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Jane - Chapter 2

*This is chapter 2 of my vampire novel (working title: Jane).*

I spent the rest of the night chilling on the roof, watching the cops go about their investigation. It is really quite amazing to see, but few people get the chance. If you ever get the opportunity to watch a full investigation, do it. It is not like the stuff you see on CSI: New York or NCIS (I heart Gary Sinise and Mark Harmon). With all their gadgets and gidgets (yes, I know “gidget” is not a real object. But it's such a great word, it shouldn’t be confined to describing a fictional 1950s girl from Malibu), they do not leave a stone (or bed sheet) unturned. The attention to detail a murder investigator possesses is rivaled by no one in the mortal world.

Bob the Bastard’s investigator was Detective Bertrand Armstrong Fisher, a fairly young, but graying gentleman. His family hailed from upper-class England and he had the manners and to-die-for accent to prove it. He had the finest education their money could buy and he thoroughly disappointed every last one of them when he chose to be a detective in New York City. As a child, Bertrand was obsessed with Sherlock Holmes and he always knew what he would be as an adult. Obviously, as a young school boy, he couldn’t share his dreams with his parents, grandparents, siblings, or anyone but his closest boyhood friend, Adam. Detective Fisher played his role as the perfect upper-class gentleman until he was finished with his law degree at Harvard Law School in Cambridge, Massachusetts. He met and courted the lovely young Amelia Alexis Alton, daughter to the most wealthy and powerful corporate attorney in the United States of America. As every young man of his station should, a year before receiving his degree from Harvard, Bertrand proposed to the beautiful, voluptuous Amelia on a cool night in October, on the balcony of the finest restaurant in Cambridge, with the stars shining down on them. Amelia gladly accepted, as any young woman of her station should do, and they went about playing their parts.

By the end of his last year at Harvard Law, Bertrand was one hundred and ten percent certain that he did not want the life his family had laid out for him. He had secretly been researching police academy programs throughout the country and applied to several, in places like New York City, Los Angeles, and Chicago, all of which accepted him immediately. After filling out the appropriate paperwork (and secretly taking a trip to New York for the civil service exam), he secured himself a seat at the most prestigious police academy in the country.

The day before he donned the black robes of a Harvard Law graduate, Bertrand decided to tell Amelia of his decision. He had already been given a position at one of his future father-in-law’s law firms, but had been dragging his feet on filling out the appropriate paperwork. His family and dear Amelia (who, by the way, is about as smart as a slug) assumed (and he did not tell them any different) that he was just swamped with schoolwork, trying to maintain his top spot as valedictorian of the class, which he was, so that wasn’t a lie. He also did not want to be committed to something he did not want to do. So on the eve of his graduation, Bertrand took Amelia to one of his favorite restaurants, a little mom and pop hole in the wall that no upper-class gentleman would be caught dead in. It wasn’t much to look at, but Mom and Pop were absolute sweethearts (nearly the only ones in Cambridge who knew of Bertrand’s true plans) and the food was beyond anything he’d ever had at even a fancy four star restaurant in Paris.

Amelia’s distaste was evident as Bertrand (who we shall call Bert from here on out) parked the car on the side street in front of the little diner. Her cute little button nose curled up at the smells emanating from the deli next door and she pulled her wrap a little closer around her. When Bert (who she always called Bertrand) had mentioned taking her to his “favorite restaurant,” she had naturally assumed it would be some upscale to-do in the finest part of Boston. And here she stood, on some dirty side street in the middle of lower-class Cambridge, looking at a dirty dump of a place that appeared to serve food. She looked down at her thousand-dollar leather pumps and her three-thousand-dollar LBD (little black dress, for those who are versed in the terms of fashion), then glared at Bert. It was only then that she noticed his jeans, which weren’t exactly clean, his scuffed sneakers, and his dirt brown blazer.

“Where are we?” she spat.

“My favorite restaurant.”

“When you said your favorite restaurant, I assumed we were going to Boston. You always said you loved that restaurant there.”

“I like it, yes, but It is not my favorite. This (with a wave of his hand) is my favorite. The food is absolutely fantastic, and you can’t beat the atmosphere. Plus, you’ll love Mom and Pop. They’re great. They’ve saved the best booth for us. It is right there, near the window in the corner, so we can watch the people walk by. I have sat there for practically days for the last few years to do my homework.”

Amelia turned her back on him and marched toward the door, her blood boiling and her upper-class snobbery showing its full effect. Bert followed her and greeted Mom and Pop warmly. Mom showed them to the booth, which had been thoroughly cleaned since the last time Bert was here and decorated with beautiful, but cheap, plastic flowers. Mom was delighted with the set up, until she looked at Amelia’s withering glare and lost her pride.

Amelia slid into the booth on the far side of the table, keeping her wrap tight around her and pulling on her little black dress so that her legs did not stick to the cheap vinyl too badly. Bert looked at her stuck up little face and immediately decided he was going to dump her rather than share his future plans with her, which is why he had brought her here in the first place. He realized he did not want to spend the rest of his life catering to some dumb bitch whose only goal in life was to marry some rich man so she could spend all his money and put him so far in debt he would have to commit suicide to get out.

Bert got up and went over to Mom and Pop at the counter. In a hushed whisper, he told them he had changed his mind about Amelia and he was going to break up with her. Mom quietly gave her whole-hearted approval, and then poured two cups of coffee. Bert picked up the cups and took them back to the booth.

