Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hey, hyeong?”

Ma-choe looked up from the paperwork he’d been filing. His brother was smiling at him. Nervously. This was not a great sign. “Yes, Gang? What is it?”

“You’re writing the schedule, right? Have you put down the shifts for next Thursday?”

“Not yet. Why?”

“Um… w-well, uh, we’re gonna need… all hands on deck.”

Ma-choe let out a sigh. “Okay. Why?”

“Because I just put down a large reservation for Thursday.”

“Reservation? For Thursday?”

“Yeah, a rehearsal dinner.”

Choe shrugged. “That’s not so bad. We’re usually slow on Thursday anyway. A rehearsal dinner, that’s what, twenty people?”

“… It’s… a little higher than that.”

Choe blinked. “Thirty?”

“Little higher.”

“Forty?”

“Um… double that?”

Choe’s jaw dropped. “You can not be serious.”

“Um…”

“You seriously agreed to have a dinner reservation for eighty goddamn people?! Who the hell is getting married?! One of the Beifongs?! Hell, we may as well rent out the goddamn restaurant at that point! Or cater at the fucking venue!”

“… It’s that guy I told you about.”

“What?”

“The one from the Late Night Show. We got kind of drunk together…”

“You agreed to do this for some guy you got drunk with on the racist turtle show?!”

“He’s a nice guy…”

“He’s not eighty people on a Thursday night nice! Our servers are going to fucking murder us, and our cooks might serve us along with the pork to get rid of the evidence!”

“It’s not that ba-”

“That is a fucking lie and you know it. Seriously. We cater. Why didn’t you offer catering?!”

“I did! But Prince Irwin said the venue didn’t allow outside catering and-”

“Wait.” Choe held up a hand. “Did you just say prince?”

“Oh,” Gang said, smirking slightly. “Well…”

“Explain. Now.”

“Well, he’s not the crown prince or anything, but… yeah. Rwanda has - I don’t know how he put it - a court in absence? A court in-”

“Exile?”

“That’s the one. Yeah. His brother still lives in the country, but I think his next closest relative is the king. And his family.”

“So… we are hosting the rehearsal dinner… for a fucking royal wedding?”

“More or less.”

Choe sat with that thought for a moment. Then: “All hands on deck Thursday night. And if anyone gets mad, I’m throwing you to the wolves, got it?”

“Fine, but if it goes well-”

“If it goes well, then Ace is taking credit and we all know it. Now get out! I’ve got lots of planning to do.”

“Hyeong-”

“LOTS OF PLANNING!”

~

“That’s the prince?!”

“Of Rwanda, yes. So get the gawking out of your systems now. We have to remain professional about this.”

The assorted servers, bussers, and cooks did just that.

“Okay. So, there’s no way we’re gonna serve them all at once,” Ace spoke up. “You know that, right, boss?”

“I’m just expecting you to do your best.”

“For fucking royalty.”

“Irwin seems pretty down to earth,” Gang said. “He did say to start with his brother - apparently Maximilian is the real, ah…”

“Fussy?”

“Yes. The fussy one. Most of the other guests aren’t aristocrats.”

“Is that Cyriaque Barafu?!”

“Oh, yeah. They’re friends.” Gang was not about to say why. “And, um, you’ve already met his sisters.”

“Damn.” Ace whistled. “So that’s where Cassie an’ Val came from. Who’s the guy-”

“That’s Monsieur Barafu. Try not to engage.”

“Oh. Oh jeez.”

“Which one is Maximilian?”

“That one,” Gang pointed. “I think.”

“You think?!”

“Well, it’s not as though I’ve seen him before!”

“Ahem.”

Everyone turned. Choe was tapping his flesh foot. “There a reason you’re all standing here gawking instead of doing your job and seating eighty hungry wedding guests?”

“Come on, boss, they’re royalty!”

“And I sign your paychecks,” Choe retorted. “I can’t believe- Scratch that. And leave Bobbie alone! She’s got it hard enough without you two distracting her.”

“C’mon, boss. Why do you always take her side?!”

“I do not! Now shut up and stop staring at the Prince of Burundi!”

“Rwanda.”

“Whatever.” He glared at Gang. “You were in charge of dietary restrictions. Make sure nobody dies.”

