to drip so much on the floor, m'kay? Just mopped it.”


The newcomer said nothing, but ran his hands through his hair squeezing out the ice and snow caked there onto the floor. The attendant opened his mouth to complain, but shut it again when he got a good look at the guy. It wasn't just snow in his hair; the hair itself was flat white. Paper white, like all the color had been leached out of it. Like a dead thing, the victim of some kind of vampiric attack. Also, with the hair pushed back from his forehead, his face was exposed. One good look at the mass of scar tissue where the boy's right eye ought to have been, and the register guy decided it was probably a good time to restock the E cigarettes. Or something. Any excuse not to look into that ruined face.


The boy stood there dripping a long while, looking around in puzzlement, as if unsure why he had come in to begin with, looking around at things as if they had lost all meaning and context for him. In spite of his obvious youth, he looked like an old man. Not because of the hair, but rather the way he carried himself, as if the world had used him up left him behind. Eventually he shuffled off toward the bathroom and closed the door. A few minutes later the lights dimmed noticeably and stayed that way.


“What the hell?”


Just then the bell jingled again as the front door burst open. Two men in ski masks enter with another blast of cold air and snow. The ski masks don't provoke comment in this weather, but the handguns they are carrying quickly capture the attendant's full attention.


“K, man this is a robbery. Open up the register, give us all the cash. Turn on the chargers so we can top off the car. Nobody needs to get hurt. Just don't be stupid, yeah?”


“It's cool man, it's cool! Be cool! There's not much in the register, but you can have all the charge you want! Plus snacks and shit for the road, right?”


“You got a deal, man! All the snacks cash and charge we can carry and... no bullets for you!” They laugh like hyenas and the clerk smiles back, if nervously


The men with guns grab plastic bags and start cleaning out the candy aisle while the attendant opens the register and flips on the charging station. The lights dim a little further.


A few seconds later the door bell jingles again as a third man in a ski mask barges in. “You guys gonna turn the charger on or what? Battery is low. Gonna take a while to top it off.”


The guy at the register pauses midway through offering up the cash from the drawer, looking genuinely puzzled. “It's on. Indicator says it's under load too. Draining reserves pretty fast too, look for yourself!”


The three robbers come over to see, resting their guns on the counter, leaning over to watch the power reserves drop into the yellow, then red, then zero. The lights come back up to full brightness, and a moment later there is the sound of a toilet flushing behind the restroom door. Instantly alert, the three men brandish their guns, unsure for a moment whether to point toward the restroom or the clerk.


“What the hell's that, man?! Who's back there? What, you didn't think to tell us about that guy huh?”


The clerks hands shoot up into the air, as high as he can reach, eyes wide.


“Don't shoot man, please don't shoot! He's just some drifter dude, came in on foot. Creeply one eyed bastard don't say a word, but goes back there and I forgot ok? You're scarin' me! Please I just forgot!”


Satisfied he is no threat, they all point their guns at the restroom door. There is a faint sound of water running in the sink.


“HEY! YOU IN THE BATHROOM! C'MON OUTTA THERE! NO TRICKS!”


There is no reply. After a moment the doorknob rattles. A few sparks spit out of it, but the door doesn't open.


“YO, YOU GOT THREE SECONDS!” the thug glances at his fellows, grins and yells “THREE!”


They all open fire on the restroom door, letting off somewhere between 12 and 15 shots total, some high, some low, sweeping left and right. The clerk has disappeared behind the counter. Gun smoke hangs in the air. They are just about to stuff their guns back into their waistbands when the doorknob rattles again. It turns. All guns are trained on the door again, though perhaps they are slightly less steady than before. The door opens, revealing a shattered toilet and sink in a tiny closet sized room. Framed in the door, stands the white haired boy. His one eye is sparkling blue now, and his feet are sparking as he steps out of the puddle of water now streaming across the floor. He moves forward onto dry floor and surveys his would-be murderers curiously. “Hello,” he says.


One of them opens fire and then they all do. They fire until their guns are clicking on empty, but apart from two dozen new holes in the wall behind the boy, there seems to be no effect. One of the men in ski masks breaks and runs for the car, yelling something about ghosts. The other two dig in their pockets for a fresh clip.


Now, at last, the boy moves, and as fast as he vanishes into the adjacent aisle one might be forgiven for thinking the thug headed for the car might be right. They two remaining men reload and exchange knowing nods. One of them goes down the aisle toward the bathroom to cut off retreat, the other jumps sideways to the head of the next aisle, hoping to take the boy unaware. Instantly, he is met by a jumper cable, snapping outward and striking him in the bridge of the nose, drawing blood as well as a cry of pain. The second strike, before he has even put his free hand up to feel his face, sweeps down on his gun hand, hooking the gun with the back of the alligator pincher and tearing it from his grasp. The third strike wraps the cable around his neck. He cries out again, reaching toward his partner in crime, who isn't sure now where to point his gun. The next instant, he witnesses something impossible. The white haired boy literally spurts out of the end of the jumper cable, reforming in a chokehold position in midair behind the thug like some kind of bizarre pro-wrestler made of congealed toothpaste. Before the other man can take aim, the boy has yanked the disarmed thug off of his feet and bounced his head off of the front of the counter. Then he disappears back into the aisle he came from, tucking and rolling with barely a sound, leaving the one remaining attacker no clue where to point his gun. He fires blindly, emptying it through the shelves, which spark and spit as the bullets fragment and ricochet. Through the midst of this hail of bullets the boy emerges through the shelf passing through as if it were so much fog. He hits the larger man in the midriff with his shoulder, knocking the wind out of him. If the boy IS a phantom, he is a solidly built one. He draws back smoothly, using the impact to regain his footing and expertly drops his hands to the man's shoulders, guiding him down face first into his swift rising kneecap. There is a sickening crunch, and the man crumples to the floor. The boy looks down, his expression unreadable. His eye shifts toward front as the clerk peeks over the counter. He makes a barely perceptible nod and walks out the door, bell jingling behind him. By the time the clerk works up the nerve to stand all the way up the robber's car is a smoking ruin, the third man in draped over top of it, and of the kid, there is no sign. Not even footprints.
 

Christmas Challenge Day 6
​



The magic of Christmas infused all the cookies with life and a desire to run. Sadly, running is terrible for knees. Especially knees made of cookie Dough!gingerman.jpg



Gingermen.jpg
 
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Self Insert CS
​

Player Information


  • Username: GUS

  • Previous Characters: Aaron Mallory, Lucas Marsolet



Character Information


Names


  • First name: Karl

  • Middle Name: J

  • Last Name: O

  • Nicknames: Tigger

  • Codename: Dorkliest

Details


  • Gender: Male

  • Age: 43

  • Rank: E

  • Role: “Physics and You!” Instructor

Heroism Meter















Trait




Points (1 - 9)






Courage




4






Altruism




5






Order




2






Kindness




7






Proaction




7






Diplomacy




5






Total




30






Ability Stats










Ability




Points (1 - 9)






Health




2






Strength




1






Defense




1






Agility




2






Intelligence




3






Willpower




2






Energy




1






Total




12








Appearance


  • Ethnicity: Caucasian

  • Eye color: Hazel

  • Hair color: Salt and Pepper

  • Height: 5' 9”

  • Figure: A bit pudgy with age. (195 pounds)

  • Other notes: Goatee to distinguish him easily from good universe version

Personality


  • Affable: 
Easygoing and fun to talk to, Karl is an inveterate performer, and for all that he is a complete dork, most people find him pretty amusing, and end up laughing with, even if they started out laughing at.

  • Profane: 



    Being a teacher, Karl has to keep his 'limiter' turned up to full power most of the day. When he is off duty though, well, let's just say he's not afraid to tell you how he's really feeling. In fact, damming it up all day probably makes the torrent more intense when the limiter finally comes off.

  • Extrovert: 



    You know the part about fun to talk to? Well that is true in small doses. About the fifth time you hear the same funny story, it gets a little old. Also Karl literally can't think straight without thinking out loud. He. Never. Shuts. Up. Ever. The man even talks in his sleep. When he isn't snoring like a buzzsaw. (Allegedly!)

  • Irish Temper: 



    Exceedingly difficult to anger, due to years of dealing with adolescents, he is very unpleasant to be around when finally moved to real anger. And bringing it back down afterward is as difficult as it was to get there. His anger is like a fire being fed fuel and oxygen. Giving it vent doesn't blow off steam, letting it rage just builds up a feedback loop. Affable is a defense mechanism against heart attacks.

History


Relationships


Tammy:


Betrothed. Both Tammy and Karl are on their second marriages, and very happy to have found each other. They bonded, among other things, over having been married to very similar women for nearly 20 years (each.)


Samael:


Karl's son, who he introduced to role playing at the age of 4. 12 years later, Sam returned the favor by introducing his dad to online role play free writing.


All the members of AEGIS:


You guys rock!


Skills


Basic Physics and Basic Japanese


Karl double majored in Physics and East Asian Studies at Oberlin college back in the early nineties. Most of his Japanese has rusted over. To tell the truth, most of his physics knowledge has too, except the bits used for high school education.


Teaching


This is not just what Karl does; it is the core of who he is. The only thing anywhere near as cool as learning something new, is helping somebody else to reach that moment of “Aha!” Watching the metaphorical light bulbs go on are his favorite moments in the day


Martial Arts


A longtime student of Aikido, Karl has been filling his time recently with writing, because the dojo is just to damned far away. Also he is getting a little old for taking hard falls anymore... The philosophy is still a part of him, but then, so are the skills. Grab his wrist and find out!


Gaming


There is nothing better than game night. Nothing.


...well maybe one or two things. Food. Nookie. A few movies. Lot of books. Look, shut up, all right? Games are cool!

 

Oh, the weather outside is frightful…
​

Opening the blinds, Piper blinked before her eyes adjusted to the bright, white snow enveloping the world outside. Seeing snowflakes dancing in the air and little to no breeze, Piper let out a quiet squeal of excitement. Bouncing around her room to gather her layers and pack her backpack, as well as spending some quality time in the bathroom, she soon was ready to head out into the cold, frosty Baltimore. 


Not long after leaving her apartment, Piper paused on a sidewalk to huff a couple times, giggling to herself when her breath floated in the air briefly. Her instant thoughts were of Skyrim, when the guards would cry out, 'It's a dragon!' with their accents. 


Feeling a chill roll up her spine from the cold, Piper shivered and then huffed again before hugging herself and continuing on to her destination. At least, she had remembered her North Face beanie and gloves. The layers helped, but if she didn't have the gloves and beanie, then she'd be really cold out here. Not to mention the fact that she wouldn't be able to take pictures if her hands were frozen.