“Amelia, we need to talk. I do not think-“

“You are damn right we need to talk. How could you bring me to a place like this? It is atrocious. The windows have streaks on them, and there is some disgusting stain on this seat. I do not even want to know what that is. What if people see us? My god, what if someone tells my family we’ve been here? Do you know what people will say? Your parents will be so mad at you. We have a reputation to keep, Bertrand. Did you forget that? I can’t believe you brought me here. Ugh.”

Bert let her finish her bitchy rant, and then looked straight at her. “Yes, I know what they would say. Let them say it. I do not care. They are all stuck up, conceited, half witted, dip shit snobs. YOU are a stuck up, conceited, half witted, dip shit snob. You do not even know these people and You are being a total bitch to them. Do you realize how excited they were to meet you? They’ve been preparing for this day for two weeks now. They cleaned the entire place, top to bottom, and learned to make some ridiculous, stupidly expensive appetizers so you would feel more at home.

These people are more my family than my blood relatives ever have been. Mom and Pop listen to me, they care about me. They help me when I need help and listen to me when I need to talk to someone. They know what I really want out of my life and they do not try to make me into someone I do not want to be. I’m going to be a detective, Amelia, not a lawyer. I’m going to do something useful with my life. I am going to help people who need helping. Not rich, pompous douche bags who only care about themselves and their overloaded bank accounts. I have already applied to the New York Police Academy. I start next month.”

Amelia sat there in stunned silence. No one had ever called her a half wit before. Conceited, yes. Snobbish, yes. Dip shit, well, yes, that one gardener who her daddy promptly fired had. But never a half wit. She wasn’t sure what it meant. She would have to ask the maid when she got home. The maid was surprisingly smart for being such low class.

“Bertrand, if you do that, I do not think we can get married. My daddy would never allow it. And aren’t detectives poor? How will you afford my Gucci bags? What about my Prada shoes? I can’t be seen wearing last season stuff, or, heaven forbid, knock-offs.”

“Oh you do not need to worry about that. We are not getting married. I am not going to have a wife who looks down on everyone and everything. I want someone who is going to be supportive and who cares about more than money and what clothes are in season. I want a wife who will raise my children herself, not pass them off to a nanny so she can spend her days spending the money I bust my butt to earn.”

“How dare you speak to me like that? I’m calling my daddy right now! Your reputation will be ruined, I tell you! Ruined!”

As Amelia pulled out her phone to call her father, Bert made his way back to the counter, where Pop had a shot glass with some cheap Vodka waiting. Gotta love Pop. Bert took the shot, then watched Amelia stalk outside to wait by the car. She was out there for a good while, and Mom tried desperately to convince her to come inside and wait at a booth, but Amelia refused, calling Mom a low-class peasant who did not know Prada from Louis Vutton. That last part was true and did not offend Mom at all, but she was pretty pissed about the peasant thing, so she left Amelia to rot.

By the time Mr. Alton arrived with his driver, Amelia was chilled to the bone and her feet were getting blisters from her ridiculously high heels. As soon as she saw the car turn the corner (it was obviously her father’s car because no one in this area even knew what a Lexus looked like, or so she thought), she immediately worked herself into a frenzy of fake tears and tried to look thoroughly beaten. Her father got out of the car, listened to her sobbing explanation, where she spit out the word detective like it was poison, and then put her gently in the back seat, promising to “get to the bottom of it.” With a quick glance behind to make sure she wasn’t going to follow, he stepped inside the diner and went to the counter, making sure he was out of his daughter’s line of sight.

“Hi Mom, hi Pop.”

Mom flew around the corner and wrapped her arms around his neck in as tight a hug as she could manage.

“Oh, Jamie! You came back! We haven’t seen you in so long. We’ve been keeping tabs on you, you know. We cut out every article in the newspapers and try to watch the news as much as possible when you have a big case.”

Bert was a bit taken aback by seeing his nearly future father-in-law, who he’d always imagined as a stuck up, pompous prick, caught in a bear hug by the woman who had been his surrogate mother for the last six years.

Jamie noticed Bert’s bafflement and stepped out of Mom’s embrace. After trading a quick hug and handshake with Pop, who seemed nearly as overjoyed as Mom, he sat down next to Bert to explain.

“You know, Bert. Can I call you Bert? Bertrand just seems so… so… pompous.”

“Of course. I prefer Bert.”

“Good. So Bert, as you can probably tell, You are not the first member of a prestigious Harvard Law family to make your way to this little back alley diner. Like you, I balked at the chains of upper-class society. I knew there was something more out there, something better, something that wasn’t so self-centered… elite. Elite isn’t the right word, but you get the point. I would wander the streets of downtown Cambridge, avoiding the places where all my fellows would gather, searching for something more meaningful. I found Mom and Pop’s place here, and immediately fell in love. The smells and the atmosphere can’t be beat. I would spend hours on end in the corner booth with my school books, pouring over crap that I never even wanted to study in the first place. Mom and Pop were wonderful, always refilling my coffee cup and never kicking me out, even though I did not buy much and would stay long after they were technically closed.

