custom title - 80 bits - no angel in you
custom font icon - 50 bits - compass

total 130 bits

Why are abdominal issues

- fill a want ad, or make a want ad that is never getting filled. Maybe if I'm feeling extra brave it will be both

- I do not need a hot, morally questionable spy-type to start fights with. I do not need -- fuck it we're making them anyway

- that Geneva checklist isn't gonna complete itself

Love it when two seemingly unrelated events tell you why they're actually connected

10. no risk, no reward
feat. eli

---

to all passersby, you just look like another lab coat with another test subject. no one interferes as you as you silently push the wheelchair into the room at the end of the hall. the Fed is waiting for you.

"This the living weapon, eh?"

"All yours."

"Hey, what's wrong with it?"

you look down at the kid. her head lolls to the side. "Sleeping. Turns out they're more docile that way. That isn't gonna be a problem, is it?"

he catches your drift.

"No, not at all."

you unlock the handcuffs around her wrist, and let him lift her out of the chair for inspection.

---

five months earlier

"Cap, this one's fishy. Box too heavy for what they said they're transporting. And I swear I heard something moving around inside."

the Captain frowns. "We're gonna be in a lot of trouble with the buyer if you're wrong."

"And if I'm right?"

she nods to the engineer. then you flip out your shotgun and shoot the lock off, to at least one audible gasp. they apparently didn't like the quick and dirty option. bully for them.

your security officer lifts the lid.

"It's... a kid?"

you see her head poke out over the edge of the box. too-familiar, haunted eyes stare back at you. her movements are lithe, her senses wary.

you test her. you nudge the muzzle of the shotgun slightly up, and quick as a flash, she's on you, grappling, clawing, before the Captain and the security officer can pull you apart.

"Personally? Toss her out the airlock."

"Eli."

"We don't know where she came from. She could be a spy, an enemy agent. In any case, she's clearly trained to kill, and highly volatile. Don't trust it. Just say we lost the box in transit or something."

the ship's XO is holding the kid, talking softly to her as she breathes irregularly. after a while, she clutches her head, and starts to scream.

the Captain looks at her.

"We're not making this delivery. Doc, give her a checkup. Then find her a room."

---

the Fed is mumbling to himself, touching his hand to his chin, smiling.

"You happy?"

the Fed nods.

you flip out your cell phone. "Great. Now where's my credits?"

the Fed raises a hand. a half dozen men file into the room.

you duck behind the wheelchair when they start shooting, the flak padding in the wheelchair's attached backpacks coming in clutch. then, as you shield your head with your wings, you slip a flashbang out from your lab-coat disguise, and let it fly.

when you look up, you're staring into the eyes of the kid, ablaze with blue fire.

---

two days earlier

"Captain. I have an offer for you."

"What is it, Eli?"

"I just got a call from a Fed. He's offering us a lot of credits to hand over the kid."

"...And you didn't say no."

"I said I'd think about it."

"You'd think about it?"

"Is it really such a shock that I think things through sometimes?"

"I cannot believe you thought there was any possibility I'd be okay with this."

"So what now? You gonna space me for daring to think on my own?"

"No. Not all of us are as morally bankrupt as you."

"But you're just as financially bankrupt as I am, ain't you? Hence. My offer. You come up with an airtight plan to help me double-cross this guy, we split the take fifty-fifty. How 'bout it?"

she's crossing her arms. "We talk about this. The whole crew. We come up with a plan. And we split it evenly."

"Seven ways? C'mon, Cap--"

"If it's such a tempting amount of money, shouldn't your fair share be enough for you?"

you sigh. "Fine."

---

the Captain is waiting for you with a cold one when you get back to the bridge.

"Thanks to you, we just helped bust a whole ring of dirty Feds. Good instincts, Eli."

"My instincts are shit," you grumble. "One-fuckin'-seventh. Salvaged all the loot we could and I barely made back the cost of those bullets."

she hands you the drink, and you take a long sip. "Sometimes you gotta let doing good be its own reward."

the kid hangs back as the rest of the crew files off the bridge.

"You want somethin'?"

she's looking around to make sure the rest of the crew is gone. squirming, not wanting to look you in the eye. "You've killed Feds before. And... you enjoyed it."

"Maybe I did. What of it."

"And you heard what that guy said. About me being a killing machine."

you let the silence hang. she speaks up again.

"Are you... like me?"

"Kid, I am nothing like you."

she seems to accept that answer.