If Piper wasn't trying to save money, then she probably could've just driven her Camry to the Starbucks location, but the snow was entrancing in a way, and Piper actually enjoyed walking through it. Looking up at the sky and seeing snow falling was equally mesmerizing to her. 


Looking back down from the sky, Piper smiled to herself when she saw the Starbucks just up ahead. Almost there!


Speeding up her walking, Piper soon opened the door to the Starbucks and entered with a content sigh, taking off her gloves almost immediately.


Looking up, Piper grinned and waved at one of the workers, James, who grinned back and said, "Hey, Piper, how are you today?"


"Well, I haven't taken any pictures yet, but the snow is beautiful!"


Chuckling while he moved to make the next drink in line, James replied, "I'm sure you'll take some good ones today."


Almost dancing, Piper moved to join the line at the cashier while pulling out her phone since she used the app to pay for everything at Starbucks. She loved collecting Starbucks gift cards and it wasn't like her parents would give her any unique ones, so she often spent $1 on a gift card just to collect it for herself. Speaking of, Piper peered past the customers ahead of her and had to stile a squeal when she saw the latest Christmas gift card. It featured an adorable snowman with a cardinal perched upon its hat. She had to have it!


After purchasing her new gift card and her usual vanilla latté, Piper moved to a two-person table nestled against the windows of the Starbucks. Once she was comfortable, Piper pulled out her camera and began fiddling with its settings while she waited for her drink. Once she was done with the settings, having found her ideal aperture and shutter speed, Piper sat back and simply admired her camera for a moment or two. It was a Nikon D500 with a nice 200m telephoto lens. 


Hearing her name called out, Piper went to retrieve her drink and soon was back at her table, sipping away. Letting out another content sigh, Piper picked up her camera and began scanning the exterior of the super facility nearby. Facility 108, which was ever mysterious to Piper, who wished she could just stand in the back of one of the classrooms and listen in on their lessons. Not to mention, she really, really wished she could meet some of the supers training there. Just imagine, what kind of powers were all contained in there...
 

Christmas Challenge day 7 Krampusnacht
​



The two knights kneel in obeisance before the door to the temple and the protective runes glow faintly purple in response. Several dull but powerful metallic thuds tell the story of multiple impressive latches opening before the door swings heavily outward. They rise and walk into the presence with obvious trepidation. The twelve hooded monks who serve as the mistresses's personal guard flank the walls of the chamber, weapons at the ready, faces shrouded. Mystic runes of destruction are traced on their blades and their hands. Runes of terrible power that hiss and spit, filling the room with the faint scent of ozone. The mistress does not deign to turn from her ceremonies at the altar, though she does pause in her recitations from the book of Raguel.


“Report, worms. Why have you failed?”


“Appologies Mistress. The ritual of confinement prevented the boy from escaping our trap, as you prophesied. His magic was no avail against your ritual; he could not open his tunnel through elseplace, and we surrounded him in the lower city slums.”


“And?”


“Mistress, he is stronger than we dreamed possible! Our weapons did him no hurt, and with his bare hands he decimated our numbers. Our armor was as papyrus to him, and he killed or maimed our best knights at his whim! We two alone are returned to tell thee. There are rumors he has help from beings beyond elseplace. That he has been chosen to accompany the saint! Mistress, could he be the Kr-”


The knight is cut off at a furious gesture by the mistresses left hand. Vile green smoke emanating from the brazier on the left side of the altar streams down to the knight as if guided by nefarious intent. It surrounds the hapless warrior, flowing through the cracks in his armor, as if to emphasize to him, in his last moments, just how little protection it had ever offered. There is a hissing, sizzling noise from inside, and a few convulsive twitches, then the armor slumps, falls forward and hits the stone steps, falling to pieces, now empty but for the noxious green smoke which returns to the brazier.


“Two of you came before me. Now one remains to return to the barracks with MY word. This Krampusnacht is like any other. The rituals of Raguel hem out the Saint and his servant alike. You did poorly to interrupt my recitations with your prattling tale of woe. Now go. And do not return to me until you have that child's head on a pike!”


The remaining knight departed as quickly as he was able, and the door swung heavily shut behind him and re-bolted itself. The mistress returned to her recitations, and two of the monks moved to clean up the empty armor without being told.


Just then there came a booming knock at the door. The runes flared green, sparked and died out. The monks all readied their weapons and faced the door. Pausing in her recitations, the speaker for the angel turned to see who might be there to challenge her. She gesture peremptorily to open the door's locks, but nothing happened. Two monks moved forward to undo them by hand, but she stops them with a flick of her wrist, and walks forward to inspect the door herself. A light breeze ripples through the room. Candles flicker, and the green blazer flares, as does the red one on the right side of the altar. She hesitates, brow wrinkled in puzzlement. The only possible source of breeze this deep in the castle would be... the chimney. The braziers flare again, and this time they erupt with green and red smoke which both flow toward the opening on the far side of the altar. The two monks in the path of the smoke are killed instantly, the first disintegrated, and the second engulfed in flames and rapidly reduced to a greasy skeleton. The two streams of smoke intertwine and spiral away up the chimney.


“What is the meaning of this?”


As if in answer, the flow of air reverses itself and choking black sooty smoke fills the air of the chamber. The pages of the book of Raguel flip this way and that in the crazy air currents and the candles flicker and nearly go out. A large dark presence now looms behind the altar. Two monks move to attack but are each slammed to the ground with enough force to shatter the stone under them. The others gather around the mistress in a protective circle. Candle light glints off of something at head height deep in the cloud of smoke and soot. There is another booming knock at the door. Two of the latches shatter. Unsure which way to point their blades, the monks shift restively back and forth between the altar and the door.


As if to decide them, the dark thing in the cloud of smoke tips over the altar and comes for them. If there was any doubt of its demonic nature it is dispelled instantly, walking into reach of its arms is a sentence of instant death, and their magically infused weapons are no more effective than if they were using birch switches on an armored knight. When the last monk has met his fate, the creature of the darkness faces the speaker, and she cowers before it. All her spells are shattered like her guards. None have availed her.
“How? How have you done this? The rituals have kept you away for centuries! How have you broken through?”


The thing before her says nothing. Something that may be eyes glimmers in the darkness. In a muffled voice it calls out past her:


“It's all right now, come on in.”


There is one last booming knock and the door is shattered. A smaller figure, dark and hazy like the first is silhouetted in the light streaming in from the hall. The speaker shrieks in anger, or perhaps in fear


“The boy. The cursed boy! How?! How have you come to this place? The rituals of Raguel are inviolable! Their magic is insurmountable! No spell can break the magic of an angel! What manner of sorcery is this?!”


The taller figure reaches up and fiddles near the top of its head. The glimmering that might have been eyes comes away in its hands, revealed as some kind of mask with large glassed over eyeholes.


It leans in close and whispers to the speaker.


“You want to know how we broke through your 'magic' huh? Well, we studied it until we learned how. Little Aaron here helped us. We broke your magic with the only force in the multiverse more powerful, and now we're bringing it to your world... Science, biotch!”
 

A card for someone not seen in a long time…
​

Shrugging of her jacket upon returning home, Leandra hung it by the door to her room. Quietly shutting the door behind her, Leandra did her best to ignore the empty space where Falarion's personal effects used to be. While her parents had removed whatever he'd left behind and either dumped it or donated it to some charity, Leandra could not ignore the past. 


Leandra let out a soft sigh before moving on to her desk and sat down, flinching when the chair squeaked a bit. With the snow falling lightly just outside her window, she realized with a start that this was going to be her first Christmas without him around. 


It was weird, though, to be sad at all. She'd never really gotten along well with him, there was always so much arguing and things even got thrown around sometimes, but it was hard for Leandra to not miss her twin brother. Despite the dark path he was now on, she still felt a distant love for him and she still missed him greatly. If anything, she just wished there was some way she could help him. Though, considering their final encounter, Leandra doubted he'd ever want to see her again.


Looking down at her desk now, Leandra chewed at her lip. She still had one Christmas card left to sign, but nobody else to send it to. Her parents must've absentmindedly ordered the same amount as they did each year, which meant she still had one left for Falarion. 


Despite knowing he'd never receive it, Leandra picked up her pen and opened the card to its blank space. Her hand shook at first, until she took a deep breath and refocused on her writing.


'Dear Falarion,


I know you'll never receive this, but I still want to wish you a Merry Christmas. Our parents don't say the nicest things about you. I think they're trying to cheer me up by making me think less of you, but you're still my twin brother. I still love you, despite everything, and I still miss you. I hope your Christmas isn't too lonely this year.


Love,


Leandra'
 
Day 7 Challenge Bourbon in the eggnog.


Fair warning: Maybe not as creepy as my halloween stuff, but pretty creepy for christmas...

The office party was a stuffy and sad affair. Even the lovely 17th floor view of the Chesapeake, lit up as it was for the holidays, couldn't elevate people's spirits. It had been a rough year for the firm. In retrospect, signing on with Fenrir Robotics had been a bad move. It had seemed like a real coup at the time. Big account, deep pockets, lots of litigation to do. But then they got stuck with all the unwinnable AEGIS accounts... The firm's reputation evaporated in less than six months of one ruinous settlement after another. Generally speaking the mood was stuck at oh god, let's just get through this... I'll put my resume out there in January.


Joey, though, was grinning like a bandit. Joey was standing by the Eggnog, waiting. Phil from accounting came over to see what Joey was grinning about.


“What's up Joey? You look suspiciously chipper...”


“Yeah, man. Great party! You should try the EGGnog!”


“Why? What, did you spike it or something?”


Joey fails utterly to suppress a laugh and turns it into something between a guffaw and a sneeze, but with extra droplets of spittle. Still grinning a goofy grin he gives phil a peek a the bottle he is hiding behind his back: 72 ounces of 125 proof bourbon. Empty. Phil pushes it back behind Joey's back in mock alarm.


“Jeez dude, don't let anybody see that, or they'll be scared to try it! Gotta have SOMEthing to liven up this party! Man, that's classic! Classic Joey! Can I try some?”


Joey nods enthusiastically, slips the bottle behind the table and ladles out a glass for his good friend Phil. Joey has some trouble with that, but manages to get most of it into the glass. Phil takes a sip, and nods appreciatively.


“Dude, that is some strong stuff! Super strong. Still. I think it needs a little extra kick, to really move this party into party mode, you know? Something special. Lucky for us Joey, I have just the thing, wanna see?”