Chapter Text

“Okay, you’re through to tech support, Gene speaking, what’s your issue?” Gene Nair ran through the standard spiel, wishing he could at least practice his funny voices at work. He had a gig that night. For now, he just had to keep to the routine. Click, whaddya need? Click, whaddya need?

“Uh, hi, this is Amos Slade. M’ nephew’s outta the house and he’s the one who does the tech stuff, I got no idea, so…”

“No problem, I’ll talk you through it. So what exactly are you needing help with, sir?”

“Damn thing’s stopped workin’, that’s what!”

Gene sighed, massaging his temples. “Can you be a little more specific, sir? What were you doing when the problem started?”

“Taxes,” Amos grumbled. “Know what? Back in my day we didn’t do any a’ this online nonsense. Damn liberals.”

“Well, sir, you can still fill out paper forms if you’d prefer-”

“You think I got the brains to figure out all them tax laws?!”

“You can also hire an accountant-“

Amos laughed. “Shoot! If I had the money to hire an accoun’ant, I wouldn’t need ta worry ‘bout all this to begin with!”

Gene suppressed a sigh. “Alright. Can you tell me which tax program you were using when the system crashed?”

“I don’t know!” Amos snapped. “M’ brother downloaded it.”

“Your brother? Why isn’t he-” Gene bit his tongue. “Can you ask him what the name was?”

“No.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because the neighbor kid went an’ got him all run-over.”

“Oh my God! Is he okay?!”

“He’ll live. Just hasta stay at the hossipital fer a couple more days for some dumb observation er some shit. The nephew made us sign up fer that dumb Market insurance. Lemme tell ya, if those bigwigs wouldn’t raise the cost o’ the plan otherwise, he’d be home.”

“Okay… So your computer shut down randomly for seemingly no reason while you were doing taxes on a program you can’t name downloaded by a man who can’t be with you at the moment.”

“Yew got cotten in yer ears er somethin’?”

“I’m just trying to get a read on the situation. Are you sure it was a legitimate program?”

“No! Took me thirty minutes jus’ to get the whole thing up an’ runnin’. Too many numbers. Kept takin’ forever to load.”

“And then it shut down? Did you notice it installing anything?”

“The fuck does that mean?!”

“Installing just means down…” Stupid redneck, Gene. Stupid redneck. “Putting the program on the computer-“

“I done told you I weren’t the one to put the goddamn thing on here!” Gene could hear frustrated hands pounding on the desk. “Mah brother’s the one who picked it out!”

“Sir, please calm down. I know this is frustrating. I’m just trying to see what to do.” Gene took in a breath. “Did he say he’d noticed anything?”

“No!” A pause. “Though, knowin’ Chief, he wouldn’a said anything if he did…”

“Alright. Did you notice anything when you booted up the program?”

“What?”

“When you turned-”

“I didn’t boot up nothin’,” Amos said. “I shot it.”

“Well, how did you… Wait. WHAT?!”

“Yeah, I shot it. With a gun.”

Gene took in a breath. “Sir, I think I figured out what the problem is.”

When he’d still been with Jasmine and Aladdin, her father Imam Sultan had given Gene a humorous mousepad marked with the slogan BANG HEAD HERE. It was in the drawer at the moment, safe but not visible to bring up difficult memories. He was sorely tempted to take it back out.

Chapter Text

Robinson Labs was chaotic at the best of times. Wires and blueprints and badly placed cups of coffee. Things were worse now that Cornelius and Wallace were fighting.

“For the security system-”

“Not so loud.”

And it was hard to do much of anything with the boss’ kid half asleep on the vis-a-vis.

“I’m not bein’ loud,” Wallace grumbled. And he wasn’t, leaving the other workers in the lab to scratch their heads.

“Don’t mumble.”

“… Not entirely sure what you want from me, then,” Wallace admitted.

“Ahem.” Hiram cleared his throat, causing Wilbur to slightly stir. “You were sayin’… aboot the system?”

“I’m thinking about how we’ll market this.”

“Wallace, it’s not even done yet and you’re already thinking about-”

“Well, it’s going to be expensive! To make. Not to mention we’ll have to convince the investors. Lord knows they’re already fed up with us. Especially-”

“Don’t say it.”

Wallace threw a scathing look at Wilbur. “After the car.”