"And just between you and me? Only room enough for one heartless killing machine aboard this ship. So unless you wanna challenge for top spot, I suggest keeping that language out of the crew's earshot. 'Specially the Captain."

"You know... that was my first time ever killing a person. On purpose, I mean."

"And did you enjoy it?"

her face screws up involuntarily, and she looks away. "No."

"Good. Maybe there's hope for you yet, kid."

My personal preference is for dev boards on site that are a (relatively cheap) site store item. That way the people who want them have access to them, and the people who don't can safely ignore them. Having an extra profile tab seems the worst of both worlds, in that it's an unnecessary appendix for the people who don't use it and it might be too little (or too difficult to format, for people like me who are coding-inept) for the people who actually want it.

In the past I've used mine for lists of miscellaneous facts/tropes, short writing pieces, and relationship and timeline trackers (as distinct from a simple owed/incomplete/completed tracker, which can be grafted onto the profile itself). Some people like quotes, moodboards, and playlists as well, but those are less of a priority for me.

18. when doubt slags your heart, burn it down until only iron will remains
feat. eli

---

"Sir, we've got a situation."

"What is it?"

"There appears to be a large refugee camp on the grounds of the target site. Collateral damage in the hundreds very likely. Am I to continue with the mission?"

"Nyx, you have your assignment. Eliminate the target."

"Am I authorized to take the shot?"

"You are authorized to use any measures deemed necessary."

"Roger that, sir."

you deploy your missiles. a moment later, the Princess's manor is consumed in a fiery explosion that billows outward.

you swing your plane around, signal the infantry to move in. any fleeing persons of the appropriate size and species will be raked with automatic fire until they can no longer run, just in case among them is the Princess in disguise.

once you've confirmed that your support is no longer necessary, you fly back to base.

you sleep as well as you can on any other night.

---

you're smoking a vape pen, watching the news, when Joker walks in to hand you a beer.

you expected protests - less so for them to be coming from your own side. they're showing vids of the bodies, the weeping and wailing of mourners. there are calls for an end to the War. of course, those will be difficult, now that the Princess has been confirmed dead in the rubble.

You brought this on yourself, you think venomously. You should have known you would be a target once you showed up to those peace talks. If you had just stayed away from these people, none of them would have had to die.

the words of the protestors mean nothing to you. university students, well-spoken intellectuals. how many of them have ever known war?

how many of them have ever known hardship, have ever been in the fork of desperate choices they love to write hypotheticals about?

"Rough week?" Joker says.

"Yeah." you take the beer from his hand.

"Well, don't enjoy your night too much. You're up at 0500 tomorrow."

he turns to leave. "Hey, Joker?" you call after him.

"What is it, Nyx?"

"Are you really okay with me going on these, uh, 'secret missions'?"

he sighs. "I can't say I'm a fan. But it's not in my hands, is it? I don't decide the mission objectives. I just pass them down."

"Mm."

"And try not to get yourself killed out there. It's the least you could do after all the trouble I went to, to bring you onto Air Wing."

you swallow your mouthful of beer. "I'll keep it in mind."

it's going to be a long war. but you'll survive.

29. never thought it was you I'd be coming home to
feat. eli

---

redemption (noun)
1. the action of saving or being saved from sin, error, or evil.
2. the action of regaining something or gaining possession of something in exchange for payment, or clearing a debt.

---

--Eli, it's Audie. We need to talk.
--I know you have a lot of questions. I can't say much over this channel. But you might be in danger.
--I'm sending you the coordinates.
--Please, Eli. I need your help.
--You know I wouldn't do this if I had any other choice.

"What was that distress call?"

"Ignore it."

"Eli, you know I can't do that."

"Cap, I believe I told you when I signed on that I am never setting foot on that planet again."

"Listen, I don't know what happened between you and your friend, but he's asking for your help. I know you've probably got a reason but... unless you can explain to us why--"

you weigh the calculations, and let out a sigh. you can't get them involved. nothing good will come of it.

"Captain... may I request two weeks worth of personal leave all at once?"

---

it's dark in the abandoned parking structure. you hop over a cracked ridge and head upward.

"Audie?"

lights, movement, and you're whipping out your revolver in one hand, shotgun in the other.

figures in helmets and body armor are surrounding you, and you recognize the slight nuances in their uniforms - Command's own secret police. they carry riot shields and high-powered rifles. you count ten, twenty on either side of you, and as you glance up, you see a team of snipers moving into position. which means there's probably another team you don't see.

"Drop your weapons! Hands behind your head!"

you have to admit, they came prepared.