Joey blinks at Phil, struggling to follow all the words, but does his best to make a 'serious face' and nods gravely.


“Yeah man, show me what you brought. Does it blend well with bourbon and 'nog?”


“Oh Joey, you have NO idea. This... goes with everything. This will help everybody loosen up in ways they didn't even know were possible. This will show them the cracks in reality, man! This will show them a peek beyonnnd the veil. Once they've had some of OUR 'nog, Joey? Not even the sky's the limit.”


Joey looks a little unsure about this, but Phil seems so smooth and suave as he pulls a small bottle out of an inner pocket with a flourish, that Joey can't help but be intrigued.


“Whatcha got there, Phil?”


“This, Joey, does not have a name. It is a concoction of my own invention. I will admit to borrowing inspiration from others; Albert Hoffman, Stephen Szara, Anton Köllisch to drop a few names... they were all onto something. They had a piece of the puzzle, so to speak, but lacked the proper sort of inspiration, if you understand what I mean. And believe me, my friend, if you don't yet, you will soon!”


He squeezes the rubber bulb on the top of the bottle and carefully unscrews the top. Inside there is a tiny glass pipette which he uses to deliver one small drop to his glass of eggnog. He sticks his finger in the drink to the second knuckle and stirs it gently. Proffering the eggnog slicked finger to Joey, he asks


“You want to try the first taste?”


Joey hesitates, obviously a little weirded out, but a little too tipsy to be weirded out enough. Phil raises an eyebrow and lifts his glass with his free hand.


“Don't worry Joey, I'm not going to let you fly solo. Skål!”


Phil downs the spiked eggnog in a single gulp, and drops the glass over his shoulder. He closes his eyes tightly, head still tilted back, and a rapturous expression creeps over his features. He looks back at Joey, eyes twinkling. He thrusts the drippy finger forward.


“See? Nothing to worry about, Joey. It's good! Try some!”


Joey leans forward, unsure how to act. The situation is outside his comfort zone, indeed entirely outside his realm of experience, but Phil's whole manner is so confident, he normalizes it somehow. Joey sticks his tongue out and leans forward...


Some time later, Phil is guiding one of the senior partners through chaos of the outer office toward the files room. Tables are overturned, all overhead lights have been smashed, and desk lamps are strewn about casting pools of light across the floor. There is a heavy smell of sweat. Lawyers and paralegals and clerks are mostly lying on the floor, eyes glassy and fingers extended toward the ceiling, making shadow puppets of intertwining tentacles. Many of them are in various states of undress, but few seem to notice. Joey seems to be a key exception, chasing after another young lawyer, both of them urgently trying to shed even more clothes as they run. She is looking over her shoulder at him and whooping joyously as she runs straight out through a plate glass window. Joey hoots appreciatively and swan dives out after her. Phil smiles at their daring.


“See Joey? I told you I wouldn't let you fly solo. Now then. Mr. Williams was it? I am going to need your eyes to open a very special file in your files room, alright? The Fenrir accounts. The private ones. After that you can do whatever you want, all right? How's that sound?”


Henry Williams (esq.) looks at him in confusion, eyes dilated and struggling to track properly


“Phil?”


“No, Henry. Phil is... no longer with the company.” He pulls off a wig and gently pops out his contacts. As he is peeling a foam rubber applique from his cheeks and chin, Mr. Williams makes a valiant effort to wander off, but the man who is not Phil takes his elbow and leads him again towards the file room. Without contacts, his eyes seem to swim with a variety of colors. Mainly violet and blue hues, but with a glitter of gold in his left eye. Illuminated from below, like a campfire ghost story, his age is difficult to gauge. He could be in his late teens, or an ancient trickster from the elder days of time. Mr. Williams stares at him, fascinated, stumbling over his employees in spite of his guide's best efforts.


“Who are you?”


“Mmm? Oh, I go by many names. None are important. Just sounds. Phil, Lars, Joey, Henry... Hank.


Henry nods, satisfied.


“We are all one, aren't we?”


Lars's face lights up in a brilliant grin, and gives his eyes a friendly sort of skyward roll.


“We sure are, buddy. We Sure Are.”



Disclaimer: No actual lawyers were harmed in the production of this prompt.
 
Day 14 challenge: Angels on high

The young girl looks up as two humanoid figures sail over the compound, wings beating powerfully. Electrified, she runs into the cabin to fetch her mother. “Look mama! Look! There are angels! Come out and see! Quick!” The girl runs back outside to watch. She is transfixed with religious awe watching them sail over the treetops. She does not notice her mother coming up behind her until her head is jerked back, a great fistful of her hair closed in mama's fist. She screams in pain as a few drops of crimson blossom among the roots of lustrous red.


“What'samatter with you, child?! Git back in the house. Those ain't angels yeh fool, they's demons. Freaks o' nature. Witches and such. Git back in the house wi yer sister and read your bible. That'll learn yeh t'tell the demons from the angels fer sher! Stupid child ain't got the sense god gave a gopher. Yew best learn yore lessons child! It is two thausand an' hate, and Jeezus is comin' back any day now! What'll yew have to say to account for yerself then?”


Weeping and holding her tender scalp, the girl runs to the study room and opens her bible. Unable to conceive of blaming her mother for anything, she vows vengeance on the false angels. Thus is one more heart hardened, one more soul lost to the devil... 



…man, apparently I am just in a very dark place today. Funny. I feel fine. But this is what comes out of me when I sit down to write...


…three more to go with ^That awfulness. #triggerwarning...


Day 5 Challenge: Holiday decorations

The red haired girl was humming happily to herself as she put up the decorations. A tuneless little blend of snatches of holiday songs she had heard on the radio. Back when they had still been allowed a radio. She had found the delicate glass ball way in the back corner of the attic and decided it would look nice haning from a pine bough in the front window. She had gotten up very early and trudged through deep snow into the woods to find the perfect branch, and painstakingly trimmed it off with her grandfathers saw. It was much to big for her little hands, and she got terrible blisters, but for this branch, she didn't mind. She had trudged back to the house, freezing her hands off holding it aloft. She strung it from the window latch, and had just got the ball positioned perfectly when her mother came into the kitchen. Proud as punch, she turned to her mother and beamed. “Look mama! Happy Christmas!”



Day 12 Challenge: Broken ornament

The little girl tried to focus on her bible through the tears. Jeremiah 10. She wiped at the blood from her nose and lip with her handkerchief and read the passage again, dutiful as ever. Each time she finished the passage though, she couldn't help glancing toward the shards of the little glass ball on the floor by the window, and the tears would flow again. But by the tenth time through the reading, she had begun to harden her heart. Beautiful or no, it was clear that her actions had flouted the will of the living god, and now her tears flowed in equal measure from anger and contrition. By the twentieth time through the passage, she was dry-eyed, and watched impassively as her mother swept up the mess and tossed it in the garbage. By the thirtieth time through, she was calm again, and clear in her thoughts. Just 470 more readings to go. Merry Christmas, and the lord bless us, every one! she thought.



Day 16 Challenge: I love you just the same

When at last she had finished the reading, she went in to see her mother and threw her arms around the woman's ample midsection, just as far as her little arms could reach. Her mother pried her off, shoving her down onto the floor where she fell in a heap.


“The hell you want, little heathen?”


Looking up with nothing but adoration in her eyes, she said “Oh, mama, I understand now. I read and read and read, and I understand! I am sorry for what I did. I didn't know, but now I do! You made me understand! The lord's word moved in me, and now I know the truth. I was a vile little pagan, but now I know the lord and he moves in me. I do his work. Thank you mama. I love you so much!”


The woman grunted, satisfied, and leaned down scooping the child up and holding her.


“That's my good girl. Always do the lord's work, and nothing can be wrong, eh?”


The girl brought the carving knife around and plunged it into the woman's neck, then yanked it out again, severing her windpipe and carotid artery. The woman's eyes widened in shock, and she gurgled, unable to speak, suddenly drowning in her own blood. Slowly she crumpled to the floor, releasing the child, who stared into her mother's dying eyes, smiling beatifically.


“Yes mama. I do the lord's work now. Raguel told me what to do. Don't worry mama. The lord forgives you, even if Raguel does not. And I love you. I love you just the same. I love you so, so much!”
 
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Carols on the Radio
​

As Mariah Carey sang faintly over the speakers, Piper sipped at her vanilla latté. The Starbucks had been decked out with festive decorations and she smiled at the red ornaments donned over the glass, which showed off the food available here. 


Hearing the door open with a jingle, Piper glanced over to see her classmate approaching. The guy was just about the same height as her, had short, ruffled blonde hair and his green eyes practically shone in the bright, indoor lighting. Alas, this was not a social call.


As he sat down across from her, Piper opened up her iPad and pulled up the folder of photos that the two had taken over the course of the past week. They had a group project for their photography class and, as per each project or assignment, they were to receive critiques in class. As far as Piper was concerned, they both were the hardest workers in the class and she only wanted to present the best. 


Passing the iPad over to her classmate, James, Piper then went back to sipping at her latté while James flicked through the photos with a soft 'hmm' or higher-pitched 'hmm'. It was pretty obvious which ones he liked and which ones he either didn't or wasn't sure of.


Raising an eyebrow at his tact, Piper then said, "Well? What do you think? The theme was super easy to work with, considering Christmas is literally all around us."


Giving her a small smile, James replied, "Don't get me wrong, some of these are framed beautifully. It's just...well, Christmas is supposed to be about getting together with your family, y'know?"


Looking down at her now-empty latté, Piper's expression softened before she responded quietly, "I haven't seen my parents in months. There's not much of a family prospect to Christmas for me."


James' eyes widened at this and he stammered, "Oh! I'm s-sorry, I had no idea. Um..."


Trailing off, James went back to scanning the photos as a means of avoiding conversation for now.


Sighing, Piper rested her cheek onto her hand with her elbow on the table, as she hated bringing up her parents. People always felt so awkward about it.


Watching the snow peacefully falling outside, Piper was just about to enter daydream mode when James spoke up again.


"I think we could set up some of these photographs in an order, where we could easily be telling some kind of story. Like, we can start with the snowfall, then maybe show this..."


As James continued on about how they'd set up their photographs, Piper sat back up in her seat and nodded absentmindedly. She could only wonder whether or not her parents would bother visiting this year. 


Waving his hand in front of her, James said something leaving Piper with a confused expression.


"Uh, sorry. Nodded off a bit. What did you say again?"


