The Sovereignty (part 6)

     I propped Blaine up against the far wall of the break room then ran back to lock the door. "That's not going to work," he said, barely loud enough for me to hear across the room. Hell, it would've been quiet in a monastery. I took a seat at the single, round table in the center of the room and tried my best to slow my breathing. I knew the door wouldn't hold for long. We needed a way out. In the corner of the room was a mop and bucket, nothing that would stand up to that psychic armor. Materialized imagination. Complete bullshit. And no way for Blaine's mind-control to get to him with that helmet.
    "Why'd you come back?" Blaine wheezed with every syllable, confirming the broken ribs theory. But he still asked, knowing how much pain every word caused as he uttered them. One of his arms held his side as he spoke. His ceramic mask was cracked and parts of it had already fallen off so I could see his bruised and swelling cheek. There was blood on his shirt and coat though I couldn't tell where the blood was coming from.
    I looked at my left arm, still hanging at my side and throbbing with pain. "Because you're an asshole." I paused and shook my head. "Why do you think I came back." I stared at the floor. I really should've just ran away. Now I was stuck hiding in the break room with a half-assed supervillain and the cops would probably be charging me with aiding and abetting if I got the chance to get out of here without being killed by the possible sociopath that the League sent. All because of Blaine. Would a friend force you to break your own arm? Would a friend put you in a possible life or death situation? Would a friend rob a bank you work at without telling you to at least take the day off?
     Blaine reached up, slowly, and took off the mask. Underneath, his face looked a lot worse than I thought: a mass of swelling and bruising and bleeding. That Red Armor guy had turned his face into a Picasso painting.
     But he was smiling. That fucking asshole. Reluctantly, I smiled back.
     "Come on out, little piggy's." One knock. Two knocks. The third felt like it shattered my eardrums as the sound echoed throughout the room. The force of it shook the shoddy cabinets and even shifted the table a couple inches. Have you ever felt shock? That moment when everything stands still and your body and brain aren't even sure what to comprehend, can't seem to figure out what just happened? Because I think that 's how the door must've felt. Hell, from the sound alone, I thought the door was going to fall off its hinges. Instead, it just stood there, steady. For about two seconds. Then it exploded. Splinters spread like shrapnel across the room: lodging into the cupboards, the table, and three in my legs and roughly a dozen in my arms.
     There he was, standing where the door just was a couple seconds ago. A thin red line ran across his forehead and down the side of his face and his red coat was slightly singed and ruffled. Pretty good for just getting blasted across the bank lobby with a bolt of lightning. "So, you fuckers think that was funny, huh." He cracked his knuckles and started forward.
      I fell off the chair and crawled on my ass back to the wall where I had leaned Blaine. I was up against the wall now, literally, praying that I might be able to just slide into it and disappear - either into the wall or even through it. Last resort time, I thought as I saw the red gauntlet start to materialize around his fist and forearm. "I think we all know that you've got us beat so let's just call the cops in here and we'll surrender." Better jail than dead, after all.
     He let out a laugh and brought his right arm back. I looked over at Blaine. He was either pretending to be asleep or he was unconscious. "Actually, I don't think anyone's gonna mind if we have a little fun together first." The red knuckleduster formed, perfectly as before, and he swung.
     Even as I threw my hands in front of my face out of fear (as if that would protect me from something that could vaporize a door) I couldn't take my eyes off of the gleaming red, shinning bright and bathing the room in the same glow. And, as I stared, my eyes began to burn. No, not my eyes, but that area just behind your eyes. A searing pain, like a migraine on steroids, traveling, no blazing like an avalanche of fire across the rest of my skull, my brain. I tried to shut my eyes, thinking it would help, but I couldn't get them to close. No, looking back, I think I just didn't want to close them, not with his fist so close. And just as it approached my outstretched hands, it appeared.
      It was red, too. The same tone and tint, identical. It was small, square, about the size of a quarter. Yet I couldn't see any of this from the other side of my hands, but I could feel it, sense it, just on the other side of my palms. Another wave of pain scorched my skull and the red square grew, doubled, tripled. It continued until it was twice the size of my hand.
     Then the fist connected. And it stopped.
     The fist - covered in the epitome of what every gauntlet dreams of growing up to be from the time the iron is first poured until the blacksmith pounds in the final details, that same gauntlet imagined into reality by a Super who could create weapons from merely his psychic thoughts - collided with the red square -  a red tile stolen right out of a checkerboard or from the toy store's colorfully-patterned floor, manifested through some unknown, almost deus ex machina means, while a scalding wave of pain burned over my brain - and it stopped.
     I stared at the two red objects, the gauntlet and the tile, frozen in the air. The gauntlet didn't advance and the tile didn't give an inch. I exhaled a little, but didn't dare drop the hands in front of my face. Red Coat's eyes were wide. Psychic armor was notoriously hard to stop. Strength only played a small factor in its power, the rest coming from its user's mental will and desire.
      His eyes narrowed and he released a roar that made me cringe, a roar that I would hear in my nightmares for the next month. Obviously he was mentally focused on crushing me. He strained his fist forward and I watched tiny fissures crack into the tile.
     I screamed. Not a yell or a shout of surprise. No, I'm not proud of it, but there's definitely no use lying about what it was. And as my voice hit notes I thought I'd lost after puberty, the space in front of me erupted.
    No heat or fire, just pure, concussive force. Tears ripped through the plaster walls like a chainsaw through thread. The glass cabinets exploded, raining shards everywhere. Though the force of the blast should've been enough to fly me through the wall, most of the energy went into a psychic wave that curled me into a ball on the ground, withering in pain as a brush fire engulfed my mind. Imagine the throbbing, constant pain of the worst migraine you've ever had. Introduce him to a ladle-full of wasabi and that scorching sensation she delivers as she moves from your mouth, through your nose, and eventually up behind your eyes. Now supervillain-style meld the two beings into a single creature with all of their abilities and none of the weaknesses and bathe it in a vat of radioactive goo until its power level increases so far that the overdose of Tylenol would not only kill you but you'll be the only person in the afterlife still asking God if he's got an aspirin. So yeah, I screamed again. Don't judge me.
     In a minute, the pain eased up just enough that I could open my eyes to a squint. Red Coat was already on all fours, panting, but starting to rise to his feet. I tried to move and instead felt like I was going to puke. I heard grunting. I coughed, phlegmy. I heard the sound of boots scuffing the floor. I rolled on the floor trying to stand, like an eighteen-year-old at his first college binge trying to right himself, and something stabbed me in the thigh. By the time I finally got to a seated position against the wall again Red Coat already managed to get to his feet and was standing over me.
     "I don't know what the fuck just happened, but I'm gonna beat you til my head stops pounding." With one hand, he grabbed my chin and steadied my head. The other hand reared back. His eyes tightened and the thin line of blood from his nose darkened slightly as he concentrated on what I assumed was the last of his energy into his fist. The red light of his psychic helmet flickered and dulled slightly as he focused more on the gauntlet. A faint red glow enveloped his hand. Unrefined, it looked more like he had pulled his hand out of a big blob of red Jell-O. In my daze, I reached into my pocket to find the source of the stabbings. Inside I felt tiny pieces of glass and some sort of grainy powder, like sand but slightly finer. My vision blurred slightly as I started to lean. I remembered Blaine, still against the wall next to near me, probably waiting and waiting for an opening to use his mind control once his helmet faltered. Red Coat yanked me back upright before I hit the ground. The sudden jerk sent another stabbing pain in my leg and I smiled. His fist flew forward.
     I smiled wider. "Fuck you." I pulled my hand from my pocket and flung the mixture of glass and black pepper into his face. It was enough. His fist stopped and the glowing red light surrounding his hand and head disappeared as he let out a series of sneezes.
     My vision blurred again and I started to slide to the floor but I didn't care. I only wish that I had said something more clever than just Fuck you. I'll work on that later. "Now, get him Blaine!" I shouted. Just before I blacked out, I managed to turn just slightly and saw Blaine sitting on the floor against the wall. He was unconscious.