Hiram looked at Wallace flatly. “Wally. We’ve been friends for… many years. You gave me my eldest daughter and I am eternally grateful. But for God’s sake, what have I told you aboot tact?”

“Hey! ‘E’s the reason we have to worry about all this!”

“No one said ‘e wisn’t. But he’s also a sick child.”

“ ‘E’s thirteen. ‘Is room is in ‘is house literally right next door with a million other people milling about. ‘E doesn’t need to be here!”

Heinz cleared his throat. “I’m actually with Wallace on this one.”

“You would be.”

“Cornelius-”

“Look, you can deal with your son however you like, but this is my son. This is my house. My lab - and, last I checked, you’re one of my employees-”

“Cornelius!”

“His mother’s not home. The doctors told me to watch him.”

“For a cold?” Wallace asked incredulously.

“You’ve brought your son over when he was sick,” Cornelius snapped.

“ ‘E was at risk of pneumonia at the time. I’m no doctor, but I’m reasonably sure your boy isn’t.”

Pietro wheeled between the two. “Let’s not argue over this. He’s here now. We’ll focus on selling this to our investors once we have something to sell. For now, Wallace, let’s focus on building a prototype.”

“If you can handle the drill,” Cornelius muttered.

“Cornelius. Please.”

“As long as you keep your kid on a leash, I should do just fine.”

“Wallace-”

Another groan from the sofa, louder than the sound before. “Told you he hated me.”

“Mr. Herbertson doesn’t hate you,” Cornelius snapped. “Right, Wallace?”

“Of course not,” Wallace said just as quickly. “A bit annoyed with you at the moment, sure, but I don’t hate you.”

Hiram facepalmed.

Chapter Text

“Proud, you’re back on the team.”

“Really, coach? But you said-”

“I know what I said, but I… You’re doing better now. And the backup quarterback’s…”

“He’s what?”

“Never you mind.”

It was a chilly day in mid-September. See-your-breath-in-the-morning kind of day. See the frost crystals gather on the pigskin ball. Waving the Proud girl aside, Coach Collins glanced back at the bleachers where he’d left his own kid - wrapped up in one of those frilly-girly-blanket sweater things.

“O-…-kay…” Penny said slowly, looking around the bleachers. “So where’s the rest of the team?”

“That’s why I need you here. I’m hosting tryouts.”

Penny blinked. “Tryouts? But the season’s started. You had tryouts already.”

“Yeah. Well.” Coach Collins sniffed. “There was an incident. Most of the team’s been…” He trailed off. “Anyway, we need a new team.”

“Wha-… Wait, who else is here besides me and Michael?”

Michael looked up. “I’m not on the team anymore.”

“… Alright, who else is here besides me, then?”

“Trying to figure that out.” He looked down at his clipboard. “Casey? Patrick Casey?”

“That’s me.”

“… My ass it is.”

Blue eyes. Red hair. Very tall and very slim. Not a problem. Not really, but-

“Oh hell yeah!” Proud pumped her fist a little. “Another girl!”

“Are you one a’ those transgenders or something?”

“No, Dad just… really wanted a boy,” she said, before spitting a wad of bubblegum into the trashcan. “I usually play baseball, but I figured this could be fun at least once.”

“At lea-” Collins sighed. “Alright. Whatever. I’m not in a position to be picky. You can start the line there.”

“Thanks.” The girl named Patrick went over where Coach Collins pointed.

Casey, Casey… have I heard that name somewhere before? Collins shook his head. Not the time. He’d figure it out later.

“Okay, Casey. Let’s see how you…” He shook his head at the empty court. “This is gonna be harder than I thought.”

“Normally we tryout with a scrimmage game,” Penny said. “Hard to do seein’ as the whole team went, uh, bellyup?”

“Somethin’ like that,” Michael said.

“Okay, okay… Who else is here?”

“You’re the one with the clipboard.”

“Damnit, Proud, I-” Damnit. “Lincoln?! Cree…” What kind of a name was that?

“Cree.” Another skinny slip of a thing. Long arms and dreadlocks. And a grin. “You gonna let us tackle people?”

Collins stared.

“It’s football!” Penny said excitedly. “That’s the point!”

“Heck yeah.” Cree walked over to take her place beside Patrick. “Sweet. I’m not the only girl here.”

“Nice to meet ya,” Patrick said. The two shook hands.