Chuckling, James replied, "I was just asking you what you think of the project. We can easily work with the photographs we've taken so far."


As Christmas music began to fill in the white noise, Piper blinked before finally coming back to reality.


"Right, yeah, sorry. I love your idea for the story."


Shaking his head in amusement, James added, "Just make sure you're present both physically and mentally when we present this in class."


Smiling faintly, Piper replied, "Of course, James."
 

(Christmas Challenge, Day 1) Oh, the weather outside is frightful.
​

"Larry" the GroundskeeperView attachment 221751


How obnoxious. Larry's mechanical body was built to handle extreme hots. Extreme colds. Sandstorms. Blizzards. The weather might have been cold. The weather might have been windy. But to Larry, these were simply things to factor in about the day. They did not bother him. The Facility was closed. Most nearby businesses were closed. But Larry still had things to do, repairs to make, and no weather was going to stop the robot. All one really needed was a makeshift roof with some walls to block snow, and a space heater to melt what few flurries did get in.


The few lab technicians back at Fenrir must have thought Larry's Artificial Intelligence to have gone mad, or perhaps a classic issue of 'taking orders to literally.' But they would be wrong; Larry was working simply because things needed to be done. No ulterior motives, nor insanity or corruption or anything like that. No such thing as inhumane conditions for a robot. Additionally, it wasn't like robots got holidays off. Even if Larry was technically a staff member, and one of the most complex Artificial Intelligence to be ever created, Larry still wasn't human. So labor laws didn't apply. Of course, it's not like he was being forced to work, he was doing so of his own will. Larry certainly wasn't going to turn any of his thoughts into a battle for AI rights, most of them were pitiful excuses of technology, mere tracking programs with voice lines. Larry would only make a fuss when things became an issue for him. Things like lawsuits, which, hopefully, would be avoided.


Tearing himself away from his 'thoughts,' Larry resumed repairs, working quickly and diligently in the cold weather.
 
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(Christmas Challenge, Day 2) A card from someone not seen in a long time...
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"Larry" the GroundskeeperView attachment 221751


While cleaning the halls earlier that day, Director Swan had handed Larry a letter. It was in a black envelope, stamped with golden letters. "G.E." Lovely. A written letter from Gergo. Why would that man bother sending a written letter? Hand written, even? Didn't most people just send e-mails? Or at minimum, a holocard with some text typed out in it? That way there was no hassle for handwriting? Truly a man stuck on the past. He still had a car with a fuel-injected motor in it, for crying out loud. Hungarian Government only knows the taxes he pays on that thing. And with a few moments of scavenging, Larry found out as well. He paid four million dollars a year to keep that thing on the road. What a fool.


Because Larry knew it would be rude to not at least read the contents of the card, Larry walked over to the nearest trash can, and took the card out of the envelope, which he instantly threw away. He opened the plain white card, nothing on the outside at all, and read the writing on the inside.


"Larry,


Thanks for putting up with all the shit that happens in Facility 108. I know it's terrible. Fucking awful, really. That place has been really problematic lately. But hey, there are way worse places than Baltimore. You could've been in Orlando, or God forbid, San Francisco. I tell you, it'll be a miracle if I don't drink myself to death within two years of coming into ownership of Commonwealth. Oh, right! Enough of me venting. I got you a present, believe it or not! I even had someone deliver it by hand, in a disguised package, so you couldn't have it tracked! I had to think of somewhere no one else would check, so go look in the lounge, and take the right seat off of the sofa. It's underneath that.


Merry Christmas!


-You Creator, Gergo"
 


Interesting. Tossing the card into the trash as well, Larry immediately headed for the aforementioned location, and did exactly as instructed. A box was indeed found, wrapped and all! Admittedly excited, Larry tore the wrapping off immediately. He opened the box, only to find a fruitcake. Written on it in Sharpie was the word "BAD". No one would eat this. Larry physically couldn't. Larry through the fruitcake at the wall in rage, which created surprisingly minimal mess. The fruitcake simply cracked, it didn't splatter. Not yet satisfied, Larry punched the wall, crushing concrete beneath his fist. Standing still to calm himself for a few moments, Larry went off to get a patch kit for the wall.
 
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(Christmas Challenge, Day 3) Carols on the radio.
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"Larry" the GroundskeeperView attachment 221751


Whilst out picking up supplies for the Facility, Larry couldn't help but be bothered by the music that was playing over the radio at Lowe's. Larry had a distaste for music. He recognized the talent that one needed to create it, to write an original piece, a truly, truly original piece. But even he, an AI, could create something technically 'original.' Following certain patterns, like arpeggios, or who cares whats, he could definitely compose his own piece. But what he was hearing on the radio? This was not music. It was a chant, with a bell and an acoustic guitar int he background.


It was unnerving, really. And so many of the other customers were quietly singing along to it. Larry had a brilliant idea to block out the noise, though; he simply stopped sound receiving. Benefits of being a robot. It's not like he needed to hear anything else anyone was saying anyways. He just had to grab his materials and leave. He made his list, checked it twice, and proceeded to check out to place his order. Naturally, Lowe's was out of stock out of most things he needed. Had to make room for all the Christmas displays, apparently. Larry unfortunately had to unmute at the register, and another, louder, MORE OBNOXIOUS carol was playing. For something about a silent night, one might think they'd be...silent?


As he left, Larry patched himself into the store's very rudimentary system, and shut down the corporate radio station. The silence coming out of the radio was much preferable to music. Now content, Larry left the store. He'd be smiling if he had a face.
 

Jason Swan
​


Oh the weather outside is frightful...
​







Standing in his little kitchen, Jason stirred absentmindedly at a mug of hot chocolate as he watched big fat snowflakes fall all over his garden, it had been a long time coming, the snow. Weeks of rain and mild weather at this time of the year never did mean good things once the temperature dropped. At least with weather like this he didn't have to turn up to the mayhem that was 108.


"Rum? Amaretto? Marshmallows and cream?" Jason called out into the living room behind him, tapping the drips off the spoon on the lip of the mug.


"Amaretto, please!"


"Rum! Wait no, got any Kaluha? Actually yeah, rum." came the two responses at the same time. If it wasn't for his powers, he would have had no chance at working out the garbled mess.


Looking over at the glass door of the drinks cupboard, Jason opened it and grabbed a couple of bottles from inside, putting an appropriate glug of each into the relevant mugs, and then a hearty measure from a third bottle into a separate glass. Who had time for hot chocolate when you could have hot Baileys. The answer was not Jason, that's for sure. 


With a practised skill, Jason looped his fingers through the mug handles and carried all three drinks into the toasty living room. A log burner blasted  an orange coloured heat through the air from the far wall, a TV playing shitty christmas movies on low volume, and his two favourite people curled up on the sofa under a well loved blanket. Who said old age was lonely.


"Maiya, yours is the blue one, Hazy you've got the flowers." he muttered placing the mugs on the table in front of them before eazing himself down onto the sofa next to them. 


"I can't believe you still have this old mug." the younger woman piped up, grabbing the flowery drink and snuggling further under her shared blanket with a nostalgic smile.


"I can't believe he never got a hot chocolate... or offered me a Baileys..." the older woman replied sarcastically. Jason just rolled his eyes.


"You don't even like Bailey, Maiya." he retorted quietly as he tried to steal some of the blanket with little success.


It was almost a tradition on snow days, Hazel would bustle round from her apartment, dump herself on the sofa and pretend she was a kid again. The three of them would drink all the hot chocolate in the house, Maiya would get too drunk on it and start falling asleep while texting her exes, and Jason would complain about it all and enjoy the shit midday films a little too much.


Turning the volume up a notch on the TV, Jason succeeded in getting some of the blanket as Hazel snuggled into his shoulder. This was what life was all about.
 
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(Christmas Challenge, Day 4) When I said "It's lovely weather for a sleigh ride with you," this is not what I had in mind.
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"Larry" the GroundskeeperView attachment 221751


There Larry sat, alone in traffic. His truck was at a complete stop, the road in front of him iced over and the traffic was complete chaos. Of course, being an AI, Larry could make decisions much faster than any human could, and could make the necessary corrections and do the necessary actions to avoid crashing with ease. The same could not be said, however, for those around him. While there had been no serious accidents yet, Larry's truck had been bumped into at least six times, in a ten minute period. He had moved forward no more than 250 feet. Surely whoever had been hitting him must be delusional.


Larry's truck slowly crawled forward, moving about ten feet, and then traffic came to another standstill. He heard the light 'tap' from behind him, again. Frustrated, Larry pulled the parking brake and exited his truck. He came into view of the driver of the vehicle behind him. A younger man, likely in his twenties. Larry delved into his phone, searching texts and pictures, all sorts of private information. "Well now, James. Instead of you running into me another ten times, I propose a solution." Without waiting for response, Larry removed James from his small car, and opened the door to the cargo bay of his own truck. With some effort, Larry placed James' small vehicle in the cargo bay and closed the doors. "Get in the cab, please."


Down the road they slowly went. James was, naturally, very uncomfortable, but after an awful twenty minutes of silence, and the road finally clearing up, Larry pulled off to the side to let James and his vehicle free. Before James could say anything, Larry grabbed him by his jacket collar and gave him a stern warning. "If I EVER get hit by you again, or if I know anyone you hit, I will personally break every appendage you have."


And Larry was off again, leaving James to piss his pants as he pleased.
 

(Christmas Challenge, Day 5) Putting up holiday decorations.
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"Larry" the GroundskeeperView attachment 221751


As usual, another day cleaning up and repairing the Facility grounds. Tending to the plants, trimming the trees, replacing holes in walls and putting up the third Smartboard™ of the day. There were an awful lot of decorations sprinkled around the Facility, and speaking lightly, Larry didn't care for them in the least. They got in the way of all sorts of useful cleaning tools, they weren't resistant to industrial grade bleach, and they were an all around nuisance. The lights, at least, looked a little nice. Some colors to contracts the standard Contractor Bland™ of literally everything was appreciated.


Of course, there were problems in some places. Banners blocking security cameras, hanging mistletoe in 'inappropriate' places throughout the facility (which is all of it.) Putting ornaments in the trees wasn't an issue until they were knocked off by squirrels or birds, when they came tumbling down and shattered on impact. Of course, this meant that Larry had to take them all down, because they were a safety hazard at that point. It was too bad Larry didn't have a jetpack of sorts, it would be exceptionally useful. Useful in taking down ornaments, or hanging up lights, or just clearing excess snow off the roof. Useful in general.


