Is the $40 Billion Laundry Industry Ready for Reinvention ...

I can tell from looking at this subreddit that a lot of y'all are EXTREMELY anxious about returning for the fall. I'm going to help with that.
Before we begin, on a personal note, I want to tell y'all- keep wearing your masks (ditch the cloth masks, start wearing medical grade masks instead, as cloth masks are not designed to PREVENT you from inhaling the virus, only to prevent an asymptomatic carrier from spreading it), keep those hands washed, don't touch your face. Why am I saying that? I work full time at a major hospital in a critical care unit (I'm being purposely vague on the hospital and the department). Needless to say, I'm exposed to COVID positive patients FREQUENTLY, with prolonged close contact. We haven't had an employee test positive yet. You can't go wrong doing those three things religiously. I could talk about my feelings on what all of this is being made out to be, but it's not the point of this discussion. Either way, stay safe, stay healthy.
Alright, let's get down to business. As I explained above, I work full time, and am exposed constantly. Obviously, in the interest of the health of my fellow Mavs, I've had to do some research into what I need to do to prevent myself from being a COVID vector on campus. I've done my due diligence, contacted who I need to contact at the University, and this is what I've found:
1) There's a large gray area for students to exploit. The university is relying on self-reporting, and is NOT requiring a COVID test in order for students to self-quarantine. Nothing too unusual there, it's what a lot of companies are doing, aside from the no test requirement.
2) The faculty has no clue about what's going on, and what they're going to do.
3) There is great dissension among the ranks of the faculty.
And folks, we're going to exploit all three here. Remember, we're absolutely not returning to campus after Thanksgiving break. In this sense, we only need to run out the clock, so 10 days here and there are going to add up to a lot for us. Beyond that, the staff has been told to be prepared to return to online-only instruction before that date, as a contingency. This means they have alternate plans in place for students already (just as they were warned last semester back in very early February). Why does this matter? Because the University knows that virus rates are going to skyrocket when classes resume. They know there's a greater than 50% chance that they're going to have to return to online-only before Thanksgiving. This also means that Professors and programs have alternate means of testing set up already. This also means that you can slip through the cracks.
In all, we have two guides here to help us- the UTA Testing and Daily Self Monitoring Page, and the UTA Close Contact Form.
Now, going back to point #1 above, I want you to take a look at the UTA Testing and Daily Self-Monitoring page. You'll notice the symptoms listed, along with instructions for returning to class should you experience anything unusual. The University does not require you to notify them in any way in this instance. It is solely on you to email your professors, and say "Hey, I'm showing symptoms, I need to self-quarantine". Your professor must 100% abide by the University COVID protocol at that point. You just bought yourself 10+ days without even going to a doctor (in no way does the University state that you must seek medical attention). If your professor decides to push back on you about, you push right the fuck back, and notify exactly who the fuck you need to within the University to get that professor right back in line where they belong. BUT...I want you to look at #3. Do you think the professor is even going to question it when a student emails that they are showing symptoms, and are having to self-isolate when the professor themselves probably doesn't even believe we should be returning to campus? Fuck no, and I'd be willing to bet that they haven't even done the research that I have just to write this out to you (see point #2). Odds are that professor doesn't want to be there anyway, exposing themselves when they can just as easily collect a paycheck by sitting at home using their already-established semester plans for the course. They're scared too, and anybody who may be infected with the virus is a direct threat to their health, and the health of those they care for. Fear is a powerful motivator. You won't have a problem in any instance. Bet on it.
Next, I want you to look at the UTA Close Contact Form. This is really self-explanatory. It's a 14-day reprieve from on-campus obligations. Make up a name, make up a location of where it happened if you have to. There is some language on there about a UTA Tracing team, and reporting to the health department. Don't sweat this. Whatever tracing team UTA has thrown together will be inundated, and the health department is so buried in confirmed positives that they don't care about contact tracing or reporting. How do I know? I deal with them 40 hours a week at work. They've told me explicitly to stop sending them confirmed negative tests, and any kind of contract tracing forms, because they've got other shit to worry about right now. Bottom line- you fill out a close contact form, you have a guaranteed 14 days away from campus. The University is also in NO POSITION to be questioning you if you submit one (or two...sometimes a person can be "unlucky"). Don't forget who is paying who here!
There's an important note here though-
There's a clear distinction being made by the University- students who live on campus, and students who live off campus. Even though I'm in my 30's, I live in UTA apartments (side note- I highly recommend them), so I absolutely have skin in the game here. Those who live on campus will be REQUIRED to vacate their housing if they complete a close contact form. Remember, campus apartments were exempted from this requirement in the Spring. But please, ABSOLUTELY check your lease as well as your addendum before taking a 14 day "Sabbatical", because there may be some new clause that can displace someone from the apartments (which is a legal residence).
If you commute, you have an easy path. Use a combo of the symptom emails to the professor, maybe a close contact form. Run the clock out until campus shuts down.
If you live on campus, the symptom emails are going to be your friend here. Personally, I only have one class that has not moved online. I'm going to email the professor at the beginning of the semester, explain my job and the extent of my consistent exposure, put that burden of making the call about the safety of his class, and let his own fear take over.
This whole post probably seems greasy to a few people. Let's frame the judgment here a little differently, shall we? Nobody wants to come back. The staff doesn't want to come back. The staff definitely doesn't you coming if they think you may be infected. Let's just ease them into the correct decision here that helps keep everyone safe, even if it means providing a narrative to them that doesn't have a requirement to be substantiated, shall we?
​
Stay safe, stay healthy friends.