Collins sighed. He was open to girls, but neither of them were suited to quarterback. “Alright… Stone, Victor?”

“That’d be me.” A broad-shouldered mountain of a teenager walked forward, waving.

Oh thank God. “Nice to see you here,” Collins said, motioning over where the two girls were. “Stand over there if you would.”

“Cool. Uh,” Victor said as he walked over. “Quick question. Is there any policy about prosthetics on the field?”

“Why?”

“Accident when I was trying out the first time. Uh,” he scratched his head. “Not during tryouts, I mean. Just… around then. Car accident. It’s all metal below the knee. And, you know-” He unzipped his sweatshirt, revealing a stainless steel prosthetic arm.

“Can you play?”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“Then we shouldn’t have a problem here. I don’t care if you’re walking on chicken legs as long as you’re able to move around.”

“Cool,” Victor said, apparently uncertain of what else he could say.

“Okay, Frensky, Catherine?”

A girl waved. At least this one had a normal name. Not skinny, either. Not exactly fat in Collin’s mind, but she also wouldn’t blow over in the wind. Could make a decent linebacker… “That’d be me.”

“Welcome. Go right on over.”

“Cool.” She paused. “Um, weird question. Do you have practices on Saturdays?”

“Why?”

“I, um, have a… family gathering… every Saturday?”

Collins blinked. Every Saturday? What kind of family… Wait. He double-checked the name. Frensky… Huh. “If you have a good reason, you can be excused to go do your thing.” If she doesn’t wanna say she’s Jewish, that’s none of my business.

“It’s, um, just something we do when we get back from the synagogue.”

Confused again.

“It definitely doesn’t involve karaoke.”

“… Whatever.”

“So there are, like… no guys here, are there?”

“Not really,” Michael called down from the bleachers.

“I’m here.”

“Not what I meant. What happened to the old team, anyway?”

Cree smirked. “They lost that big game, remember?”

“So… what? They took them out back to be shot or something?” Catherine rolled her eyes. “Besides, uh, didn’t he lose the game?”

“Look, I’m not at liberty to discuss what happened with the former team.” Until their trial is over and done with. “And it would be appreciated if you didn’t try to make my child into a scapegoat.”

“Alright, alright,” Catherine said. “Don’t talk about it. Got it.”

Collins sighed. “Jaime Reyes?”

A Hispanic boy stepped forward. Not as big as Victor, not as small as Cree.

“There’s a bug on your shoulder.”

“It’s just a beetle.”

“You’re not gonna get it?”

Reyes shrugged. “I don’t like killing things.”

“Sounds like football might not be for you then.”

“Maybe not. But you need players, right, ese? And everyone else is all…”

“It doesn’t matter where they are. Give me one good reason I should even consider putting a lily-livered mouse like you on my football team?”

“I thought it might be good for my anger issues.”

“You have anger issues?”

“Yes.” He didn’t elaborate.

“… Alright. Get in line.” Collins wouldn’t push. “Who’s next?”

Chapter Text

“Sheesh, dude, I am so sorry.”

“Hm?”

Treasure Agateva set a coffee mug beside her roommate as she walked over to set up her laptop. “You’re in your chair today. That means your pain is worse than usual. So, I’m sorry you’re hurting.”

“Oh… Thank you.” Gi-sae grabbed the offered mug and started drinking. “I’ve had worse days. At least I don’t have to take time off for them anymore.”

“I gotta admit, it is nice to not have to worry about the commute,” Treasure said.

“Mm,” he hummed as he booted up the computer. “Coffee’s good. You make this?”

“Sort of,” Treasure said. “Can’t take too much credit, your Buttercream Sundae left instructions on the machine.”

“She’s too good for me.”

A year ago - hell, even some months ago - Treasure would have said something snarky. Something mean. Now though, she smiled. “You’re lucky, you know. I wish I had somebody like that.”

“Well, you could always look around online. There’s bound to be someone out there who’d be willing to give you a chance.”

Treasure shrugged. “Eh. I don’t really care to look anymore. If it happens it happens.”

“That’s rather mature of you,” Gi-sae said.

“Well, you can’t force a connection. Besides, I want to make sure I’ve sorted through all my shit before I get into another relationship.” Before I fuck up someone else was left unsaid.