“They became like a new family to me. I had my blood family, who wanted me to excel and become a famous, rich lawyer. Then I had my real family here, who wanted me to succeed in something I enjoyed, even if I did not make a lot of money or become famous. They talked to me for hours on end about what I wanted to be and how I wanted to achieve that. You know what I really wanted to be? A teacher. I wanted to teach history to middle school students. I wanted to make a difference in some child’s life, change their world, and encourage them to be the best they could be when no one else would. I wanted to chaperone school trips and cheer them on as they strove to win football games and soccer games and field hockey games. I wanted to be someone I could be proud of. I wanted to be able to tell my kids that I became who I wanted to be, despite all the odds being against me.

“But when I told my dad what I wanted to do, he almost had a heart attack. He went on and on for days about how our family had a reputation to uphold and how he had always raised me to be the best I could be. He did not want his son to be a poor, ‘good for nothing’ teacher, as he put it. He promised to disown me if I chose that route, and, of course, I chickened out. Instead of leaving Harvard and finding a school with a good education program, I stuck it out and went to Harvard Law, graduating near the top of my class. Mom and Pop here supported me like a true family, no matter what I did, even though they knew I wasn’t following my dream.

“After I graduated, I took a job at my father’s law firm and met a beautiful girl from a high society family, just like I was supposed to. Amelia is just like her. They both spend way too much money and care about no one but themselves. She was definitely raised in her mother’s image, which I thoroughly regret.

“So, Bert, I guess what I am trying to say is, do not make the same mistakes I did. Do not do what you think you are supposed to do, just because people tell you it is what you should do. Do not become a lawyer if it is not what you want, because I guarantee you will hate every minute of it. I hate my job with a passion. I will be completely honest with you. I hate it so much, it makes me cry. I own a small apartment in another part of town, far away from the prying eyes of anyone who might know me or want to ruin me. I go there, and I cry. Take it from me. This life is too short to do something you hate. Pursue your dream. Amelia babbled something about a detective?”

“Yes, sir. I want to attend the New York Police Academy and become a murder investigator. I have already been accepted. I start next month.”

“Good. Do it. And do not let anyone change your mind. If your family can’t accept your decision, so be it. I will be here for you no matter what and so will Mom and Pop. We will be behind you the entire way, no matter what you need. If you need money or anything at all, just let me know. You will have the chance to become the person you are meant to be. I promise you that.”

“Thank you, sir. You have no idea how much that means to me.”

“Oh, I think I do. Now, enough sentimental crap. Mom, do you still make that absolutely wonderful apple pie? Have you had Mom’s apple pie? I do not think even Paula Dean makes a pie as fabulous as Mom’s.”

At that, Mom blushed and went into the back, returning with a fresh apple pie (she had made one for Bert and Amelia). She pulled out four plates and put a large slice of pie on each, topping it off with some homemade vanilla bean ice cream and a dollop of fresh whipped cream. After another half hour or so, Amelia banged through the door, clearly upset that her father was taking so long. Seeing him at the counter digging into his slice of pie set her into a bit of a fury.

“Daddy! What are you doing? You were supposed to tell Bertrand off and then take me shopping so I can feel better!”

“Come sit down, Amelia. And stop being such a bitch. There is no need for it.”

Her father had never spoken to her that way before, and it shut her up pretty quickly. She meekly made her way to a seat next to Jamie and sat down. Mom gave her a warm smile and served her a piece of pie. After turning her nose up a bit, she took a tentative bite. Then she took another, and pretty soon she was inhaling the pie. She was so intent on eating that she did not notice the ice cream had dribbled down her chin onto her little black dress. No one bothered to tell her.

For the next three hours, Jamie sat in the little diner catching up with the two people who had been his support system all through college. Bert learned more about the man most people knew as Mr. Alton than he ever imagined, and his respect for Jamie grew ten-fold. He had always seen him through the veil of Mr. Alton, a pompous, respected, talented lawyer. Tonight, he saw Jamie, a respected, talented lawyer whose heart was really quite big. Jamie secretly had his paws in charities all over the city, doing what he could to allow those less fortunate that him to achieve their dreams. He kept most of his volunteer work and donations under wraps, so they wouldn’t be seen as an attempt to make himself look better. He wasn’t doing it to further his career or social status, like most people did. He was doing it to make himself feel good, and to allow others to feel good with him.

After graduation the next day, Bert told his family his plans. While they were less brutal to him than Jamie’s father had been to Jamie, they still were not happy. He was not disowned, however, and with the help of Jamie, Mom, and Pop, Bert became one of the most respected, talented detectives in New York City.

And it was quite a joy to watch him work. While this case was, by all appearances, cut and dry, Detective Bert was no less thorough. He’d been present at quite a few of the murder scenes I’d arranged. You could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t convinced this was a case of Darwinism, but he had no evidence to the contrary as of yet, so he went about his investigation, treating it as an accidental suicide.

Denial

"You know it's true." She settled back into her chair, watching him with a small smirk on her face. He didn't notice as he paced the room.

"No. No it's not. You're just being ridiculous." His speed picked up and he started walking in circles rather than just pacing behind the couch.

"Mmhmm. It's true." His glare shot her way and she ducked her head, hiding her growing smile.

She waited in silence as he growled to himself, his fingers running through his hair. He always did that when he was upset or frustrated. When he finally pulled his hands away, his hair stuck straight up. She shook her head.

"You should really stop using hair gel. You're too excitable and you always end up with crazy styles." She smiled sweetly as he turned on her.

"YOU should stop trying to aggravate me." His voice was rough, gravelly. That also usually happened when he got too worked up.