(honestly, if they hadn't, you might have even been insulted.)

your guns clatter to the floor as you interlace your fingers behind you, flatten your wings as a show of goodwill. they force you face down onto the concrete, slap cuffs around your wrists, shackle your ankles, and lock a collar around your neck.

then they pull off you as an electrical current lances through your body, again and again, until the world goes dark.

---

you awaken sitting before a table in a dimly lit room.

three dead people are standing in front of you.

they've all visibly aged, but you can still tell them by their wings. Hermes, black and bronze, like if a raven was majestic as an eagle; Chronos, thin and tapered, a riotous contrast of red and green; and the tallest of them, an infuriating pure-white--

he's speaking. "I'm sorry. Believe me, Eli, it was the only--"

"Save it, Odysseus," you snap, the chains rattling as you strain against them. "And don't you even think to call me by that name."

he's visibly discomfited. "Nyx, I never wanted--"

"To have me kidnapped to a black site? Well, I guess we can't always get what we want."

Odysseus turns to someone behind him. "God damnit, will someone get him out of those things?"

a few moments later, you're rubbing out the soreness in your wrists and ankles.

the collar stays on, however.

"Nyx, we've got a situation. It's Unit 88."

your face betrays no reaction.

"They were assigned to a colony world. There's been... unrest... with the locals. Apparently they went rogue, hooked up with some tribal warlords, there's an insurgency brewing. Now, you're gonna ask why the military isn't taking care of it -- I did also. The reason is they already tried, and they failed. I know how much you hate these guys, I really do. But they need us. We had the same training, the same augments - we're the last, best option nobody wanted to use.

"We've been asked to pretend to support their cause, infiltrate the organization, take 'em all out."

throughout this impromptu mission briefing, you've been regarding him with an expression of intermingled spite and boredom, but then it dawns on you what the price of your freedom is intended to be. you shake your head as vigorously as you can, despite the metal restraint chafing your neck. "No. Screw that noise. I'm not doing their dirty work ever again."

"Nyx, if we don't do this, a whole lot of innocent people are going to die."

"I'm still waiting for the part where I give a shit."

Odysseus sighs. Hermes gives him that look of 'I told you so.'

"They're offering us all full pardons. Treason, desertion - you'll get them all reversed, your name taken off the no-fly list. You'll be able to walk the streets freely again, without having to lie about who you are."

"Not good enough."

"What do you want? Money? Status?"

you close your eyes, and prepare yourself to be wholly unreasonable. "I want what was promised us to begin with."

he's unsure how to respond, waits for you to explain. you stretch out, kick your feet up onto the table. he's hooked. the leverage is with you now.

"Clear our names. Not just us -- all of 86. I want ranks reinstated, survivors' benefits paid out, I want a goddamn memorial at the top of Legacy Spire, you hear me? You give me that, in writing, in triplicate even -- fine. They'll get their lapdog. I'll do what they want."

"Nyx, you know as well as I do that we did a lot of very bad things."

"We followed orders."

"What if High Command doesn't go for it?"

"Then you might as well put a bullet in the back of my head like you should have done 300 years ago."

the officer behind Odysseus whispers something. one by one, they file out, and leave you in the dark. through the thick door, you can hear the faint sounds of arguing.

a few hours and a few bag-on-head hallways later, you're presented with a stack of documents to sign.

---

Two weeks later

there are fancy words carved into the stone, but you ignore them. you're more focused on the list, ten names flanked by ten marble wings.

"Hard to believe it, huh?"

"The machine of empire works fast."

Chronos giggles. "When you talk like that, you sound just like Her...mes."

she directs your attention downward, away from the name at the bottom. "Look. They even brought flowers." Two rows of five bouquets, petals rustling in the light breeze.

you scoff. "Artemis always hated flowers."

"Good thing they aren't here, then? Be rolling in their grave if they knew."

something compels you to lean down and pick up a bouquet.

"Where you going, Nyx? Oh, that's right-- your leave is almost over, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Just gotta make one last stop."

you spread your wings and dive off the top of the tower, and soar over the fields beyond.

because she didn't fall in honorable combat, she doesn't have a place of pride in the tower. but she's here, nonetheless, right where you remember her being.

"It's been a long time, Mom."

your dad is probably here, too, done in by the passage of time if nothing else. but you don't seek him out. you've got nothing to say to him.

---

the machine of empire does work fast. it's hard to find any mention of you at all on the newsnets. but at long last, you come across a passage.