As promised, part 6 of The Sovereignty within the week. Sorry, its a little longer than I would normally like these parts to be but, as you read, there really wasn't a part that I felt comfortable stopping at and leaving the rest for part 7 (I'm still not sure if they actually count as chapters so I'm not going to call them that). Besides, this finishes all that I have written and actually planned for the story. It has a lot more potential (I think, anyways) but I'm not sure yet how to continue the story. I've got a couple directions to go, but I've also got other stories I'd rather be working on. I will also have another post hopefully within a week as well (as I promised last time, the new format calls for a, non-fiction-story post).

The Sovereignty (part 5)

     Typically, one of the positives about being under mind-control is you don't have your own thoughts and, in my case, you don't feel your own pain. Not this time.
     I had just released my arm and turned to walk into the bank when it all came back at once. All of my senses. The slight breeze on my skin reminding me I was outside the bank. The glare of the setting sun blinding my eyes and the sirens piercing my eardrums. And there was my shoulder. All that pain, all at once. I dropped to my knees and reached for my shoulder. Dislocated. I tried my best to steady my breathing. Panic took my chest and raced my thoughts. My arm, my arm, how was I going to get it back in, why would Blaine do this, the pain, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Pain.
     Then it all stopped. Well, not completely, but it did dull as a new thought entered my mind, Why could I feel pain? Why could I feel at all? I looked up to the bank door but couldn't see much through the tinted glass and closed blinds. For all my senses to come back at once, it could only mean the connection was broken, forcibly. In the same way you don't just go unplugging random cords from a computer, you don't just disconnect from mind control or there's a chance you'll fuck up your victim, or worse, yourself.
     "Son, are you okay? Come down here, if you can," the guy with the megaphone said from behind the police barricade at the bottom of the steps.
     My senses blurred for a second, just long enough for me to hear Blaine's voice in my head. Just two words. "Help me."
     I blinked twice and then I could see clearly again. There was an officer crouched next to me, one arm around my shoulders and trying to help me to my feet.
     You would think it would take longer to decide to break the law and aid a criminal, especially one who not even five minutes ago, took over my body and forced me to break my own arm. A smart person would probably need to take some time to contemplate the decision and heal their wounds before taking on such a venture.
    Its too bad I was never known for making good decisions.
    Before he could steady himself next to me, I shoved the cop over and ran into the bank. The bank lobby was empty. All the hostages, the two security guards, even the two duffel bags of cash that were left at the teller windows, all of them gone.
     "Blaine!" I let my voice echo around the huge lobby before shouting again. "Blaine! Where the fuck are you?"
     I heard the solid, sturdy footsteps of steel-toed boots on the linoleum floor from the other side of a set of cubicles to my left as well as a familiar voice call out to me. "Ah, sounds like you've brought reinforcements."
    Wrong voice. The man stepped into view, his red coat billowing around his ankles. He still wore no shirt, allowing his abs to gleam in the florescent lighting. On his face, a black, racoon's eyes mask, worn seriously, as if it were actually meant to fool anyone. Over his head, however, a shining red helmet, like the old leather helmets football players used to wear back in the day, except it looked as if it were cut from gleaming red glass. Psychic armor.
     He paused, studying me before he spoke. "You know, you look familiar." He started forward and I could see a red glow beginning to emit from his fist, like the first spark of a campfire before it burns the whole forest down.
     I started backing away toward the door, muttering such a string of profanities under my breath so long I wasn't even sure it was in English anymore. Just before I got to the door, I tripped and landed hard on the tile floor. Now, I officially regretted my decision to come back.
     "Ah, the psychic," Red Coat said with a snap of his fingers. "Well, let's just consider this payback for last night. Oh, and before you try, just like your friend you'll find your mind control won't work on me with this baby sitting on my head." He pointed to his helmet with his empty hand while the gauntlet finished forming on his right.
     "Hey, asshole," called Blaine's voice. I couldn't see him from the floor, but I saw Red Coat turn toward the source of the voice and all I could think was what's the point of getting his attention and losing the element of surprise, you dumbass. Red Coat's jaw dropped and the gauntlet disappeared from his hand. He raised his left and a wall like a red pane of glass appeared in front of him. "Does it protect you from this?" A bolt of lightning struck the psychic shield and shattered it. Though the shield stopped a majority of the blast the force still sent him flying across the room, colliding hard twenty feet up the wall under the raised ceilings of the bank before crashing back down onto some brochure tables.
     A dull thud brought me out of shock and I walked around the corner to see Blaine staggered, holding onto a cubicle wall for support while the security guard who still had both arms lay on the floor at his feet. "We should get out of here before he wakes up. Or The League sends another super in here." He tried to stand on his own, but instead started sliding down the cubicle wall. I didn't catch him.
     "Where's the money?" His clothes were a mess, one sleeve of the coat torn and blood partially soaked the collar of his shirt. His green and red ceramic demon mask was cracked and parts of it were even chipped away, revealing bruises underneath.
      He laughed, painfully holding his side as he did. "He took it. Managed to get in, free the hostages, and take the cash while both of us were outside." He shook his head. "He got all of it." That part he said in barely a whisper. It would've been hard to hear if we were in a monastery.
     I looked at my arm, still dangling at my side. In all the excitement, I'd forgotten about the pain, but now it flooded back. "Why me? Why my arm?"
     He laughed again, even harder, knowing that every breath put more strain and more pain on what I assumed were broken ribs. "Because I knew you'd be the only one to forgive me."
     I started at him. Because I'd forgive him, he said, what the fuck did that mean? Well, I did come back, even when the mind control broke. I did come back to see what was happening. And I was going to rescue him. I reached down, punched Blaine in the face, and he fell to the floor. Judging by the almost cartoonish fall - mostly he just slid slowly against the wall until he landed on his side - I guess I didn't hit him as hard as I thought I would. "Now you're forgiven." He lifted himself back up and I helped him to his feet with my good arm. We leaned on each other as we headed down the hall to the emergency exit.
     We'd gotten halfway down when I heard boards move. I looked over my shoulder to see Red Coat start to stir. No time to get to the door, I thought as we half walked, half dragged each other into the breakroom off to the side.