'This is too much fun,' she thought, suppressing another smirk.

"It's not my fault you're wrong." She met his newest glare.

"I'm not wrong! It's not true!"

"You're just in denial. There's plenty of evidence on the internet. Just look it up."

"I'll prove it to you!"

"How?"

He thought for a solid minute before giving her a smile of triumph. "We'll go to Jason's. He has Betty Lou."

"You got a deal. And when it's proven that I'm right and you're wrong?"

"I'll buy you Taco Bell for a week."

"Deal." She loved Taco Bell. Entirely too much, sometimes.

They hopped in his car and he drove to Jason's. She held tightly to the door handle. He drove too fast when he was upset.

They hopped out of the car together and raced each other to the door. Jason answered on the first ding of the doorbell. The two pushed into the house.

"Where's Betty Lou?" the young man cried.

Jason, taken aback at the rude entrance, said nothing.

The girl cleared her throat, drawing their attention. She held a treat above the Saint Bernard's head. Too lazy to get up and go after it, Betty Lou had just followed it with her eyes, which were now nearly rolled back into her head trying to see the yummy goodness in the girl's hand.

A triumphant grin spread across the woman's features. The man stood for several moments in shock and defeat, his entire belief system destroyed in a second. He growled angrily and stormed out the door, back to his car.

The woman leaned down to pet Betty Lou, handing her the treat. She paused at Jason's questioning looks and said, "I told him dog's could look up. Now he owes me Taco Bell for a week."

She pranced out the door, high on the swell of victory. "You owe me a chalupa!" she shouted as she walked back to the car.

An Early Breakfast (A St. Patty's Day Special)

The weather was warm for that time of year. Loria was sweating even in her light wool sweater. Her shoes were muddy and her red hair was caked to her face from her trek through the woods. But the dirt and sweat were a small price to pay for the view as she gazed upon the lake, shimmering in the rising sun.

Loria was halfway around the lake when the sun glinted off an object, nearly blinding her. It was a big, black kettle, filled to the brim with small pieces of pure gold. Her mouth gaped. She picked up a piece and examined it.

“Hey! Don't touch my breakfast!”

Loria dropped the piece on the ground and looked around frantically; she'd thought she was alone. A goat sauntered up to her and, picking up the dropped piece of gold with its mouth, began eating the precious metal. Loria just stared. The goat picked up another piece and held it out to her.

“Want some?”

“Uh, no. I thought gold was supposed to be guarded by leprechauns.”

“Meh. That's a horrid myth put forth by short, greedy Irishmen trying to steal our gold. Goats are the true keepers. In payment, we get to eat a couple pieces a day. Want one? They're tasty.”

“No thanks.”

The goat shrugged his shoulders, then, gripping the handle of the kettle, disappeared with his loot. Loria shook her head in disbelief and went home to take a nap.

**Won third for this in a SF&F flash fiction (under 250 words) contest in SL.**

Why I Hate Spring

Spring. Spring is here. Spring has sprung. Everybody loves spring, right? Not me. I don't like spring. Now, don't get me wrong. I like late spring. But to get to late spring, you have to go through early spring, and I much prefer the snow to early spring.

Early spring is hideous. The earth at the beginning of March is much like a zombie rising from the grave for the first time. There are splotches of snow everywhere that have yet to melt. Those are a saving grace, for they hide the ugliness beneath.

The ground, freshly thawed, is one big mud puddle. You can't step outside without getting your shoes covered with the brown, caked-on goop. And you have no idea what's in it. It's disgusting. The grass is still brown, bare, and sopping wet. No running through the park just yet.

The trees. Oh the poor trees. They're completely naked in early spring. No leaves to clothe them and no snow to hide their bare skin. They just stand there, dead to the eye, waiting for the weather to warm up and their leaves to spring forth.

No flowers are about in early spring. The animals who have gone south for the winter have yet to return. Death remains at the forefront, only now it is no longer covered by the beautiful snow. It is laid bare for all to see. The dead flowers droop sadly in their baskets. The dead leaves rot on the wet earth.

The piles of snow, once lovely behemoths standing guard over the destitute landscape now melt, revealing the ugly dirt clumps they had kept hidden for months. They melt, revealing their true nature. Their liquid flows to the rivers, seeps into the already saturated ground. They seek to cause havoc, to destroy houses placed too close to the rivers, to cover as-yet-unseeded fields. Having been abused by snow plows all winter, the snow takes its revenge on humanity.

But early spring does not last. There is hope yet. Eventually the earth will rise from its decrepit state. The trees will clothe themselves in the most beautiful attire. The lands will dry, sometimes too much. Dead flowers will pass from sight, to fertilize the new growth coming behind them. The world will grow, flourish, until August, when it begins to die again in a crown of gold, red, and orange. Then it will hide its shame once more beneath the snows, until next spring, when its true hideousness again steps forth.

Bullets - Chapter 1

**This is the first chapter of my as yet untitled novel. It's a sci-fi western. Enjoy!**

A small ship landed at the spaceport on Gbona, a planet on the frontier. Gbona was hot and dirty. The ship was dirtier. Stellar dust was caked on the hull from stem to stern and the whole thing looked like it had not been washed in months. The ramp lowered with a squealing whine, sputtering to a stop before reaching the platform. A booted foot stepped out onto the stalled ramp, thumping heavily against the metal. It pushed and stomped, but the ramp did not move. The man attached to the boot grumbled, then ducked through the hatch. When he reached the midpoint of the ramp, it gave way, the bottom clanging heavily against the platform as the hydrolics finally released with a whiff of air. The man slipped at the sudden drop and his feet went out from under him. Growling, he stood up and made his way to the platform before turning to kick the ramp.