Ok, guys, I swear upon the Eternal Waters themselves that I absolutely did not plan on this one happening! I promise! I JUST WANTED TO SELL COFFEE!!!! I swear!
The rest of the series can be found here
***
“What do you mean you are cutting me off?!” I spluttered in shock.
“Ma’am,” the female kalesh said frostily, “You seem to have a misunderstanding concerning exactly what ‘free internet’ actually means.”
“Free internet means free internet, right?!”
“Free internet assumes something that called ‘typical use’. It is intended to be a convenience for our guests, a way for them to stream media, surf the web, and communicate with friends and family. It is not intended to be used for business purposes.” The kalesha paused and pulled up some records on her computer. “And you, Ms. Sheloran, were consuming bandwidth well above anything that can be remotely considered ‘typical’. Our connection is for all of our guests to use and it is unfair to the others if all of the bandwidth is consumed by one guest who is clearly using our connection for ‘atypical’ purposes.” The kalesha bent her eyestalks to look directly into my eyes, just shooting disapproval beams at me. “You can understand that, can’t you?”
“Yes,” I replied trying to be as polite as I could. “Yes, I understand and I promise that after this I will behave but I absolutely need to finish what I am doing! Please!”
“I’m sorry,” the kalesha said firmly. “Your internet connection has been suspended for the remainder of your stay.” The kalesha straightened her uniform and wiggled her eyestalks slightly. “Will you be checking out now?”
“What if I paid you?” I asked in desperation. I absolutely had to finish that download. I just had to!
“Are you offering me a bribe?” the kalesha asked frostily.
“W-would it work?” I asked giving her my nicest smile.
“No. Good day… ma’am,” the kalesha replied packing truly Kalesh levels of sarcasm and derision in that final “ma’am”. I tell you those kalesh can be really really nasty without actually being nasty. That "ma'am" was a real cussing out!
I, not exactly knowing what to do, wandered back to my room. Oh poop this wasn’t good!
***
“So did ya get the internet fixed?” Craxina asked brightly as Sheloran stomped into the room.
“No! Those… assholes… cut us off!” I yelled as I threw myself onto the bed.
“Oooo! You said a dirty word!” Craxina giggled.
Oh poop I did!
“Um… those poopers,” I said a bit more carefully, “cut us off, said that we were violating ‘typical use’ or some poop like that.”
“That’s not good,” Craxina said thoughtfully.
“You think!?!? You flushing think!?!?” I squeaked. “We finally, after weeks and weeks, we finally get an order and now we can’t fill it?!” I buried my face in my pillow and moaned, “The guy is already on his way! If it isn’t ready...”
“We’re fuuuuuucked...” Craxina moaned finally catching on.
“Right! They will murder us on the message boards. We'll never get another order! We will be out of flushing business!”
“Shit! What are we gonna do?” Craxina yelped.
“I… I gotta call Baxlon,” I replied. He could figure this out! He just had to!
***
“Not surprised,” Baxlon said as he handed Sheloran a cup of relaxing herbal tea. “Some less than reputable people will check into a hotel and use their internet to do less than reputable things. ‘Typical use’ my ass. Their security AI flagged you. They just weren’t going to accuse you of anything to your face.”
“I wasn’t doing anything wrong!” I squeaked. “I have permits and stuff!” I did! Everything was one hundred percent legal!
“And there is no way in Hell you will be able to convince them of that,” Baxlon replied. “They probably have a policy in place and to get it reversed you will probably have to talk to someone that won’t waste their time talking to you.” Baxlon said calmly as he typed into his computer. “Yep, thought so. You’re screwed.”
“What do you mean I’m screwed?!?!”
“Most hotels use the same internet provider. This flag is gonna follow you. You will be lucky to get internet anywhere now.”
“What am I going to do?” I squeaked. I knew I was squeaking and I didn’t pooping care! I was completely losing it!
“Well, you are going to finish this download using my connection here,” Baxlon replied. “I have a spare office. Just set up in there and finish the gig. After that, well, you are going to need your own connection.”
“Whew… Thanks, Baxlon. You’re a lifesaver!”
“I gotta protect my interests. I can’t have you going out of business before you even start, can I?” he laughed. “Now while you are taking care of this job we need to go ahead and set you up with your own connection. I don’t want what you’re doing being traced back here, just in case.”
“Just in case of what?” I asked dubiously. I really didn’t like the sound of that!
“We, and by we I mean you, are playing pretty fast and loose with the law. Everything you are doing is legal… technically, but that doesn’t mean that you won’t possibly run into trouble. If that happens you definitely don’t need my office shut down along with you, understand?”
“I… I thought that all the licenses would keep me from getting in trouble...” I said quietly. I mean, seriously. Why did I go through all of that flushing hassle? What was I paying this fish for anyway?
“They should but the key word there is ‘should’,” Baxlon chuckled blowing bubble rings, “If everything that should happen did happen then I wouldn’t have a very successful business would I? Don’t worry,” Baxlon said as he put a mechanical hand on her shoulder. “Stick to the plan and you will be in the clear. You are paying me a cut for a reason, remember?”
“O-ok...” I said glumly. This blew scum bubbles.
“Now you go and get your gear and finish the download. While it’s cooking we will start going over your options.”
***
Once Craxina was set up in the spare office and happily scooping mini-crystals into the burner’s hopper I was once again in Baxlon’s office.
“Ok, internet,” Baxlon said in a crisp businesslike voice. “You need your own connection which means your own address, preferably a business one.”
“How much is that going to cost?” I asked. That fortune I robbed was looking less and less fortune like by the second.
“We’re getting there,” Baxlon smiled. “Now you can rent an office space somewhere. That would be a bit cheaper and would already have a business connection but it your internet would still be provided by the landlord and would probably be monitored by a crime-prevention AI just like the hotel. You really don’t need someone getting in your business both from the downloads and the nature of your business communications. All of it is ‘legal’ but all of it is likely to raise questions that will be nothing but a hassle. Rented offices run into the same issues with criminals that hotels do, just bigger ones.”
“So, renting is out,” I said thinking to myself and then I gasped. “Does this mean that I have to buy something?! How… how much...” Oh man this did not sound good. I could see all my credits disappearing in front of my very eyes!
“Yes. Starting a business and buying your own commercial space is what you need,” Baxlon said and then looked up at me. I must have looked like I felt. “Don’t worry!” he laughed. “It’s not as bad as you think!”
“I have money but a building can’t be cheap!” I squeaked. I couldn’t help but squeak. Back home buildings were expensive and it must be a lot more here! Oh poop! I could barely breathe.
“No, no it isn’t. Even a cheap space in this city goes for quite a bit but don’t worry. You don’t have to pay for it all at once. In fact, walking in with a crystal full of credits and paying cash will have them calling the cops on you right after they happily take your money.”
“What?”
“Nobody pays cash for a business,” Baxlon laughed. “They take out a business loan.”
“I can’t do that!” I squeaked completely not in control of my squeakiness. “I’m not a citizen. I don’t even have an apartment!”
“Believe it or not, getting this set up is a lot easier than getting that apartment.”
“Taking out a huge loan is easier than getting a lease?” I asked completely in disbelief. That couldn’t be pooping right.
“Yep.” Baxlon laughed. “Especially the way we are going to do it.”
“The way we are going to do it?” I asked looking at him suspiciously. “Is this going to be something shady?” (Of course it would be. Who the poop was I talking to?)
“No! Of course not... mostly.” Baxlon chuckled.
“Tell me everything about this ‘mostly’.” I said quite firmly. Here it comes, I thought bracing myself as best as I could.
“I know a banker or three,” Baxlon replied. “I also know a thing or two about money. We take your cash, turn it into assets and wrap that up into a shell company. That shell company, which is completely Terran even if you’re not, then ‘invests’ in Drop of Oil LLC by securing a loan using its assets and then in turn extends one to you. Then, abracadabra! You write yourself a check for whatever you need. We can probably get close to a million if we need it, half a million easy!”
“But I will be broke!” I squeaked as I started squeaking again. “Broke! Completely br-… Oh waters gasp… gasp...” I couldn’t pooping breathe!
“Easy there,” Baxlon said reassuringly. “You won’t be broke. You will just be ‘extended’.”
“What’s the flushing difference?!?” I squeaked even higher than my normal squeak.
“Broke means you have no credits. Extended means you have a million,” Baxlon chuckled.
“gasp… gasp… gasp… gasp” I really couldn’t breathe! I was completely losing it!
“You gonna be ok?”
“I think I’m gonna be sick...” I groaned. It wasn’t a freaking figure of speech either. I was about to lose my breakfast!
Baxlon laughed a belly laugh as he handed me his wastebasket.
“And the best part is that you still have your original money!” Baxlon said with a grin. “The shell company will still contain all of your original assets! You can even make interest off of it!”
“This can’t be legal!” I accused. There is no way this could remotely be anything close to legal… could it?
“Oh but it is,” Baxlon said spreading his mechanical arms wide. “This is how the big boys do it!”
“But I’m not a big boy. I’m a little plath… Oh, Waters...” I stammered feeling tiny for the first time in a long while.
“Well do you want to be a little plath who gets booted from hotels and can’t make her orders or do you want to put on your big girl panties and actually make bank?”
“… I wanna make bank...” I finally managed to say and it was true. I didn’t want to be “little”. I wanted to be one of the big boys! It just scared the poo out of me.
“Ok then. Pull up those panties and let’s get started...”
***
Just a few days later, with entirely too many credits that didn’t actually exist to my name, I was looking at a small abandoned strip mall.
“It’s so big,” I squeaked. (Boy was I ever getting tired of squeaking but I just couldn’t help it.) “Don’t you have anything smaller?”
“I do,” a smartly dressed human male replied. “but not in this neighborhood. It may be big but this is one of the cheapest commercial properties currently on the market.”
“But why is it so much cheaper?” I asked a just a little bit confused.
The realtor looked around nervously.
“It’s, um… because of the location...” he said looking around again expecting to get mugged any second. “Startown is not, well… not the most desirable of areas.”
“Oh but it’s perfect for me!” I exclaimed. “I need to be down here because of its proximity to the starport!”
“Well, let’s take a look inside, shall we?” the realtor said. He sounded really excited but not trying to be excited. Weird.
It already had bars on the windows and everything! That will sure come in handy!
***
“Well, you are now the proud owner of a ratty strip-mall. Congratulations!” Baxlon said the next day as we were sitting in his office.
“Great...” Sheloran I squeaked. I was back squeaking again. I just spent a lot of money.
“Aren’t you going to ask me how much you spent for it?” Baxlon asked with a gleam in his eye.
“H-how much?”
“Two hundred thousand even.”
“What?!” Sheloran squeaked happily. “But they were asking for-”
“Yeah and they had been asking for that for a long time,” Baxlon chuckled. “Earned my commission on that one didn’t I?”
“Yeah you did!” I yelled jumping on his desk and hugging his globe. That was over half off! “And I own it? Like for real?”
“As real as it gets and get the fuck off of me!” Baxlon laughed.
I jumped off of his desk and went back to my seat.
“Now we need to think about what you are going to pretend to be,” Baxlon said in his business voice.
“Pretend to be?” I asked. I was really confused. Why would I have to pretend?
“I really don’t think you want to put ‘Drop of Oil LLC, smuggler supplier’ on the door do you?”
“No,” I replied. No, that wouldn’t be smart at all would it?
“So we need to set up a front for you.”
Ok. I knew what a front was. I needed to come up with a fake business that was real but actually fake.
“And preferably make it a cash business while we are at it. Could come in handy later,” Baxlon continued.
Oh! I knew that one too!
“Am I going to be doing money laundering?” I asked cautiously. “I didn’t think that I needed to do that.”
“Oh you don’t… at the moment anyway,” Baxlon chuckled, “But you never know what the future will throw at you so its best if we get that going now. You have a lot of space, maybe a laundromat?”
I pondered. I had done my criminal homework and laundromats were like so ‘textbook’. Wasn’t that kind of obvious?
“Hmm...” I pondered and then it hit me! “Coffee! I can make coffee drinks real good!" I exclaimed excitedly, "I can open a coffee shop and since I’m going to have great internet I can open a cyber-cafe too! Those will do really well in Startown!” I got really excited! I saw a story about the Terran cyber-cafe’s and those really neat little tiny rooms! People even slept in them! I bet one of those would do really super near the starport with everyone coming and going! Poop! I had plenty of space and could put in loads of those little room thingies!
“That could work,” Baxlon said thoughtfully. “Problem is that it actually sounds like work. I mean you would have to man the desk, make coffee, tend the cubicles… you know, shit like that.”
“Oh I don’t mind!” I said excitedly. I mean this sounded super cool!
“Well, it’s your money,” Baxlon chuckled. “I guess the cubicles would be cheaper than buying or leasing commercial laundry equipment and a lot cheaper to operate. It’s not like it actually has to make money you know.”
“Oh I know,” I said trying to look cool but I just knew it would take off and do really well!
“Give these guys a call and they will help you get the place set up,” Baxlon said as he texted me a business card. “I’ve worked with them before. They do good work and don’t ask a lot of questions.”
“Great!” I squeaked. Oops. I squeaked. I couldn’t help it. I was just so excited!
***
It took almost a month for everything to get built and installed but poop! It looked amazing! The cubicles were super nifty just like the ones I saw on the holo and my front lobby was super nice with comfy furniture that would accommodate a bunch of different species and my coffee setup… I went ahead and got the nice machines. I know that it’s supposed to be just a front but I couldn’t help myself. I thought that it would be really scary and stressful spending all those credits but once you get started it’s really hard to stop!
It was ok, though! This place looked wonderful! I still had some money left on my loan too! I ran a few ads letting everyone know I was open for business…
And nobody showed up! Nobody… Pooping absolutely nobody! What the poop! I bought a big sign for outside and that helped a little. I had a few people trickle in but not anywhere nearly enough! Thank The Eternal Waters it was a front! I mean, if I was actually depending on this business I would have lost my pooping mind right about then.
My “real” business wasn’t going all that much better but each deal was worth a pretty good bit and my first deal went through with no problems and the… ahem… “independent contractor” that bought my product reported that it sold quite well! Thanks to that I was able to get a few more deals going but it was nowhere near the mountain of credits I had led myself to believe. Oh I was selling a lot of copies per deal but once you figured in the costs of the mini-crystals and the media itself I wasn’t making anywhere near as much as you would think!
Still, things were slowly gaining traction or that was what I told myself as I had to use some of what was left of my line of credit to make my first payment…
Then my second…
Then my third...
That’s about where I started pooping myself a little. I asked Baxlon what would happen if I “went under”. He promised me that I wouldn’t go to jail (which was my first worry. I mean this can’t be legal!) He just said something about going bankrupt and something about “restructuring” and how Drop of Oil could go under but the shell company would still be safe. This sounded even less legal than what I was doing now! Poop!
Finally, I broke even! Between the orders (I caught a huge break and someone wanted a bunch of copies of some banned books that I could copy for free!) and finally getting some customers coming in (I realized that most xenos had absolutely no idea what a "cyber cafe’" was and so I ran a few more ads and set up a FAQ and that really helped!)
Yep! I could finally sleep without cuddling Craxina like a plush toy!
Then… Craxina did a Craxina.
***
It was just another mostly quiet day at Drop of Oil when Craxina looked up at me.
“Um, Sheloran?”
“Yeah,” I asked completely oblivious to what was about to happen to me.
“I was thinking. You know what I used to do, you know, before I started working for you?”
“Yeah?” I asked sipping my tea. It was great tea. It was really fancy but I got a super deal on it.
“I was thinking that maybe… maybe… I could give it a try again?”
“Are you asking permission,” I chuckled sipping my wonderful tea, “I’m not your mother.”
“Yeah, but I sort of work for you and if I started… you know… I wouldn’t always be.”
Huh, I hadn’t thought of that. Craxina had sort of become kinda important to the operation.
“Well, it’s your life,” I replied. It was hard to get too excited when I had tea as good as that. “Whatever makes you happy. I can manage on my own for awhile and if you want to come back you certainly can.” I took a sip and turned to her. “Just make sure you do it right. I don’t want to have to bail your fluffy tail out of jail.”
“No…. No, I’ll do it right...” Craxina said haltingly and then she looked at me meaningfully. I set my tea down. I knew that look.
“What?” I asked dubiously.
“I was wondering if… maybe… I could… maybe… do it here?” she squeaked.
“What?!?” Thank goodness I set down my tea. That stuff was expensive!
“I mean we have so much room and...”
“No! Abso-flushing-loutely not! Aren’t there places you can do that already?”
“Yes but you aren’t there!” she replied looking down. “After everything I would want you around, you know, to make sure I’m safe.”
“Craxina, I’m sure that those other places are safe too,” I replied as kindly as I could.
“Yes, but you aren’t there. Here, I could do it and be safe and if something happened you would be there… and I could still help out around the place when I wasn’t doing it!”
Ok, now there was a good point. I really did need her help… And if she really wanted me around to make her feel safe… Wait! What was I thinking? No! This was NOT going to pooping happen!
“I am not sure that’s a great idea,” I replied. “I mean if you are not feeling that confident then maybe you aren’t ready just yet.”
“But I waaaaant to,” Craxina said in that voice she knows I have a weakness for. “I’m horny as fuck and you don’t want me bringing people back to the hotel!”
“No. No I don’t.”
“This way I could do them here and get paid for it!” she said happily. “I would be safe and I could get my fuck on. This is waaaaay too long for one of my kind to go without! It can’t be healthy!”
“...” I just sipped my tea. She did have a point. She can get her little freak on and I wouldn’t have to worry about her. Wait! No! I told myself. This was a bad idea!
“And I could pay you!” Craxina said happily. “Those brothels take a cut you know. Why not give it to you?”
I sighed. We did have space we weren’t using and it would keep Craxina off of the street and here where I could keep an eye on her stupid tail… I could feel myself starting to give.
“Ok,” I said after a moment. Craxina’s eyes lit up. It was impossible to say no to her sometimes. “If I agree to this it’s only for a little while. You can find out if you are up to this and if it’s something you really want to do then you need to find a real place to do it in.”
“Deal!”
I meant well. I really did. I mean she had a safe space to explore this part of herself again and I got to know that she was safe and not bleeding to death in an alley or trapped in the back room of another hotel.
What could possibly go wrong?
***
Well nothing did go wrong. A quick check of the applicable regulations showed that what she (and I) were doing was perfectly legit. She, as an independent sex worker, could take appointments wherever she wished as long as it wasn’t on the street and it was a “safe environment”. Well, me sitting in the lobby brewing coffee or dare to dream making copies (not that it was really happening all that often, darn it) made it pretty pooping safe. If anyone tried to hurt my Craxina they were going to get to taste the business end of a mini-cooker.
It became the new normal. We would be working and then some guy (or girl) would wander in looking for Craxi (that’s what I started calling her, Craxi) and off they would go to her little nest in back. They would then pop out later with big smiles on their faces and Craxina would then “rent a cubicle” for several hours. I guess setting up a cash business wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Then, it happened. One day a strange looking little purple thing came in looking for Craxina. I thought it was one of her clients but instead Craxina brought her over to me.
“Hey, Shelly,” she said with “that look”.
I carefully set down my very nice very expensive tea. (Well, nobody else was buying it and it was a shame for it to go stale.) A less than pleasant realization dawned upon me.
“No,” I said and picked my tea back up.
“But, Shel-”
“No. Not happening.”
“But she doesn’t have anywhere else to goooooo!” Craxina said using that diabolical voice.
Not my problem… Not my problem... I repeated to myself.
“Then she should go to the union and set up in a brothel, a real one.”
“But she caaaaaannnnn’tt”
Not my problem... I repeated my mantra to myself.
“Not my concern,” I said sealing the proclamation with a sip of my tea.
“But she’s on the streeeeeetttt. She’s gonna get hurrrrrttttt...”
“I’m already regretting this but exactly why can’t she go to the union...” I asked despite myself.
Ploxni (that was the little purple xeno’s name) proceeds to tell me this long involved tale of woe about how she isn’t documented and here illegally and that she doesn’t have the money to leave and she needs a safe place to do her thing and how she was getting ripped off really bad where she was working (she was) and how she just needs a safe place to work until she can get enough money to get on a ship and back on her way.
Then she showed me the bruises where she… well… she had been raped.
Fuck… I mean poop...
So now Ploxni was hanging around. She was nice, didn’t cause any trouble, didn’t make a “mess”, and cheerfully paid just like Craxina did. I tried to tell her not to worry about it but she insisted. She wanted to "earn her keep" and I just got tired of fighting her over it. I even let her keep money with me since she didn’t have a safe place to keep it. I just put a lock box in the back with her name on it. She was so grateful for just that and the meals that I would feed her when she was around. I’d send her out with a lunch order and she would bring back food for all of us and was always so careful with the change.
It was hard not to like her. Ploxni is pretty darn cool.
After Ploxni came Vvzzl who had a similar story to tell. The poor thing had a really bad problem with what the Terrans call voxel, a street drug. I managed to get her into rehab after a little while. She drops by every now and then. She is doing really well and helps me with my studies (yes, I’m still working towards that darned certificate). After Vvzzl came “Twitch”. She was Federation and down on her luck. The fact that she could “work for” The Sheloran was a big deal for her because “nobody was going to fuck with her here”. I had to make it quite clear to her (and several more Federation xenos who showed up right after) that they under no circumstances “worked for me". They were working for themselves and I just happened to have some space they could use.
About that, Craxina and the others built some really nice little rooms in the spare area. I told them that it was ok as long as they cleaned up their own messes (because I certainly wasn’t).
Word got out. A xeno who needed a place to safely ply their trade for a bit could drop by and I would accommodate them. My “rates” were better than most places and they were quite safe here. I knew I shouldn’t be messing with this nonsense but darn it, these poor people had no place to go and a lot of them didn’t even really want to be prostitutes in the first place (which was completely heartbreaking but by then I had hired as many poor little xenos as I could afford to). The least I could do was give them a place where they wouldn’t get raped or murdered, right?
On the bright side, my coffee shop was doing a lot more business as a waiting room than it ever did on it’s own and I really didn’t want to admit it but “the girls" (and a couple of boys) really did put me over into the black when it was tight.
All in all it was an ok arrangement. I never had any trouble from the clients nor did I with the um… “independent contractors” who were beginning to crawl all over the place. Heck. I was even starting to put together study sessions for people who wanted to work towards their certificate. “We” were starting to bring in enough to hire our own tutor!
Then… trouble, big huge scary trouble!
***
I was actually in the middle of a big download (I actually got a pooping order!!!) when Hlongn called me to the front.
Standing there were about a dozen really mean looking women and one Juona. They were armed, very well armed, and were wearing was was clearly soft armor styled to look like street clothes (A blazer doesn’t have multiple layers of fabric like that! What? I sew, ok?)
All hell was breaking loose in the “special area” as more of these women were starting to drag out all of “my people” (Yes, I had started to think of them as my people cause they needed to be someone's people, damn it.) and their clients in various states of naked.
“What the poop is going on here?” I squeaked. I tried to sound tough but no, I squeaked.
“We have the same question,” a very muscular woman replied as she pulled out a badge of some sort. “Gretchen Mathers, Sex Workers Union Investigations Division.”
Poop.
***
Well, it turns out that someone (and I know who… Dave, you butthead...) had really gotten close to Ploxni and in their cuddle time conversations had learned her story including the part where she was undocumented and working here somewhat covertly.
He then found out from dear sweet chatty Ploxni that a lot of the people “working for me” (They weren’t pooping working for me!) were in similar circumstances. This concerned him and after “looking into me” by watching some of those Pond cursed documentaries he got even more concerned so the little jerk called the Union on my stubby little tail and got me raided.
In his defense he meant well. I still let him visit because Ploxni won’t work anywhere else and he did mean well.
Well, the Union rolled in expecting to raid a “human trafficker” and held me at pooping gunpoint. The guns didn’t scare me as much that stun rod that the Juona was holding with the disturbingly rounded tip. The way she kept saying that she really didn’t like slavers as she moved it back and forth was very very disconcerting!
They wouldn’t let me talk. They just kept me there and took each of “my slaves” in the back and talked to them individually. I knew that Craxina had a mouth on her but wow… She really gave them a piece of her mind!
Fortunately for me, the scary rod went away pretty quickly (and so did the guns but who cares about those) and even more fortunately the Union found the whole situation rather humorous. It turns out that I’m not the first “mother hen” as they called me they have encountered.
I found out a few very important pieces of information:

1. Yes, it is legal for individuals to engage in prostitution in a “safe environment” but if more than three of them are using the same environment at the same time it is now an unlicensed brothel… Oops.
   
2. It doesn’t matter if you are documented, undocumented, legal or illegal. You can get a card from the Union. They don’t report and it really doesn’t matter that much to the Republic anyway. If you are undocumented they will just do a quick check to make sure you aren’t a serial killer or wanted in the Empire and register you. It’s really no big deal. I’ve now helped more than a few “illegals” get that all sorted out.
   
3. The Sex Workers Union is in fact deputized to handle these sorts of things directly without having to go to the police and will happily storm a suspicious site.
   
4. I almost got my butt kicked (and quite possibly probed by a prison rod with a self lubricating tip) because I bore a strong resemblance to a human trafficker!!!!
   