And that ends part 5. Oddly enough, I should have part 6 up in a week. Before you start making bets, I actually do have it written out and the only thing left is to type it. I had planned to put the whole thing together as one piece, but that would be too much to ask anyone to read (and too much for me to type at one time). Also, I like these alternating blog post so I think this will be the new layout: one story post and one "not-a-fiction-story" post (the last one being "Office Awkwardness and You"). Those are actually a lot easier to write, require less thought (since I don't really need to plot and write them more stream-of-consciousness), and maybe I'll even add more pictures to those ones (don't get your hopes up, its just a thought).

Office Awkwardness and You

Or rather, Office Awkwardness and Me. I don't really know what kind of problems you are having at your job.

So, I've been working in my first office for just over a year and half now. Its the same office from my earlier posts and, no, I'm still not going to explain what it is that I do since I still don't know how to explain what I do without going into some rambling, long-winded tale.

however, here is a picture of my desk

This job also marks the first time I've worked in a place with a dress code, female employees, and air conditioning (sweet, sweet air-conditioning). Obviously, either my co-workers are very tolerant people or I've learned to give a shit since I've been able to stay at this place for so long. And, as much as it goes against my nature, I think its the latter because I've been running into these moments of awkwardness. Note: if you think this is going to be a guide on how to deal with these situations, its not. They are just general awkward situations I've run into at work (and as I think about them, I'm almost certain I'm using the word "awkward" wrong). But, if you do have any solutions, feel free to leave a comment.

Facial Hair

 How do you properly grow facial hair? If you're wondering, this was the thought that inspired this whole post so that's why we're starting with it (I forgot to shave one day and as I scratched at my five-day old stubble, this thought seemed to find me). But seriously, is it even possible to grow a mustache, beard or even just a simple set of mutton chops cleanly? (thanks to my co-worker who found that link through reddit) Not that I've been trying to grow a beard, but rather I've been forgetting to shave every so often causing a stubble on my face. Trust me on this beard thing, my co-worker and I did the whole No-Shave November thing and not only was it as itchy as a john's crotch after a night with a back-alley prostitute (you know, because of the crabs), but, according to my other co-workers, I was starting to look like the Unabomber.

clearly, not everyone appreciates the beard

 Anyways, back on topic, is there a way to CLEANLY grow hair on your face? You know, without looking like you just overslept and didn't care about your dishevelment before coming to the office. I mean, obviously the first, and what I assume is the only step, of growing a beard is to not shave. But its not as if you grow that magnificent Galifinakis or Norris beard overnight. No, there's that period when its just a stubble, then it grows darker and more visible and people start taking notice, asking "Oh, are you growing a beard?" or, more commonly (if they're the people I know), "What's up with that shit on your lip?". I guess you could constantly trim the hair, keeping it even and styled as it grows, but that seems like a lot of work and it goes slow. And until it comes into its full form, that overgrown mess on your face just makes you look like a homeless man in a collared shirt (which, while working with the people applying for disability benefits, you do not want to look like one of the clients).

Lunch Places

      Ever walk into an eatery of any kind (restaurant, diner, food truck) and, for whatever reason, just walk out without ordering anything? Maybe you don't like the specials that day? or the line is too long? or maybe you just realized a craving for whatever weird stuff you eat is just too strong to resist? (not that the food you eat is weird, though it probably is) There's a multitude of reasons, but the common factor is that you walk out without ordering anything at all. I feel awkward doing this at places I go to just once in a while and even more so when the counter person has acknowledged my existence, already keying up the register for me when I turn and walk out.
      Its even worse when its one of the two plate lunch places I eat at during the week because THEY KNOW ME. How well do they know me, you ask. The guys at Island Style know me by name, even writing it on the plate instead of what the order is (which happens everywhere else on the island). They even let me order things not on the menu as long as they have the stuff to make it (chicken katsu curry loco moco, for instance). The lady at the register at Kevin's Drive-Inn II not only knows that once a week I'll be ordering Sweet Sour Pork with Fried Rice, but I like to think that she got it put back on the menu just for me (ok, its always been on the menu, but for two weeks they just didn't have it anytime I tried to order it). Add all this to the fact that I've been frequenting these two places for breakfast and lunch for the past year and a half and you can see that I'm a very familiar face to them now.
      But back to what I was talking about (got sidetracked there for a bit). THESE PEOPLE KNOW ME! Is it not weird to walk out of a place you frequent so much that they know the sound of our footsteps? I only ask because about a month ago, I did just that at Island Style (the line was long and I only have a half hour for lunch). And I got caught. I swear I was only by the front door for a second or two but as I'm walking away I hear Mama-san's voice call my name. As I made it into Kevin's, I looked back to see Mama-san (the owner's nice, elderly mom who works the counter) outside the doorway. And she's looking at me. We made eye-contact, so I know she saw me and she knows I saw her see me. And I'm thinking there's going to be some sort of backlash for this betrayal - possibly just one scoop of rice with a double scoop of mac salad in all my plates for a week). Luckily, she thought I left because they ran out of the rib-eye steak so we're all still on good terms.

