#fff354

Merely two hours later, I feel I’ve jinxed it. The ‘nothing ever happens to me’ gibberish, I mean.

I’m currently in front of my laptop. My brand-new blog is on display; the cursor is blinking mockingly, impatiently, as if it says: “Go on, you numpty. Start writing, already. Things have finally happened to you!”

And my is that cursor right. But still I have no more idea what to write now, than the last times I’ve been sitting in front of a new blog entry. It’s likely due to the fact that too many things have happened to me in quick succession. I feel it needs processing before I put words to paper, metaphorically speaking.

I’ve got my prompt, though. The one Ella couldn’t (or wouldn’t) give me.

A meeting. No. Two meetings, actually. 

I know I’m dawdling, but I can’t seem to decide on a title, and I desperately need a title. Even in school, I couldn’t write a damn thing before I had a title. Little has changed in that department it seems.

It needs to be something that foreshows what the blog post is about, so the word ‘meeting’ should definitely be in the title; plural or singular. 

I start typing. Trying it out.

A Meeting in the Park

A Surprising Meeting

Two Meetings at Different Locations

Meeting a Doctor and a Madman

A Strange Meeting

I read them over and decide on the last one. It’s not that meeting Mike wasn’t significant – it was after all that particular meeting that led me to Barts and Sherlock Holmes – but it was the meeting in the lab that changed my entire world.

How to describe him? Sherlock Holmes, that is. Mike Stamford hasn’t changed much since our days at Barts. He’s gained some weight, but he’s as jovial now as he was when we first met years ago. Some would even say, he’s easily forgotten; normal.

‘Normal’ is not a word I would use to describe Sherlock Holmes. On the contrary. 

He’s most likely human, but his capabilities to observe – not to mention speak so rapidly you feel like you’re boarded a carousel out of control – are quite extraordinary and otherworldly. By just a perfunctory onceover, he knew almost everything about me.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” was his first question.

For once, I was immensely relieved that I had my cane to lean on. 

After I’d told him it was Afghanistan, he rattled out my entire life story, as if he read it out of a book. He did get the gender of Harry wrong, though, but I didn’t tell him that. Maybe I’ll surprise him with it some other time. Because I am meeting him again. The man that looked 12 when I first laid eyes on him. Tomorrow we’re off to look at flat together. Me and the madman. Me and Sherlock Holmes.

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Jason had thought that the hardest part of going to Edgarton would be, you know, the part where he was going to a mortal high school for the first time in his life. He’d gone to school while he was at Camp Jupiter (of course he had, despite Piper and Leo’s incessant jokes about his wolf-grade reading level) but that had been completely different. School in New Rome had been carefully balanced with his Legion duties and was formatted with dyslexic ADHD kids specifically in mind. School in New Rome had been easy, Edgarton was completely different. There were uniforms and curfews and rules and– Well, maybe it wasn’t all that different from Camp Jupiter after all.

The hardest thing for Jason to get used to, though, was the free time he had. Part of that time was taken up with lacrosse, seeing as any students who lived on campus were required to partake in at least one extracurricular activity, but that was only four hours a week during fall. He spent some time on his school work, naturally, but Edgarton didn’t do homework, so other than studying for tests and writing papers, there wasn’t much for him to do. So, really, Jason found himself with idle hands far more frequently than he ever had in his life.

That was where Leo came in.

Jason had secretly, selfishly hoped that Leo’s involvement would have just amounted to a lot of holding hands in the quad and making out in their dorm room, but life was never quite that kind to Jason. No, unfortunately, Leo was very, very invested in “re-childhooding” Jason, which roughly translated to exposing him to all of the stuff he’d missed growing up in a demigod military camp. This included taking him to Chuck E. Cheese (which he hadn’t exactly loved because it was very loud) and binge watching “important” cartoons and movies (Avatar was a very good show, but the movie didn’t make much sense as an adaptation, considering it was suddenly about aliens) and, most terrifyingly, finding new hobbies and interests outside of niche Ancient Roman law. 

Lacrosse had been Leo’s idea, and it was definitely fun, there was no doubt about it. Jason liked the physicality and the predefined rules and the teamwork involved with sports. However, apparently, that wasn’t quite good enough, and Leo had been needling him to try something else, something that wasn’t just about performing an action for someone else. Jason had been a little lost, trying to figure out what, exactly, that new hobby could be until their English class had done a unit on classic English poets, and Jason had discovered a love of reciting poetry. That, naturally, had led him to the poetry club (which Leo insisted on calling the Dead Poets Society, for some reason) and for one shining moment, everything looked like it was gonna work out. 