It was a shame that so many decorations had to be taken down. A lot of them were hazards, or just general nuisances. It kind of puts a damper on the holiday mood, but Larry had to do his job. If it caught him a bit of a 'Grinch' vibe, so be it. Rather take down a ball than have it drop on someone's head and have it bleeding.


(This one is bretty bad.)
 
Day 1 challenge: The weather outside is frightful.

Even on the outskirts of the storm, the wind was howling, and the waves tossed the little fishing boat to and fro like a toy. Makoto kept a firm hand on the wheel while her husband tended to the pumps in the engine room. They had weathered worse storms in the past, but then again, they had had Manami to help them through the very worst of those. The door to the bridge blew open and Makoto hooked a bungee cord over the wheel to hold it while she went to close it. When she turned back there was a strange man standing by the wheel. She gasped, but did not scream. The man's regard is cold, sizing her up, studying her as if she were on a slide under a microscope. When he speaks, his voice is equally cold.


“Buki wa, doko da?”


Makoto's blood runs hot, and her face flushes a deep red.


“Kanojo wa anzen desu.”


“Dame da...”


Without warning he struck out at her, a spinning kick, aimed at her head. The blow was too quick to avoid entirely, but she managed to fall backward, letting it knock her down instead of knocking her out. She is dazed by the impact but manages to counter attack, feinting for his shins and then driving her foot upward to her true target, his gonads. He fades back, and she does not manage to land the crushing blow she was trying for, but makes enough contact to make him grunt in pain. She rolls over and tries to get up, crawling for the door, but then he is on her, his forearm against her jugular, squeezing. Her world goes gray as he repeats softly in her ear. “Doko?”


She chokes and shakes her head emphatically. He squeezes tighter, but then goes slack and falls to the floor, blood flowing freely from a scalp wound.


“Domo, anata.” she chokes out.


“Doo itashimashite, anata” Kyo replies.


Without a word further, they dump the body over the side and begin to clean the deck.


Translations:


Where is the weapon?


She is safe.


That's no good...


Where?


Thanks, honey.


Don't mention it, love.
 
Day 13 challenge: Yuletide Nightmare


@Necessity4Fun Don't click this. Seriously, just don't. Creeped myself out, and I don't even have a phobia.

Aaron woke with a start. His first thought is shock that he had even managed to sleep. It has been ages now since the last time he slept. The second thought is that someone is in his house. Something is bumping around in the living room. As stealthily as he can, he eases out of bed and creeps out to see what is the matter. Something is moving over by the old fashioned fireplace. As his eyes begin to adjust, he can make out white fur accents on a darker material on some kind of bulbous shape with a sack slung over top of it. At the top is a sort of pointy shape. A winter hat? Is somebody actually burgling his house dressed as Santa?! How very rude. He flips on the lights and clears his throat.


The thing in the santa suit spins to face him. It has entirely too many legs, and rather more than the standard complement of eyes. Its mandibles clack at him and its inner mouth parts chitter and drool. Aaron tries to scream, but no sound will come. Silk squirts from the thing's abdomen, cocooning him from head to toe. With three of its legs, it holds open the sack, and with two others, he is unceremoniously scooped into it. As he crosses the threshold of the sack, it whispers to him.


“You're so juicy! I'll save you for later.”


And then he is falling through the dark eternity, and screaming.


Aaron sits up at his desk, yelling incoherently. Several student papers are adhering to his face by partially dried drool from the puddle he has made. He peels them off, and shudders.


“I am starting to think I should go back to drinking coffee.”
 
Day 11 challenge: In the meadow we can build a snowman...

The children ran to the top of the hill, shouting and laughing. They planted their sleds for later, and proceeded to run around and fling snow at each other for several minutes before getting down the serious business of making: The! Biggest! Snowman! EVAR! That was what Jimmy insisted on calling it each time it came up in conversation, complete with dramatic pauses and implied exclamation points. They gathered together some snow, and started rolling it up into a ball. The snow was the perfect consistency and very quickly reached the stage where all of them had to work together to continue to roll it. Deep and thick though the blanket of snow was, their base snowball was picking it up all the way down to the dead brown grass. With great effort, they pushed it the last few feet to sit at the very crest of the hill. For all their huffing and puffing, they felt strangely cold as they sat to take a break from their labors. Jimmy pointed out that was because they were all sitting on the patch of ice that their efforts had uncovered. It was true. The ice was strangely cold. Furthermore there were three small cracks in the ice that looked a bit like a cross face, with eyes all squinched up and mean. Suddenly the eyes popped open, glowing white! Then the mouth popped open too and said simply


“BOO!”


The children all screamed and ran for their sleds, went skidding down the hill as fast as gravity could take them. Roger sat up, rolling the massive snowball off his head in the general direction of the children and their houses. “That never, ever, gets old!” he chuckled to himself. Then he turned and stumped off down the other side of the hill, towards the woods. Towards the next town. You want to start an urban legend that sticks, you gotta stick to it...
 
Day 22 challenge: I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams


Lucas can't sleep. Santa is coming. Daddy says “Père Noël” but all the kids at school say it is Santa. Either way, he can hardly wait. Last year his stocking was so fat with goodies, he could hardly pull any of them out! Who knows what this year will bring? He rolls over again, his tiny frame trembling with anticipation. Maybe he should go down and check if Santa has come to eat the cookies and drink the milk he left out? He slips out of bed and down the stairs. He hears his parents talking, but can't hear what they are saying. They are in the kitchen, with the plate of cookies...


When he comes in, they don't notice him at first. His mother is turned away, facing the wall. His father's face is turned up, appealing to the ceiling, gesticulating with his hands, muttering intermittently in french. Perhaps he is talking to Père Noël. They notice him just as he notices the upturned plate of cookies on the floor and the broken glass in the puddle of spilled milk. His mother's eyes are red, and his father kneels down and looks him in the eye.


“Papa? Que ce qui ce passe?”


“Ah Lucas, pardonne-moi, mon fils. J m'en vais.”


Lucas's lip begins to tremble. All he can think to say is “Pourquoi”


“Sois fort, pour maman, ne ce pas?”


His father stands up, towering above his son, and without a word further, goes out the door, pulling it closed behind him. He does not look back. The stockings by the chimney hang limp and empty.


Lucas awakens with a jolt. His mouth tastes horrible. He glances over at Danny, who is half driving, half rocking out to a band that was old when their parents were young. He wipes away the sleep and a few stray tears, hoping he didn't talk in his sleep again. Trying to keep his voice steady, he says


“My shift yet? Seems like I've been sleeping my whole life away.”
 
A card for someone not seen in a long time…
Trigger warning: feels. the feels.

Lazarus, for the very first time, got Allen all the way down the two flights of stairs from his apartment to the ground floor without tripping. They were very proud of themselves. They marched Allen over to his mailbox. He tripped halfway over.


When finally they were able to assure the nice young lady from 3C that Allen was perfectly fine, they had him check his mail. There was nothing in his mailbox, not even the magazines which usually arrived by this time, except for a small white envelop. He took it out. Written on it were the words:


Granpa Allen - Heaven


"Oh my." Allen said aloud. He opened the envelope, which contained cheap, tacky lined paper with number 2 pencil scrawled on it in an approximation of writing. It certainly looked better than Allen's handwriting. Lazarus began to decypher the letter.


"Deer Grandpa Allen" It began.


"My teecher says i hafe to rite this stupid ledder. i donno why. Donny who sits nex too me says you cant male ledders to Hell, so I rekkon you wont evr get this. butt my teecher says i hafe to rite it so i gess il jest rite it. He says he cant reed what i rite in it so I can say what i want about you and this stupid ledder. Your both stupid.


I can say that case you wont evr get this and your felins wont be hert. somtims i wana hert yure felins but its ok case i cant anemor case your dede. I remeber when you tuk me on fishin trips and we nevr cot anethin and you got rele mad. i rekkon you brot me case you waned me to lik you but it dint rele work. sorre.


My teecher says I shud rite 2 paragrafs and a conclushun, and i asked him what a conclushun is and he said but i dint get it so I hop this is a conclushun. i wish you wernt dede. i lik art clase. i rekkon you thot i likd fishin but i dint. in art clase today we maid boles owta clay and i maid a bole lik the 1 you had but i brok when i was liddel and you got rele mad and cryed. I asked my art teecher if she thot it was a gud idea to put it nex to your grav an she said yes so ill do that.


Sincerely, your granson Michael Mcnabb"


Lazarus finished rewriting the letter in properly spelled English and analyzed its contents. Wait, how could anyone have possibly known where to send this? Do they know about us!? How could anyone have discovered where Alle- Hey...


Something was wrong. Something that wasn't frequently wrong was wrong. Allen was leaking. Not on purpose. Lazarus checked for a stray electrical stimulation, but everything seemed to be in order. Well. How odd? Lazarus brought Allen's sleeve to his face and scrubbed vigorously.


We'd better investigate the nature of this letter before it's too late. Back upstairs!


Allen fell flat on his face.
 
Writing prompt #1, June 17th


Test Day.

Chris awoke to a screeching, an intercom from the sound of it. Almost as grating as the PA system at Chris's last high school. Almost. "Hey down there." Chris groaned from his prone position on the floor. He seemed to be in a large metal room, with speakers in multiple places, the voice echoing from many more. Chris covered his face with his hands.


"Yeah, we all feel that way. C'mon. Up-up." the voice chided. Chris rolled over onto his chest and raised his hands in the air behind him, both middle fingers extended.


"Ahehe, yeah, never seen that one before. You know we get a lot of criminals down here, don't think you're original. Get the 'f' up."


Oh god, he just used the letter F as a swear. Fuck him. Chris flipped over, raising both offending hands in the air above him now. He scrunched his eyes.


"Huh, didn't stay funny." the voice droned. "Well, this one hasn't gotten old yet."


Chris became aware of an object approaching his head at high velocity. He rolled over just an instant before a strange geometric chunk of metal embedded itself in the floor where he used to be, with a resounding KLANK which nearly deafened Chris in the enclosed metal space.


The murderous polyhedron began to shift back and forth in the dent it had made in the floor. Chris's eyes widened, and he jumped up in time to dodge the now-pursuing spawn of Euclid.


It jumped at him again, propelled by some unnatural force. He caught it overhead and swung himself up on top of it, both of them landing on the floor. It bucked, quite strongly, twice, three times before it tipped to another face, from which point Chris had lost all control of it.


It rolled up on top of him, and he attempted to fling it across the room. What he actually did was heave it off him because fuck was that heavy!