Restroom Etiquette

Before we start with that, watch this:

      Basically, its all the rules one need to follow when using the restroom. You would think that with these rules in place, nothing could possibly go wrong. And you would be wrong. With the amount of people using the restroom on our floor, there's going to be some interaction. I don't know about you, but I like to have as few interactions with others, not only within the walls of the restroom, but on my way to and from as well.
      On this topic, I may be able to offer some advice and tips to avoiding awkward interactions - by avoiding interactions altogether. No, you don't understand. No interactions at all. If I see anyone in the office disappear with a key, I'll hold back the flow not only until he gets back, but roughly three minutes and twenty-seven seconds after that time just to avoid interacting with the smell he may or may not have left behind. If a male (or possibly deep-voiced female, hey, I can't see through the walls of the clinic) asks the nurse for the key, I'll wait until I hear the sound of the client returning the bathroom key before heading to the toilet (trust me, its hard to miss the sound of a two-liter bottle with a key zip-tied to it falling on a wooden desk).
 When I've become properly situated in the stall of my choosing (they took out the one urinal so now there's just the two stalls), I take care of business at my own pace depending on my mood and how quickly I want to get back to my desk (and also whether I'm just bleeding the lizard or dropping the kids at the pool). And should a new challenger to the porcelain throne arrive before I get out, I also plot my escape accordingly. If I'm done hiding in the stall and avoiding work (it used to work great at the auto shop), I'll try to time my exit just as he enters the other stall. Sometimes, I'll wait him out and stay seated until he leaves. If we somehow manage to finish at the same time, I'll take my time until he leaves: doing the double flush, spend an extra minute or two adjusting my belt, or even pretend to wipe down the seat (because I'm as courteous as I am a horrible shot).
      Why all the hostility? As I pointed out, I'd like to avoid interacting with anyone at any point of my bathroom usage procedural but, by placing yourself in such a proximity to myself it interferes with that voice telling me its rude not to make small talk. Think about it: we're both in the restroom, one of us is washing his hands at the only sink - soup, water, more soap - while the other just stands behind him, waiting, unsure as to what that single brown speck on his hand is (I swear it was there before I got into the restroom). Its almost expected for one of us to make some crude poop joke, but that would violate the Restroom Code and I'd expect the CIA or launch a drone offensive on my position just for breaking it.
      Nothing, however, is more awkward a situation than meeting the eyes of someone who just got out of the bathroom. I'll be at one end of the hallway, or perhaps coming out of the office and someone will exit the restroom at the other end of the hall. And its not like I'm just staring at the restroom door to see if anyone comes out, its just that I've got an attention span like my dog, who will look whenever she hears a door open, as if its a surprise to see someone coming out of it. I see you coming out of the restroom, and I know you see me see you coming out, but its not like either of us want to talk about what the fuck you may or may not have been doing in there, or, worse, what I'm about to do in there (its exactly what you're thinking if you wanted to know).
  And the worse part - its the WOMEN'S restroom that's right there

literally, its right there in the hallway

 As you can see from my crude diagram that is the set-up on the our floor of the building. Also, speaking of crude drawings, Hyperbole and a Half is back (thus all of my horrible Paint drawings). If you don't know, at least check out my favorite post so far. So, now, if one of my female co-workers, one of the other women in the other office, or one of the female clients walks out of the restroom not quite prepared for an audience and is still adjusting some article of clothing, while simultaneously my ears hear a door and my eyes trace the source of the noise and out eyes lock and now I'm the one reporting for Saturday morning sexual harassment classes (this is a joke, I have no idea if the classes are always on Saturday). On this I am at a complete loss of what to do to avoid this situation. I mean, the obvious response is to not look, but curiosity and my poor attention span tell me this is impossible.


Wow, did you actually read all that? No shit. I am thoroughly impressed. Well, thanks for putting up with that. And just for you, here's something actually entertaining. There's more videos, but this is my favorite so far:

Also, before we're completely off the topic of work, I'd thought I'd let you all know my iPod may be sentient since it has decided, completely on its own, that it is required to play the following songs at least once a day even when on full shuffle. I'm not kidding. I've noticed it playing those songs with what seems like more frequency than anything else (or else I'm just noticing these songs more than the others and there is really nothing to worry about).

• Berlin - Black Rebel Motorcycle Club
• Handlebars - Flobots
• Dolls - 9Muses
• Bulletproof Heart - My Chemical Romance
• This Elegant Suit I've Been Wearing - Lemon Party
• Queens are Trumps - Scandal

The Sovereignty (part 4)

But first, a brief recap of what's happened so far: Peter and Blaine get caught up in a super-powered bar fight; they escape with some ingenuity; Peter goes to work at the bank; the bank is in the middle of getting robbed by a figure in a black coat and demon-like mask. And that's it (I know, I thought I would be further in than that by now, too)


I looked down at the dozen or so people lying on the ground. They were lying flat on their stomachs, some with their hands behind their heads, some with their arms spread wide. All of their expressions, though, said they were all as high as kites. Smiles, all of them, some goofy, some almost laughing. One man actually looked like he just came in his pants.I looked at the robber and the demon mask glared back at me. A psychic, I thought, and a pretty good one by holding that many people at once. Either C, maybe even a B-class if it wasn't the full extent of the abilities.