"The ol' bucket still givin' ya problems, eh there, Jesse?"

An old man with a bushy white beard was limping up to the derelict ship, leaning heavily on a wooden cane. The younger man growled and kicked the ship again.

"Now, now, young man. That ain't necessary. She don't mean you no harm." He walked over to the ship and ran a hand along her side lovingly. Frowning at the big streak in the dust, he hobbled over to Jesse and wiped his hand off on the man's tattered green overcoat.

Jesse pulled away, brushing the dust from his coat. "Hey now! That's not necessary!"

The old man laughed. "I'm surprised you came back here, after what happened last time."

Jesse shrugged. "They were assholes. They got what they deserved. No one should hold it against me."

"True. Still, watch yer back. Ricky's still mad as a wet hen about the whole thing and he may take offense at you comin' back."

"I'll be fine, Dilo." He patted the pistol at his side to accentuate his point.

The old man shook and held out his hand.

"Still? But you know me!"

"Rules is rules, kid. Hand 'em over."

Jesse sighed and dug through his coat. After several moments, he produced a small book and a box wrapped in brown paper. Dilo's whiskers bounced as a grin spread across his face.

"Aaah. Now that's a good lad." He took the box in his hands, bringing it to his nose for a big whiff. "Cacao, in its most pure form. Doesn't get any better'n that."

Jesse shook his head, baffled at the old man's palette. The young man loved synthetic hot chocolate, sweetened with sugar, whipped cream, and milk, but he couldn't stomach the pure chocolate that Dilo made from the beans Jesse brought him.

"Bah!" the old man scoffed. "You have no taste!"

He ripped the book from Jesse's hand and began to flip through the pages. "Been to Rija, eh? Tough place."

"Yeah." Jesse fidgeted and looked around. He'd been lots of places lately, most of them tough. Gbona was no better. The spaceport bustled with activity, not all of it legal. A large ship to their left was being loaded up with wooden crates, most of which moved and screamed as they were being shifted. Jesse hated Gbona as a matter of principle. He disliked the slave trade and the planet was one of the leading exporters of slaves. Criminals weren't sent to prison on Gbona; they were usually sent to slave camps or sold off to other planets. Jesse had narrowly escaped that fate more than once. He shuddered and shook the thought from his mind. When he turned his attention back to the Dilo, the old man was chuckling.

Jesse frowned. "What's so funny?"

"What? Oh, uh, nothing. I just, I guess I just never paid attention to your full name before. Lina Philip Jesse? Is that really your name?"

Jesse ripped the book from the old man's wrinkled hands. "Shut up. It's a family name."

"A family name? Who's? Your grandmother's?" Dilo was laughing so hard he was having trouble breathing and had to lean on his cane.

Jesse mumbled an affirmative and glared at Dilo as he slipped the book back in his pocket. "Know of any decent jobs?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Eh, not to many your tiny ship can handle. Let's see." Dilo pulled an electronic clipboard from his pocket. "Hmm, maybe... no, not that one. Won't fit. Not that one either. Hmm..." He touched the screen a couple times before stopping. "Maybe... Yeah, this'll do it. Janilla Beial needs a package delivered to a planet on the outskirts of the frontier. Looks like it's... Oh my. Dunno if you want this one, kid."

"What is it?"

"Well, this'n is a bit of a on-the-side job, if ya know what I mean. She don't want no one interferin' or knowin' too much. Special circumstances and all that. She came to my assistant a couple months ago and we put her on the list but haven't found the right courier yet. Dangerous job. The package is a bit, uh, volatile."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"If yer takin' this job, the less you know, the better."

"Fine, whatever. What does it pay?"

"Heh, it'd buy that ship o' yours."

"Hey, don't be mean to Bessy. She's a great ship."

"Yeah, if you like livin' in a tin can." Dilo grinned at Jesse's glare. "Anyhoo, you takin' the job or what?"

"Yeah, sure, why not? Worst that could happen is I die."

"Eh, no, it could be worse than that. But I'll let her know you want it. She'll need to set up a time to transfer the package to ya. Let me get in touch with her, then I'll give ya a call."

"Alright, sounds good."

Jesse locked up his ship and followed Dilo out of the spaceport. When he reached the avenue, he turned left and walked toward the market. He needed to stock up on supplies before he made the month-long trip to the outskirts. He'd be able to resupply at several stops along the way, but he was running low on almost everything, especially medical supplies and alcohol, and if the trip was going to be as rough as Dilo suggested, he would need both desperately.

He walked to the end of the block and took a left. The store he sought lay on the far side of town, past the arena. Gbona was known for its arena. Slaves were trained as warriors and competed against each other. Warriors were given many incentives to succeed, not all of them involving death and physical punishment. Warriors who won regularly and won over the crowds were given better lodging, minor freedoms, and material wealth. On occasion, the crowd fell in love with a warrior so much, they would demand freedom for him. Such a scenario would often end badly, as the freed warrior had few skills aside from fighting and had a hard time adjusting to the free world. Jesse had seen such an outcome only years before, when a warrior took his newly gained freedom and used it to hunt and slaughter the members of his former slaver's household. Jesse was working on commission at the time for the hunted man and narrowly escaped from the clutches of the irate warrior.