It rolled after him on the floor, and he narrowly avoided laceration at the hands of its vertices. In the act, he got to his feet, and when it came after him again, he hopped up on top of it. It shifted faces to throw him off, but he stepped onto the next one, staying on top of it for at least a few minutes.


After that, it stopped moving. He cautiously stepped off it, and it made no attempt to pursue.


He looked up, finding a hexagonal structure jutting out from the wall about twenty feet up. Tinted glass panes adorned its sides. Chris smiled and flipped it off with conviction.


Then the polyhedron from hell exploded.


Chris landed several meters away, singed, bruised and bleeding.


"Well, there's something you aren't so capable against, huh? Heh." Chris could hear the man on the other end of the intercom smile. "Alright." a foam training pad, shaped and painted like a target, extended from a wall to a few feet from Chris's face. "Hit this."


Chris examined the training pad. It was in pretty poor condition; torn, singed, melted in places. It looked a little like him, he imagined.


"No." He said, to the target, and again at the dome above him. "No."


Chris maintained his stare for quite a while, as the dome unflinchingly pondered his refusal.


"Alright." the intercom joked. The target retracted back into the wall, and there was a clanking noise. More clanking. Chris heard a humanoid form approach him. He turned to face it, seeing what looked like a metallic crash test dummy wobble its way towards him. It increased speed as it got closer, and threw itself into a punch towards Chris, which he simply sidestepped.


The robot swung its arm out in an attempt to sweep Chris by the midsection. Chris could just as well have stepped back to avoid it, but he decided to jump over and land on the dummy's shoulders. It easily held his weight, and flailed overhead. Chris laced his hands behind his back, unapologetically showing off, and kept his balance on the dummy's fists as they rose, its head and shoulders when they fell.


Eventually the dummy performed a rocket-assisted cartwheel. Chris ran along its side, keeping on top until a barrage of thruster-fire simultaneously forced him to dismount and crumpled the robot on the floor. He waited patiently for the dummy to right itself, hands still behind his back, and when it came after him again dodged swing after swing, slowly progressing backwards.


He noticed the dummy's punches getting incrementally faster. Eventually, Chris knew, he would be backed up against the wall and/or take a punch too fast to dodge. The dummy threw one punch straight for his chest, and he stepped to the side, grabbing the metal arm and driving his opponent into the floor, face-first.


His observers were quiet for a bit, and he caught his breath. He looked straight at the glass panes and said "Is that all you got? The full arsenal of the mighty Commonwealth is an exploding roomba and a dumpy robot?"


His observers were quiet for even longer, and he felt cold eyes return his stare. Chris kept up his unwavering gaze for at least a minute, minutes most likely.


Then there was an ominous series of clunks. Something very large moved in the dim edge of the room. Chris turned to look.


There was a thump, accompanying movement. Another thump, and a mirrored movement. Chris recognized the sound now as footsteps, and the movement now as walking. If the room he was in was about thirty, thirty-five feet high, what was coming at him was about twenty-five, thirty. It was humanoid, roughly, metal, with masses of some black fiber at the joints. Chris's eyes widened, his lips pursed. Fun.


The giant sent a boulder-sized fist hurtling at Chris, and he rolled out of the way. It brought its hand back and kicked at him with the same side leg, which upon quick examination was too tall for Chris to jump. He threw himself backwards, narrowly avoiding the kick. The robot attempted to stomp him, and he rolled out of the way once again. The robot's foot, flat on the ground near him, he noticed was less tall than it was long. He rolled back next to the foot and clambered on.


The robot put both arms on either wall for balance and lifted its foot, Chris attached, into the air. It shook, throwing Chris here and there, but not losing his grip. The robot leaned on its left arm, the one closer to the dome, and brought its right hand to its foot, grasping for Chris who, with no better alternative, jumped off.


There was a ten or fifteen-foot drop to the ground, and even as he used his best falling techniques, his left leg cracked and took a jolt of pain upon impact. Not allowing his leg to shake his focus, he instinctively grabbed the largest piece of polyhedron-shrapnel in his immediate vicinity and flung it into the robot's left elbow joint.


The robot still had not regained its balance, and its arm buckled and burst with steam or some other gas when the shrapnel struck. It seemed to turn to look at its arm as it began to creak, the metal casing bending and cables snapping. It began to lean further and faster to its left, towards the dome.


Chris ran, on his broken leg.


There was a crash behind him, and a boom, to the sound of which he was knocked down. He heard klaxons, and a door ahead of him opened to allow entry to a squadron of Commonwealth emergency officers. One of them injected him with the pinkish sedative, again, and he smiled as he nodded off.

Writing prompt #9, August 10th


Meet the Parents.

He got home ahead of any pursuing authorities. The rain couldn't be helpful in finding him, and neither could the fact that his mother told the school they lived miles in the other direction.


"Mom!" he shouted as he entered their small apartment. He was struck by its appearance; when he left for school that morning, it had been as messy as if they'd lived there for years, and now it was spotless.


"I know." A voice called out. Chris's mother stepped into view to toss a duffel bag onto a small pile of others of its kind. Then she disappeared again behind the white plaster wall. "I have to grab one more. Start taking those down to the car."


Chris sighed and nodded, picking up five bags. He made quick time about halfway down the stairs, at which point he heard footsteps, in tandem, single file, ascending. Flashlights shown on the underside of the steps opposite him in the stairwell.


He took all five bags back up the stairs, as quickly and quietly as possible.


One of them must have seen him. There was a shout, a "DON'T MOVE!" and quicker footsteps. Chris was overcome with fear. Getting out of a city had never gotten this bad, not that he remembered, anyway. He ran faster up the stairs, and soon tripped over one of the duffle bags he carried.


He picked himself up and took two bags, until a voice right behind him said "FREEZE!"


He froze. Dropped the bags. Raised his hands slowly.

Writing prompt #14, September 3rd


It was a dark and stormy night.

Chris awoke in the nurses office.


He was in a lot of pain. There was a stabbing pain in his tailbone, a burning pain in his lungs, a cold pain in his feet, a throbbing pain in his head, and an aching pain in... well, in just about everything from his heart to his knees. It took him a good while to remember why.


He was handcuffed to the bed. The shirt and socks he wore did not belong to him. The wall and cabinets opposite him were wallpapered with inspirational posters and public 'service' announcements with 'facts'. He would have cringed if it was bright enough to read them.


There was an incessant patter on the tin roof of the school. In the room outside, he heard only fragments of conversation.


"... permanent damage..."


Murmurs.


"... telling... super! No way... me down... powers!"


"Watch... language, Scott!"


"... card... E..."


"... don't care! ... faked! ... call ... father!"


Murmurs.


The door slamming.


Murmurs.


Chris had to leave. He examined his surroundings, he sat up...


Sitting up was a poor idea. His abdominal pain spiked. He relaxed everything, and it slowly subsided. He pulled the phone his mother gave him from his pocket. It had one number. He considered calling it, but instead slid the battery cover off the back. He jammed it into the side of the lock at his wrist and slowly tightened the cuff. After a few clicks, and a sharp crushing feeling, the cuff unclicked, and he tore it off.


He steeled himself, breathing in and out several times, and sat up again. The pain was unbearable at first, but he slowly grew accustomed to it and expanded his range of motion back to its original limits.


Shakily, he examined the window frame. It was barred shut, which did not seem legal. He flinched, as a silent curse. Time to improvise.


Chris quietly opened all the cupboards, found a marker, something sharp, and something small and heavy. Then, working as quickly as possible, he moved everything in the bottom shelf of the upper cabinet into the drawers and cupboards under the sink and counter.


He took a motivational poster down from the wall, wrote on the back, and tacked it to the wall next to the window with the sharp implement he had found, which were simple scissors. While he was over there, he relocked the open handcuff, which was hanging from the bedframe, and laid it on the school bed's pillow in a prominent position.


Lastly, with little but a great amount of hope that his plan would work, he crawled into the lowest shelf of the wall cabinet, closed the bottom door over his legs, and hurled the small hard object, some medical implement of which he did not know the name, at the window. It shattered, more than he would have thought but less than he would have hoped.


The nurse came through the door, at the same time as he quietly closed the cabinet door over himself. He heard the nurse exclaim, having found an empty room, handcuffs still locked, bars still closed, glass shattered, and a messy piece of paper on the wall which read "MUTANT FREEDOM NOW".


Chris heard the nurse throw open the window bars to look out the window, and he grinned. She left the room in a panic, and as soon as she was gone, he silently jumped out of his hiding nook and leapt out the window.


It was raining, hard. Chris ran as fast as possible towards home, taking every shortcut he had learned about in the short time he'd been in town. It was undoubtedly time to move. In fact, except for Taiwan, he was pretty sure there had never been a better reason for him and his mother to leave town.

Writing prompt #15, September 9th


School Daze.

Dark clouds gathered overhead.


Chris became aware of an object approaching his head at high velocity. He stepped towards it and knocked it aside with the palm of his right hand, finding it to be a basketball, as he suspected. He looked up. It was Dylan. Of course.


"Nice twirl, ballet-boy!" the odorous lump catcalled. "Mister Miyahmi teach you that one?"


Chris flashed a cold smile, and resumed dribbling, as their gym teacher had instructed. He wasn't sure why they had to go outside for this entry-level monotony. Not like it was a nice day.


Another basketball threatened his chest. He heard it further away this time, he was alert. He bounced the ball he was dribbling twice as hard, and stepped back. His ball hit his attackers and fell back into his arms, sending the orange missile to soar harmlessly over his head.


"Goaddamn! Kid thinks he's a 'nyinjah'!" Dylan looked left and right, despite only having one follower present. "See this kid?" His follower nodded vigorously.


Chris kept his eyes on his task. He felt his cheeks get hot. He was never sure if that meant his face was getting red. That would be the tipping point; there would be no coming back from a blush. Dylan would have latched on to that like-


Thwunk. The redirected basketball landed about ten feet from their gym teacher. An old, portly man, who would have happily gone to the grave imagining himself still the captain of the glorious Madison Park High football team. Or, more broadly, that it was still 1998.


"New kid! If you got balls, you should know how to keep 'em."


The class tittered. Chris's face burned, turned red. Probably. He still held out hope that he wasn't a blusher (purposefully never checking).


He stepped back against the chain link fence behind him, still dribbling, head down, until his classmate's own inadequacies once again merited more attention than his.


"I guess, as long as I have to do this, I might as well make it interesting." He muttered to himself. That was dumb, why did I talk out loud? Dammit.