If the person was a psychic, then I was fucked. Not only had I been pressing the alarm button, but I'd been thinking about it this whole time. Hell, I was still thinking about it right now. Stop thinking about it. I looked back to the demon mask, unable to see any facial expression underneath it. From the foot-tapping though, I could see impatience.

I opened the cash drawer and started emptying out the bills. Maybe it wasn't psychic, or at least not the mind-reading type. The police might still have a chance to get here before he realizes that I already pressed the alarm. Slowly, I placed each bundle of bills into the duffel bag, making sure to separate them by denomination and sometimes even the color of the band wrapping them together. Maybe The League would send someone as well. This was a bank after all. I watched the robber's coat drag across the linoleum floor as he paced the room. None of the people had moved since they fell to the floor. Neither had the two guards at the door. My co-worker was still packing money into her bag, eyes focused solely on the bag in front of her. All I needed to do was stall until everyone showed up. I smiled, briefly, as the plan was fool-proof.

"Hey, what are you smiling about?" the voice was all bass this time and I dropped the duffel onto the floor, spilling the cash. Quickly, I dropped under the counter to pick it all up while my mind let out a string of profanities against my betraying face.

"Uh," I stuttered, "nothing." I grabbed another handful of bills and put them in the bag. I bit my lower lip and a bead of sweat made its way down from my temple to my cheek. My eyes went quickly to the alarm, still pressed under the counter, to the demonic mask towering over my crouched self. His eyes did the same.

"You pressed it! You fucking pressed it!" He (I think by this point it was a safe bet to guess that the robber was male), stumbled back several paces. I managed to make eye contact with my co-worker. She dropped her bag on the table and shook her head as she backed away to the wall. Her hair fell over her face, but I could still hear the sobs as she crouched to the floor.

There was a loud bang as the man in the green and red mask slammed his hands against the table. "Did I say to stop filling the bags!" After filling my bag without anymore delays, I started over to my co-worker to finish her bag. Then the sirens came.

I froze. That's the only way I could describe it. I just froze. There was nothing else. I didn't twitch. I didn't breath. It was the moment when all your faults just come crashing down. I panicked and triggered the alarm. I tipped him off about the alarm. I thought I could stall, that the cops out there could help us in here when I really had no idea what this guy was capable of. I could have just done as he asked and he would have been out of here without anything more happening. All these people in the bank. My co-worker crying against the wall. The two guards in need of serious medical attention. They weren't going to be hostages anymore; they were about to become victims, casualties.

There was the sound of a megaphone being turned on that brought me back to reality. I exhaled, tasting stale air as it emptied my lungs. A faint buzzing sound appeared, droning louder and louder until it dulled out even the amplified voice of the megaphone. Everything else, everyone of my other senses dulled as well. My vision started to blur, first starting around the edges and moving in until my eyesight felt like it had plummeted by a hundred points.

And yet none of it mattered. All that mattered was him. He was the only thing that mattered, the man in the black coat and mask. Yes, I was certain he was a man now. His presence dominated all of my senses. There was nothing else. I was vaguely away of the smile spreading across my face as I moved around the counter, through the lobby, and out the door. The sun was shinning right into my face, but with my blurred vision, it didn't matter. Through the glare, I noticed the flashing blue and red lights and the crowd of people, blurred together into a single mass with a yellow line through the center of it.

He was still in the lobby, grabbing the two duffel bags. They were heavier than he thought they would be and he smiled briefly. Still he hadn't expected the robbery to take so long that the cops would get here. The arctic air conditioning in the lobby kept him from sweating, especially in the black coat. He knew he needed a show of force to keep the police and eventually the Supers away until he escaped. He made his way outside. Even with all of my senses dulled, I still knew that he was just three feet behind me. Or, more precisely, twenty-seven degrees behind me and to my right at a distance of forty inches.

He spoke and it came through clear. "I am taking this money. I will be leaving out the back. No one follows or I kill all the hostages. That's twenty lives versus my one. Back off. Now." It sounded calm, his voice, but I could feel it tremble. He didn't come here to kill anyone. It wasn't in him to do it. I was in tune with him now. It was one of the side effects of his ability after all. Invading his victims minds to the point that all they knew was him, and wanting to please him. Invading so thoroughly that a back-door opens up and the victim is able to feel everything about him as well. The last time I felt this way I woke up in my underwear doing a handstand on the fourth floor balcony of my dorm during finals week. Yes, this was Blaine's ability. And this person was Blaine.

He gestured with his hand and my smile grew wider. It was an order. No, a request. Kings don't command after all, they merely ask and their subjects are pleased to obey. I knew it was Blaine, that all I needed to do was fight it, but I couldn't. My body went partially limp - my chin dropped to my chest, my arms hung by my side, my knees bent. I swayed a bit as I lifted my face to the audience. "This is your only warning," Blaine said as he turned his back and returned into the bank. The door closed just as my right hand snatched my left wrist cobra-quick and yanked the shoulder out of its socket.



Pretty decent for having no editing besides spell check and giving it a once over as I typed it all out. As bad as I am at plotting, its not completely stream of consciousness since I don't write exclusively on the computer and I do try to plot a little on paper before writing scenes. Honestly, I spend enough time during the day staring at a computer screen to do the same thing when I get home. And I would write in and fill-up all those extra notebooks I've got lying around, but right now I prefer using all the scratch paper I've been taking from work (don't worry, they're all blank cover sheets and fax transmission reports, nothing with any client data on it). If any of my co-workers are reading this though, its not like you were going to use it. Besides, how else would that box under my desk get emptied from time to time. I'll try to keep going with this story but I think I'm only one or two more posts from knowing what the hell is going on and them I'm really gonna really have to start making stuff up as I go (which, according to my last English professor, I am not as good as I think I am at it).

Spring Cleaning

Originally, I was gonna call this one "Apologies, Excuses and Seeds", but supposedly its the start of Spring and this title sounded a whole lot better and, even better, it gets me back into the whole "one-post-per-month" thing I was working on.