[...] responsibility for this heinous massacre was attributed to Staff Sgt. Audie "Odysseus" MacIntosh [...] his men feared for their lives, believing they would be executed if they did not comply [...]

you scramble for the contract.

behind the page with four signatures on it, you find a wall of fine print. it hurts your eyes and your head to read.

was it there before? was it there when you signed? why can't you remember?

before you realize it, you're already screaming into the comms.

"Audie! Pick up, you rat bastard, this isn't what I was promised!"

you've messed up. the crew is surrounding you, expressing concern about the anguish evident in your voice.

"I'm fine," you say. after all, your leave is over. you are a professional, and you will do your job.

still, you find every opportunity you can to mind the comms. you check them constantly, until the weight of anticipation fades.

the line that sent the distress signal never opens up again.

14. party like it's 1924
feat. eli and sylvana

---

"Welcome, welcome! How is your evening going, sir?"

"Honestly? I feel like I just died and came back to life. Again."

"If that's supposed to be a cheesy pick-up line--"

"Oh, no. No. God, no." you may be visibly shuddering. she's far too young for a guy your age, anyway.

"Glad that's cleared up. So, what can I get you?"

"You got a Vodka Red Bull?"

"Sir, this is a speakeasy." there's mirth in the bartender's eyes. "You're a half-century too early for that."

you shrug. "Your finest moonshine, then."

---

"So, I was thinking--"

your glass has been refilled several times.

"How much of a betting mood are you in tonight?"

"Oh?" the bartender bats her eyelashes at you.

"How do you feel about a little bet? Pick any idiot in this place. I'll drink 'em under the table. If I win, my tab's free."

"And if you lose?"

"I guess I owe you double."

"You're on."

"So. Who's my opponent?"

she leans over the countertop seductively, and you can see the flash of a thigh holster through her glitzy outfit.

"Yours truly. Who else?"

---

you're definitely not what you used to be.

what boggles the mind is how this woman is keeping up. she's not petite, by any means - but she's putting away far more than any person of her size and build should reasonably be expected to.

she brings out another bottle. "Refill, sir?"

you fumble for the glass through bloodshot eyes and slam it back. the bartender sips hers delicately, slowly.

when she's finished, she grins at you, cheeks rosy and aglow.

"Refill, sir?"

the next sound you hear is of your head slamming into the table.

---

"Where am I?"

"The break room. We have a fainting couch in here. Matches the decor, don't you think?"

"How'd I get here?"

"I carried you."

you squint at her skeptically through a pounding headache. "You carried me?"

"Are you calling me a liar, sir?"

you frown. after everything you've been through tonight (this morning?), you probably shouldn't be surprised that this woman is built different.

she tells you the bill. it's one digit more than you were prepared to spend.

"So. Um. I don't have that kind of money." a beat. "You think I can pay you back in, uh, other ways?"

"Just to be clear. Not a sleazy pick-up line."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Good. Now, in that case... perhaps you could supply me a drink?"

"I already told you I'm broke, remember?"

she gestures to your wrist, grins, and you can see pointed fangs emerging. of course.

mere moments after her teeth pierce your skin, you black out again.

---

"So, how was it?"

she wrinkles her nose. "I don't know, I thought angel blood would be - sweet? Milk and honey and chocolate? But no, you're mainly bitter notes. Faintly smoky. And it was such a struggle to open up a vein. Not a fan."

"That makes two of us. You could have warned me about the knockout effect, by the way."

"The venom is supposed to make you pleasantly delirious. Compliant. But no, I suspect your stubbornness got in the way."

you sigh. "I still gotta figure out how to pay you back."

she scoffs. "At least you're a man of your word."

your eyes drift to the j-frame on her hip again.

"You called this place a speakeasy?"

"That's right."

"...Need any help dealing with cops?"

---

"And who's that sitting in the corner?"

"A guy who owes me a favor. Someone in here gets rowdy, if he can bounce 'em without causing a scene, I knock a drink off his tab."

"Right on," they say. "Is he single?"

Sylvana rolls her eyes. "Trust me, girl, you can do so much better."

27. free fall isn't free
feat. eli

---

"Wind tunnel time?"

"That's what I said. Teach me to fly."

the officer in charge looks you up and down. "Kid like you? The way the war's going, you'll be long dead before your wings grow out."

"Tell you what. For every hour you give me, I'll owe you my daily vodka ration."

they scoff.

but they let you in.

---

"Nyx, are you crazy? It's just one pass!"