Gathering room around himself, he began to experiment with how much variety he could put into a dribble. He spun the ball towards himself and threw it against the ground. It passed between his legs, and he caught it with the hook of his foot. It fell straight down, and he turned around to catch it. It hadn't bounced high enough. Shit.


He kneeled down to pick it up, embarrassed, even though no one was watching him anymore. Which is to say he checked, extensively.


He tried much the same trick but over his head, this time executing the move without a hitch. Many more tricks blurred by, unimpeded by failure. At some point, a second ball rolled across the court to him. He bounced his ball on top of it, sending them both up into the air and into either of his hands. He tried a few double dribbling tricks.


It took him a while to realize the owner of the ball wasn't coming after it.


He looked up in the direction the ball had rolled from. It was Dylan. Of course.


He and his lackey were flanking a girl he had borrowed a pencil from last week. Her name was Eliza. She was quiet, awkward. Her bangs did not compliment her glasses, or maybe vis versa. She stood with her back against the wall, avoiding eye contact with either of her visitors.


Dylan oozed out a comment he thought was very clever. She kept her eyes to the ground as she responded, and tried to walk away. The one who was not Dylan blocked her path with one gangly arm.


Chris's face flushed.


He rolled the basketballs against the base of the chain link fence and walked over to his gym teacher. "Hey, uh, coach?"


"What is it, new kid?"


"I think that girl over there is getting... harassed?"


"Mmmhm."


Chris waited a second. "Uh, hey?"


The coach let his clipboard slouch and glared at Chris. "Thellyouwant, new kid?"


"I want you to do something about the student over there getting fucking attacked!" He answered, gesturing harshly.


The coach tossed his clipboard down on the ground. He brought his face just inches from Chris's, speaking with murderous hush. "Now you listen to me, little punk. When I ask you a question I expect a respectful answer, with clean language. There isn't any reason for you to speak to me in th-"


Chris turned and began to walk towards Dylan, on the opposite corner of the court.


"Hey!" his gym teacher's hand appeared on his left shoulder, a thumb nearly invaded his underarm. "You look at me when I'm tal-"


His gym teacher was on his back, on the ground. He wheezed.


All eyes were on Chris. He continued his march into sure confrontation. He thought about his technique, thought about getting Eliza out of harm's way, thought about how to use his environment... Thought about anything but what color his face was.


Chris pointed to Eliza. "Go. Now."


Dylan's follower bolted, misinterpreting the finger's target. Chris almost broke stride to kick a basketball someone had dropped, which hit the lackey dead on the right cheekbone, dropping him. Eliza walked away, slowly.


Behind him, he heard the coach's walkie-talkie activate, heard hushed tones.


Dylan half-cracked a smile, chuckled weakly. "O-oh man, I'm pretty scared." He chuckled louder, and from closer to his center mass. "Look out everybody, Kim Dong Inn is comin' for me! Watch out for the 'fealless readah!'"


"Shut up." Chris said limply, out of lips rushing with too much blood to produce eloquence. More fodder for Dylan, and they both knew it.


"Ohh, did I get the wrong county?" He drooled. He put his palms together and bowed, poorly. "'Pu-rease fohgive my great dishona, nober Samulai!' Everybody keep away from the J-"


Chris pushed himself forward with his last left step, far too early. His right leg sank into Dylan's solar plexus, which forced out a hacking exhalation. Dylan grabbed at Chris's leg for balance, which neither of them retained. Chris wasn't ready for the backfall, and executed it just wrong. His tailbone burst with pain and his skull tapped the ground.


Dylan recovered first. He began to haul Chris's leg towards him like a rope. He made ravenous leering sounds and drooled, as if a tray of burgers awaited him instead of Chris's upper body.


Chris tried warding him off, but his face was already too high to kick and still too low to punch. He ineffectually rammed the tooth-marred face with his thigh.


Dylan reeled his arm back and brought the full swing into Chris's groin. His vision went dark for an instant. He flailed at Dylan's face.


Dylan hit him again, harder. He wound up for a third swing. Chris's thoughts entered a primal autopilot. He did a rapid sit-up, and with his full momentum put three knuckles into Dylan's throat.


Dylan let go of his leg, grasping instead at his Adam's apple. Chris grabbed both his wrists and yanked Dylan's face down onto his, fitting his nose into Dylan's wide right eye.


He smelled body odor, salt, and then blood.


His consciousness began to waver. Dylan lay on top of him, making sobbing sounds, and soaking Chris's shoulder with blood and drool. A few raindrops fell on Chris's face. His face was red. Someone rolled Dylan off of Chris. Raindrops rolled down his face, washing off sweat and blood. He heard a short clicking buzz, and there was metal around his wrist.


He had always hated rain.

Writing prompt #17, September 23rd


Lab Notes.

Billy Petrovich keyed in the code to the observation lab. Again. Fifth time. Fucking thing definitely moved on him. He thumped in, barely holding a clipboard and cup of black coffee. The first of like, thirteen today. God willing.


"Arright." He addressed the two scientists already working within, who he honestly had no intention of trying to identify for the next two hours, minimum. "What we got?"


"Seventeen-year-old male, five-foot-eight, so far has displayed only powers related to physical prowess, and... you might want to read this."


Oh god, I really don't... He read it, blinking profusely. "Violent sumbitch, huh..." he muttered. "Alright, we got a Jason Bourne Junior down there, gear up the usual stuff."


He moved to the main control console and tapped the intercom mic. "Hey down there." He took a gulp of coffee and observed the sleeping boy on the floor in the testing room. "Yeah... we all feel that way. C'mon. Up-up."


The kid flipped him off. Upstart little shit.


"Ahehe, yeah, never seen that one before. You know we get a lot of criminals down here, don't think you're original. Get the 'f' up."


He flipped him off again, more energetically.


"Huh, didn't stay funny." he took a sip of coffee and pressed the button for the 'Gyroscopic Heat-Seeking Duodecahedron', or as he liked to call it, the Ass-Kicker. "Well, this one hasn't gotten old yet."
He sat back in his chair and watched the antics down below, chuckling in his coffee. One of the other techs gave him a sidelong glance or two, which he noticed. Eventually the kid got boring, and Billy shut the Ass-Kicker off. The kid took a while to realize it. And then he flipped him off again. Right.


Billy nudged the self-destruct button on his way to marking three boxes on the kid's scoresheet, under 'AGLT'. He examined how well the kid reacted to the explosion, and marked one box under 'DFNS'.


"Well, there's something you aren't so capable against, huh?" He said into the microphone. "Heh. Alright." He pressed the foam target button. "Hit this."


"No." the kid said.


A few of the techs looked up, and a glare from Billy returned them to their writing. Billy smiled, thin lipped. "Alright." He pressed the button for the foam target again, and then the button for the sparring partner.


The kid put it down in pretty short order, after all the evasion bullshit. Billy marked three boxes under 'STRN'. The techs babbled.


"Three strength? That kid seems stronger, that looked superhuman-..." "Stronger? Are you kidding? He ought to be a two; I could do that." "You could do that? Really?" "I could! I took a weekend warri-" "Bullshit you could do that! I've seen you pull muscles moving the coffee machi-"


"Shh." Billy muttered. The techs fell silent.


"Is that all you got? The full arsenal of the mighty Commonwealth is an exploding roomba and a dumpy robot?"


Billy blinked. The techs looked up from their stations, but Billy didn't bother putting them back in order. Not right now. He was looking at the kid, and he didn't think it was possible, but the kid was looking right back at him. The kid... ugh, what was his name? 'KRAVITZ, C' read the clipboard. 'Chris Kravitz' was in smaller print underneath. Kravitz.


"Doctor Petro-" one of the techs began. Billy waved a hand at them.


"Shu-up..." he hissed. He brought his hand back to his station and hovered it over the button for Goliath.


"Uh, Doctor Petr-"


"QUIET." Billy snarled.


"But doctor, he's not re-"


Billy tried to bring his other hand around to point at the offending technician, ending up awkwardly swerving around to fling an accusatory hand at him. "Get him out! Get him out!" he shouted.


The other technician got up to remove him from the observation lab, and they got into a ridiculous fight involving slapping and cringing. Security entered to restore order, but Billy had long since given his attention back to Kravitz. He looked the boy right in the eye and brought his fist down on top of the button to summon Goliath.

Christmas Challenge, Day 10 @welian


A show of lights… a lightshow, if you would.

There was a whistle at the top of the stairs. Without taking his rifle off of Chris, the SWAT officer looked up to the source. But Chris knew what that meant. Chris shut his eyes tight.


There was a bang. The officer screamed. The room was bathed in a bright, blinding light. Chris turned around, eyes still closed, and kicked the officer in the chest, sending him backwards into the man behind him.


By the time the officers had recovered, Chris's mother, wearing tinted goggles, had somehow gotten between them and Chris.


The two in front positioned side by side and prepared to fire blind. Chris's mother hit the one on her right in the throat, using the gun barrel of the one on her left. The one on the left fired, and the one on the right yelped as the metal on his neck suddenly burned.


Chris's mother struck the left one in the chin and disarmed him, flipping the gun to hit him in the side of the face with the butt. She used the bounceback from that strike to hit the one on the right in the same way. Then she crossed the gun across both their chests and shoved them down the stairs again.


While they were in a pile, slowly oozing down the stairs, Chris's mother took the clip out of the rifle and flung it at one of the officers, cracking their helmet. To Chris, she said "Run. Run now."


Chris ran. His mother began wielding the unloaded rifle like a sword, striking here and there and there again. After two floors up, Chris heard her cry out. Knowing enough not to look down, he focused his hearing, and found the sound of a Taser zapping. "Mom." he whispered.

Christmas Challenge, Day 25


Family bonding time.

Without thinking, he jumped over the railing and caught himself behind the SWAT team. He hauled himself onto the stairs, and hauled the officer taking the flank off of the stairs. The officer screamed, and Chris caught his rifle and hooked it on the rail, the strap catching under the officer's arm, suspending him.
Before the team could turn, Chris angled the rifle downwards and strafed them in the back of the legs, which were less armored. Most of them fell, the ones he hit at least.


He ran at and over the mass of wounded, finding footholds on shoulders and helmets. He kicked one officer in the chin, another in the neck, leapt into a mass of armed assailants. For what seemed like a long time, he moved like a whirlwind, sending shots meant for him at other attackers, ripping off helmets and using them as weapons, tripping standing men with a hooked foot, and more... until a sickly pink mist filled the room and his vision began to swim. He registered that someone struck him in the face.


"...super?..." he heard.


"yeah, defin... -ake him for testing..."


Then he passed out.
 