But back to the post. Okay, so I've definitely been neglecting my writing. "I know," I say as I listen to your nagging voices (or is that my nagging voice... I don't know anymore), "it was supposed to be one themed post per month but I got lazy and you know how that goes. It starts with getting sick one month and you think, 'guess I gotta skip this month' and then it carries over into the next month and into the next month." This is exactly the reason I was never good at long term class projects - procrastination. Besides, some months are harder to come up with a theme than others (usually I just think of whatever holiday is coming up and focus on that).

And yes, with all the non-writing I've been doing, I have thought about not writing anymore. However, with all the daydreaming I do I figure its best to keep writing these things down before they start bleeding into my perception of reality. Now I'm wondering if my flashbacks right before my death will include any of these scenes from my characters' lives as well? Will my memory really know the difference between the two after succumbing to whatever horrible and traumatic event takes my life? Or will it just say "fuck it" and dump a whole pool of images without filtering through it?

Also, America, its time to up your cigarette packaging game. Thanks to my co-worker for the box in middle from her trip to Australia, and to Ben for the other two from his trip to South Korea.

Lamborghini insignia? Check.

Literally, the prettiest cigarette I've ever seen

Sidetracking aside, I know both of you have been waiting for more from The Sovereignty storyline, but I think I've either fallen away from it or else I'm actually thinking about restarting it again with a better protagonist. I honestly have no idea how many people read this (especially since I don't actually plan to link this post), but I figure thinking that there are at least two people in my audience is generous seeing as I don't update consistently and everyone else is probably wondering why I don't write more often. As much as I've thought about scraping this story, it just keeps hanging around, kinda like that one something you've always meant to throw out but never got around to it. "Maybe it'll come in handy later," you rationalize to yourself just to hold onto it for another year. "Maybe that missing button will turn up" or "Maybe this will be the year I finally get around to using blank." Its the same thing. Hmmm, maybe I'll  just keep it around for the sake of writing on the fly without a proper outline or goal to begin with. It'll look real glitchy and probably crash and burn, but meh its not like it'll hurt.

On a positive note, in the four months or so since I haven't been writing I beat a couple video games (Halo 4, Assassin's Creed 3, Dead Island), I finished the The Magician King, the Nightside series and started on the Dresden Files series (so pretty much just jumping from one series about a paranormal detective to another), and I haven't been fired from work (which I probably should have by now especially with all of the inappropriate comments and such). Unfortunately, I just re-started Dead Island (4 different characters means... actually it means nothing since they all follow the same storyline but it does mean 4 distinct ways to power-up my character) but I'll try to keep my video game addiction under control for awhile.


 Sadly, the only positives that have come this whole time in regards to my writing are these few seeds which, if I actually apply myself and take the time to plant, water, fertilize and weed them, might make decent stories.

Plant references, because I still work on the orchid farm.

• When does the good of the few outweigh the needs of the many?
• What if Fate forgot about you?
• What would you give up to change the world?

I actually do still have the three storylines still in my head that need to be worked on, two of which need to be entered by May 1st to their respective magazine contests and once again, my neglect is probably gonna cost me. And yes, when I say three, I do mean three different storylines. I seem to still have a hard time keeping focused on one story at a time (which is why I probably did better when I was taking those two fiction writing classes at the same time).

Besides, writing gives me more excuses to listen to more no lyrics/non-English music (which I find I am growing increasingly fond of). And, thanks to my love of Anime and my association with Kristian and Sunny, I have access (or at least an introduction) to both on where to start looking. Below, my two favorites at the moment:

 My two favorite Japanese bands on stage together! If only they covered Shoujo S...

Sadly, I hadn't even heard of them until I started listening to Prodigy. Thanks, Sunny

Its excellent for background noise when no one's screaming lyrics or at least when I can't understand what anyone is saying and thus less distracting than having someone screaming into my ears and their words somehow ending up on my papers.

Thanksgiving: First Encounters with Plume IS roommates

Keeping with my goal of one themed post for every month (last month's was Uncle's Taxi Ride for Halloween), here is this month's themed post. Its Thanksgiving, of course (someone needs to show that fat man that November belongs to turkeys, not reindeer). Unfortunately, with work, all the video games released this month, all the TV shows I've been following, The Magicians (just finished and on my way to buy the next book), and my general laziness, I haven't had time to write a Thanksgiving story. Instead, you'll just have to deal with some true stories this month.

Thanksgiving, or at least what I can remember about it from elementary school, was mainly about cut-out hand turkeys and vests made of paper bags. Its also about being thankful for what you have, but you don't want to hear those stories and, more importantly, I don't want to tell them. To get out of this, I'll also accept that Thanksgiving was about first contact between the Pilgrims and the Native Americans. No, I don't know if this is true but I'm the one writing, plus I need a transition sentence to put these themes together so I can finally start writing. Anyways, today you'll get some of the first meeting stories I had with my Plume IS dormmates (I think that's a real word) when I spent a semester studying abroad in Japan a couple years ago. If you're wondering why you don't see your name on this list, its probably because I have a different story associated with you (trust me, I have one for everyone I met at Plume IS), and this is just meant for those first encounter stories. More than likely, some of these stories may not be the first meeting but they are at least early enough that I'll believe they were. And if you remember things a little differently than I do (or a lot differently), please feel free to leave a comment correcting me on it.

Welcome to Plume IS. red circle=my room

Yutaro a.k.a. "Yuty"

Literally, the first person I met in Japan (not counting the customs officer who confiscated my beef jerky or the taxi driver who looked at me like I was playing a prank on him when I handed him the address to the dorm). Honestly, I'm just happy you were awake to let me in the door or I probably would've spent the night sleeping outside and freezing my ass off (if you don't remember, my flight that day was delayed so I ended up arriving after what was supposed to be closing time). Thanks to you, not only did I get to spend my first night in a bed, but I also got a quick tour around the dorm and directions to the Lawson at the corner to get some dinner. Unbeknownst to me, though he was our R.A., Yuty would come and hang out with us all the time, from just hanging out in the lounge to guiding us around. Meeting Yuty would also become the bookends to my trip as he was also the last person I saw before getting on the train to the airport, though that time was to smoke on my balcony after my room check. Just to let you know, if you're reading this, after standing for two hours on the train to the airport making sure my bags didn't fall over, I thoroughly regretted giving you my last pack of cigarettes. There are few times I can remember when I needed a smoke so badly as after that train ride.