Then, because the world could never be that kind, Derrick, the club president, had cheerfully announced that the next meeting they would be reciting their own poetry.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Jason groaned into his pillow while Leo sympathetically stroked his hair. “I don’t know how to write poetry.”

“What if you just started talking in Latin?” Leo suggested. “Then you wouldn’t have to actually write anything, you could just recite a cake recipe or something.”

Jason paused and considered that option with no small amount of hope before remembering that Sheamus was in his Latin class and would absolutely call him out. “I can’t. They’ll figure it out.” He considered it for another moment before adding, “I do like the idea of writing it in Latin, though. Only one person will have any idea what I’m saying, but I’m fine with that.”

“That’s the spirit!” Leo cheered, bending over to kiss Jason’s ear, which was the one spot of face-adjacent skin not hidden by Jason’s autoasphyxiation attempt. That made him feel a lot better. “So, whatcha gonna write about?”

Hopelessness crashed over Jason again. “No idea. Can I just quit this club? That’s a normal kid experience, right?”

“No way, dude, I watched you get moony-eyed over Lord Byron last week, you’re staying in this club,” Leo said seriously. Jason didn’t bother to point out that the reason he’d actually gone all sappy was because he was reading “Soon We’ll Go No More a Roving” with Leo beside him, still and peaceful for once. Leo poked him. “Come on. Talk to me. What’s the prompt?”

Jason continued his grumbling for a moment before he heaved a heavy sigh. “Beauty beyond measure.”

“Oh, uh, okay, um. What about…” Leo floundered for a moment. “A sunset? Or, um, a flower?”

Jason refrained from gagging, but only just. “No.”

Leo pinched his ear. “Okay, what about something less conventional that you like? Like swordfighting, or something? I’m pretty sure I could wax poetic about the inner workings of Festus, if you held a gun to my head.”

Leo continued to talk, rattling off all sorts of ideas, each one somehow worse than the one before, and Jason felt his brain throb. He figured this was probably only partially due to Leo’s poetry suggestions and mainly just a lack of oxygen, so he begrudgingly rolled over. When he did, he wound up with his head cradled in Leo’s lap, and his breath hitched as soon as he blinked stars out of eyes.

Leo was sitting there, still talking and completely oblivious to the fact that Jason was staring at him in complete awe. The sun was starting to set, so warm evening sun was pouring through the window at Leo’s back, lighting up his messy cloud of curls like a halo. His crooked teeth flashed with every word, his eyes glowed, his hands flapped through the air like baby birds, and there was a breathtaking smear of grease on his chin.

Inori began to feel antsy. She looked at her phone’s watch.

Teacher Tsukasa’s door was usually open, but she was reluctant to knock. Inori waited for another 20 minutes until she realised that her class adviser was not alone. There were murmurs behind it. She could hear two voices of men having a playful banter and then a loud giggling.

Inori came closer and placed her right ear on the door while holding her phone ready to send a text to Hikaru.

Teacher Tsukasa was definitely not alone by himself.

“You have to go now, Jun-san. Stop. Stopppp, this. Isn’t the. Right time. And place,” Tsukasa pleaded in a staccato voice.

“Hmmmm… I… miss…. you. Do I have to warn Kago-san that you are mine?”

“He’s like a father to me. Surely, you wouldn’t think that?”

“Akeuraji, I wasn’t born yesterday. I know when someone desires you. I can see it from their eyes. Even…”

“Even what?”

“Hitomi’s father. Takamine-san.”

Inori couldn’t believe her ears. Takamine-sensei, the assistant school director?

“They only wanted to support me. Your jealousy is over the top. You know how much I’ve always been loyal to you ever since I was a teenager.”

Inori noticed that her adviser’s voice went soft.

“I was ready to commit transgressions if you gave me the signs. I was a fool… for you. It hasn’t changed.”

“And it was a correct thing that I waited for you.”

Oh my god, Teacher Tsukasa! Inori pulled her hair. Unsure if she struck gold. This was the second time she caught her adviser and the science teacher being lovey-dovey.

They have a long history, huh.

She thought of sending Hikaru a text when the door opened.

Aghast, her mouth a complete O, she dropped her phone.

“Ah, your visitor is here, Akeuraji-sensei.”

Jun glared at her. She struggled to get up hastily putting the phone inside her uniform skirt’s pocket.

“So you are the one who keeps taking Tsukasa’s precious time?”

“Uhhhh…” Speechless, Inori found herself in need of water.