On occasion, lesser warriors would be pitted against a handful of tougher criminals who had been held for the occasion. If the criminals beat the warriors, they would win their freedom. If they lost, well, it wouldn't matter. They were dead one way or another anyway. Jesse had lost a friend in the arena, and since that day, he avoided partaking in the sport. He could hear the cheers and jeers coming from inside the arena, the screams of pain from a wounded combatant, and the gloating shouts of the victor. Jesse paused outside the gates, tempted to go in as he always was. He hated the fights, hated the vile abuses inflicted upon the warriors, but like all humanity, he was secretly drawn to the sport. There was something invigorating about watching two men or women battle for their lives. Some sick joy came from watching fellow human beings in peril. He thought briefly about the large movie collection he had on his ship. More than half of them included some form of violence, and he loved them all. Shaking his head at the depravity of man, he forced himself to walk away from the arena.

Jesse took a right past the arena, then another left down a short alley. He stopped at the third door on the right and pushed the metal barrier open. A tiny bell hanging above his head jingled merrily, echoing in the stillness. The room beyond was small, cut in two by a counter that ran the entire width of the room. Like all stores catering to spacemen, there was no obvious way to get behind the counter aside from jumping over it. The walls behind the counter were lined with boxes of all shapes and sizes, but very few items were visible on the side closest to Jesse. Jesse glanced around. The only things on this side of the counter were the bell above the door, a wooden crate in the corner, and two stools in front of the counter. He walked up to the stools and took a seat.

Not long after he plopped down, a girl no older than fifteen came through a door in the back wall. He didn't recognize her. She must be new.

"Hello sir. How can I help you?"

"Heya. I need to get some stuff."

"Yes sir. Do you already have an account with us?" She pulled out a pad, ready to look up his information.

"Yeah. The name's Jesse."

She raised her eyebrows. "And your last name?"

"That is my last name."

"Oh, right." Her eyebrows dropped as she lost some of her snark. She tapped the pad a couple times. "We have two Jesses. I assume you're Albert."

"Uh, no..."

"No? But the only other Jesse we have is Lina." She looked at him quizzically. As the color rose on his cheeks, she began to laugh. She set the pad down on the counter, clutching her sides. "Oh my. That's good. I've seen a lot of strange names, but that's a first."

"Shut up and take my order, would ya?"

"Yeah yeah, alright. Don't get nasty." She picked up the pad and began marking items as he listed them. When he finished, she tallied it up. "That'll be 3,126. You picking up or need it delivered?"

Jesse frowned. That seemed much higher than normal. Sighing inwardly, he told her it would need to be delivered.

"Ok, what ship?"

"It's the BumbleBee on deck 8."

"A BumbleBee? You can't be serious!" The girl was overtaken with another fit of laughter and Jesse stood up, about to leave and find another shop.

As he was walking toward the door, a man pushed open a panel to his left and walked in. Jesse stopped and glared at the man, who was taken aback by the sudden hostility.

"Hey now, what's going on here?"

"Your girl needs better training. First, she picks on my name, then she overcharges me, and now she's laughing at my ship! I'll go buy my shit elsewhere."

"Now now, Jesse. No need for that. Becka, why are you being rude? Jesse is one of our best customers." The girl bowed her head, her cheeks turning a bright red as she mumbled an apology. "That's better. Come sit down, Jesse."

Jesse returned to his stool while the older man took the pad from Becka and seated himself beside Jesse. "Now let's see what we have."

He clicked through the list for awhile before frowning. "First off, Becka, you didn't look at Jesse's file to see if he had a discount. He gets fifteen percent. So that'll bring the total down to... 2,657. We'll make it an even 2,500 to make up for Becka's rudeness. Then we don't charge Jesse for shipping, either. Got it, girl?"

"Yes, papa."

"If you want to work here, you need to be checking these things. I'm not going to lose my customers because of your attitude." The girl pouted at her father and went into the back.

The man turned to Jesse. "I'm sorry about the trouble. She was doing so poorly in school, we decided to try her hand at the family business. So far, she's been fine as far as the work itself goes, but she sucks at customer service. I've already had to win back two of my other regular customers." He shook his head. "Kids these days."

"Ah, it's alright, Roggy. I'm sure she'll come around. If she doesn't, though, some spaceman is going to get mad enough at her comments to do more than just walk out."

"Yeah, that's what worries me the most. Anyway, will you be at your ship later today? Say, four-ish?"

"Sounds good. I'll be there."

"Alrighty. I'll bring it myself. No Becka."

"Good. I don't think I can handle too much of her."

"Bah. She's a good kid, but she has a mouth that gets her in trouble."

Jesse laughed. "Don't we all?"

"Heh, I guess we do. Alright Jesse. See you later."

Jesse shook Roggy's hand before making his way from the store.

Ducks and Witches

Heads were pulled from the underwater pastures, some iridescent, some brown. Beady dark eyes turned as ripples and wavelets disturbed the surface of the pond. The Family knew. A quiet call and the ducklings fled to their mothers wings. Beyond the reedy shore, the witches held their assembly. The witches were the opposite of duckness. But the Family watched. The Family defended. As long as there were ducks, the pond would be safe. Then one of the ducklings quacked. The old round rock that had been lying on the bottom of the pond for as long as ducks could remember, surfaced. The pool was draining.