“Speaking of sorting through shit…”

Treasure sighed. “Yeah, we may as well get started.”

They pulled up their work emails, scrolling through the flagged content. Both of them were quiet for awhile, focused on their work.

“… Huh,” Treasure said, breaking the silence.

Gi looked up. “Something wrong?”

“No, not wrong, just… this video.” She looked over. “Hey, I’m just checking. You don’t behead people in North Korea, right?”

“… No? And that’s actually kind of racis-… Oh my gosh.”

‘Beheading’ was certainly a word for it. Whatever this mess of special effects failure and CGI was. And the ‘blood’ that was clearly corn syrup mixed with powdered strawberry.

“This isn’t… real, right?”

“Of course it’s not- Weren’t you a police officer?!”

“Parole, baby. Not the bloodiest job in the world.”

“Fair enough, I guess… Would people actually fall for this?” He motioned. “That’s not even a human’s spine showing. That’s clearly a pig’s. Not to mention that that’s not how the blood spilling would work.”

Treasure looked over. “Really?”

“Yeah. The jugular does kind of spray when you cut it, but if it’s a large wound like this, it’d just sort of drip out. Who even made this?!”

Treasure looked. “Dunno. It was posted by a bot account.”

“And you deleted it, right?”

Treasure clicked a few buttons. “Yeah, it’s off the site.”

“Good.” He paused. “… Would you excuse me for a moment?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you.” Gi wheeled himself over to his bedroom, closing the door. A few moments later, laughter erupted from that side of the door.

~

“Boss?”

“Treasure, you don’t need to call me that. We-”

“Boss, look.”

Something about her tone gave Gi pause. “What’s wrong? Are you… okay?”

“I… don’t… I don’t know.”

“Gore again? Real gore?”

Treasure shook her head.

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

“I… I honestly don’t know if I should… Just take a look.”

Gi wheeled over again, taking a look and halting in his wheelchair. The wind felt knocked out of his lungs.

It was a child. A young girl, clearly asleep. Blankets ripped away (along with other things). He wouldn’t have halted at that. He’d seen worse, sadly.

But…

That birthmark.

“… No,” he quietly said.

Twintails - long brown braids twisted with ribbons. Perfectly still, without the hypnagogic jerks that marked her sleep in adulthood. Slight gap in her teeth.

“That’s not her, is it?” Treasure whispered. “Hwa-”

“I didn’t know.”

“Oh, boss, I’m sorry-”

“I didn’t know he took videos.”

“Fucking bastard,” Treasure muttered.

Gi went still. His mind blank. Uncertain of what to do.

“She wouldn’t know,” Treasure said. “Would she?”

“He knocked her out,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s what she always said. He knocked her out and then there’d be these… dreams…”

Treasure looked away. “So she wouldn’t know.”

Gi shook his head.

Treasure looked over. “This can’t be the only video. Or the only site.” She sighed. “Should we tell her?”

“She’s my wife,” Gi said. “I tell her everything. Besides, she deserves to know.”

“What about, you know… the other one?”

“The other- Do you mean Youngyeon?”

“Is that the… bigger little sister? The one that hates you?”

“Mm. She knows. She was thirteen when… Younghwa used to be different, you know. Their stepfather almost killed her. Yeon killed him.”

“Shit, really?”

“Yeah. There were some legal issues.”

“She didn’t get charged, did she?”

“I don’t think so. But she doesn’t like talking to me about most things.” Gi shrugged. “It is what it is.” He looked. “As for this… Any chance you can find its source?”

“I’m not exactly a tech wiz,” Treasure pointed out. “Maybe if I knew more I could… I would help you.”

Gi nodded. He then looked thoughtful. “You know? I promised I would never do what I did in my homeland ever again.”

“O-…-kay…?”

“Would you blame me if I broke that promise for her?”

“No,” Treasure said instantly. “I would have- I mean, it’s weird, but if it was Bobbie- Shit, that sounds insane, doesn’t it?” She shook herself. “Anyway, it’s not about me.”

“Younghwa is the best thing that’s ever happened to me next to Hanawon. Bad things… they happen to people like us. Not people like-”

“But what about B- What about the people we did this stuff to? If they didn’t deserve… Shit, are we even allowed to be surprised?”

Gi sighed. “I don’t know. And yet, I’m surprised nonetheless.”