The science teacher’s eyes gleamed like a laser beam zapping at her. She was worried that she would fizzle out like a pulverised shrimp. Inori’s image of the cigarette smoke surrounding him still haunted her.

“Stop it, you!” Tsukasa lovingly taps Jun’s arm, then continued, “don’t scare the girl. Go to the cafeteria and get us a table.”

Inori couldn’t shake off the intimidating gaze, she secretly swallowed her saliva.

“Yes, Inori-san, don’t keep him too long. It is our lunch break.”

Eekkk!!!

The poor girl could only nod. barely moving from where she stood.

“Cut it out, Jun. You are scaring her.”

“I am not.”

He winked again. She didn’t have a crush on Jun Yodaka, but she could see his appeal. The small face contributed to his young looks complementing Teacher Tsukasa Akeuraji’s fresh appearance. And his eyes? They reminded her of Aurora borealis she saw from a host of TV documentaries. They matched together. She could see it now. Jun took the other man’s hand and squeezed it.

“See you later then.”

Then he walked leisurely outside. No doubt toward the school cafeteria.

“I am sorry, Inori. Don’t mind him. He’s a good person. I can see that you know the real score between us.”

Teacher Tsukasa’s face was red all over. It even spread to his chest.

“I… I … can keep a secret, Teacher Tsukasa.” Her heart was pounding fast.

“Atta girl! I know that I can rely on you.” A smile broke out from his cheeks.

He invited her in and began to discuss the upcoming school fair.

Who could say no to Teacher Tsukasa?

Sarah hit refresh on the page again, even though the clock read 11:58. The prompt definitely wouldn’t be up yet. It was never early and seldom late. Reading it right at midnight wasn’t actually important, but the anticipation made her twitchy and unable to do much else until she knew what it was.

The first time, she hadn’t known what was going on. It hadn’t even been the first of the month the day she followed the account. She’d been mindlessly scrolling when a long story came up based on a writing prompt. The story was a short but intriguing fragment of a fairy tale, so she’d followed the author hoping to see if they continued it, then decided to follow the writing prompt account that had inspired it for good measure. She scrolled through the posts and saw that a new prompt had been posted a few days before: “helping soulmates reunite.”

That’s when the pen in her pocket had started to vibrate.

Distracted, she’d assumed it was her phone, but that was silly because her phone was in her hand where she’d been reading prompts off the screen. So what she pulled out of her pocket was her grandmother’s pen. It hummed in her hand, making her fingers tingle. But… it was a vintage Parker 51 fountain pen. There wasn’t anything in there that should vibrate, and Sarah was quite sure of that because she’d spent the past couple of days taking it apart to clean it and refill it with ink. It should not be humming.

Confused, Sarah had uncapped then pen, and that’s when the magic took hold

The world around her had started to sparkle, somehow a match to the tingling she’d felt from the pen. She’d stood up in alarm, looking around her, and as she turned, she saw more sparkles flowing from the tip of the uncapped pen and swirling around her before settling on her skin, which was slowly turning lighter.

Am I… hallucinating? Then she looked down at herself. Her fuzzy house socks had been replaced with sensible hiking boots. Her favourite slouchy cardigan had been replaced with a light outdoor jacket.

Sarah glared at the pen for a moment, but it appeared to be done. She recapped it before it could do anything else to her wardrobe, and that’s when her phone buzzed with a reminder that she was scheduled to walk shelter dogs in an hour.

Sarah had not made an appointment to walk shelter dogs. But when she slipped her hand back into her pocket and touched the pen, the knowing took over her.

She’d apparently inherited not only the pen but also powers from her grandmother.

Sarah’s first powers had come from the prompt “helping soulmates reunite” and the knowing had given the explanation that she had a magical girl mission and all the tools and disguise she needed to complete it. But it didn’t exactly say what, just when, where, and the prompt. She’d spent the whole bus ride to the shelter preparing for playing cupid in some kind of meet-cute, but it wasn’t until she’d reached down to pet a shelter dog and suddenly discovered her new dog telepathy that she realized she was going to be spending the month helping re-incarnated pets find their people again.

It had taken Sarah a while to get used to the idea of being a magical girl. Eventually she found her grandmother’s diaries and learned that she’d gotten her prompts from a magazine instead of a website, but the powers otherwise behaved the same. They changed monthly. Grandma had joked that it was like being one of Charlie’s angels but more cryptic.

By the time Sarah hit the prompt “A soft place to land” she’d realized that checking early gave her time to plan and find other ways to use her powers whenever they first activated. The pen let her know when she was needed, but she could transform on her own as long as she was helping someone and it fit the prompt. So the strength she’d gotten as a power to help her save old ladies from bad, life-altering falls could also be used to help her friend move to a nicer apartment with a bit of planning.