After it was clear that I wasn’t scum of the flipping Earth they were really nice and all bought coffees! They really liked them, word got out, and I have some more new customers!
Gretchen pulled me aside after everybody got dressed (those poor clients!) and the chaos subsided.
“You seem a decent sort,” she said to me.
“I try to be,” I squeaked.
“When we looked you up we expected to run into a fucking monster, you know.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot,” I said as I sipped a soothing cup of tea to calm my nerves. “Those guys in the starport drew first by the way.”
“Ok, sure,” Gretchen laughed. “whatever.” Great, even they don’t believe me. They drew first dammit!!!... I mean poopit!
“Anyway, you either need to get this place licensed,” Gretchen said, “or you need to get licensed.”
“What?” I said putting down my tea. At this point in my life I kinda know when something is coming.
“I think you would make a fantastic procurer,” she said putting her hand on my shoulder.
“A what now?”
“A procurer. They are an individual licensed by the union to arrange for services. They act as a go between between our providers and the public, an agent if you will. In return they are typically paid a commission for their service.”
“You mean a pimp?!?!??” I squeaked.
“A pimp gets to meet Urlexa and her special rod,” Gretchen laughed. “A union procurer works for the provider, not the other way around. It would be a handy way for you to keep this operation of yours running, continue to help the wayward souls that seem to flock here, and keep us from kicking in your door on a continuing basis.” She paused as one of my workers handed her an espresso. “You would also gain access to a database of providers from across the planet which would increase your earnings significantly and do us a great favor as well.” She took a sip and nodded approvingly “Yeah, I’ll definitely be coming back here!” She then looked at me. “It’s hard to find people who make good procurers and I bet you would be a fantastic one!”
I felt that all too familiar feeling, fate closing in around me. It appears that I was about to become a procurer now. Great, a non-pimp…
I chuckled. Pimp was not on the list yet. I get to check off another box.
“Ok,” I sighed. “How do I become one of these ‘procurers’.”
It didn’t take long. There were a few classes I had to take and a test I had to pass. The test was easy! It was just about all the rules and stuff!
So… I’m now a procurer. It’s actually pretty nifty. I can issue union cards and help my fellow lost little xenos navigate at least part of this weirdness that is the Republic. I also have a list of every single licensed brothel in the whole pooping Republic and I get a referral bonus if I can get someone out of my skirts and into a real place of business! (Not that many go for it. Most are very happy with me, darn it! What? I’m not going to turn into a jerkface just because I can get rid of them.)
I’ve even gone on a few raids with the Union! I pooping hate bullies and they didn’t have to ask me twice (I got one of those nifty blazers and everything!). We “visited” this real poop-stain the other day. He… um… he got to spend a little time with Urlexa… By the way, Urlexa is a dominatrix when she isn’t out there fighting the good fight and is available on Thursday if that is your sort of thing. (I still can’t believe I’m doing this.)
Oh, I think I broke Baxlon. He wanted to be furious with me for getting involved in all this nonsense without talking to him but at the same time he was about to pop his gills laughing at the thought of me being a pimp now. I had to promise him to talk to him whenever I did anything from now on. I think I will.
***
"... And I swear if ONE more person asks if I'm available I'm going to shoot them in the naughty bits!"
“BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!” Sam, my former boss, howled with laughter as he leaned against my bar for support.
“Go ahead,” I said sipping my tea. “laugh it up, jerkface.”
“Oh my God! Sheloran!” he gasped, “And here I was pissed off that you set yourself up as competition!”
“If you want to be competitors,” I said as I sipped my overpriced (but absolutely wonderful) tea, “I will happily refer you to the right people in the Union. You will need a bigger place though.”
Sam burst into peals of laughter again.
“So, are you looking to hire someone or not?” I asked. “I have several xenos who know how to make coffee, your way, and would love to work someplace… um… less interesting.”
More laughter.
“Actually, yes. Yes I would love to interview two people.” Sam said as he finally stopped laughing. I failed to mention that both of the applicants I would be sending his way did not actually make coffee for me but in fact worked “in the back” and had been carefully trained in preparation for transitioning to a real job, something that both of them really wanted. (It tears me up that some of “my people” aren’t like Craxina but just desperate. I do what I can but it’s never enough, damn it! At least I can keep them safe, right?)
Craxina picked that moment to saunter out from the back in nothing but a robe (I finally made one that she will keep on!) and looked over at Sam.
“You my 12:30?” she asked.
“Um, no...” Sam replied completely flustered.
“Want to be?”
“No, thank you?”
“You’re missing out,” she said and then made herself a coffee. It was my turn to laugh.
“You are you know,” I said unable to resist.
“What?” Sam asked still staring at Craxina.
“Missing out,” I grinned.
Sam blushed and stammered something about having to get back and left.
As he did I looked over at Craxina.
“You have completely ruined me,” I chuckled.
As she was about to reply the phone rang. I answered.
“Hello! Drop of Oil Coffee and Media! Can I interest you in… (Sigh) Yes… You are interested in a xeno’s feet?… Hooves?… (sigh)… That’s an odd request but let me check… Yes, we do have a provider with hooves. Yes I can send you an image…. I’m certainly glad it makes you that way (gross!)… I can certainly assist with that I just need your client ID numb-…. No, that provider requires a… no I don’t care if you are a ‘nice guy’ the provider requires an ID… Look, dude, if you want the hoof you need the ID now unless you have one… Ugh. (click)”
I hung up.
“Hooves?” Craxina laughed.
“And you will never guess what he wanted her to do with them!” I replied sipping my tea.
“Tell me!”
“Sorry,” I smiled at her, “As a procurer I must respect my client’s confidentiality.”
“Aww...”
I grinned.
“But since he didn’t actually become my client he wanted her to...”
“Ewwww!” Craxina replied laughing.
“Humans are so pooping weird...” I muttered as I sipped my tea.
“Good thing, right?” she replied. “No way we could keep this place open without them.”
“Please don’t remind me,” I laughed.

So rather than the Q&As Phil's been doing so far this season they did a combined post-match/general mailbag type thing where Phil takes a few of the questions thrown at him and answers them in an article rather than the free-for-all the Q&As were. Looks like this may be what they do going forward but time will tell.
Anyway, here's what he included for us:

• He thinks it's fair to say Dallas is the most improved player this season but also the most consistent, particularly across so many different positions and also has a shout at the club's Player of the Year Award come May, although he concedes that the vote looks like leaning towards Pirlo Phillips at this stage.
  
• Speaking of Phillips, he didn't have anything to add to what we already know about the injury - that Bielsa described it as an impact injury and Phillips' comments on it being a dead leg. Says if they had concerns that it was serious Phillips wouldn't have been out on the pitch the way he was at full-time and looked to be moving freely.
  
• He was asked about Poveda and Augustin's lack of game time so far and just repeated the line about them needing to get up to Bielsa's standards of fitness in the case of Augustin. For Poveda he said it's more strange that he was involved right away and then nowhere to be seen for the last few games. Says he can only guess that it's down to performance in training and for the 23s, but also mentioned Bielsa's preference for having a bench made up of specific positions.
  
• Two questions concerning Kiko Casilla. Firstly, his hearing has finished. Evidence was given on Wednesday with legal discussions continuing through Thursday but neither Leeds nor the FA are commenting on it yet. Those in the media were expecting to hear before the Reading game but he says something should materialise next week. Secondly they haven't yet heard how serious his finger injury is. Rumours over social media were suggesting broken fingers and there was a picture doing the rounds of him after the game with two of them strapped together but he did play through it in the second half of the game.
  
• Again says there's no formal option on Ben White for us but that if we go up we could easily get involved in the bidding for him but as his value's skyrocketed this season there's no chance if we don't go up. Maintains that Liverpool are very keen though, he says their scout Andy O'Brien has watched White closely so presumably if they come in it'd be very tough for us to beat what they can offer.
  
• Says that at this stage of the season Leeds will essentially be working on two plans simultaneously for next year - one for if we're promoted and one for if we aren't. An example he gave was that Reece James was on the target list last summer if we'd been promoted. Options and obligations on Augustin, Costa, Harrison and Meslier are worth around £45m combined (not all paid in one go, Costa's is spread across the length of his contract and Augustin's probably is too.) Costa's will be paid regardless of what happens, Augustin's will be if we go up while Phil seems to expect us to go ahead with options for Harrison and Meslier in the event of promotion.
  
• His gut tells him Bielsa will keep a lot of this squad even in the PL. It's only Berardi out of contract so players will still be around if he wants them. The Arsenal game showed how well his style and tactics can work in the PL but also that our current flaws will be punished more ruthlessly so he will need some new players as we can't expect to have 60% possession and 17 shots every game at a higher level.
  
• Neither Leeds nor Adidas are publicly saying anything about this new kit deal but he says a source has told him it is definitely happening. He says the contract with Kappa was very good by Championship standards at around £2m per year, dependant on shirt sales (which are very high even by PL clubs standards) but a deal with Adidas in the PL would be far bigger and they also have the infrastructure to cope with demand. He says Umbro were interested but that it will be Adidas.
  
• Sticking with kit deals, the initial agreement with 32Red had a clause that allowed Leeds to end the deal in the event of promotion but has since been extended so that clause may or may not have been removed. There have been whispers that the government could crackdown on betting companies sponsoring football shirts but Phil says Leeds would have no shortage of suitors if the were to move away from 32Red.
  
• If Amazon were to do a documentary on any club in the Championship this season, Derby would be the best. Doubts whether Take Us Home Season Two will come to fruition as there just hasn't been much drama for them to focus on.
  
• Phil was asked about the agreement with which Greenfield Investments - a company owned by Andrea Radrizzani - lease Elland Road to Leeds. He says that rent under the previous landlord had got up to £1.7m per year when Radrizzani used Greenfield to buy the stadium back and that Greenfield leased it to Leeds United until 2032 with an initial rent-free period of 33 months which would come to an end around March this year. Key word though is 'initial' Phil says it's unlikely that either Greenfield or Radrizzani would ask for rent from Leeds in the Championship although there is a possibility that Radz might attempt to recoup some of the £20m he spent on buying it if we're in the PL but the cost would obviously be far less significant with PL money coming in.
  
• An interesting question on ownership of the club back in the Bates era on whether we ever found out who that decrepit old prick bought the club from around 2011ish. For those who weren't around or don't remember, when Leeds were insolvent under Bates in 2007 and in administration, Bates claimed he had an offer on the table for the club from a group called Forward Sports Fund, a collection of anonymous individuals that Bates said would buy the club only if he remained in charge. When pressed by MPs, media and I think the League too, Bates and Shaun Harvey (CEO at the time) both claimed to have no idea who was behind FSF until around 2011 when Bates announced that he'd bought the club from FSF and that he was now the club's owner. Phil says they never found out who was behind FSF and doubts they ever will. Many fans, of course, came to their own conclusions.
  
• On to a more heartwarming subject and a completely opposite character - Marcelo Bielsa! Phil says that Bielsa has more control than any Leeds coach/manager he's covered, right down to the division of wages for his backroom team. He says that the likes of Flores, Quiroga and Reyes etc., those who arrived with Bielsa, will probably leave when he does but that Corberan, Price etc. who were already here will stay. Bielsa's guys are remarkably devoted to him and follow him everywhere without ever showing much inclination to be head coaches themselves. They'll have to find new paths when Bielsa retires but until then they're with him all the way. Phil also believes Bielsa's driven and motivated by the challenge of coaching a team to play his way and pitting his tactics against other coaches and improving players too. Calls him a coaching addict. Bielsa doesn't like the commercialisation in the sport and the gap the money creates between players and fans but that you can see how much he enjoys improving the players on his watch. Newell's Old Boys are his one true love but Phil gets the impression Leeds United are as close as he's come to finding something remotely comparable and that when he asked someone close to Bielsa why he decided to give Leeds another season despite remaining in the Championship he was told "“He feels in debt to the fans, to the people and to the city which has given him affection and support, thus his commitment to them.”
  

If that's not the perfect note to end this post on, I don't know what is!