Chapter Text

“Look, if this is about the Turner boy, I told you last time, I didn’t know he was part Tibetan-”

Monday morning. Denzel Crocker was already in a mood. (Who wouldn’t be when the principal called in a mandatory meeting ninety minutes late on a Monday morning?) Perhaps that’s why it took him so long to notice three key things.

One, the principal was not alone.

Two, the people with her appeared to be a woman and her child.

And three, said woman was now giving his principal a very concerned look that practically screamed “You’re trusting this one with my angel?”

“Pleased to meet you,” the girl said. “You will excuse me if I don’t shake your hand.”

“Another Addams, huh?”

“Beg pardon?”

“What does that make you?” Denzel asked. “Tuesday or Thursday?”

“I’m not anything Addams. I’m Lizzie.”

“Elizabeth Tweedy,” the woman spoke up, patting the smaller girl’s shoulder. “I’m ‘er mum, Wilhelmina.”

Strange. The woman had an accent he was fairly certain was British, but her apparent daughter didn’t. Adopted?

“Crocker,” Principal Waxelplax said, motioning to an empty chair. “Why don’t you have a seat? We need to have a very long discussion.”

Denzel sat. The principal didn’t seem especially angry. Still, this was all very, very weird. “Okay…”

Waxelplax cleared her throat. “So. Mr. Crocker.” She motioned once more to Lizzie. “Elizabeth is going to be joining your class starting today.”

And this couldn’t have been in an email?

“This will also be the first class she’s ever been a part of.”

“Ah, outside of homeschooling?”

“No homeschooling,” Lizzie said. “This is the first home I’ve ever been a part of.”

“Oh! Oh! I get it.” Homeless kid. “Don’t worry, Miss Tweedy, your secret is safe with me.”

“That’s, ah, Missus Tweedy-Herbertson,” Wilhelmina said. “And whatever you think the situation is, ah, it’s probably not.”

Waxelplax nodded solemnly. “Yes, ah, Miss Tweedy’s situation is very… unique. And we need to discuss this transition as a team to make sure you’re prepared to handle this… unique situation.”

Lizzie blinked. “Fascinating,” she said.

Are they sure she’s not an Addams?

Lizzie looked up. “Mother? Is there a reason this woman is uncomfortable saying I am a survivor of sexual slavery?”

If he’d been drinking something he would have spat it down the front of his shirt. “You… What?!”

“I suppose that’s unusual then,” Lizzie noted. “Like the bloodstains on the pajamas.”

“Excuse me?” the principal asked.

“It was for the aesthetic.”

“Dear, please, only one… topic at a time, alright?”

“Very well,” Lizzy said, kicking off of her chair. “What topic is good to focus on for right now?”

The principal sighed. “Well. I suppose that the cat is out of the bag.”

Lizzy’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“So we may as well just spell it out,” the principal said. “Yes. Miss Tweedy here is a vic- is a survivor of sexual trafficking. As you can probably imagine, this puts her in a rather unique position. She’s actually ahead on a few subjects, but severely behind in others. We fully expect there will be some pull-out special education. And, ah, we are foreseeing some… potential issues that we’d like to discuss how to minimize.”

“Potential issues.”

“I’m sure they could be mitigated if I were allowed to bring my service animals.”

“Lizzie, fire ants are not service animals. We’ve been over this. And you’re lucky we let you keep the farm at all after what you did to Gromit.”

“He shouldn’t have said those things about the girl on TV.”

Crocker tilted his head. “I’m sorry, fire ants?”

Lizzie beamed. “They are learning to associate me with their queen. I am learning how to use their pheromone trails to bring them to a specific location and-”

Wilhelmina gave her daughter a look.

“Never mind.”

The principal sighed. “Her interests may not necessarily align with other children,” she started.

No shit, he thought to himself. Then again, teaching as long as he had been had taught him there were plenty of creepy children.

“And,” the principal continued. “There’s another matter - of, ah, socializing to discuss. As you can imagine, Lizzy might not always be aware of what topics are and are not… appropriate to discuss at school.”

“I have frightened many of my siblings.”

“She has a few friends,” Mrs. Tweedy said quickly. “So far, but Mrs. Addams-”

Oh, so they were involved…

“-warned me about bullying. Eating lunch alone. Things like that.”