The clock ticked over to midnight, and Sarah refreshed the page.

The prompt appeared, but this time it was even more mysterious than usual.

Sarah stared at the words on the page. “What is the prompt?” That seemed… kind of meta? What was she supposed to do with that? Her pen wasn’t humming yet, so apparently no call to use her powers yet. Which wasn’t that abnormal at midnight on the first of the month, but it meant no knowing downloading itself into her brain yet to give her any sense of powers or where and when. She flipped to her calendar but she didn’t see any new entries with the telltale shimmer yet.

Uncapping the pen, Sarah started to write down ideas. She’d been hesitant to use the pen once she’d learned it was magical, but when you find yourself carrying a pen with you at all times it was only a matter of time. It didn’t seem to do anything special when dormant, but it was a nice pen.

“What is the prompt?” could mean helping actors with missed cues. Ugh, or helping vibe coders given the modern use of the word “prompt.” It would be nice if it was writers in need of inspiration, though she had no idea what kind of powers and magical girl outfit would go with that. She’d wondered more than once if the fact that the powers came as writing prompts meant the magic came from the shared creativity of writers. Maybe that was why it was so meta, so she could feed creative energy into her own powers?

The reflection of the stagelights in Harry’s unblinking eyes accurately portrayed the utter lack of thought that was happening behind them. He was struggling to remember what to say next but was unable to remember what he had done just five seconds ago, much less what right at that moment.

He knew he was on stage. He knew there was a performance. He knew this was being shown live to an international audience.

He didn’t know what happened next.

Finally, he blinked and struggled to hide his panic as he struggled to find the prompter. Where was the hidden screen that showed his next line? He looked around using only his eyes. The stagelights were so bright that the glare overwhelmed any attempt to see away from the stage.

He heard a movement off to his left. A fellow performer stepped up to him, grabbed his elbow, and made a great show of dragging the still-dazed actor in a direction he was not prepared to move.

As he stumbled, he heard the audience laugh.

Too late, he remembered that this is supposed to be a drama, a serious portrayal of the human condition. He pulled his arm away from his fellow and attempted to take a serious stance.

The audience laughed louder. A performer from the other side of the stage laughed loudest.

He whirled around to face his heckler and the beams of focused stagelight flew from him to follow his gaze. His vision recovered enough for him to see the performer, now having the audience’s full attention, begin to speak the next lines with confidence and pomp.

Harry deflated in the encroaching shadows. The performer who pulled him across the stage now gently led him to the curtains where a chair had been prepared for him.

“Sit down, Harry. You did great out there!”

Harry looked up at the speaker even as he took his seat.

“No, I did horrible! I forgot my lines! I forgot everything! I couldn’t see the prompter!”

A bottle of water was forced into his clutching hands. “No, Harry. Wait, were the lights too bright on your face? I knew you should have worn the mask to dim the lights.”

“The light… I forgot!”

“As did I, Harry. Forgive me. If you come on the next show, you will wear the mask next time. The mesh will dim the light enough to not trigger anything.”

Oh. That’s right. Bright lights sometimes trigger an absence seizure in Harry. He had forgotten. “Oh no, did that happen on stage?”

His friend crouched beside him and patted his hand. “Looks like it did. Do you want to go lie down?”

Harry held the bottle of water as hard as the audience was laughing at the bumbling scene in front of him. “No. I’m sorry. I ruined it. I ruined it for everyone.”

His friend started softly laughing. “No, Harry. You didn’t ruin it at all. If anything, you saved it.”

“But I forgot my lines, and I just stood there like an idiot!”

It was then that Harry looked at the costume he was wearing. Brightly colored with a mish-mash of patterns, textures, satin, and sequins. No two inches matched each other. His gloves didn’t match. His trousers were streaked. He looked very much like a modern interpretation of a renaissance jester.

“Wait.”

His friend tried to not to laugh.

“Hey… For that scene… What is the prompt, anyway?”

His friend couldn’t look up to face Harry. “There weren’t any spoken lines. Just to stand there and stare at the audience until the next scene is ready. You and Luis then stumble off the stage in this direction together while Hank comes in from the other direction to take the focus. You did precisely what you were supposed to do. And you did it, quite well.”

Hank is suddenly standing before Harry. “Hey! You okay? Think you have it in you to stand for the end? I’ll support you! Come on, let’s go take a bow!”

Luis encourages Harry as well, offering to hold his hand if it would help.

“Together, please?”