​
previously:
https://www.reddit.com/Wholesomenosleep/comments/dgn417/dakota_son_part_7/
​
I groaned as I lay in my bed. This was my second session with Nurse Remy. “I don’t want him anywhere near me,” I said to Sara, not caring if I offended him.
“Be polite,” Sara said. “Remy is a good nurse. He studied in India and Japan.”
“Why do I need a nurse? I have you.”
“Dude, you need to chill out.” Nurse Remy ran his fingers through his long wavy black hair. If I’d had to wager a guess, his ethnicity was either Italian or maybe Israeli. He was young: older than Johnny, but not by much. What stood out was his voice. He had an accent like a mid-nineties cartoon surfer, and he was so laid back he was practically horizontal. He annoyed the ever-loving shit out of me, particularly when he started going on about auras. “I brought over a collection of incense sticks to help you align your chakras during our session. I think the source of your pain lies in your energy imbalance.”
I think the source of my pain lies in my hip imbalance. Or, the fact I can still feel where my legs were sewn back together like a rag doll!
“I’ll see you guys later.” Sara headed to the door.
“You’re leaving?” I cried. “I have to take Diego to the pain clinic, and then afterward I have a date with Johnny.”
“Just go,” I muttered. I couldn’t argue. Diego had no one else to support him through his PTSD and blackouts, so I had no beef with him. Johnny, on the other hand...
After Sara closed the door, Remy took off his shirt, revealing his slender body. He pulled off my blankets. I was wearing only sweatpants. “Sean, during our session I want you to focus on your breathing.” Remy took a deep breath as if to demonstrate. “If at any time you need to stop to clear your airway, just tell me.”
I could suddenly hear laughing. I looked towards Sara’s side of the room. Cam was sitting on her desk, smirking at me. “I wish there was popcorn in the afterlife.”
Screw you.
Remy lit the incense stick. “The root chakra, located at the base of the spine, is called such because it extends all the way to the crown chakra. As I move the incense over your body, I want you to picture a pool of water, like a koi pond. Within this pool is a glowing circle with a floral pattern. I want you to imagine this circle rotating ever so slowly.” Remy held the incense over my hips, placing his opposite hand on my stomach.
I did as he asked, closing my eyes and picturing a pool of water with a glowing circle inside. A flower in the center spun as if caught in a breeze. I could hear the water. I could feel a sense of warmth emanating from my back up my spine. My breathing was calm.
“I’m going to put the first incense in the holder. The point of this exercise is to light a different incense for each of the chakra points and let the energy blend together. The next is the Sacral Chakra. It’s located in the lower abdomen and represents sexuality—”
My eyes shot open. “I think I’m ready to practice with my crutches.”
“It also represents happiness,” Remy laughed. “Just trust me. I’ve done this before. I’m a professional. And I know you have a girlfriend.”
Cam smirked. “Yeah, Sean, keep an open mind, or maybe an open something-else.”
I glared at Cam, but took a breath, glanced back to Remy, and said in my politest voice, “Remy, your breathing exercise was very helpful. I now definitely feel like I’m ready to practice with my crutches.”
Thankfully Remy obliged.
***
After an exciting day, I awoke to Sara hurling a box at my face before storming off. “You have a care package.”
The gift was from Diego. He included a card with a picture of an angel. “Dear Sean, Sara mentioned you had a fondness for candy, I hope these will help lift your spirits. I will keep you and your family in my prayers. Your friend, Diego Quinto.” Inside was a box of cake-flavored truffles. I flipped over the box to read what was inside. Some were chocolate fudge, others were strawberry cheesecake, and there was even a lemon meringue flavor. There was also a mini-bible, the kind given out as free samples. I hugged the box as I fell asleep.
I awoke to the feeling of Sara’s wet hair on my shoulder. “Can I have a truffle?” she asked. By the tone of her voice, I could tell she had been crying.
“Diego had an episode at the clinic. Johnny had to come pick me up after I gave my statement to the police.”
“What happened, is he okay? Is he in police custody?”
“He’s okay. The hospital isn’t pressing charges, and the doctor that he attacked wasn’t hurt too badly. Security got there pretty quickly.”
“So where is Diego now?”
“He’s in the hospital for a psychological evaluation. They’re probably going to change his medications. His anxiety and depression have just gotten so much worse since Jen left. But what do I know, I’m just a kid.”
I put my arms around her. “Say something embarrassing about Johnny, and I’ll let you have a truffle.”
Sara smiled. “Johnny’s parents refused to buy him a car because he failed his driving test five times.”
I laughed. “You get one truffle.”
“Fine, I’ll just get my own box when I go with Johnny to take Diego home from the hospital—whenever that might be.”
When she didn’t elaborate, I pushed a little. “So… what happened today?”
“There was a new doctor, a tall African American man. He told me I couldn’t stay with Diego while he had his acupuncture because I wasn’t family. I tried to tell him that the usual therapist didn’t have a problem with me being there, and then I tried to explain Diego’s home situation, but the doc grabbed my wrist.”
“That was kind of mean.”
“Well, that was after the situation already got heated and he’d threatened to call security. Out of nowhere, Diego started yelling at him. Not in Spanish—maybe Swahili. I guess the doc looked like someone from Diego’s past. Before I knew it, he’d punched the doctor in the face and knocked him over, and then he kept kicking him while he was on the floor. The weirdest part was Diego switching to English and saying to me, ‘I won’t let them do to you what they did to your sisters.’ I had no idea what to do and it didn’t look like he was going to snap out of it, so I played along and thanked him. That at least stopped the assault. He sank to the floor and cried.” Sara left my bed, grabbed a towel and started to dry her hair. “Anyway, a doctor from the mental health ward arrived, wrapped Diego in a weighted blanket, and let me stay with him until the police arrived.”
“What did you tell the police?” I asked. “He’s not going to thank me for it, but I told the truth—that he had an ‘accident on the stairs’ a few weeks back which really hurt his shoulder, and that his PTSD’s been off the chain ever since.”
I remembered a glimpse of the conversation between her and Diego in the hospital corridor, weeks back. I remembered the injured hand and his attempt to shake Sara off. “It wasn’t an accident, was it? The fall down the stairs, I mean.”
“I don’t think so, no. Anyway, I have to get dressed. Johnny’s taking me out to dinner.”
“You’re leaving me again?”
“For like an hour.”
“I bet you wouldn’t leave Diego alone for an hour,” I muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing, have fun on your date.” With all she was taking on in caring for Diego, she needed a friend like Johnny.
***
At my next session of physical therapy, Sara and Johnny made sure to stay with me. Sara was on her computer, and Johnny appeared to be drawing. Remy took my blood pressure, and temperature, and then attempted to get me to practice with my crutches. “Just take your time.”
“Remy, I never asked—how do you know Johnny?”
“We dated for about a year.”
I stumbled and Remy caught me before I fell over, chuckling as he did so.
“I’m kidding! I’m Johnny’s cousin; his much older, sexier, responsible cousin. I had to come back to North Dakota so he could park his van in my driveway and use my shower.”
Cam appeared behind Remy. “And after his little cousin is nice and clean, Remy drugs Johnny and dresses him up in kinky outfits.”
Johnny’s glare in Cam’s direction cracked me up.
I took a hit off my inhaler. “Johnny, do you ever lose chunks of time when you’re at your cousin’s place?”
“Fuck you,” Johnny pointed at me, then Cam. “And fuck you.”
“Fuck me?” Remy said with a laugh. “Maybe if you weren’t my cousin.”
“Not you, the other guy.”
Remy looked around, then rolled his eyes before locking gazes with me. “He’s still seeing people who aren’t there?”
I nodded.
Johnny was laughing when suddenly his phone rang. As he picked up, his expression darkened. “Shit, I need to take this.” He left the room, but we could all still hear him from the hallway. “No, I don’t have to do shit!” There was a pause as whoever he was speaking with replied. Then Johnny shouted, “no—fuck family, and fuck you, Dad!”
“What in the hell?” I asked as Johnny stormed outside. Sara got up and followed. “Why did Johnny’s folks kick him out?” I asked Remy.
Remy took a seat on my bed. “When Johnny was eighteen, he got into Parsons.”
“You’re kidding.” Even I knew Parsons School of Design was the Julliard for fine arts. I looked to Sara’s cork board covered in Johnny’s drawings. He had an amazing talent for photorealism. “What happened?”
“His father said no. And when his dad caught Johnny researching Grants and scholarships…”
“How did he catch him?”
“Who knows, Johnny doesn’t talk much about the actual bust-up. Long story short, his dad wanted him to stay in North Dakota and work on the farm, but Johnny wanted more. One huge punch-out later, Johnny was thrown out with nothing but the clothes on his back. And now he lives out of his van.”
“Wow, that’s rough. Why doesn’t he just move in with you?”
“I live with roommates. But he’s always welcome to crash on the couch, which he does during heat waves or really bad winters.” Remy sighed. “Grab your crutches. Go see if he’s okay.”
“You’re not coming?”
Remy gave me a wry smile. “My positivity can rub him up the wrong way sometimes.”
I wanted to talk to Johnny: I felt genuinely bad for him. When I opened the door, Johnny was sitting in the doorway of his van, smoking a cigarette. “You smoke?” I asked.
“Shit,” Johnny muttered. He immediately put the cigarette out on driveway, extinguishing it with his shoe.
“Does Sara not know you smoke?”
“Sara knows I smoke, but I make an effort to not smoke in front of people with health problems.”
“Where did she go, by the way?”
“Sara went for a walk; I kinda bit her head off.” Johnny pulled out his sketchbook. “I only smoke when I’m stressed out.”
“Don’t have to explain anything to me.” I looked over as he continued work on what appeared to be a poppy. “Why didn’t you go to Parsons?”
“Sean, when my parents kicked me out, I had nothing. Even if I somehow hitchhiked to New York, I would have had to find a place to live and a way to make enough money for food and rent. I was just a kid. It was all so terrifying.”
“So how far off were Cam and I with the shower jokes?”
“I did not turn tricks,” Johnny muttered.
I could tell he was getting annoyed and stepped things down a notch, taking a seat next to him. “So, you were on your own, no place to go.”
“I joined a church support group for homeless teenagers. I got lucky—they had a program where they gave out scholarships to kids who were looking for a career in civil service.”
“Why not teach art?”
“No one taught me how to draw. The idea of teaching, of being critical of someone’s creation, doesn’t appeal to me. Maybe deep down that’s why I didn’t go to art school. I chose to be a paramedic because the job itself is like being a superhero. I get to help people in their time of need. Maybe someday I’ll go back to school to become a nurse. But art will always be in my soul.”
“What did your dad want when he called?”
“He thinks that because I managed to pick myself back up and become a man that I should forgive him. Like, ‘Oh see, Johnny, had I not punched you in the face and threw you out on your ass, you would never have found your calling in life!’ Fuck him.”
“How are things with your mom?”
“She would have loved to see me happy and successful in New York. I told her I would gladly meet with her. She could come into town and I would go to lunch, but she’s refusing to do that. She refuses to go anywhere or do anything without my father in tow. To hell with that. But if there’s one thing I learned from the church, it’s that there’s always someone who has it so much worse then you.”
“Yep, I can think of one person who’s having it rough. What’s going on with Diego? Sara said he’d shut down since leaving the pain clinic.”
Johnny looked down at the floor. “He didn’t totally shut down. He called me from home while Suzanna was out.”
“And said…?”
“You cannot tell Sara any of this, okay? It’d destroy her.”
I got a sinking feeling in my gut. “Spill.”
Cam appeared beside me, his arms folded.
Johnny seemed to pick up his presence because he released a slow breath, like he was struggling to figure out where to start. “He said he’d thought about killing himself.”
“What?” Cam yelled.
“Why didn’t he call Sara?” I asked.
“Would you have preferred he call Sara?” Johnny shouted. He took a few breaths to regain his composure. “Sorry, I know what you meant— she’s good at talking him down. But I managed to do that in my own way, by reminding him of what he had to live for. I talked about suicide being a sin, and then there’s the whole matter of Jen and the—”
There was a sudden icy blast of wind. I turned to see Cam glaring daggers at Johnny.
“Whole matter of Jen and the… what?” I asked.
“It was nothing. I misspoke, like I misspoke about suicide being a sin.”
I nodded. “You have to be a special kind of single-minded jerk to say that to someone so vulnerable.”
“If I could hit you, right now…” Cam snarled at Johnny.
“Hey, it wasn’t like I was trying to lecture him, okay? I was trying to get him to remember all the good he’d done so he wouldn’t undo that. I told him to think back to all the people he’d saved—”
“You’re a fucking asshole,” Cam said.
“How does that make me an asshole?”
“Did it ever occur to you that your words might remind him of all of the people who he couldn’t save? He can’t bring himself to display that bronze star because Lance Corporal Justin Miller, the guy my dad was shielding when the roadside bomb went off, died anyway. And let’s not forget the famine, brutality and prostitution he saw while in service. So many people he couldn’t help.”
“I fucked up so bad.”
“Yeah, you did,” Cam said. “Believing in God is not a bad thing, but use some common sense! I know he asked for your help as a Catholic—I get that. But you’ve sent him into lockdown now. If he makes an attempt on his life after your care and compassion, I’ll know who to blame. Let’s just hope he stays in touch with Sara. You’ve totally screwed up.” Cam disappeared, leaving Johnny and I sitting in silence for a few minutes.
Eventually he lit another cigarette, his hand shaking badly. “Are you going to tell Sara?”
“No. But that’s for her sake, not yours.” I got to my feet and glared at him. “You won’t be touching my sister anytime soon.” I made my way back into the house, leaving him to think about that. It was a hollow threat. For all Cam’s rage, I understood what Johnny had tried to do in a difficult situation. I just hoped that Diego didn’t cut himself off altogether. When Sara and I moved to California, he would need someone.
Remy and Sara, who’d clearly returned through the front door, were watching television, so I quietly snuck to the privacy of the bedroom. “Hey, Cam,” I said as I flopped back on my bed. “What exactly can you see?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I know you were stuck in the hospital when you died. But now you’re outside, equipped with superpowers. Yet you didn’t know about the phone call.”
“I’m not omnipotent. God stripped me of my free will!” Cam’s hand was balled into a fist that was beginning to glow with blue electricity. “Do you know how I know?”
“Uh, how?” “Guess which hospital my father took Jen to after she was raped?”
“Oh,” I said softly. “I understand.” Being stuck in the hospital was punishment for Cam taking his own life. It explained why he couldn’t watch over his family when they needed him the most. But Jen had gone through the emergency room long before I did. “Why didn’t your soul attach to hers? Was it because her life was never in danger?”
“I really don’t know. Anyway, I’m out now. I’m going to try and spread my ‘wings.’ See what I’m truly capable of.”
Not wanting to frustrate him further, I pulled the covers over my head. One thing was clear; Cam couldn’t cross over because there was so much drama going down in this world. Suddenly a thought crossed my mind. “You know how people say that God doesn’t give us more then we can handle?” I asked Cam as I sat up.
“Yeah.” He was looking calmer, playing with the energy ball like a ping pong paddle and using his palm as the bat.
“Do you think the opposite is true? Do you think that when God sets us on a path, he gives us everything we need to achieve success?”
“That Jesus freak is rubbing off on you.” Cam rolled his eyes and disappeared into the wall.
***
Over the summer, I took the GED test at the local elementary school alongside other homeschooled kids and a few adults. By North Dakota standards I was more than worthy of a diploma. Sara registered for fall semester classes at UCLA. Sara didn’t want a graduation party without me.
It was only after I got my GED that Mom threw a party to celebrate the academic achievements of both her children. We had no idea who the guests even were—most likely our mother’s rich journalist and media friends. They didn’t act like friends, though, muttering behind their hands about how foolish she was to let me go out to California. They all seemed to hold an opinion about me having to start my medical care regime from scratch. I was proud of Sara for keeping her cool.
“Sara, Sean, can I see you in the kitchen?” Mother asked. I shrugged, looking to Sara, who rolled her eyes. We followed mother anyway.
I leaned on the counter in my leather jacket, wife beater and dark jeans. Even with the promise of gifts, I refused to get dressed up for this sorry excuse for a party.
Mother handed me a series of disks. “These are your medical records. Do with them what you wish. And Sara, this is a contract for an apartment—fully paid for one year.”
Sara raised an eyebrow. “One year?”
“After a year, if you and Sean cannot find a way to support yourselves, he’ll have to come home. Your UCLA scholarship will provide you with on-campus housing.”
“I won’t have to come back,” I snapped.
“Excuse me? Since when do you speak to me in that tone?”
“Since you threatened to haul my ass back to North Dakota against my will. I’m eighteen.”
“With an illness that requires pills, your inhaler…”
“Stop it!” Sara cried. “Just… stop.”
“Let me tell you right now, I’d rather die in California than wither away in North Dakota.”
Mother looked flustered. “Okay, well that was all I wanted to say. You’ll also receive an allowance deposited into a joint bank account.” She handed Sara a debit card.
“Don’t I get one?”
“Sean, I believe it would be best for Sara to handle the finances.”
“This is some epic bullshit. I’m not a child.”
“You’re certainly acting like one. After a year, we—as a family— will evaluate the situation. If you become a mature adult, I’ll consider extending the lease. Any further questions?”
“No,” I groaned.
“Good. Don’t all thank me at once.” As mother returned to the party, Sara slipped out the back door.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Nowhere important,” she said over her shoulder.
Since she was walking away so quickly for someone with nothing urgent to do, I quietly followed behind her, making sure to stay about twenty feet back. Not that I had much of a choice. I could walk without crutches, but I was a few months away from being able to power walk. Sara turned a corner. When I caught up with them on the other side, I wasn’t shocked to hear her say her goodbyes to Johnny. Why she’d hide the fact she was sneaking out to see him, I didn’t quite get.
Johnny and I were still awkward around each other since the fight about Diego, but it wasn’t like I’d followed through on my threat to keep him out of the house. I took a peek; they were both staring at Sara’s phone screen. “I need you to make it to California,” she said. “After all this time, I won’t be strong enough to tell him without you.”
Tell me what?
Johnny put his arms around her. “I will make it.” He lifted her face with his fingertips. “Wait for me, we’ll tell him together, I promise.”
Maybe they had plans to move in together next year, but Sara couldn’t bring herself to tell me. I got that. After months of me being pissy about having her attention, it figured that she was looking for space in the long run. I was a little ashamed that she felt she had to keep her plans for the future a secret from me. I snuck closer, my heart pounding. I could see Johnny’s van parked in the alleyway.
The doors to the van were open. Remy was shirtless, sitting in the doorway smoking a cigarette. Diego was leaning against the van, drinking a beer. He wore a short-sleeved shirt with the Air Force logo. The whole situation was giving off a Wizard of Oz vibe. “Remy!” Sara held out her arms for a hug.
“You have fun in California. But work hard and don’t lose your scholarship like I did.” Remy took a long hit off what I assumed was not a normal cigarette.
Goodbye Tin man, keep your heart chakra strong.
Sara turned to Diego. “I’m so thankful you made it.”
“I couldn’t let you leave without saying goodbye.”
Goodbye Lion, I hope someday you find your courage.
Sara turned back to Johnny. “Why not just follow me right now? You have your van.”
“Because I don’t want to be that loser boyfriend who crashes on your sofa,” he said.
What, like the loser brother, you mean?
“I’m going to work hard,” Johnny said, wrapping his arms around Sara. “I’m going to make you proud.”
Goodbye brainless Scarecrow, I think I’ll miss you most of all.
Cam appeared beside me. “Go say hello. Or are you seriously going to stand here like a creeper?”
Oh, I’m a creeper, says the phantom.
We watched as Remy sat next to Diego, who was clearly very emotional. “Here big guy, take a hit.” Remy said as he handed him the cigarette. “It’ll take the edge off, and make you feel real good.”
Diego put the cigarette to his lips and took a long drag. “I’m just worried; about Jen, and about my health.” “Did you manage to change your emergency contact?”
Diego nodded. “At least there’s that—no more risk of me embarrassing Suzanna with my little ‘episodes.’”
Cam nudged me. “Here’s one good thing—Dad’s receiving treatment at Remy’s private clinic.” Interesting. At least now it was clear as to why the men were so close.
“During the chakra cleansing sessions, both Remy and my father are naked. Remy works his chakra from the base all the way to the crown.”
“What?”
Cam cracked up. “I’m kidding! You should have seen your face—oh, now you have to say hello to the three muscular men hanging out in an open van. Kind of blew your stalking cover a little, there.”
“What is your problem,” I muttered. “Did you die a virgin or something?”
Johnny poked his head around the corner. “Hey, Sean, want to actually join us instead of lurking?”
Sara was giggling. “Seriously Sean, my friends don’t bite.”
“I wanted to give you all some privacy, I know you all mean so much to Sara. I’m really sorry my mother didn’t invite any of you to the graduation party.”
“It’s understandable,” Johnny said. “I mean, look at us; Sara’s white trash boyfriend, your New Age flower child nurse, and Diego the child-murdering mentor.”
Diego laughed. As he held the cigarette, he turned his wrist, revealing a tattoo of a male angel with long blonde hair.
I squinted at it.
“Is this smell bothering you?” he asked.
“No…” The smell of the cigarette was actually pretty soothing. “Did you get a new tattoo?”
“Yeah, I got one in tribute to you and another in tribute to Sara.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “That’s actually kind of cool. So, what did you get for Sara?”
Diego fanned out his fingers. On the inside of each one was a single word: sulfur, arsenic, radium, ammonia. And on his thumb was an image of a female devil holding a textbook.
“S-A-R-A. Got it.” I found myself touching his hand for a closer look. “That had to hurt.”
“For me, the process of getting tattooed is a very spiritual experience. Where most people feel pain, I feel connected,” Diego said, touching his opposite hand to his chest. “Each work of art brings strength to my soul and peace to my heart.”
“That’s fascinating,” I replied awkwardly, as I released his hand. I had not been expecting such a deep response. Part of me wondered if I would get as emotional when I got my first tattoo.
Remy began to massage Diego’s upper arms. “I believe all tattoos are deeply spiritual because it’s something that belongs only to you; the moment, the image, the pleasure and the pain. The experience allows you to truly understand your body and learn who you really are.”
Remy’s words caused my eyes to do a quick visual scan of his exposed skin. “That’s funny because I don’t see any tattoos on you.”
“I just haven’t been inspired. We, as spiritual beings, shouldn’t get just any tattoo. Your tattoo has to have a deep profound meaning that invigorates you both mentally and emotionally throughout your life’s journey.”
Johnny cleared his throat. “And you’re a fucking pussy when it comes to needles.”
“Be that as it may…” Remy leaned on Diego’s shoulder. “Your next tattoo is going to be for me, right?”
Diego chuckled, patting Remy on the back. “Perhaps, given that your cousin’s schedule has just become very open with the impending loss of his dear girlfriend.”
“Johnny, you know how to tattoo?” I asked.
“I’m self-taught,” he replied. “Diego really wanted to get those pieces done before you and Sara left. And there aren’t many tattoo studios close by.”
“Could you hook me up with a free tattoo?” I asked jokingly.
Johnny shrugged. “Maybe someday, but right now you and Sara should probably get back to the party before your mother flips out.”
Sara sighed. “You’re right. I’ll miss you, Johnny.”
“I’ll miss you too.”
After a few awkward goodbyes with way too many hugs, I headed back home. Sara ran ahead, leaving me and Cam to talk. “So, Cam, are you going to follow me to California?”
“Probably,” he replied.
“I appear to be tethered to you, now.”
“Great.”
“You know Sean, you’ve always been really chill about the fact that I’m here.”
“You’re a cool person most of the time. I would be a lot more freaked out if you were missing limbs or if your head spun around.”
The next day, Sara and I packed up our lives and drove to Los Angeles in a brand new blue pickup truck Sara received as a graduation present. I watched North Dakota disappear into the rearview mirror. My future was bright as the California sun.
​
next:
https://www.reddit.com/Wholesomenosleep/comments/dmlw2i/dakota_son_part_9/