"This is our best chance to hold. If we lose the chokepoint, we'll all be overrun with their superior numbers." you do a rapid count of your remaining ammo. "I can handle it. Get the hell out of here, regroup with the others. If after three minutes you haven't heard from me, call in an airstrike directly on my position."

"Nyx, we're not leaving a man behind--"

"Then don't. Come back for me later."

he hesitates.

"Do it, Hermes!"

"...Just promise me I won't regret this later."

"Yeah. I promise. You happy now?"

you think he may have said something, but the enemy is rallying for a charge, and his words are drowned out in the sound of gunfire.

---

the snow is packed thick with blood, reeking with the smell of bodies.

your machine gun jammed first. then you tossed all your grenades, ran every last rifle magazine empty. there's some shrapnel lodged in your leg, your shoulder bleeding from a graze wound. backing up to the edge, pulling down the zipper of your jacket to shake out your wings in the winter wind, you take potshots with your pistol until it's run dry as well. you throw the pistol to the ground, raise your hands in surrender.

the enemy commissar pushes her way to the front, levels her gun at your face. behind her, a line of troops raise their rifles in unison.

"Any last words?" she snarls.

you glance at your watch. three minutes on the dot.

"See you in hell."

the bullet nicks the edges of your hair as you fling yourself backward, and let yourself drop.

conveniently, your arms are already in skydiver position. you flip yourself belly-down, let your half-formed wings stretch as far as they'll go, and bend your legs as you plummet into the abyss. you can vaguely make out loud, incoherent noise behind you, but all your focus is committed to the approaching ground, and you throw your legs forward at just the right time--

you crash, tumble, and eventually stop.

the sky above glares down at you, red clouds and black rising smoke.

---

the waiting is the worst part.

you're not feeling quite so badass as you were a few hours (minutes?) (days?) ago.

every inch of your body is wracked with pain. you're bloodied, bruised, and you're fairly certain every bone in your body is broken, as is your comms headset. you let out a shuddering breath, and see the puff of your exhalation drift into the sky. the noise and smoke have long faded.

and you're still alive.

you can't move, you can barely think, the temptation to pass out is so powerfully strong--

but you have to stay awake. to remind yourself that you're still alive.

and now what?

you've done everything you can do, except lay there and wait for rescue to arrive before a predator or the elements claim you.

that's a terrible way to go out, isn't it?

you see a condor fly past, one edge of your vision to the other. no doubt more of them are circling. you snarl inwardly. Don't count me out yet, you bastards.

you summon up all your reserves of hatred, of spite, and turn them into a shield against the pain.

you breathe, in and out.

you remind yourself of all those vodka shots you're never getting back.

you suffer through the wait, because you know if you stop suffering, it'll all be over.

and at long last, you hear the rotor of an incoming helicopter, and watch the condors disperse.

---

overlapping voices. a head drifts into your field of view, a hand touches your wrist.

"Pulse is weak. He's freezing--get a blanket--"

you're moved onto a stretcher. every inch is agony.

"--watch the neck--"

"Told you we'd find him. He promised--"

"Hermes, that is the stupidest logic I've ever heard."

"--go with, keep you updated on his condition."

inside the chopper, a paramedic runs a scanner over you.

"Nyx, you absolute madman."

you feel something prick your arm. a soothing, warm feeling starts to travel through your body.

"Rest easy, all right? You're gonna be okay now."

you close your eyes, but manage to choke out a sentence before you drift off.

"Did we get 'em?"

Honestly depends? I don't know how your groups are set up or how many groups you have. If you have a faction-based plot with roughly 5-6 factions then it's probably a good idea, but don't make characters that you don't actually want to write. If your membergroups are purely based on aesthetics then there's no need, because it's not like having many or few of any group will affect how often those groups can get plots.



I have a preference for shorter lorebooks, but again it's hard to say precisely without knowing what your site is about. (A site with nonhumans will need more lore than a site with only-humans, for example.) I do prefer the option of having a FAQ section in your guidebook so that questions people come up with that weren't already in the lore can be added in on an as-needed basis.



Not strange at all, just like some sites have mods who only do coding and such.



IMO, what kind of archives setup you have is less important than actually using it. This means proactively archiving your own threads when they're done, having an easy ticket system for members to request their threads be archived, and going through and sweeping out incomplete threads after activity checks where members have left.

You really don't need more than a single archives board, but if you want to subdivide it, I like completed/incompleted/"other" (non-thread things like want ads and plotters) and maybe a board for comms archives if you allow comms threads.