Terry

When I think about it, I probably met Terry just a couple hours after meeting Yuty on my first day in Japan. After a four-hour delay, an 8-hour plane ride, a bus ride to Yokohama, a taxi ride with a driver who I swear never once checked his blind spot when changing lanes, and getting lost right next to the dorm, I was thoroughly exhausted when I got to Plume IS. By the time I managed to get some cup noodles and a bag of chips into my stomach all I wanted to do was sleep in my freezing cold room (I had yet to figure out how to change the temperature on the A/C). That's when I heard a knock at my door. After determining that I wasn't dreaming, I struggled out of bed to find this guy standing at my door. To this day, I'm still not sure what Terry said, only that it had something to do with "tomorrow around noon" and "forms". The next morning, not quite remembering if it was a dream or not, I ended up just sitting around my room to see if someone was actually going to come by. Turned out it wasn't a dream and we ended up going to pick up those Registration cards with Julia and Yesle (both of whom I rarely saw ever again). Surprisingly, Terry ended up living on my floor so it was pretty cool having someone just as new as I was living just down the hall (especially since the only other first-semester people I ever saw on a regular basis were Hui Hui and Jane and they lived two floors up, I think...maybe just one?)

Rahel and Ricarda

Its a kind of embarrassing story but I'm sure we can all look back on it and laugh. Well, I met the two of you in the hallway on our floor at quite literally the same time (that's right, did I forget to mention that both Rahel and Ricarda also lived on the fourth floor?). I'm pretty sure that I either asked the two of you a question about something or else made some lame joke which caused you to regret ever engaging me in conversation as these tend to be my typical reactions when surprised by people I haven't met before. Actually, it might have been the two of you warning me never to cook fish without warning everyone else on our floor first, possibly under penalty of death. Anyways, I can't remember quite what happened... just that I kinda forgot your names right after we met. Not that I forgot your names were Rahel and Ricarda, but that I forgot which name belonged with which person I just met (I promise I've gotten better at remembering names since then). So... for about a week I think that whenever I would refer to the two of you when talking with someone else, I would just say your names really fast so it would come out as "rahelandricarada" or "ricardaandrahel". Eventually I would get everything sorted out and we became good friends, the end (I assume you're probably swearing at your computer screen right about now...)

Jane

Its a pretty short story, but memorable since you would actually be the first person I met outside the dorm. If anyone reading has been paying any attention, all the settings for these previous stories take place within the walls of Plume IS. But back to the story. I'm wandering around the Lawson Hyaku-en (it differs from the typical Lawson because EVERYTHING is only 100 yen), grabbing food like cup noodles and coke as well as a couple of random things like chopsticks and bowls. Its still only my second week in Japan and I'm still getting used to everything as well as still going through a whole mental list of things that I need to survive when suddenly this girl comes up to me as I turn into the aisle. I'm pretty sure its because I was still in the daze that comes from living in a new place, but I seriously only remember you hurrying right to me to ask if I was living in the dorm down the street and I think mentioning that we should find the other first-semester people to hang out together (unfortunately, I forgot what your room number was so I couldn't call you to come out with Terry and I).

Ben

Okay, no joke, I know I've asked you several times, but how is it that you are only in Japan for a semester and everyone in my dorm (not your dorm) knows you? So I got to Japan and even before I met up with you again, whenever I tell ANYONE I'm from Hawaii, they immediately ask, "Do you know Ben T.?" (since we already had a Ben in Plume IS, I guess you became Ben T.). The only thing I could figure was that you must've gotten in with the local Shin-Kawasaki yakuza and now control the flow of prostitution, drugs, and manga in and out of the city. But, back to the story. The dorm goes to Ueno Park (I think) for Hanami when I hear everyone start yelling and shouting as you turn the corner. In complete awe, I still have no idea how you did it, but, seriously, you should've just asked if you could move into our dorm.

Allison

I think the first time I met Allison was the first week of classes when I tagged along with Ben and Allison on their own exploration of Daikanyama. By this point I'd gotten used to the fact that Ben knew everyone in my dorm better than I did. I'm assuming I got in the way of most of the pictures both of you were taking that day. Mostly, I remember walking around Daikanyama, taking pictures and wandering into interesting shops. It was actually a discovery to me that even the smaller sections of Tokyo itself could have their own distinct personalities separate from each other. I think this trip was definitely the inspiration for using my Thursdays to explore when I could.

The Okonomiyaki Party (I think I spelled that right...)

A lot of you might be wondering why I'm not writing about our first encounter... well, I can honestly say its probably because I met a lot of you at the dorm welcoming party. Let's see, I remember being surprised by just how many people spoke German in our dorm (Thomas, Yuty, Dinah, Rahel, Ricarda, Stefan). as a side note, I did try to take German back at UH, but that went so horribly that I ended up dropping the course. Just the same, how many people spoke Korean (Suel, Amy, Terry, Hyemin, Julia, Yesle). I remember confusing Lindsay for Michelle since everyone kept asking if I met Michelle when I mentioned that I came from Hawaii. I also met Michelle. I remember going for ramen with Austin, Jon, Sunny, L, and probably some other people I'm missing after we ran out of Okonomiyaki. And I remember Sunny laughing for the longest time, though I cannot remember what was so funny.

The Ashtray

Honestly, I don't remember the first time I used the ashtray outside the dorm. Originally I used to smoke down by the river while I wrote crappy stories (none of which I've even looked at since I got back). but it turned out to be a good friend to visit every once in a while. I would go down with my pack of Marlboros, a bottle of coke, and a bag of chips just to sit on the ground, write, and occasionally scare anyone who came down to toss their garbage out at night in that barely lit area.

Drunken Alan

What can I say about drunken Alan? I remember I first met him (as did everyone else) at Allison's birthday party at this Izakaya we went to.

photo courtesy of Allison, I think...someone took it

I don't remember a whole lot about the first time I met drunken Alan except that he gave away a lot of my cigarettes that night and that he almost made us miss our train because he decided to sit down on the platform and didn't want to stand up when the last-fucking-train-that-night finally arrived. Magically, he left the next morning and I made it to class the next day.