“Any special needs? Disabilities?”

“We… aren’t… sure yet. I mean,” the mother said, “she’s so young.”

“And as you can imagine, my medical records are next to non-existent.”

“Right. I’ll keep an eye on her for…” Autism. Anxiety. Antisocial personality disorder. And that was just what he could think of off the top of his head. “… symptoms.” He looked at the principal. “You said there’d be pull-out classes. Let me guess, reading? Math?”

“Actually, Miss Tweedy is remarkably proficient in both those areas,” the principal said. “However, her knowledge on topics such as history, social studies, science, and other such things is lacking. She’ll also need assistance developing her motor skills.”

“Hmph,” Lizzy crossed her arms. “I still say my writing is proficient.”

Subtly, Mrs. Tweedy shook her head.

“But-”

“Skill-wise, she does… well. But the content… I wouldn’t ‘ave ‘er share with the class. Or any of the other children. They’re not-”

“Traumatized.”

Denzel wasn’t entirely sure about that.

Chapter Text

“Barkin!”

The other inmates called him Teardrop, started when ‘Wink’ didn’t take too well. Amanda Waller was not an inmate. She called him by his name. “You’ve been making calls again.”

He smiled at her in that way of his. No respect. No fear either. “ ‘S that a crime?”

“It is if they’re not on your list.”

“Good thing we’re here then,” he said. “Short trip.”

“I could put you in solitary for this.”

“Solitary ain’t so bad,” Barkin shrugged. “Anyway, have a heart, why don’tcha? I was just makin’ some arrangements is all.”

“Arrangements?”

“My girl’s got a birthday comin’ up. That okay with you?”

“She know what goes on in here? Or are you running around behind her back?”

“Why would she… Not that kind a’ girl! Sheesh!” He fished a photo out from his pocket, handing it to her with a flourish. A little girl, maybe six years old, with blue eyes and a yellow ribbon in her thick dark hair. “Say hello to Anne Marie.”

Waller raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you had a kid. By blood?”

“Yep. Doesn’t look too much like me, I know, but you’d get it if ya met her.” He looked soppily at the picture, running a finger over the girl’s hair. “Can’t be there in person, she’s way back in New Orleans, but I gotta let her know Daddy remembered her birthday. Don’t wanna be an absent absent dad, y’know?”

“And what does this have to do with your unauthorized phone usage?”

“My buddy knows a guy who knows a gal down by the race track. From back when we used to play the ponies, y’know? Kid’s got a thing about horses. I called in a few favors. Gotta be one on loan, right? Just for one day.”

“You couldn’t have mentioned that before making the call?”

“Didn’t wanna lose the tough image. I got a reputation to keep up in here as well as one with her.” He preened, tapping his teardrop tattoo.

Walker wished she understood. “Anything else I should know about?”

Barkin shrugged. “Don’t you think the phone thing goes a little overboard?”

“Standard procedure. And given the chance that an inmate will misuse that privilege to phone an accomplice-”

“I was framed!”

“So was everyone we ask in here, Mr. Barkin.”

He groaned. “Ugh, fine. May I please make some phone calls - whoops, already did, well, easier to ask forgiveness than permission, right?”

“I could revoke your phone privileges, you know.” He tried not to show it, but that was the thing that finally got him. Waller nodded to herself. “Next time,” she promised. “We can make your stay here very uncomfortable for you.”

He laughed.

“Something funny?”

“Nah, not really. Just… thinking,” he said, and stroked the tattoo under his eye again.

Chapter Text

Webbit w/notalwayright
u/genieofthelamp
I hate my city’s firearm laws.
I work in tech support. A guy called complaining because his computer wouldn’t work. Because he shot it. I don’t want to talk about it any more.

u/purple_bo
I feel that. I work tech support too. Ever seen a laptop die from smoking?

u/genieofthelamp
No, but now I’m curious.

u/purple_bo
This weird guy called, saying his computer wouldn’t work. Over the course of the convo, it turns out he and two of his roommates smoke, he smokes REALLY heavily, and they live in a tiny basement apartment and usually don’t open the windows. Also they do… some work with chemicals, let’s say. I told them to take it into the meatspace shop in their area I recommended, and I called the shop later to see what happened. Turned out the whole inside of the case was gummed up with tobacco ash goop and God knows what else. The screen was tinted yellow from the inside. That poor computer.