***

The witches came three years before. The ducks at first were cautiously optimistic about the new inhabitants of Mallard Pond. But their optimism was quickly replaced with fear as strange things began to happen. Barely three months after the arrival of the humans, Tommy Two-Fingers, the local amphibian mob boss, disappeared. Hurby Half-tail, a muskrat who lost a chunk of his tail in a battle with a skunk, and Lyle, a salamander with a macho attitude, went to look for him. They were both members of the MPPD, trained in search and rescue, and they followed the trail to the witches' hut. The pair found a disturbing scene and were forced to return to the pond with grim news. Tommy's legs were seen in a glass jar on a shelf, floating in a cloudy liquid. The rest of him was no where to be found.

The news of Tommy's untimely demise spread quickly. Fearful discussions took place in the local cafe and rumors spread that the witches would return for the rest of the village. The mayor of Mallard Pond, a fiesty snapping turtle named Bob, tried to keep the nervous townsfolk from overreacting. He insisted that it was an isolated incident and played on the fact that Tommy was a well-known criminal who had plagued the small town for years. 

Another six months passed without incident and the town gossips quieted down to the dull roar they maintained before Tommy's disappearance. Until a cold day in December, when Lily Loona was found by one of her many daughters, slaughtered in her cozy nest. Her eyes had been plucked out and her chest was torn open, her heart missing. The town wept for the loss. Lily was a chatterbox, leader of the gossips, but she would never harm a fly. Her children gathered at her nest and held a vigil, their red eyes spilling cold tears onto the blood-stained ground.

The town reached a consensus. This atrocious act was not the work of one of their own. It was clearly the evil-doing of humanity. The Family, unofficial leaders of Mallard Pond township, called the community together for a meeting a month later.

"I thank you all for joining us here today," Mallory, head of the Family, greeted the attendants. "It is not with pleasure that we called you for this meeting. Some awful, unspeakable acts have been committed in the last year. We cannot tolerate this anymore. If the witches refuse to live peacefully with us, then they will feel the wrath of our retaliation."

Cheers and shouts went up through the gathered crowd as suggestions were thrown out on how to punish the witches. Mallory raised her wing for silence.

"No. We have a plan already. We have been working with the MMPD and the mayor and have come up with a possible solution. For now, this meeting is adjourned. Billy, Roland, will you please see me in the back?"

Mallory left the stage and returned to the mayor's office in the back. She waited with the mayor and several members of the MMP, including Lyle and Hurby. Shortly, Billy, a sleazy-looking rat who was despised by most of the town's inhabitants, and Roland, a water snake who had taken over the Mallard Pond Mafia after Tommy's death, entered the room.

"Took you long enough." Bob popped his feet back out of his shell, pushing himself to a standing position. "We need your help."

Billy sneered. "Of course you do. Isn't that how it always is? Hate on the rat, but when the algae hits the fan, you come running for his help. And why should I help you?"

Lyle stepped forward, cutting off Bob's biting reply. "When Hurby and I were at the witches' hut, Tommy's legs weren't all we found. They had jars of stuff. Bat wings, cat whiskers, alligator teeth." He paused for effect and stared straight at Billy. "And rat tails. Dozens of them. All in that goopy liquid." Lyle looked over at the snake, who was slithering silently toward Mallory's back. "Snake scales, too, Roland. So you better knock it off or you'll end up on their shelf, with my help."

Mallory, warned of the attack, turned and snapped at Roland. He slipped away, but she nicked his skin, causing him to jerk in pain momentarily. The slimy snake glared at the duck before turning to the lizard cop.

"What do you want from me?"

"We want you and Billy to sneak in at night. One of the witches is old and weak. You should be able to take her out easily with your venom. Billy, we want you to free the animals we saw in cages. I'm sure most of the ones we saw are dead by now, but they likely got new ones. Get them out of there and bring them back here. If we can't get them back to their homes, we'll give them a new home here."

"And what do we get out of the deal?" The rat was picking at his teeth with a pointed claw.

"I won't kill you!" snapped the turtle.

Mallory held up a wing. "You will be forgiven your crimes. The trials you have coming up will be dismissed, and Billy, we'll drop your probation sentence. We'll also give you each 5,000 quackers."

The two criminals pretended to think about the deal, but each knew they would never get a better offer.

"Fine," Roland hissed. "Tell us what to do."

The group laid out a plan, and the rat and snake slunk off into the night.

The next morning, a racket could be heard from the witches' hut. The MMPD went to investigate. The oldest witch, the one with the most knowledge, had died in her sleep. A leg was hanging off the bed and she had two small puncture wounds on her ankle. Lyle peered around the hut. All the cages were empty but one. It had two cats who were hissing and spitting at a witch who tried to approach. Lyle smirked. The rat had done well.

Two months later, the witches retaliated. Several members of the Family went missing. Their remains were found spinning over a fire at the hut. War raged between the ducks and witches for nearly two years after. Both sides suffered casualties. The witches lost two more, but others took their place. The ducks suffered tremendous losses, much worse than the witches. Their numbers were not as easily replaced.