That reminds me of a story. I just got back to Houston after a particularly arduous 60-day long 28-day hitch out in Siberia. I was done in. Finito. Fuckered. Flamed-out. I've been going on jobs back-to-back-to-back for about 14 months and I decided to say: ‘fuck this’. The phone's going off the hook and I'm taking some downtime for the next…whatever. The kids are in school, they’re doing well; the prime marital unit barely recognizes me and I feel like I've spent more time in airport bars and hospitality centers than at home of late.
Which was far too true.
Stumbling through the door after a heart-skippingly amusing and expensive ride from the airport, I inform my wife that “Daddy’s home!” I also tell her “Yes, I know I owe you big-time for your patience and riding-herd alone on the house, the kids, etc.” She’s pleased with these facts and also relieved. Relieved she's not going to be done over for spousal homicide.
The Alexandrite earrings and pendant set I’d had fashioned for her at Diadema in St. Petersburg didn’t hurt, either. I inform her it’s road trip time; who doesn’t love an extemporaneous road trip?
So, without as much as a ‘by your leave’, I impulsively throw some of our clothes in a suitcase, toss a case or two of Spotted Cow (plus a couple of jugs of Wild Turkey Rye) in a cooler, and we take off in the Rover. We just point it west and let it take us where it will.
We spent a brilliant couple of carefree weeks in the wilds of New Mexico. We own a spread out in the Sangre de Christo range where I have some far-out latter-day hippie friends living in and taking care of the property and the fish until such time I ever decide to retire.
We drift over to Taos to check out the Navajo turquoise jewelry scene, then out ‘round Albuquerque-way to visit some present-day friends. Once sobered up, we head out to Vernal, UT to visit some Jurassic friends. While we were in the neighborhood, I take us up on Cripple Creek to check a couple of my grubstakes; then down, around, and over, to the Hill Country of Texas.
We were taking in the local county fairs (bloody hell, Hummels ain’t cheap…), scenery, beer, and cuisine of the region. Remember, this was the period before GSMs and cell phones, so I was essentially incommunicado because I refuse to carry a fax machine around with me and pagers-beepers were just too silly to give much thought.
Unfortunately, I did have Telex and fax machines back home on the Kingwood estate; and it looked like they’ve been left on interstellar overdrive. There’s also several sternly official-looking business-delivery “Where the fuck was you?” notes plastered around various entrances admonishing me for not being home to receive the incredibly important packages and messages they’re currently holding for me.
Retrieving all these missives, messages and memos; I sort them thusly: Junk, junk and, hey, more junk.
No, I do not want to invest in North Korean pork-belly futures.
No, I don’t want a chance at winning $US6.02x1023 by subscribing to ‘Better Gnomes and Gardens’.
No, I really don’t want to look into furthering my education at the local community college by training in something called ‘programming languages’. Yeah, like that’s going to ever be a thing…
There were, however, a couple of parcels that actually grabbed my interest.
There was this peculiarly official-looking package from South America, from a very “silvery” country down there.
It was from the offices of “Yacimientos Petrolíferos Fiscales” sent off by a Major General Jorge de Altamesa de Aye Carumba de Padwajuan Marían Steverino López de Santa Anita in the Fifth y Pérez de Lebrón, Junior; the “Ministro de Energía y Minería de la República Argentina.”
“Ah! Must be fan mail. How nice.”
Upon opening the packages, I thought it might be another of those just becoming popular Nigerian-royalty scams to invest in some oil deals with a possible potential of prodigious probabilities. Upon closer examination, it wasn’t. It was a personal invitation for me to visit Argentina, specifically Buenos Aries, to discuss the prospect of my doing a little consulting work for the national oil company.
After closer inspection, I see it wasn’t for just a little consulting work; they basically wanted me to relocate with my family (i.e., go the old Expat route again) to Buenos Aires (BA) to take over and lead to glory the exploration activities of the national company which, truth be told, was just emerging from a rather rocky epoch. Across South America, there was a precipitous decline in oil production and an increase in imports which continued throughout the 70s and 80s. These were difficult decades, particularly for Argentina, in political and economic terms, with intermittent military governments and frequent economic crises.
“Hey, sign me up!” I re-joined sarcastically to the wife.
We discuss the matter and decide that since spring break was coming up, that if nothing else, we should all trek down to BA. It would be fun and educational for the kids; though I’ve worked in Argentina before, my wife and children have never been there. I was already looking forward to lunch at Cabaña Las Lilas and the re-awakening of my inner carnivore. Take it from a native, though displaced, Cheesehead; these characters really know how to cow down there…
Since they were enjoying an uptick in the Argentinian economy, the company sends one of their spiffy-new corporate jets to Houston Intergalactic to wing my family and me southward. This is the only way to fly. Forget Business Class, forget First Class, this is “Holy Fuck! We have an entire plane to ourselves Tony Stark class”.
An expertly efficient, friendly and obviously well-informed (they had laid in a supply of Bitter Lemon (plus adjuncts) just for me) flight crew made the ten-hour flight just, ahem, fly by. We were all fresh and relaxed as we deplaned into Aeropuerto Internacional Ministro Pistarini, where we were whisked through visa, customs, and all that passport control trumpery. Even our luggage followed us there without incident, which was truly refreshing.
In a company car, we were transported briskly, though not so hurriedly as to preclude any quick sightseeing, to our Executive-suite in the Palacio Duhau Hotel. This joint was your typical bog-standard 5-star luxury sort of byzantine brick-pile (I am being excessively facetious here; it was extraordinarily posh, especially to this old Oil Patch denizen) as the wife and kids instantly fell in love with all there was to see and do; particularly since it was on the company’s nickel.
Before we flew over, the folks at the oil company with whom I was being interviewed, surreptitiously (or so they thought) kept asking about the wife and kids: what were their interests, what did they like to do in their free time, where did they like to go…? Of course, I mentioned how my eldest was rather an accomplished English dressage rider (we owned several riding horses scattered around the American Southwest…here’s a note for all you aspiring horse owners: “Never own something that can eat while you sleep”).
Also, I stated that my youngest was a fledgling aspiring artist and held a genuine interest in all forms of art; particularly those that were dark. Finally, I remarked that my wife held several advanced degrees in cooking and a black belt in both clothes and shoe shopping.
I was informed that in no way was I to be concerned that my family would either get bored or be tired of the itinerary the company had set up for them while I was doing business at their offices. While thrashing out not only my contract with them but venturing my initial impressions of how to get the hometown oil company back on track and in the black, they put their covert plan into action.
My family was scheduled to go boating, swimming, shopping, horseback riding, shopping, visit local art museums and galleries, go shopping and basically play tourist while I, once again, had my honker honed on the proverbial grindstone.
It was especially dirty pool when they had a pair of custom-leather riding boots crafted for Daughter #1, set up tutoring and talk-time with some local artists for Daughter #2. They also prepared maps and transport that would have not looked out of place at any military infantry invasion for my wife’s shopping forays.
Damn, these characters were either really desperate or really devious; probably both.
After a load of legal and interpersonal wrangling, we finally shake hands on a 3-year, open-ended consulting agreement. I was to assume the title of Senior Exploration Manager (Domestic) and my Force Majeure, Take-or-pay, it-is-what-it-is occasionally-extortionate contract was signed and sealed by all.
Happy campers all around, we celebrated at one of the local carnecerías where Bos taurus could have been placed on the endangered species list. As I noted previously, these guys really know how to cow down here.
Since this would require an unusually long period of Expat-ness for us, we decided to put most of our Texas personal effects into storage and farm out the ol’ Houston homestead to some Estate Agents who would rent out our digs in our absence. They would be taking care of both tenancy and repairs, if needed, and only taking a paltry 23.5% cut of monthly rent in return for their services. At least they could have provided a little Astro-Glide for the initial ‘service’ they provided…
My wife and I decided that the kids should finish out their school year (only a couple more months until summer break) in the US since it was paid for already. We, however, would scoot down to BA to find a place to live and my wife could bring into force her not inconsiderable shopping skillset and set-up housekeeping. We had several places pre-scouted for us by my company so less than two weeks later, we’re touring the town, and inspecting those places that might pass muster where we would be comfortable in calling home.
We have semi-eclectic tastes: we’re American, big in stature and voice, and require a fair amount of room. Our request for a 5 or 6-bedroom villa with pool and hot tub was reacted to by collective gasps and looks of astonishment (mostly regarding their commissions) from the leasing agents.
Surprisingly, after turning down the first half-dozen villas shown by the agents, they remark: “Senor, there’s this one villa out in Casa 1890 San Telmo…it’s a bit costly and no one we’ve ever shown before has even considered it…”
I glance over at the wife, “Well, let’s go have a look.”
“Senor y Senora…it is kind of pricey…”
“I’m just here to set up my family and my company is paying for accommodation…OK?”
Magic code words indeed. We were briskly whisked there and shown a most comfortable looking, cozy little 5-bedroom villa in a rather cosmopolitan part of town that just so happened to be within walking distance (yeah, as if it would ever come to that…) of the office.
Three-floors thick, with a huge well-appointed kitchen. A natty three-car attached garage. Walk-in closets in every bedroom, lots of marble and real wood accents, a nice third floor-space for my office, gated with a forward-looking security building, big rooms for the kids, manicured lawn and garden, a hot tub and pool…this place had it all.
“We’ll take it”, I told them after a half-hour’s worth of walkthrough.
“It’s is not inexpensive.”
“Yep, and I’m OK with that.”
“Gas, water, electricity and sewer are going to add a monthly additional…”
“OK, no problem. We’ll take it.”
“Security is also going to cost…”
“Not a problem, that’s already covered by my company as per my contract...”
“Ah! Anything else?”
“Yeah, for the first couple of months, we’re going to need a car and driver (for the family, mine was taken care of by the company), a housemaid or two for laundry and general house cleaning, and someone to go to the markets weekly for food and the like…”
With visions of neatly-wrapped piles of banknotes Tangoing in their heads, “Ummm…certainly, sir. Anything else? “
“Yeah. I need maps to the nearest off-license and cigar shop.” Y’ know, the essentials…
Our container arrived from Texas late the next month and our children followed shortly after. They would be going to school in 3 months hence at the International American School of Buenos Aires (“Lincoln School”). However, in the interim, my eldest had desires to go visit one of her horse riding buddies in Sweden for the summer. Not to be outdone, my in-laws desired to take our youngest to Germany to visit family she’s never met and better learn the language.
This means, that, gasp, we’d be all alone for three months. What should we do?
My wife and I wave “Adios!” to our children as they jet off to Houston, join the in-laws, then onto points European.
Well, time progressed as is its wont. My wife had an absolute blast shopping and outfitting our new place ostensibly to get it “ordnunked” for when the children returned. With virtually zero-ticks in the culture-shock department, we took to living in BA like an old geologist takes to a new perpetual-Happy Hour gin mill. We found some of the finest housemaids BA had to offer and a driver that promised to avoid driving like Joie Chitwood, and he also spoke great English. Things looked like they’re to be going just swell…
Then, the Argentine economy once again stubbed its collective toes and very-fluid excrement began to impact that rapidly rotating air-moving device.
Of course, as a national oil company, the first thing you do in a situation like this is freak the fuck out. After that subsides, you panic. If still conscious, you give into anxiety, look everywhere for both scapegoats to blame this mess on and ways to cut spending of any and all monies.
“Ummm…Mr. Rocknocker. We need to talk…” one of the more dickheaded Directors squeaks as he warily wanders into my office.
“Yes?”
“Given the current economic climate, what is happening in the Middle East (it’s always the Middle East…) and with other oil exporting countries, we’ve been experiencing a bit of…an economic downturn. I’m afraid that we’re going to have to re-evaluate the company’s direction and our projects currently slated for this and subsequent fiscal years…”
“Yeah, that’s the dribbling shits, ain’t it? Well, let me know how that goes.”
“Ah. Well, ummm, we were discussing your current 20-well exploratory drilling program. We are going to have to evaluate the project, existing monetization, your team, and all contracts currently in force.”
Ok, I see where this is going.
“Wait one. I’ll save us all a lot of time, money and frustration. If you carefully re-read my contract, its bullet-proof. As in iron-clad; cast-iron clad. I’ve been down this road before. These are my projects, which have already been approved by the board, and they are under my total purview. That includes the scope of the project, the people whom I’ve recruited and specifically brought into my teams to make this project ensues. The only way you can get around this is to realize that my staff and I all have exclusive ‘Take-or-pay’ contracts. You alter one jot-or-tittle, we all walk and you are on the hook, by Argentine Labor Law, for repatriation of all Expats as well as the full costs of said contracts, which have to be paid in full before any one of us heads north. Try anything extra-contractual, you’ll be out both the money and the people.”
“What? We would never agree to…”
I go to my desk and pull out a signed, sealed and notarized copy of my contract.
“Care for a little light reading? Page 36; paragraphs 7 through 35…”