u/.GIFfany
Oh god, I pray for all the souls in tech support. Especially in cases like this.

u/OptimusPrime
Could you at least salvage the metals, if not the parts? Melt them down or something? I hate it when electronic stuff gets wasted.

u/purple_bo
I know that store sends broken stuff to a recycling facility, no idea what they did with it. Sorry. I do know they told him to take future electronics outside or keep them in a bag or SOMETHING. I don’t know what would even work. I’ve never seen anything like that.

u/red_saitachi
This is why my anger management class told me to stop working in customer service jobs.

u/LoonaLoopine
My dad’s shrink said I probably should stop too.

u/SkunkFunk
… Excuse me, I think this post just explained some things. I need to check my computer’s fan and then buy some nicotine gum.

u/genieofthelamp
Gross. I guess it’s better than all the semen-soaked keyboards…

u/pipsqueakvarietyvikingprincess
It’s worse when it’s a semen-soaked truck. I’m a mechanic and the county I’m in right now has TWO guys who… yeah. I thought car fetishes were supposed to be really rare!

u/thatsCAPTAINjacksparrow
Technically I believe it’s only a fetish if you *require* it for satisfaction. Not if it’s just one of many potential interests, as it were.

u/pipsqueakvarietyvikingprincess
I hate you.

Chapter Text

“Gunes-begum? Princess?”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not a princess anymore,” she said sullenly. The not-princess sat at the end of her bed, arms folded, glaring at the wall. “What’d you bring that for?”

Gervasii Golova sat his easel down by the door, keys dropped inside his pocket. “I thought we could try painting today.”

“Why?”

Gervasii smiled. “Painting is quite therapeutic. It allows for a controller release of emotions. A way to process what we might be feeling in a-”

“Way that doesn’t overthrow the government?”

“… I was going to say constructive rather than destructive manner.”

“You’ll get mad again.”

“I didn’t get mad last time.”

“Then why did you leave?”

“Gunes-begum… Gunes,” he tried. “I was… concerned. I’m not a therapist, you know. I didn’t understand that… Um…”

Truthfully, he’d been more than a little put off by their last project. Surprisingly detailed figures made out of modeling clay. Clearly built to resemble the (now ex-)princess and the Bhakta girl locked below. A passionate, uncomfortable, underage embrace of sexuality. And an unfinished third beneath them. Long blonde hair and gouged-out eyes.

He had left.

“I should have been more understanding. You’ve- Have you talked to Doctor Loshadkin about this?”

“You know, in most countries, they have medical doctors and psychiatrists.” She twined a curl around her finger, letting it spring back. “That’s what they do in India, Sandhya says. In Tatary. In Kazakhstan…”

In truth, not that she’d know it, the same was true for most of Ariziat as well. But physicians of the royal family had to be especially sharp. Especially talented. And omni-disciplinary. Doctors and surgeons and skilled psychiatrists to boot.

“Have you talked to anyone about it?” he tried.

“Of course. I’m talking to you right now.” Gunes picked up one of the figurines from her bedside table and wiggled it at him. He drew back, and she smirked, very briefly.

“Right. Well, let’s try painting about it instead.”

The painting she produced wasn’t any less disturbing than the figurines had been. Golova got the impression she was doing it to spite him.

“Okay, the depictions of you and Sandhya I can understand. Why do you seem to want your brother dead so badly that you put that in the same picture?”

“Maybe I just like watching you squirm.”

“Most people wouldn’t go about it this way.”

“Mm.”

“It’s not-” He shook his head. “Nevermind.”

Gunes looked at him.

“It’s just that… Princess, this is a really… sexually charged… painting…”

“Sandhya and I are in love.”

“… but you made it include your brother. Is there something there I should know about?”

“Didn’t you already pick up that I was jealous?”

“Something else, I mean?”

“Oh - ugh, no! No, he didn’t do anything to me and I don’t want him to.” Gunes twirled the paintbrush contemplatively and added, “I didn’t mean any of that to happen to him either. Things… escalated.”

“Then why?”

“Why is he in the painting or why did we do it?”

Golova shrugged. “Anything you’re willing to tell me.”

For that session, that turned out to be nothing; but he had hope he was getting through.