The town joined in the ducks' battle, refusing to let their friends fight alone. Some were killed and left where they fell. Many went missing. The MMPD kept tabs on the witches' movements and the contents of their hut through scouting expeditions by Lyle and Hurby. After one dangerous mission, Hurby didn't come back. Lyle came back without his tail. They had been spotted, and both were nearly captured. Hurby was lifted into the air by an invisible force and could not escape. Lyle was nearly done for when a witch reached out her black boot and attempted to crush him. She got just his tail. He struggled as she cackled, reaching down to pick up the tiny lizard. With her fingers bare inches away, the salamander's tail broke free from his body and he was able to scoot through a crack in the wall.

A rescue party was formed. The townsfolk, two dozen strong, advanced on the hut days later. The witches were gone. A scout who had been instructed to watch their every movement reported that they went into town for supplies. The group raided the witches hut, freeing all the animals, including the two extremely irritable cats and an emaciated wolf. Animals jumped up onto the shelves, knocking the awful ingredients to the ground. When the prisoners were freed and the supplies destroyed, the hut was cleared. Hurby, tortured and abused, took a twig from the fire and set it under a bed. The townspeople watched from a distance as the hut went up in flames. The witches' angry screams that night echoed through the trees.

The sun rose hot the next morning when a strange sound began emanating from the burnt clearing. Heads were pulled from the underwater pastures, some iridescent, some brown. Beady dark eyes turned as ripples and wavelets disturbed the surface of the pond. The Family knew. A quiet call and the ducklings fled to their mothers wings. Beyond the reedy shore, the witches held their assembly. The witches were the opposite of duckness. But the Family watched. The Family defended. As long as there were ducks, the pond would be safe. Then one of the ducklings quacked. The old round rock that had been lying on the bottom of the pond for as long as ducks could remember, surfaced. The pool was draining.

Fear fell over the townsfolk. The pond was their lifeline. Without the pond, more than half the members of the town would be without a home, and the other half would be without much-needed water. Panic began to spread. Suddenly, a new noise joined the witches' chants. A beautiful, eerie noise. The howling of a wolf. It was joined by another, and another. The inhabitants looked at each other, curious. They had never seen a wolf out at sunrise, and it was rare that wolves ventured this close to the pond.

The chanting turned to screams as the witches fled from the angry wolves. The stone fell back into place, sending deep ripples through the pond. The wolves gorged themselves on the flesh of the wicked, not a witch remained. When all was done, the wolves came to the pond. They dipped their blood-soaked muzzles in the water and washed themselves clean. One wolf, the emaciated wolf, raised his head and stared at Mallory. She stared back, refusing to show fear. He gave her a brief smile and a nod before turning and leading his pack back into their own territory. That night, the town celebrated, free of fear for the first time in three years.

**Origin of story: Somehow the topic of ducks and witches came about during a discussion in SL. We all decided it would be a fun story topic, so one of the girls wrote up a little blurb (the bit at the top before the ***). We all wrote stories based off that. This is my creation.**

Blood Child

"No!"

"Yes."

"No no no no no." The little girl plopped herself on the floor, refusing to move, her fluffy pink dress billowing out around her legs.

The man, dressed in a very dapper grey suit, leaned over and grabbed the four-year-old by her waist.
"You're going, and that's the end of it."

"No! I won't!"

Her tiny white hands flailed behind her he lifted her into the air. The slim fingers found purchase on a nearby shelf, the bend at the edge of the cool metal providing a gap just large enough for her to slip her fingers in. The man pulled and the shelf moved. He sighed, setting the kicking, screaming lump of child on the floor once more, her white shoes clicking against the tile. He knelt next to the child, who still clung to the shelf, and spoke to her in a low voice.

"Lily, we need to go. It's late and we're getting glares from some of the clerks. They want to close up, and they can't with us in here."

She pouted, a fake tear trickling down her cheek. "But I want to keep playing with the toys."

"I know. We'll come back tomorrow, a bit earlier, just after sundown."

Her plump bottom lip stuck out a little further. "Promise?"

"Yes, my dear. I promise."

She huffed and glared at him before raising her arms. He smiled at her belligerent little face and scooped her up. Together, they walked through the aisles of Toys-R-Us, taking the scenic route just to piss off the teenage attendants who were waiting impatiently to close up the store.

When they got outside, they rounded the corner and shimmied up next to the dumpster. It was dark in the alley, none of the lights from the parking lot broke through the gloom.

"You hungry?" the man asked the little girl.

She nodded, a childish smirk crawling across her face. They waited for what seemed like hours to the famished child before a door in the wall opened. A young man stepped out, acne covering his face. He had been rude to her when they walked in, commenting on her dress in a snide fashion. They waited until he reached the dumpster, then the man grabbed him, covering the boy's mouth so he couldn't scream. Tilting the boy's head back, the man lowered him to the ground. The victim's eyes were wide and he tried to struggle, but the little girl was stronger than she looked. She advanced on him, a gleam in her eyes, and sunk her teeth deep into the exposed flesh at his neck.

When she pulled back, she glared at him. She had nearly killed him, but not quite. His eyes rolled in his head until they locked on her. She leaned over him, her blond curls brushing his face.

"That will teach you to insult a girl's dress. Of course it looks like it's from the 1700s. That's because it is, moron." The childish drawl had faded and she kicked him in the shins. The man dropped the boy's head and together, he and the bloodstained little girl left the alley, leaving the boy to die alone.

****Origin of the story: There are 15-minute writing dashes at Milk Wood in Second Life every day at 5amSLT and 6:30pmSLT. This story is from the 3-1-11 morning dash, using the prompt "belligerent."****