“We’ll see about this!” as he turned and stomped out of my office.
Charming fellow. I hope he gets run over by an elevator full of hungry ducks…
Days progressed into weeks then into months. The kids came back from Europe and loved their new school. I was a bit concerned, but if the other shoe hadn’t already dropped, it probably wouldn’t at all. I did, however, notice certain little niggling things around the office, which I really couldn’t quite put my remaining fingers on…
It was…quieter. Not nearly as frantic as when I moved in. Coffee was getting steadily worse and donuts on Thursday just became extinct. Not all at once, but it was a slowly-rolling expanding ball of micro-events much like a dung beetle builds, this time only corporately.
One bleary Monday, I call out to my secretary to ask her to retrieve a file for the drillers I was attempting to recruit.
“Ms. Tessmacher…Hello?”
“Bzzzt...” replied the intercom.
I go out to the ante-office and see Ms. Tessmacher is not only not there, but all of her pictures, coffee cups, and personal paraphernalia was gone from her desk.
I wander over to my favorite Director’s office and ask if he’s heard anything about our wayward secretary.
“Oh, um, yes. Ms. Tessmacher was only an adjunct assigned to you and not part of your ‘hired’ team, so she was let go.”
“Ah. Well, thanks large for telling me. What am I supposed to do for clerical support?”
“What clerical support? It told you times are tough and sacrifices have to be made.”
OK, gotcha. I see where this is going.
“One thing, just the common courtesy of a heads-up if you’re going to pull another stupid stunt like that. Please be so sodding kind as to let me know. If you’d do that, yeah, that’d be just fucking great.”
“I’m afraid I don’t much care for your attitude…”
“I’m afraid that’s just too fucking bad, Scooter. The board didn’t hire me for my scintillating good looks or my sparkling personality (not by a long shot). They hired me because I’ve been sniffing out and developing giant gas and oilfields for decades all over this planet. You know, that gooey-green glop we put in barrels or VLCCs to exchange for hard currency so we can pay your inflated salary?”
“I don’t have to stand here and take this…”
“No, you can sit the fuck down, shut up and listen. Take note very carefully: you fuck with my team, however obliquely, or fuck with my support personnel and you won’t be able to fund a Black and Decker hand drill much less the five 3,500 HP top-drive rigs I need for my exploration project. This project is the only exploration project still happening here because I had the foresight to prepare for just such an emergency. You queer this project down the toilet, and you’ve just eaten your seed-corn. My team and I waltz out of here with more money than Croesus and you’ll have nothing to sell. Zip. Zero. Zilch. No reserves, no reserve replacement, no exploration staff, and your bond rating drops like a paralyzed falcon. You diggin’ me, Beaumont?”
I suppose his turning ashen-white indicated he did receive the message both loudly and clearly.
I immediately called Ms. Tessmacher at her home and got her side of the story. She was made redundant for no reason other than to take a jab at me and my team. She was disconsolate. I told her to buck up and I’d ring her back.
After calling my kid’s school, I again spoke to Ms. Tessmacher and told her that the school was looking for a native German speaker. Since you were one, had prior teaching experience, and since I had given you an already glowing review, they’d most certainly wish to speak with you.
The next job was to call my team together and warn them of Senor Dipshit Director and how my ass was in his gun sights.
“Don’t cross this asshole, just point him in my direction. I already physically unnerve him enough to take the starch out of this little prick. He’s just a gasbag with a mission. Ignore him, concentrate on your jobs, and this is all going to work out.”
Or so I fervently hoped.
There were more redundancies at the company and except for a slide in the quality of catered lunches, my team and I were left more or less alone.
But the little, niggling things that just piss a person off continued to happen. Pens and pencils disappeared and were never replaced in the company office-supply closet. Next, field note- and chart books disappeared. Then, PPEs became scarce. That was the camel-breaking straw…off to see Senor Dipshit for a showdown.
Knock, slam, knock!
“Director Dipshit? We need to talk.”
“Oh, about what?”
“Oh, don’t play coy. These little cost-cutting charades of yours are having an adverse effect on my team. Pens and paper are one thing, but Nomex coveralls, safety boots, and hardhats are quite another. You may not think so, but you’re fucking with my team, however circuitously. You’re not from the North, but I am, and I can tell you-you're skating on very thin ice.”
“I’ve done nothing…”
Never open with a straight line like that to me.
“You’ve done less than nothing. You’re watching the toilet swirl and you are too damned stupid to realize that you’re one of the primary turds that’s about to be slurped.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“If speaking the truth is a threat, then make of it as you will. You’ve spent your goofy little corporate life nestled snug and secure in your cute little corner office. You’ve never been out on a rig, ran logs, or pulled core much less weathered a downturn or actually done any real work.”
I made sure to prod him lightly in the chest with the keloid-covered remains of my hand.
Aghast: “Well, there’s nothing left for me to do.”
There was the understatement of the year.
He continued: “But, know full well, that you’re spending far too much on international telephone calls.”
God damn, you’re a tiringly interfering little fuckhole.
“I have to tell you that you must reduce your phone bill by 75%. You have no choice.”
“75%? Just how the fuck am I supposed to arrange a globally-attended exploratory drilling campaign if I can’t speak with my vendors?”
“Well, Mr. Oilman…”
“That’s DOCTOR Oilman to you, Scooter.”
“Well, Doctor Oilman, can just use your infinite store of resources and make the project happen as per your contract.” .
Precipitously, a metaphorical light bulb lights off.
“Hmmm… As per my contract... OK, fine. That an official order?”
“Yes. Of course. Now, get out!”
I slowly walk out of his office and lightly close the door, letting him think he’s finally got the best of this old Rocknocker.
The seed of an idea had been planted. With the application later that night of several healthy draughts of 101-proof Old Thought Provoker, I had a fully germinated plan; all sprouted, grown and set for execution.
I spend about a week using my home phone to call many of my old colleagues. I let them know of my plan and that I’m calling in some favors. I asked them to get the word out to their sub-contractors and service companies. I had already ginned up an exhausting itinerary and I’m going to need full cooperation to make this all happen. Luckily, I have a huge number of cohorts, cronies, and comrades collectively in the Oil Patch so the word goes out and my plan slips into high gear.
I go to the company’s travel section and hand them my flight requisition. Now, in my contract, there are several shrewd and sneaky codicils that award me more or less carte blanche in times of exploratory emergency. However, I am also allowed to define the term “emergency”, so what I am doing is…legal.
Yes, by definition: legal.
Moral? Nah.
Decent? Nyet.
Ethical? Oh, fuck no.
But as legal as the right to have egg in your beer.
Besides, the fine ladies running the company travel section were all friends of Ms. Tessmacher and word had spread how I had helped her. They also were fearing for their jobs and could not stand Director Dipshit of the Finance Department. They helped me plan my itinerary so I’d leave right at the top of a billing cycle and be back before anyone was much the wiser. I was just taking some time and writing the whole thing off as “Business Expenses”.
It was a calculated risk and was going to take some doing to make happen; but since providence provides for fools and drunkards, I was doubly blessed.
My plan was to fly from BA to Houston, Houston to OK City, to Calgary, to London, to Stavanger, to Moscow, to Krasnoyarsk, to Vladivostok, to Tokyo, to Beijing, to Hong Kong, to Ho Chi Minh City, to Kuala Lumpur, to Perth, to Bangkok, to Muscat, to Dubai, and back to Buenos Aires.
All Business Class, with premium hotels. All in 60 days or less.
All for one hell of a lot more than some international phone calls. But, hey, I was just “following orders”.
I arrive back in BA, exhausted, with several hundred thousand more frequent flier miles and several billion heavily exercised liver cells. However, Augean as the task had been, it looked like it was going to come together. In fact, several boat and planeloads of drilling kit had already arrived that were being trucked out to location. The travel department was going insane with logistics as company after company showed up, as per plan, and necessary drilling personnel were being bivouacked as per my orders.
I went back to the office like nothing had happened and waited for the inevitable.
The inevitable happened when Director Dipshit burst into my office, vein-poppingly furious, screaming “Where the hell have you been and what have you done”?
“I’m afraid I don’t much care for your attitude…” I calmly replied as I sipped my morning coffee.
Apoplectically, he turns this most incredible shade of purple that’s usually not found in nature and screams: “You just spent near $1,950,000 on a junket…”
“Yep. I kept it under two million, just for you…”
“How could you do this?! It’ll be the ruin...”
“Of your career if this goes south. I was simply following your orders and honoring my contract. I had to talk to my field people and secure their contracts. If I couldn’t call them, well, it was obvious that I’d just have to go visit them in person. You gave me ‘no other choice’.”
“You son of a bitch. I’m going to…”
He really shouldn’t have lit that fuse. I stood up and went toe to toe with this self-important little shit-stain.
“You’re going to what? Tell the board you’re a self-important little sawed-off Caesar and were so blinded by your hatred for me and your insane officiousness that you petulantly cut off my phone so I had no other choice than spend a big chunk of the company’s funds on travel and services? Do you really believe that’s going to be a good course of action; particularly since my team leaders and I are going to be sitting in the Peanut Gallery tossing verbal fragmentation grenades and waiting on our flight tickets during your career’s vivisection?”
“Well, umm…”
“The way I see it is you can ally yourself with my cunning plan and hope like hell it works out. Or you can explain to the board how you’re a bureaucratic little dickhead that just lost the entire Exploration Department. Your call.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Wouldn’t I? You actually stupid enough to be willing to take that chance?”
“Jesus fuck, you’re a first-class bastard…”
“Count on it. Coming from you, I’m taking that as the highest compliment.”
I figured I’d get called into the board meeting later that day, so I made sure to take my wife out for a fine beefy lunch and a couple of bottles of Trapiche Alaris Malbec. If you will pardon me, I have no intention of facing this crowd stone cold.
At 1430 hours, I’m summoned before the board. I figured it would be the Argentinian version of the Spanish Inquisition, but the overall mood was rather reserved and quite subdued.
“Ah, yes, Doctor Rocknocker. Could you please explain your activities over the last two months, particularly your recent trips and expenses near the two-million dollar mark?”
I launched into a Carl Sagan-inspired tale of how extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures. I reminded them that in this industry, it takes money to make money and how the faint of heart never fucks the upstairs maid. I noted the race may not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, but that is the best way to bet. I told them of my struggle with risk-analysis, weighing the pros and cons of bold, decisive action versus sitting on one’s ass hoping everything turns out for the best. If one is in for a dime, they’re in for a dollar.
I laid it on with a trowel backhoe.
I recounted how Mr. Finance Director actually spurred me into action (well, that part wasn’t a lie now, was it?) catalyzing the entire project so I simply had no other alternative and was willing to roll the dice and take the chance. It’s how oilmen make decisions in the business. I noted that I thought that this situation absolutely required a really futile and apparently stupid gesture be done on somebody's part, and my exploration team and I were just the guys to do it.
Moreover, I recounted the substantial discounts I had secured since the little Oil Patch slowdown wasn’t just affecting Argentina, but the whole world oil industry. I wove a glittering tapestry of the positive press in the interviews I gave to media and our contractors; who were relieved and appreciative to be getting work. Also how the forward-thinking and courageous directors whom I was currently addressing were willing to make difficult decisions and supreme sacrifices to ensure the viability of the company and the oil and gas needs of their country at large.
“And I heartily thank you for allowing me to be a part of this outstanding opportunity, ladies and gentlemen of the board.”
With that, I strolled back to my seat and took several really deep breaths.
I leaned over to my Sr. Geophysicist and whispered: “Think they bought it?”
“I’m going with…yes. Never bullshit a master bullshitter…”
They conferred a bit and actually thanked me for a clear, concise, and colorful, explanation. They were on-board 100% and pleased how things were working out.
“However, Doctor; next time, please do let the board in on your plans before you head out of the country.”
The project went forward and I have to admit, we did drill a couple of dusters. Shit, it happens. However, we did discover several trillion cubic meters of condensate rich-gas and a few billion recoverable barrels of nice, light sweet crude. By the time production facilities, pipelines and customers had been lined up, the global slump in oil prices had abated and the company actually stood to make some serious capital. All because of what had been naïvely precipitated by some self-important little prick and his penchant for officiousness.
A short time later, Senor Dickweed of Finance decided that the oil industry was no longer really to his liking. I think he’s now working night-tour on a turkey farm somewhere south of Mar del Plata.
TL; DR: Off to Argentina this time to do some rank exploration for oil and gas. Had some minor run-ins with an intrusive and meddling company director that forced a Hail Mary play, through his being a shortsighted fuck-nosed little penny-pincher, which had all the earmarks of a world-class disaster. Worked out, but not his way. I like to think that in some small manner, I had hastened Senor Dickweed Director’s early retirement.
Edit 1: Did it! Less than 6,000 words. Huzzah and a Tiger for me.
Edit 2: Yes, I know it’s still long. No need to remind me.
Edit 3. Might just be headed back as their unconventionals are revving up. Great, more clay mineralogy…