Things I like in a shop:
-character powerups/character slots, if you're a site that gates those things
-tickets to app/promote to site canon positions, if you're a site that includes those roles
-"create your own board/lore" tickets for people who want to add onto the world and have earned the points to show they're a dedicated member
-"member group swap" item to let people sort their ooc accounts automatically. might work on jcink only.

Things that I could honestly take or leave:
-aesthetic badges. If you like 'em they're harmless, if you hate 'em you don't need 'em.
-faceclaim swaps and secondary faceclaims. Not a fan of them but also not gonna get super aggrieved over having it.

Can the cockroaches please infest not the room I spend the most time in

17. white sand beneath black hearts
feat. eli and gayle

---

the white sands stretch out before you. personally, you liked it better when they were stained with red--

( but that's a story for another you, another when. )

lying prone on a towel, you idly watch the gulls circle overhead, their screeches overlapping with the carefree laughter of children. young couples intertwine, young singles mingle, and servers weave their way through them, carrying trays of drinks with little umbrellas in them. you make yourself a game of spotting the experienced ones. the sun beats down. you overlap your wings, letting the heat distribute more evenly.

no one is armed here. there's a gun in the back pocket of your khaki-camo board shorts anyway.

a colorful ball bounces harmlessly in your direction. you track its movement anyway.

eventually, the repetitive sound of the waves lulls you to restfulness, and you close your eyes.

---

you're awakened to the sound of clinking ice.

you crack an eye open. a hand places a Hurricane in front of you.

"Gayle. What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?"

"You first."

"I brought you a drink." they're sipping from a Sex on the Beach in their other hand, and they grin at you roguishly.

"What's your angle?"

they sigh. "Why do you always assume I have an ulterior motive?"

"You didn't say 'I don't have one.' So."

"Okay, so, there's this hottie I wanna make a move on."

"The bird bit aside, I'm not going to be your wingman."

"That's the beauty of it! You don't have to! All you have to do is start a fight with their boyfriend, make him look like an ass, so I can get them away from him."

you frown. doing so would undoubtedly disrupt the peaceful atmosphere that all of these other people are enjoying.

"Where's the fam, anyway? This seems like more of a Hemera job."

"Altair said it was too hot out to go outside. And Hemera, well. The less said about that one the better." they cross their arms over their pink, flamingo-inspired bikini, and you can see the faintest traces of the Oripathy working its way up their arm. "Won't even consider getting into a proper swimsuit."

you think about it, then banish the mental image almost as soon as it appears, before it can scar you for life.

"You raise a good point."

you take a sip of the Hurricane. it's not bad.

"I'll do it for three."

---

the next morning, they catch you on the roof of the house.

"You never answered my question, you know."

"Maybe I just wanted to enjoy a day off."

"That's the thing, though. You don't enjoy it. You didn't relax. You didn't talk to people or swim or play beach volleyball or anything. And would it kill you to crack a smile? I swear, you gotta learn to play as hard as you work, or..."

you say nothing.

"You are not used to having this much free time, are you?"

admittedly, it is a bit unsettling. but you're not going to admit it to Gayle of all people. "It's a good deal."

"But does it make you happy? Not killing people for a living anymore?"

"What's 'happy' got to do with it?"

"Eli."

"This is optimal."

"If you're not enjoying life, are you even really living?"

"I'm surviving. That's enough."

they let out an exasperated huff. "Looking at what age does to you people, being a short-lived species doesn't seem so bad sometimes."

"Gayle, why are you still here? I answered your question. Go away."

"A guy can't just have a friendly conversation?"

"No."

"Why do you always assume--"

"Everyone has an ulterior motive, Gayle. You just make it more transparent than most."

"And that's your problem."

"What, that I exercise a basic level of caution to protect my own self-interest?"

"No. That you gotta be so uptight about it."

you glare at them.

"I dare you to relax, right here, right now. What's the worst that could happen?"

"A meteor could fall on the house and kill us all."

they roll their eyes at you.

"If you win, I'll buy you a drink."

you roll onto your back, weigh the pros and cons of this bet. you turn it over and over in your mind.

finally, you let your eyes shut and your mind drift to the sky, the sun, and the distant sands beyond.

---

you wake up to a Hurricane on your chest.

your gun, your cell phone, your wallet are all untouched. you head back to your room to finish the drink. when you glance in the mirror, you spot something unusual. there's a moustache painted on your face in lipstick.

when you drain the Hurricane, there's another message awaiting you, written in lipstick on the outside of the glass. it's a bit smudged from your finger, but you can still make it out.

I knew you could do it.
~G