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"Family Bonding Time"
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Christmas Challenge Day 25
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This will be the only Christmas Prompt that I do. [I was inspired to do more :D  later on]
​


Merry Christmas from the McGenty Family!
​



“Hey, sweetie. Are you ready?”


Oliver glanced over to his mother, her eyes not hiding the sadness she felt. Oliver smiled at her, not needing to use his power to know what she was thinking, and shook his head. He needed a moment. Even after all of these years, he needed a moment to collect himself for this.


Christmas was a time of honor and celebration for the McGenty family. A time to thank the world for what it had allowed them to work towards, blessing them with the opportunities that had given them money, a house, a identity in this country. These things didn’t come out of nowhere, though.


Oliver sat at his desk, untouched from the way he had it before he had left for Baltimore a few months ago, pondering on his thoughts, when he heard the door open. Was it his mothe-


“Olly? Are you ok? You look really sad.”


Ah, his sister. Oliver turned to the little ball of happiness, aptly named Cherish. She didn’t look so happy, though. Oliver smiled for her sake, “I’m fine, Cheri, just thinking about something.”


Cherish walked over to Oliver, looking up at him with worry in her eyes, “Everyone else is sad, too. They were happy earlier, but now they seem really sad. Did something happen?”


Oliver picked the girl up, letting her sit on his knee as he looked at her, “Yeah, something happened. You know, you never got to meet them, but you had some really great grandparents, you know that?”


“Is that why everyone is sad? Granny and Grandpa?”


“Yeah. Their the reason all of what you see was ever possible. Your grandfather was a man of impossible drive. He worked all night for family, putting food on the table and in the bank. His love for his family was so much, that even long hours didn’t stop him from coming home and sharing that passion with everyone.”


“Woh...and what about Granny? What was she like?”


Oliver smiled, “Granny was one of the most understanding people in the world. If Grandpa was the wood of a mighty oak, then Granny was it’s leaves and branches, protecting those who rested underneath her.”


Cherish smiled at that, but then it dimmed, her head tilting down a bit and letting her gaze idly fall on Oliver’s bare neck, “I wish I had gotten to meet them. They seem really cool.”


Oliver hugged his sister, “I wish every single day that you had gotten to meet them, Cheri. They would have loved you. Granny would have baked you cookies and you could have spent your evenings listening to dad and grandpa working out in the back. T-They’d be so kind to you and you’d...you'd love every second of it.”


Cherish felt something wet run down her cheek. It ran down the side of her face and slid down her chin. Backing out of the hug, the little girl checked her eyes. She...wasn’t crying. She looked up at her brother.


Oliver was.


With his head bowed and his eyes tight, Oliver was silent as his tears poured out, “I’m...I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to see me like this. Granny just loved Christmas so much.”


Cherish was still for a moment, watching her older brother, someone who always seemed to be content with what he had, crying. Actually crying. Cherish puffed up her cheeks and the ole’ McGenty spirit filled her. This was no way to spend Christmas!


Cherish wrapped her arms around her brother, gripping him with all the strength of a 6 year old as she tried to infuse him with the happiness she always felt because of him. Her older brother was always here for her, and there was no way she gonna let him feel this way after the way he always there for her when she felt down!


“I don’t know how to make you happy again, Olly! I really want you to be, though! Please stop crying. Granny would be really happy if she saw you now! You’re really cool and mom’s always talking about how helpful you are! So please, let’s make this a happy Christmas! I’ve...I’ve never met Granny, but I’m...I’m sure she would want us all to be happy like we were when she was alive!”


Cherish tried her hardest to keep up her own peppy speech, but the state of her brother almost brought her to tears too. As she finished, a small tear slipped out of her closed eyes, about to begin it’s trek down her cheek when Oliver’s hand wiped it away.


Opening her eyes, Cherish looked up and saw Oliver smiling at her, his eyes red, but his smile looking more gentle and thankful than she had ever thought it could be. He coughed a bit, looking embarrassed at his outburst, but he still spoke, “Thanks, Cherish. You’re right, granny would have wanted us to be happy. It’s just...she was a big part of my life, of everyone’s lives in this family. Both her and grandpa.”


Cherish hugged him once more, “I love you, Oliver.”


Oliver tightly gripped onto her, “I love you too, Cherish.”


Oliver stood up, Cherish still in his grip, but she only giggled as he maneuvered her into his arms, allowing her to grip on tightly as he held her on his side. Carrying her out of the room, Oliver called out to his mom.


“Mom! I’m ready, now.”


A few moments later, “Alright, sweetie! I’ll go and get the car ready. Could you go and get your father?”


"We will!"



It was time to go visit Grandma.
 
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Day 2 Challenge: Christmas card from an old friend

Aaron opened his mailbox out of habit. There was never anything in there but junk-mail. But then again, you never know do you? Today there was a card. No return address. Nothing written on the outside at all except


'Aaron'


Creepy start so far... Then again, it was an ordinary house on an ordinary street in Baltimore, not some secret Batcave or something. And he did kind of stand out, even in a city full of supers, even in plainclothes. So it wasn't like he'd be super hard to track down, but still. Somebody came while he was out, and it wasn't the postman...


He gently tore open the flap on the envelope and pulled out a 'Congratulations on your weight loss!' card. Feelings of pride and paranoia warred for control of his brain and settled down to an amicable, if uneasy, truce. The card inside read:


Hey there Aaron! Long time no interaction of any kind, eh? When were you planning on telling the team you were back in the country? For that matter, when were you planning on telling us you were leaving the country. You just... left. Dude. Some of us thought you were dead. I always knew you were just seeking space, and to make sense of things... I just didn't think it would take you three presidential administrations. Black hole, hell. You're an ASShole, Aaron! I had to find out you were back by watching the goddamn news. You're just... Ugh. You know what? I'm not doing this via hallmark card. I'm coming over. Now.

Day 21 Challenge: Arrival of a guest.

There is a sound reminiscent of wet paper tearing, accompanied by a sound of suction like a boot being yanked out of a mud hole. Aaron turns just in time to see the dark tear in the shadow of the streetlight seal itself back up again with the faint burp of tupperware sealing. His eyes dart back and forth searching for... but she is behind him already. Because of course she is. A brilliant sparkling blade appears at his throat, glittering and sparking like a miniature lightsaber. A familiar voice rasps


“One false move, coward, and I'll slit your throat from ear to ear!”


He sighs.


“Kate, you know very well your little light blades can't harm me.”


In answer, his assailant draws the blade swiftly across his throat, then raises it in the blink of an eye and plunges it down into Aaron's... Eye. The blade snaps into multiple fragments upon impact, each of which explodes in a blinding white flash. Aaron turns to face the would be assassin and raises one eyebrow. She grins.


“Well you never know; you could have gone soft while you were away... Speaking of which!”


“Yes, Kate, you're right. I should have called. I should have called you three years ago, as soon as I made the deal with Swan. I should have told you I was leaving. You're right. I was wrong.”


“You're goddamned right you were wrong.”


“Well, I'm trying to turn over a new leaf. Teaching.”


“Good for you, Aaron. Good for you. Now. You got some kinda guest room or something? Cause I'm crashing here tonight, and we'll talk more in the morning. And I ain't sharing your bed either. You talk and you snore and worst of all, you roll over. And that, my dear, can get a girl killed.”



Day 8 Challenge: Sunday Best
​



Katheryn Barrett rolled over heavily in bed, found herself sliding down hill into a deep indentation in the mattress. Suddenly she is fully awake, fearing some kind of weirdly kinky super-villainous death trap. But no. It is just the dent permanent dent Aaron left where he used to sleep. Apparently he's stopped doing that... She was a little skeptical of that at first. What was he, trying to get her into bed NOW after all this time?! That ship has sailed, Mr. Mallory. That ship has sailed! Not that it couldn't, um... circle back... or something... Do ships circle back, or circumnavigate? The voices in her head tittered at her.


You'd like to circumnavigate him, wouldn't you, you harlot!


She makes a violent gesture, pushing the voices back out of her mind. She sits up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. It is full daylight now, and she can feel the warmth of the winter sun charging her up even through the roof and all the layers of snow. She stumbles out into the living room to find Aaron all spiffed up in jacket with matching pants and trying to tie a tie around his neck! She is not especially modest, even in her daytime phase, and her flannel nightgown leaves PLENTY still to be imagined, but seeing him like that made her suddenly very self conscious; underdressed is relative. To cover her embarrassment,  she went over to the fridge and opened it. It was empty.Utterly bare. She spun and threw him a withering glare.


“Really Aaron?! No cream for guests? Not everyone likes their coffee black, you know.”


“I know. I don't get many guests though. And I gave up coffee almost a month ago now. Food too, incidentally. But I think there are some beans left in the cupboard. I'll get you something on my way back if you want. Or you could come with? There are several diners on the way you could stop at. At which you could stop? ...Wherein you could acquire coffee and food.”


She rolled her eyes, exasperated on any number of levels. On the way? To where, to Mars and back?! What a useless, ridiculous, foolish man child! And how much she had missed him! the voices chimed in. She pushed them away again, hoping the crazy didn't show outwardly. “On the way where? Where are you going so early, dressed like that? It's not even 9 am! And on your one day off! Oh, Jesus Christ, here, let me get that!” She seized the tie, quickly and expertly knotting it into a half windsor. Aaron lowered his chin, feeling the knot and smoothing the tie down his front.


“Thanks. I'm going to church actually. The Basilica has services at 10:45. If I hurry, I will just make it. I can't teleport because my 'Sunday best' wouldn't survive the trip. Tidal stresses. I gotta wear form fitting clothes. Preferably stuff made by Dana Dabbs.”


Katheryn, who had been rummaging for some coffee beans, stopped, stock still and looked round at him. “Since when have you been going to church?!”


“This will be my third visit. You should see the basilica while you are here. It is one of the main architectural wonders of the city, Kate!”


Kate opened her mouth, closed it again. Knitted her brows.


“You're going to church for the architecture?”


Aaron looked sheepish. Unsure what to say. There now. That was the Aaron she knew… Articulate as a bowling ball. She relented a tiny bit and gave him a nudge. “Aaron, I am your oldest living friend. What is going on with you?”


Aaron opened his mouth. Closed it.


“Another time maybe, Kate. I have to go or I'll get there after people have already sat down...”


And with that he turned and rushed out the door. Or as close to a rush as a man of his size ever managed... and she stood there, in her oldest dearest friends kitchen, shocked, and tried to decide if she should make coffee first or go after him.


Coffee first. He wouldn't get far.
 
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