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Want to know what it’s like to need glasses? Check this out. You can skip most of it, the part that matters is roughly 4:45 to 6:00.
Not a huge amount of magic here, BUT SOON. It’s only taken thirty two chapters so far, I mean, he’s got to have the chance to create his own spells eventually, right? Right?
Thale has been renamed by patron vote to Halea, to cut down on the confusion between her and Thera.
Victorina
“So... There’s an imminent succession crisis in Adympia, and you’re one of only two people with any sort of claim on the throne,” Quinn summarized.
“Yes,” I nodded.
“And that means that nearly every interested party is going to be trying to get their hands on you. Is there anything else we need to worry about?” Quinn asked wryly.
“Well, we might also be about to lose nearly half of our club members.”
“Oh, that’s all? What a relief, I thought that we might really be in trouble for a moment there,” he deadpanned.
I rubbed at my eyes with one hand, I could feel the headache coming on. I’d made preparations to guard against losing members, but it would be a lot harder to implement the plan now that I also had to worry about getting carried off back to Adympia.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Quinn said.
I sighed, “It’s fine, its just a lot to handle all at once.”
“Yeah, I can imagine. How much longer does your father have anyways?” He asked.
“You mean before he dies?” I asked, and Quinn nodded, “Well, that is the big question isn’t it. Under normal circumstances I’d say that it wasn’t really a concern, he has longevity spells cast on him yearly, and I don’t think that he’s fallen ill.”
“Well then, what if someone cut off your dad’s access to whichever Mage is casting the spell for him?”
“He’d still probably live for another two hundred years at least, physically he’s still only thirty years old or so,” I rubbed at my eyes again, “It doesn’t make much sense, unless whoever killed my brothers is about to follow it up with an assassination attempt on my father. That’s even assuming that they can get close enough, and my father’s been dodging assassination attempts since he was my age. It doesn’t seem like a plan that was put together very well,” I sighed, “It’s quite inconvenient for me though.”
“It might have been a crime of opportunity, maybe the culprit saw their chance, and took it, without thinking too much about what step two would be,” Quinn surmised.
“I suppose, it still seems like we’re missing some piece of the puzzle though. Why warn myself and my father by killing my brothers now? Now I know to be on my guard, and my father is likely to be spending a great deal of time with his concubines.”
“Concubines? As in, plural?” Quinn asked, eyebrow raised.
“Yes, is that uncommon for Earth royalty?” I asked, beyond Quinn’s impromptu history lesson I knew little about Earth’s customs.
“Yeah, at least it is for European royalty, they don’t keep concubines. Mistresses, definitely, but then Kings or Emperors wouldn’t go around advertising the fact that they keep mistresses. Are the children of concubines valid heirs?”
“Yes, though they automatically come after any of the wife’s children in the line of succession. My father never married though, he keeps only concubines,” I explained.
“Well, not to be crude,” Quinn said, “But it sounds like he’s going to have his replacement heir within a year or so. Maybe even multiple heirs.”
I shook my head, “I don’t know how it is for humans, but my father usually keeps anywhere between three and five concubines. Even then, he only has a new child about once every ten or so years. The fact that Oppius and Jula were born so close together was seen as a miracle, and they were still seven years apart in age.”
“Hmmm,” Quinn considered, “Maybe I’m looking at this with too human a perspective then. If this were a human plot then I’d expect it all to happen at once, but with the timescales that elves seem to work on, it seems that the culprit has some time to work with. Even still, it seems poorly put together, since your father has just as much time to formulate a response.”
I nodded, “Even a babe, so long as it was male, might be enough to stabilize things. It would certainly not be ideal, but the more conservative factions would be happy support the status quo, rather than an usurper.”
“Hold on…” Quinn said, “What if alerting your father is exactly what they wanted to do?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, giving him the side eye, “I don’t see how that helps anyone other than my father.”
“Well you said that your father keeps between three and five concubines, right? Well, is that a hard and fast limit?” He asked, leaning forwards in the small space of the carriage.
“No, but more is generally seen as indulgent. Even five is considered somewhat indecent, though you do make a good point. I expect that my father will forego appearances if it means that he can produce a male heir more quickly. Even the more conservative vassals are likely to look the other way, if it means that the status quo is supported.”
“Exactly. So your father loses both of his heirs, and needs new ones, so he takes some more concubines. Maybe a lot more, because he’s not sure how long it’s going to be before the assassins get to him. After all, if they could get to his sons, they might be able to get to him as well. So he pushes the bounds of decency as far as he can afford to…”
My eyes widened, as I realized the point Quinn was coming to, “And the culprit has seen to it that one of the women my father might take as a concubine, is in fact loyal to the conspiracy.”
“Yeah, and probably not just one of the women. It might even be the case that most of them are compromised. I don’t know how well contraceptives are understood in Elardia, but I’d expect that any of the concubines that are in on the plot, are also going to be trying to slip the others… I don’t know, something, to ensure that none of the honest concubines bear an heir.”
Honest concubines? That might be an oxymoron.
“That’s not much consolation for me though,” I said grimly, “Anyone not in the conspiracy is still going to want to get their hands on me, they’re not just going to sit by and let someone else steal the throne, when they could have it for themselves.”
“You might still need to contend with the conspirators,” Quinn pointed out, “Even if it’s just to prevent the sort of situation that you just outlined.”
I groaned, leaning back to look up at the ceiling of the carriage, “I do not need this right now.”
“Right,” Quinn said, “You said that we might lose some people, can we take steps to avoid that? I’d rather be at full strength if we’ve got to fight off some Adympian asshole that comes along to collect you. How would that work anyway, and who would we be losing?”
“Ken and Halea, they’re probably going to be called home by their parents, and according to King Nezzabi it’ll be some time during the coming semester. At least, their parents are going to try to call them home, I have been preparing for this after all,” I explained, “I’m guessing that Ken and Halea’s parents have something in mind for their daughters, a marriage agreement or some such thing. In theory, the two of them could simply refuse to return home, but in practice it’s more complicated.”
“Their parents could cut them off from their bursaries, just as my Uncle tried to,” Quinn said, nodding in understanding, “Assuming the money thing is sorted out, do we need to worry about the University just giving them the boot? Actually, do Ken and Halea even want to stay? For all I know they might not mind returning home.”
“They do mind,” I snapped, “That’s why they’re here with me, and not at one of the club or guilds that treats the University like it’s some sort of damned finishing school.”
Quinn raised his hands in surrender, “Whoa, I get it Victorina, I just wanted to make sure that they were on board.”
I took a deep breath, “Sorry Quinn, as you can imagine, it’s a touchy subject. And no, the University will cooperate by cutting off the bursary, but that is all they’ll do. Of course, their parents might make things difficult for the two of them, or even all of us, politically.”
“I take it that the others knew that was a possibility when they joined up?” Quinn asked, and I nodded, a little guiltily, “Well, I can put up with a little political dickery. What about the money thing then? I’m guessing that most of the club members have been saving most of the money they’ve been earning?”
“Yes…” I said, dammit, I should have told him sooner, “Though they’ve not been taking in quite as much as you’ve been.”
“What do you mean?” He asked, brows furrowing, “Neferoy’s the only one that’s not a six or higher. The rest should have the same bursary that I do.”
I looked down at the floor of the carriage, “I shouldn’t have waited so long to tell you, but most of the club isn’t receiving their full bursary. Their parents keep most of it, and only pay back a small portion as spending money.”
“Why would that be-“ Quinn started to say, before he got it “Oh.”
“Yes,” I said guiltily.
“So that’s the other reason you were so willing to take me,” he said, clearly irritated, “You were pretty sure that I’d be able to bring in a great deal of money for the club, which could then be paid back to the others if something like this came up. That’s another reason for you going to the trouble of looking for Outsiders, like Brandy, when they get dropped off by Banestorms.”
“Yes. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you Quinn. And I would understand,” I started hesitantly, “If you wanted me to return-“
He waved one hand, “I really wish you would have just told me, if not on day one then at least sooner, but I don’t want the money back. You know, I would have said yes if you’d just asked me in the first palce.”
I nodded, “I know that now that I’ve gotten to know you better, and I apologize, I’m just not used to getting help like that without some significant strings attached.”
“Like Nezzabi’s offer of help for example,” Quinn said wryly.
“Yeah,” I huffed out a breath, “exactly like that.”
“Well since we’re being honest with each other,” Quinn started, “I supposed it’s only fair to let you know that the whole Adympian succession crisis thing might be partially, sort of, maybe, a little bit, kinda, my fault.”
“What?” I exclaimed, “How?”
Quinn grimaced, “I’d need to know more about the symptoms of the poisoning, but it sounds rather like Ricin, and as far as I know, no elf knows how to create it. When I was in Ventia, that was the city in Admypia where I got… held up, I was working for a Lady Chypia. She had an elder sister who was a Mage, and that sister was in the hands of the then heir to the Marquiship of Ventia. In my attempt to get into her good graces, I offered her a way to free her sister, kill her captor, and possibly even claim the Marquiship for herself. She happened to be the next in line after the current heir,” Quinn explained, “So I synthesized some Ricin, and designed a weapon to discreetly fire a small wooden needle soaked with the poison. I left before the plan was put into practice, but I left her with a working weapon, and five such needles.”
I sighed heavily, “Quite the mess you’ve created Quinn.”
“Sorry about your brothers,” Quinn said quietly, “I probably should have thought things through before leaving Chypia with what might be the best nonmagical assassination weapon on the planet. That was definitely a fuck up.”
I shook my head, “You couldn’t have known, and besides, it’s not as if my brothers don’t deserve it. I’m pretty sure both of them have tried to kill me more than once, on orders from my father, and they keep Mages of their own as playthings. They are, or were, sick men, and I’m not about to shed a tear for either of them. You’ve certainly made my life more difficult though, and I’m still wondering why.”
“Why I made your life more difficult?” Quinn asked, with an amused expression, “Trust me, that was an accident. At least in this case, I can’t make any promises going forwards.”
I swatted him in the shoulder, “No you oaf, why would she want to kill my brothers? What does she stand to gain? Even if she is the Marques, that doesn’t put her anywhere near being able to seize the Imperial throne. And if anyone looks into just how she came into her new position, they’re likely to see the similarities in the way that the Marquis and my brothers died.”
He shrugged, “I don’t know, that’s even assuming she succeeded. Maybe someone else got ahold of the weapon and the poison. I’ve not heard anything from Ventia since arriving here, granted, I haven’t heard anything from much of anywhere. I’ve spent most of my time holed up in the library. It might be the case that someone else has got the weapon and the poison.”
“I’ll see what I can find out,” I said, “And thank you for telling me Quinn, I do appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome,” he nodded, a little sheepishly.
“Just warn me before you start another succession crisis.”
“What about the money thing,” Quinn asked, “How do things look there?”
We’d made the teleport back to the University a little while ago, and had hired a new carriage to take us to a glassblower. Quinn had mentioned that he’d need proper vision for the coming tournament, and for whatever challenges we might face from Adympia. He had not seemed optimistic about the glassblower as a solution, but had said that he needed to “Explore all avenues of success.”
“You, Neferoy, Brandy, and myself, all get our full bursary, and we’re all paying in half of what we get to the club. Ken and Halea only get enough back from their families to support themselves, so they keep all of it, and save as much as they can. Minki is in a similar situation, she only gets about as much as Halea does, but her parents pay the club half of her bursary regardless. She managed to convince them that it was for ‘club dues’, which is a big help. We’d be cutting things very close if we suddenly had to start paying money back to Halea, Ken, and Minki, but it would be doable. Mostly.”
“Mostly?” Quinn asked.
“Neferoy’s family fully supports her endeavours. There are so few dwarves Mages born, that whatever they might think about the proper role of a woman, they’re willing to overlook it in the case of Neferoy. We’re not going to lose her any time soon. The problem is that Minki’s parents are probably going to get wise once they realize just what it is I’m doing.”
“Ah, I see,” Quinn nodded, “Halea’s parents get word that Halea is staying, and that the club is supporting her monetarily. They let Minki’s parents know, Minki’s parents stop paying ‘dues’, and maybe even try to call her home immediately.”
“Yes. And we can manage that, though it would mean that the rest of us would need to pay in a larger portion of our bursaries.”
“That’s no trouble,” Quinn reassured me, “I’ve also got quite a bit in the bank from the bounty on those slave cuffs, so I can help out with that as well. You mentioned the political ramifications though, what have we got to contend with there?”
“Well, that is the problem isn’t it. If the Tanaka family was so inclined, they could raise the rent on the clubhouse to the point where we couldn’t afford to keep it. The club has savings, especially if you’re going to chip in with that bounty, however…” I trailed off.
“It’s not sustainable,” Quinn finished.
“Exactly.”
“How much of a hardship is that really though? Why not just find somewhere cheaper? I love the clubhouse, but if we need to find something more affordable then I can put up with that.”
“It would be a temporary solution at best, maybe not even that,” I explained, “It’s very expensive to live anywhere within the University, and even living elsewhere in the city would be pricy.”
“Ah, and all it takes is a message from any one of three pissed off families to make it even more expensive to live there, expensive enough that we’d find ourselves in the same position anyways.”
“Yes, and they might just kick us out. That’s most of the reason we stay in the Tanka’s clubhouse. It is expensive, but I’ve got a proper lease agreement with them. There are limits on just how quickly they can raise our rent, and they cannot simply evict us.”
“So even though the Tanaka clubhouse is the more expensive, its also more secure,” Quinn nodded.
“Exactly,” I confirmed, “Especially since the Tanaka family is not particularly fond of Minki’s family. It might make rent a touch more expensive, but it also means that the Tanakas will be less willing to do what Minki’s father asks.”
“Why don’t they like each other?” Quinn asked.
“Minki’s father is an Archduke in Karka, and the Tanakas hold one of the kingdoms in Ashur. They border each other, and there’s some sort of disagreement over just where that border lies.”
“The Tanakas might be willing to listen to Halea’s or Ken’s parents though, wouldn’t they?” Quinn asked.
I nodded, “Yes, so it’s far from a perfect solution, but of all the possibilities, this is the clubhouse we can keep our hands on the longest. Once we lose it though…”
“We might not find another,” Quinn said grimly.
“Yes. While that wouldn’t be the end of the world, it would certainly make life difficult for all of us.”
“If we don’t have a clubhouse, does that dissolve the club?” Quinn asked with concern.
“No, we’d just meet somewhere else instead, but it would still leave us each with the difficulty of finding somewhere to stay.”
“Right, which still might be difficult if the rather disgruntled families decide to keep up the economic pressure. Alright so let’s assume that we’re going to get kicked out of the clubhouse, because however the Tanakas feel about Minki’s family, it’s going to happen eventually. So in whatever time the rivalry buys us, just what are we going to do?”
I sighed, “We seek the support of one of the guilds. We’re all quite talented, and we represent more than half of the Mages above the sixth level of talent at the University. Any guild would be glad to have such a concentration of talent among their ranks, especially since some of the guilds don’t even have one such Mage among their numbers.”
“I’m sensing some reservations about this plan,” Quinn noted, “What’s the downside?”
“The leadership of the guild, whatever guild that might be, would have certain ‘expectations’ of us. After all,” I said sarcastically, “It’s only through their good graces that we’d be able to stay at the university, they’d deserve our ‘gratitude’.”
“And that’s the sort of thing you’ve been trying to avoid in the first place,” Quinn acknowledged.
“I’m probably being too harsh, not everyone in guild leadership is a lecherous bastard, its just...” I sighed, running my hands through my hair.
“You shouldn’t need to be on your guard all the time in your own home,” Quinn finished, “Which was the whole reason for having an all female club.”
“Yes.”
“Is there a plan B?” He asked.
“I don’t know. I really don’t know. I’ve been looking around, and pretty much every single inch of land anywhere in the University or the city is owned either by a noble family of one rank or another, or by one of the guilds.”
“Live outside the city?” Quinn suggested, “Maybe we could set up a teleport beacon, and use it to jump to the one back there.” Quinn said, pointing a thumb back the way we’d come.
“Well then we’d be in guild held lands anyways. You’ve probably heard that the guild hierarchs are each about equivalent to a Count, maybe a little higher. Well, all of the counties around the city are held directly by one of the guilds. The only place that’s really ‘free’ is the land to the north of the University, and that’s still technically held by the twelfth guild. We couldn’t just build a shack there and call it ours.”
“Twelfth guild?” Quinn asked, clearly interested.
“’The cursed guild’” I said wryly, “No one holds it, and so no one technically controls their lands. That still doesn’t mean we can build there though, since we’d need permission to do so, and since no one holds it, there’s no one to ask for permission.”
Quinn started grinning like a child the moment I started explaining, “I don’t suppose that the person or people to lift the curse are then able to claim the guild?” Quinn asked excitedly.
“Yes…” I said warily, I don’t like where this is going.
“Well, there we go then,” Quinn said confidently, “All we need to do is lift the curse.”
I just put my head in my hands.
“What?” Quinn asked defensively, “It seems like a perfectly reasonable solution. We’d have a place to stay, which seems like the biggest hurdle, and we’d have whatever incomes that the guild’s land would bring in. There’s money solved too.”
“The guild has been abandoned for nearly two thousand years, do you really think that we’re going to be the ones to lift it?” I asked, exasperated, “Two thousand years of Mages trying it, and you’re going to be the one to finally succeed?”
And I thought that Andrew was arrogant.
“That’s, what… five hundred years in human years. Besides, I think we’ve actually got a couple advantages,” Quinn said, still with that silly smile.
“What, we’ve got you?” I said sarcastically.
“Well that’s obviously one of them,” he said, obviously, “But the other is this club you’ve created. If I remember correctly, there are only twelve Mages at the University right now with a talent of six or more, right?” he asked, and I nodded, “Well we have half of them, and the other six are all split between multiple clubs.”
“Multiple guilds actually,” I said, “But what’s the point?”
“Well there you go. I bet that this spreading out of talent was also the case historically, wasn’t it?” Quinn asked, “Each guild did their damnedest to bring talented Mages to their side, which naturally spread out the talent. Competition was so fierce that any one guild could only justify spending so much of their resources to entice such a small number Mages. You’ve probably created the single greatest concentration of talent that has existed in quite some time, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Sure,” I said hesitantly, “Where are you going with this?”
“It might even be,” he said grinning, “The highest concentration of talented Mages in, say, two thousand years?”
“That sounds a little farfetched,” I said, on the other hand…
“Hey, maybe? But I bet if you checked the records that you’d see that I’m not too far off. So we’ve probably got more talented Mages than anyone else that’s tried this, and we’ve got Brandy and I.”
“And how do you two help?” I asked, Quinn hadn’t been rude to Brandy, but I could tell that he didn’t exactly consider her a titan of intellect.
“Well there have probably been other human Outsiders in those past two thousand years, but they would have lacked even the level of education that Brandy has. Hell, go back even a hundred years, and ninety percent of the people that get picked up wouldn’t know much more than an elf peasant,” he explained, “Elves seem to advance rather slowly when it comes to technology, probably something to do with the abundance of magic and the much longer lifespans. Humans though, we advance very quickly technologically speaking. King Nezzabi has been ruling for a couple hundred years. Go back a couple hundred years on Earth, and my country wouldn’t even exist.”
“Really?” I asked, surprised, “How does that help us though?”
“Well Brandy and I are both better educated than anyone that might have tried to lift the curse before us, including other humans. There have been other Mages as talented as the two of us, but none with the same background knowledge to guide our application of that knowledge. We’re also supported by one of the greatest clubs that have ever been created,” he said, with a small smile.
“Flattery?” I asked, pursing my lips, “Really?”
“Is it working?” He laughed, “Anyway, most educated, best club, combine those, and I think we actually can come up with something brand new to try. And it will need to be something new. If it’s not new then it’s been tried, and if it’s been tried, then it clearly hasn’t worked.”
“I hope you’re right Quinn,” I said quietly, “I really hope you’re right.”
We stopped by the glassblower, several actually, since Quinn didn’t seem satisfied with the quality of most of the samples we saw. We eventually found a shop that produced their glass with the help of a fire mage, and this seemed to be enough for Quinn. He bought nearly fifty pounds of glass in various thicknesses, and tucked it all away into his extra-dimensional handkerchief.
“Quinn,” I asked, a little alarmed, “Do you have a stove in there?”
“Yeah, some counter space, a freezer, and a fridge too,” he said, as he folded up the piece of cloth.
“Why?” I asked, peering up at him with confusion.
“Why not?” He said, seeming taken aback, “I like cooking.”
“You know we have all that at the clubhouse, don’t you?”
“Sure, but what if we take a trip somewhere? What if we need to go on some grand adventure off in the wilderness? Now we’ll have proper food along the way. I’ve even got most of an infirmary in there too.”
“Doesn’t that seem a little excessive?” I asked, quite bemused.
“Maybe,” he said, frowning, “The kitchen might be a bit much, but the medical supplies? No. With something like the portable hole or the utility belt, being unprepared is hard to excuse. If someone was badly injured, and I didn’t have the supplies ready to help them, and they died because of that… well I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. Not when it would have been so easy to bring along whatever I might have needed. The rest is just an extension of that same way of thinking. I’ve got food stored away in the fridge and the freezer, and a few other choice items that might come in handy in an emergency.”
“I think I can understand that,” I nodded, “Will you be cooking tonight then?”
“Sure,” he smiled, “I’ve even got plans for desert.”