The Sovereignty (part 3)

“Peter, is that you?” The smile on my face disappeared and I immediately turned into a caught child. Standing by one of the cars was Jeffrey, his blue police uniform fitting perfectly like an obsessive-compulsive robed in anal-retentiveness. It made sense that his Power would be to sense danger or anything else that disturbed the status quo. From the day I accidentally told Blaine about Jeffrey’s ability he’s used every moment they meet to use his mind control on him, failing everytime so far.

“Jeffrey could get us out of this,” I said, looking sideways at Blaine. He looked back at me and winked.

Blaine dropped the two bottles. As they shattered and caught everyone’s attention, he took control of Jeffrey just long enough for him to give the warning for everyone to drop to the ground. And why wouldn’t they believe him, his only power was to sense danger after all. Every cop dropped to the ground and tried to bury themselves in the dirt.

            The two of us bolted down a side alley and turned down the next street, ducking into a hole-in-the-wall convenience store. When I was sure none of the cops followed us, we headed home. Blaine headed just up the street to his apartment not even a block away (which I think is the real reason he likes drinking at Gray’s Tavern). I, however, needed to go up several blocks back to mine and Jeffrey’s apartment. It took another half hour to walk there, but I needed the time to calm my nerves as well as the money I saved from not hailing a taxi.

The Robbery

            I woke up the next day with the sun already shining bright through the open window and the sound of rush hour traffic already dying down. I was on the couch in the same clothes I wore the night before. Even though I knew no one was home all day yesterday, the apartment was still spotless and smelled like cleaner. It was part of Jeffrey’s morning routine to wipe down certain dust collecting parts of the room with disinfectant such as the coffee table and all the door handles. He also like to spray his chair and the couch with air freshener, which from the smell I think he did this morning even though I was sleeping on it.

            On my chest I found the notepad Jeffrey used to write messages he thought were important. I have not forgotten about last night. The two of you better start working on your excuses. And change your clothes before you go to work. Have a nice day. I tore out the page and crumpled it up before tossing it on the floor. When I first moved in with Jeffrey in my freshman year in college, I would throw his notes on the floor just to annoy him. Unfortunately, now I think Jeffrey just sees it as my reply that I got his message.

            Except for its unusual cleanliness, the apartment looked like it was put together with your typical My-First-Apartment starter kit. Everything in it from the fridge and microwave to the bulky TV set and the couch I was currently lying on was second or third hand, some from places that made me itch from just thinking about them. Standing out from the collection of used furniture was Jeffrey’s chair – a black, leather recliner he bought with his first paycheck. No one except Jeffrey sat in it. No one.

            Dragging myself off the couch, I wandered down the hall to my room. Resolving my pants from last night were still okay for another day, I grabbed a clean shirt and the only tie from my closet. After making a mental note to buy a new tie I headed out the door.

            With an hour before I started my shift, I walked over to the deli just a little farther up the street. However, along with an empty wallet, I only found about two dollars worth of coins and a couple of pepper shakers. I used the coins to buy a bag of chips and walked to the bank. Two Supers flew by, heading up the street. Three police cars heading in the same direction with sirens blaring pulled over to the side to allow the iconic blue and silver motorcycle to pass. It had no flashing lights or sirens, but when Captain Shield was on the road, everyone got out of the way. The motorcycle parted traffic where it could at this hour and cut through the rest like a surgeon operating with a battle axe. After all, when you’re invulnerable to most bodily harm, you don’t care about bouncing off a car or three (or five by my count before he turned at the next block). Looks like The League is out in force, I thought as I straightened my tie and walked into the bank.

            Inside, the afternoon lines were already starting to form. I hated working on payday Fridays. By closing time, I had been complained to seven times about how slow the lines were moving and why we didn’t open up another window. After the first couple of times explaining how I had no control over how many people we had working, I gave up and just nodded in agreement. Unfortunately, there were about twenty people still in line and the manager didn’t allow us to leave until everyone was helped. I swore silently as I called the next person to my window.

            Don’t get me wrong, I needed the overtime pay like a prostitute needs johns. The extra pay was the only way I was able to make rent as well as pay off a portion of my student loans every month. Still, I hated dealing with so many customers just because the boss refused to open anymore windows, leaving just two tellers everyday to handle the lines and complaints.

            I handed a customer three hundred dollars in crisp, twenty dollar bills when I heard the crash. Both of the security guards stood from their seats on either side of the door. Ex-League members from what I remember. The lights flickered and my hair stood on end. The air crackled and it felt like I was inhaling fire. One of the guards blasted the other with a lightning bolt, cutting his right arm clean off. No blood, only the smell of cooked flesh. Then he ran head-first into a wall, leaving behind a bloody stamp and falling unconscious to the floor. Standing at the entrance stood a figure in a large, completely buttoned-up black coat, the hood pulled over his (at least I thought it was a he) head. He, or maybe she, wore a demonic, green and red mask, complete with yellow fangs sticking out from the mouth and mirror lenses over the eyes.

            There was something in the demon-mask’s walk as the figure moved into the center of the lobby, a playful showmanship in its strut, like a magician about to make the entire building disappear.

            “Ladies. Gentlemen. Victims. Though you may not recognize me, I assure you that I have the full backing of The Sovereignty. As you should have guessed by now, I am here to rob you.” The figure waved its arms in grand gestures as he/she spoke with its voice masked electronically, alternating between the deep bass of a thunder’s boom and the high-pitched squeal of a thirteen-year-old boy-band groupie. “Now, on the ground,” the demon-mask said, lowering its hands. Simultaneously, all the customers dropped to the ground, the looks of fear disappearing from their faces.

            I looked down just in time to see the light from the neutralizing wave emitter at my feet turn from green to off. I kicked it once, twice. Nothing happened. A duffel bag hit me in the face. “Fill that up,” the figure said after tossing another bag at the only other teller. “And don’t even think about touching the silent alarm.” And now I was fucked, I thought as I realized my finger had been firmly placed on the button since the demon-mask walked in.