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Want to know what it’s like to need glasses? Check this out. You can skip most of it, the part that matters is roughly 4:45 to 6:00.
Missed a day, was busy with a job interview, should be continuing on as normal from here on out though.
Quinn
I woke up the following morning feeling amazing. My hands were still useless, and my vision was still a mess, but I had true freedom for the first time in ages. It wasn’t as simple as not being a slave any more, though that definitely helped, true freedom came from the resources that I now had. Fifty two thousand drachm in the bank, with nearly two thousand more every month. The rich might spend money on a different scale than the average labourer, but 71 years’ worth of labourer’s wages had to count for something. On top of that, immortality was apparently less than a year away. For the first time in ages I could truly do as I pleased.
I got up early, which was a small miracle, and by the time Lili arrived I had already washed, shaved, and eaten.
The first order of business for the day would be to get some new clothes, and a school uniform. I liked the idea of new clothes, I liked the idea of a school uniform less.
“When exactly am I required to wear the uniform?” I asked, as we walked through the campus.
“Whenever you’re attending classes, though more of your instruction will be less formal since you’ve placed into the club stream, so you won’t actually be ‘in class’ quite as often as some of the less talented students. It’s not a ‘uniform’ though Quinn. They’re your school robes, and most students are pleased to finally be able to wear the robes of the university,” she said, a little reproachfully.
“They’re not a uniform, but they all share the same styling and the same colours, and they mark me as a member of the university. Sounds a lot like a uniform to me,” I said.
“It’s not all the same colours Quinn,” she assured me, “You have plenty of choice when it comes to colour, and maybe a little choice in the style. You must have noticed that not everyone was dressed exactly the same. I’m wearing my own university robes after all, and not everyone is wearing the exact same shade of blue as myself.”
I frowned, “Then… That doesn’t make any sense. How would anyone be able to tell a university mage from any other mage? If there’s so much choice then couldn’t I just declare to be the clothes I’m wearing now to be my mage robes?”
“Just let me get this straight,” she said, giving me a wry look, “First you balk at the thought of wearing a ‘uniform’ that many people less talented than you would give their left arm to be able to wear, and then you cry foul when I tell you that you have plenty of choice in just what sort of ‘uniform’ you wear?”
“Well, it just seems rather disorganized,” I said lamely, “What kind of military would tell their soldiers that they all need to wear this specific uniform, except they can each decide for themselves what colour that uniform is, and just how it looks. That’s no uniform at all.”
“It’s not a uniform at all Quinn!” She said, laughing.
“Fine,” I said, throwing up my hands, “How much choice do I have then, and what constraints do I need to abide by?”
“If there’s any at all,” I grumbled.
“Oh stop it you, there’s plenty of constraints. When it comes to colour you’ll have plenty of choice, though there will be a few that are off limits. Style you’ll have a lot less choice, for you it mostly comes down to just how much trim you want, and what colour you want it to be,” she explained.
“Why would some colours be off limits?” I asked.
“Purple, Indigo, Gold, Crimson, and Orange,” she listed, counting off on fingers, “They’re reserved for those with titles, or the relatives of those with titles. You’ll likely not be able to get robes in as dark a blue as your current attire for example. The trim is much the same, there are the same restrictions on colour, it’s more a matter of the amount of trim and other decorations that’s allowed on your robes.”
So what, only royalty gets purple? I wonder if I’m descended from royalty… Well, go back far enough…
“And my claim to those colours is not granted, purely based on the fact that I was the victim of a Banestorm?” I asked, putting just the hint of indignance into my words.
This seemed to give her pause, and she looked up at me, a little surprised, “You are from a noble family?”
“Of course, and depending on how the university’s sumptuary laws I might have the right to wear any or all of those colours,” I said.
Sumptuary, see? I even know the right fancy words.
“Well,” she said, considering this new information, “Only relatives of an imperial family may wear purple. Indigo is reserved for royal families, and gold for ducal families. Crimson for counts and their relatives, and orange for the families of barons. Of course, someone of higher rank may wear the colours of the ranks below, though they tend not to. We’ll need to have a bill of pedigree notarized for you though, we’ll do that first.”
“Of course,” I acknowledged, as if it only made sense.
Bill of pedigree? I think that’s an item in D&D? Or is that a scroll of pedigree… Either way, it’s not like they can check my story.
“And the dynasty in question that you claim significant relation to?” Asked the notary, who had just lit an enchanted candle that would compel me to tell the truth.
I kinda should have seen this coming.
“The Carolingian dynasty”, I said.
“And you assert that the, uh, Carolingian dynasty, is an imperial dynasty?” He asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“And their claim to empire is on what grounds? The Carolingian empire consists of which kingdoms?”
Consists of, not consisted of, damn. To hell with it, let’s see what happens.
“The kingdoms in question would be West, Middle, and Eastern Francia, along with Lombardy,” I said, I think I’m still okay here.
It might have been a good thing that they were relying on magic for this, especially since it was compelling truth, rather than detecting falsehoods. I definitely felt some… weight, on my mind as I spoke. And I found myself changing the odd word just before speaking, but rather than catch me out as a liar, it was helping me along.
If they were using a polygraph I’d be screwed, I can hear my freaking heartbeat right now.
“Well this seems to be in order,” he said, he seemed as surprised as I was that I was getting away with this, ”Could you please describe your family’s coat of arms to the herald?”
I’m really glad I Googled ‘Angove’ that one time.
“Sure,” I said, as a young elf set a sketch pad on the table between myself and the notary, “A black eagle on a silver field, with a cross of black diamonds behind it. The mantling is black and maroon, and the helmet wears a gold crown.”
I watched as the young elf, some sort of apprentice I guessed, sketched out the Angove coat of arms. The helmet ended up looking a little flimsier than I remembered it being, and I had to correct him on the colour since it was steel rather than bronze, but he finished and I got my little piece of paper that told everyone what I was worth.
Do I get to wear double-purple if I tell them about Emperor Caesar, Genghis Khan, and every other ‘imperial’ family that I can draw a probable link to?
Our next stop was a tailor, and while it didn’t have a fancy name like an English tailor might have, this was apparently the place where the well-to-do families would go to have bespoke robes made. It certainly felt a lot like an English tailor, or at least it looked a lot like the tailor from the Kingsman movie.
Lili was sitting in a chair, giggling like a little schoolgirl, as the proprietor, who was a gnome, tried to measure me. He was not having a lot of success.
He did his best to maintain an air of dignity as he dragged over a stepladder.
The small gnome summited the stepladder, taking his measurements, before beginning the perilous decent back to earth.
“This is certainly going to be the largest article I’ve ever worked on,” he said, bending over backwards to look up at me.
He had spoken formally throughout our conversation, though he wasn’t cold, and neither was he quite as stuffy as Abil had been. He was professional, he catered to the sort of clientele that expected that after all, but he seemed to genuinely enjoy his work. Unlike the few other gnomes I’d met so far Khory wasn’t the same reddish brown that reminded me of Prince Edward Island. Instead he was the same sort of dark brown, almost black, of fresh topsoil, though he had the same close cut hair and goatee of the other gnomes.
I shrugged, “There’s not a whole lot I can do about that,” I said, “Hopefully it won’t take too long?”
“Not too much longer, you need this quickly?” He asked.
“Oh I just need it in time for classes,” I said, “I assume I don’t need them sooner,” I asked, turning to look at Lili, who had finally gotten herself under control.
“You’ll be fine with normal clothes until then,” she said, nodding.
“Well there we are, have you got any samples I can look at for cut and colour then?” I asked, turning back to Khory.
“Certainly, just give me a moment and I’ll bring out some pieces that you might like the look of. Itys, would you see to our guests in the meantime please?”
Kory’s assistant, and the first female gnome I’d ever met, asked politely if we wanted any refreshments and Lili accepted a cup of tea while I settled for water and mourned the loss of my hot chocolate packets. Those had been destroyed the first time I’d taken an accidental swim.
“What is it that you don’t like uniforms about Quinn?” Lili asked, once the assistant retreated.
“Uniforms themselves are fine, I’ve got nothing against them. I just don’t like it when I’m expected to wear them. I don’t like the idea of anyone else deciding things for me.”
“Even something as simple as the clothes you wear?” She asked.
“Clothes are one of the most important things, exactly because they’re so simple. Even if you’re not wearing a uniform, your clothes still say a lot about you, they define you for the rest of the world. And if you’re wearing a uniform, then you’re defining yourself by your membership in the organization that the uniform belongs to.”
“But don’t you want to be a Mage? It seems to me like you half killed yourself to get here,” she said, leaning towards me and resting her chin in her hand.
“I do, I just don’t need the uniform to define me. Maybe I’m just being overly sensitive about it, but I’ve never liked it when anything or anyone gets to make my decisions for me. The society I’m from is very individualistic, maybe the most individualistic society that’s ever existed on my world, and even there, I’m probably an extreme case.”
“Extreme how Quinn?”
“Well, there’d always be extra curricular activities that I could sign up for at school for example. Sports, gaming clubs, that sort of thing. I never did like sports, but some of the gaming clubs always seemed interesting. So I’d try joining one. It would always go the same, I’d show up, have fun, meet people that shared my interests, and then after the second or third time I’d just stop going. Not because I wasn’t enjoying myself, but because I always hated that being part of the club meant that some time was not my own. Some time every week, or every two weeks, belonged to that club. It sounds foolish, I know, but it’s just the way I am.”
“I think I understand, somewhat,” she said, nodding.
“Thank you.”
“It’s not a uniform though.”
I threw up my hands in surrender, “Fine,” I said, laughing.
Khory came back and laid out several robes. All were far too small for me, but were a fairly good example of Khory’s craftsmanship. Khory waited patiently, giving me time to consider what he’d laid out. When Lili had said that higher ranking nobles were allowed more variety when it came to trim, it seemed that what she had really meant was that they were allowed a significantly higher amount of gaudiness. One set of purple robes had gold trim about as thick around as my wrist. It was far beyond ‘trim’, this looked more like someone had wrapped a gold fishing net around a purple silk poncho.
“I like how this one is cut,” I said, patting a slightly less ostentatious example of Khory’s work, ”Though the trim is still a little excessive for my tastes.”
I walked to one wall, where the robes that one might by ‘off-the-rack’ hung, “What I’d like is trim more like what’s on this one,” I said, pointing out one robe in particular.
“That one?” he asked, surprised, “That’s not very much at all.”
“Exactly, that’s exactly what I want. I prefer to go for understatement, rather than something as flashy as this,” I said, pointing back to purple and gold robes.
He nodded, considering, “I can certainly do that, would you still prefer gold, or did you have a different colour in mind?”
“Purple, as dark as you can make it, with the rest being indigo.”
“Pardon me, the trim will be purple, and the rest will be indigo?” He asked, looking between myself and Lili.
“Generally Quinn,” Lili started, “The ranking colour would be the more dominant one, to better show rank. Trim is usually reserved for a family colour, or a colour that the wearer particularly likes, if it’s not simply gold.”
’Simply gold’
“Yeah, but I like blue. I mean, look at what I’m wearing,” I said, waving a hand across my front, “The only thing not blue are my socks, and they’re black.”
“You’re just poking fun at the university’s rules for student attire, aren't you Quinn?” Lili asked.
“Maybe,” I said, grinning, “Hold on, there are specific rules then? Is there a big book somewhere where they’re all written down?”
“Yes, I have a copy of the university’s dress code,” Khory said, “Though it’s not quite that large, would you like to see it?”
“Yes please,”
“Itys?” Khory called.
“Yessir,” she replied, and I could hear her pulling open drawers and riffling around.
“You’re just looking for some rule to abuse, aren't you?” Lili asked me, and while she was sitting too far away for me to tell, she had to be giving me an exasperated look.
I just smiled, and took the small pamphlet from Itys when she brought it out.
There was some promising stuff here, though nothing really jumped out as being munchkinable. That was, until I got to the section on minimum length. It was defined in absolute, rather than relative terms.
“Alright, new plan Khor. I think I know exactly what I want,” I said, smile spreading.
Lili just leaned back, running both hands through her hair.
“That is always good to hear, what do you have in mind?” He asked.
“So the main colour is still indigo, and the trim still dark purple, but the cut will be rather different. Instead of falling to mid-calf or lower, it’s going to come down only as far as here,” I said, indicating my upper thigh area, “Only two pockets, and they’re be right about here,” I patted my stomach area, “And the trim will be two thin lines, just along the edges here,” I drew a line down the centre of my chest, “Oh, and it will need a hood.”
I was getting odd looks from both of them, though Khory’s was professionally odd.
“That’s not really a robe Quinn,” Lili said.
“I’m afraid I must agree with the professor,” Khory concurred.
“Maybe, but it’s within the dress code,” I said, “They say a robe needs to be at least this long, it’s at least this long. I’m only doing what I’m told.”
Lili sighed, leaning over the back of the chair, arms splayed out to either side, “I’m just glad that you’re not going to be my student.”
“It is rather clever though,” Khory said appreciatively, “This isn’t a look that anyone else will be able to achieve.”
“Thank you Khory, I’m glad that someone appreciates my genius.”
Khory and I took a little time to flesh out the details, and he sketched out a design for my final approval. I ordered five such sets of ‘robes’, with a two more full length sets for good measure.
A silk hoodie. My school uniform is apparently now a silk hoodie. I’ve done something either very right, or very wrong.
“What’s next? Is there somewhere I can get normal clothes?” I asked, as we left Khory’s shop.
“No, we’ll need to find you a club first. You’ll need somewhere to put your things after all,” she explained.
“Wait, would I be living with these people?”
I was struck suddenly by the thought of living in what amounted to a magical frat house. I imagined a large townhouse, smelling faintly of beer and urine, and populated by bro-dudes with what amounted to superpowers. I never joined a frat when I was at U of T, I never felt the need for it. I know that for many people ‘Greek Life’ was an indispensable part of going to college, camaraderie, brotherhood, etcetera, etcetera, but that never really appealed to me. To me a frat meant partying, hazing, and the consumption of large volumes of alcohol. Crippling social anxiety meant that parties were more a burden than anything, hazing just reminded me of the less pleasant years of my time at school, and I very rarely drink.
Don’t be so harsh Quinn, everyone here is either a Mage or a Wizard, that means that they’ll all be quiet bookish types like me, right?
“It’s not a requirement Quinn, but most of the time the members of a club will all pitch in to rent or lease a floor in one of the buildings on campus. Why are you so reluctant Quinn? ” She asked, and I could just hear the edge of irritation creeping into her voice.
“I’m sorry Lili, I might be a little prejudiced. It’s not that I’m ungrateful, or that I hate how the university does things. You show me around, and I promise to shut up until I’ve actually got something to complain about.”
“Fine,” she said with a small smile, “But I’m going to hold you to that.”
As it turned out, everyone at the university was not a quiet bookish type like myself.
According to Lili there were a grand total of thirty five clubs at the university, and we’d been through eight already.
“Now, why don’t you tell me what was wrong with those clubs?” She asked, as we left the square stone building that the Cro-Magnon inhabitants had called the ‘Cock Block’.
“Why do you think I had a problem with any of them?” I asked, a little defensively.
She gave me a pointed look, “Each time we stepped into one of the club’s apartments you got about as tense as a hunted animal, and you didn’t relax until after we’d finally left.”
It wasn’t that the people she’d introduced me to weren’t nice people, calling them all ‘magical bro-dudes’ was certainly too harsh. They were all polite and perfectly friendly as they introduced themselves, but they just weren’t the sort of people that I usually picked as friends. If they were back home they’d be the ‘trendy’ people. Though that didn’t mean that they were all assholes, often the opposite was true, and to say I was afraid of them was also incorrect. The tension came instead from the effort it took to appear ‘normal’, and it did take an effort. The parts of life that came naturally to most people were foreign to me. While most people would pick up on social cues immediately, or always know what the next thing to say was, I had no such natural instinct. That’s not to say that I couldn’t manage, I wasn’t a total head case, I could hold a conversation, even come off as charming, but I had to think about each and every word I was about to say before I spoke. I had to check and double check that I wasn’t about to put my foot in my mouth, and I had to take time to consider each and every person in the room. I’d look at their posture, their facial expressions, though that was harder now that my glasses were gone, and then take time to sort out just what their expression and stance meant. This was something that most people could do naturally, for me though, this had been something that I’d needed to learn, and even then I still made mistakes. I could manage this immense mental calculus when I was only talking to one other person without too much difficulty, even two wasn’t too hard, but in a large group I could barely keep track. It was easier once I got to know the group in question, but even then it could be hard to keep track of myself. I didn’t want to need to spend every waking hour ‘acting’ though, I much preferred a group, or a ‘club’ as Lili called it, that would take me as I am.
I sighed, “It’s not that I don’t appreciate your help Lili-“
“Quinn, I’m not offended, I genuinely want to know what’s bothering you. I don’t want to put you some place that will make you tense and unhappy, you might spend years with the people in your group. But you’ve got to help me help you. I’ve already been through nearly all of the top ten clubs, and you had the same frightened animal look when I was introducing you to each of them, even if you might have kept it hidden from the other students.”
“Top ten?” I asked, “Really?”
“Yes Quinn,” she said, laughing, “You’re smart, and very talented. You belong with the best, you’re just making it really difficult for me to put you with the best,” she said, grabbing me by the arm and shaking me, though she hadn’t quite stopped laughing.
“Well, maybe I’ve been too hasty, but there’s got to be more people like me in the top ten clubs. I mean, it’s only sensible.”
“Only sensible?” She asked wryly, “What do you mean, people like you?”
Now it was my turn to laugh, “Quiet, bookish types, that when they’re introduced to new people act like frightened animals. Not to be too arrogant, but someone who sits down and reads for fun has got to have better luck when it comes to magic, given equal talent. Just spending more time studying has got to count for something. Are you telling me that there are no other people like that in the whole university?”
She wrinkled her brow, “Of course there’s people like that Quinn, they’re just not all packed into one group. They’re usually happy to be put into any club at all, and put up with the fact that their club mates might be a little rowdy.”
“I get it, but you said that there’s thirty five of these groups. We’ve been through less than a quarter, aren’t there some that would be a little more… booky?”
“Actually we’ve been through half of the clubs, the other eighteen clubs are all specifically for women,” she explained.
“The clubs are segregated by gender? I suppose I didn’t notice any women in the clubs you’ve shown me so far,” I considered.
“It’s not a hard and fast rule, but the women led clubs don’t invite men to join. It’s hard enough to get a spot here if you’re a man, imagine how much harder it is for a woman.”
“And I bet that the male students, especially the noble ones, aren’t fans of having a woman boss them around,” I said, understanding.
“Exactly, so when a woman gets the chance to lead a club, she really only has other women to pick from. And, when a woman is looking for a club she tends not to pick one where she’ll end up placing herself under the power of a man. There were some… incidents, involving certain sons of nobles and merchants, and certain daughters of lesser nobles, or daughters of peasant families.”
“Basically some prick on a power trip decided to entertain himself with people that couldn’t properly defend themselves,” I said darkly.
Sounds a lot like every sexual assault scandal I’ve ever heard about in the news. Giant asshole with power takes advantage of the women under him.
“Yes,” she grimaced.
“What if…” I started, considering an idea, “What if it was the other way around?”
“What do you mean, the other way around?” She asked, giving me the side eye.
“I don’t have a problem with a woman as club leader. As long as I wouldn’t be committing some incredible faux pas, or being improper, could you find a group for me among the female half of the clubs?”
Her shoulders slumped, “Shit,” she said, under her breath.
“Uh…” This was the first time I’d heard her swear.
She straightened, and stepped infront of me, pointing a finger at my chest, “I’m going to take you to meet Victorina. You’re going to wait outside while I tell her about you. If she doesn’t like the sound of you, we leave, you don’t even walk in the door. If you meet her, and she still doesn’t like you, we leave immediately. If she talks to her club mates and they don’t like you, you also leave. And if you don’t like those rules then you can go looking for a club yourself, understand?”
I nodded, “Fair enough.”