#sclera69

“Piece of fuckin-” Drake muttered to themselves, kicking the general area where the tires of their van should have been. A low thump was all they got in return, along with a sheet of snow sliding off the top of the van and further burying the wheels. “Ah, shit.”

Stupid snow. Stupid van. They wrenched the passenger door open just enough to slip inside, running over the situation in their head for the umpteenth time. What were their challenges here? 

Challenge 1: Drake’s van was real fuckin stuck. They knew how to drive in snow, thought they were pretty good at it actually, but apparently they had no idea how to park in snow given the fact that they’d somehow managed to find the singular patch of grass that had absolutely zero traction to offer. It didn’t help that the job took longer than they’d planned for, giving the still raging blizzard plenty of time to bury the van while they slaved away. 

Challenge 2: They currently had four industrial trash bags full of... gunk was the kindest way they could phrase it. And it smelled bad. No way in hell was Drake gonna let that sit in their van until the snow melted. They also couldn’t just load it into the back of a Fuber. 

Challenge 3: They were cold. 

Their teeth chattered as they scrolled through their contacts, hoping they could find someone who owed them a favor, maybe someone they could blackmail into helping. They were well into the T names when they were struck with realization, scrolling back up to the Ps and quickly calling their hopeful savior. 

TW// BLOOD, VIOLENCE, EYE TRAUMA 

Cathal kept his head down against the wind as he walked. It whistled into the eye holes of his mask like icy nails. 

The man turns his head, as if some slumbering part of his hindbrain screams out that something is wrong. Cathal can just see the glimmer of eye-white as he closes the meager distance between them. 

Breath clouded out and was torn away from him in fogging gasps. He could still hear his heart pounding in his ears, even as his steps were measured and even. 

The alley is dark and wet with black ice. His target’s head cracks against the frozen brick wall as Cathal slams into him from behind. The man tries to scream before a hand is over his mouth, impervious to sharp vampiric fangs.

He had to move away from the site. Any direction would do. It didn’t really matter.

This is a high-risk target. It isn’t often that an Ocularis is selected for Removal. He has to be quick. He can’t let him see his mask, in case others are watching. Cathal slams his head into the wall again. The man groans. But there’s a flash of bright metal, a knife, as he struggles to turn towards his attacker. Cathal didn’t look up as he stepped into the street. He knew nobody would be driving now that the blizzard had deepened. Even the streetlights had gone dark.  He banks on the man being too stunned to aim, and he was right. The knife swipes into his coat and snags, missing his skin. Cathal puts one hand over the Ocularis’ eyes and shoves him back against the wall, a knee coming up to drive into the vampire’s gut. The man wheezes and slumps. Unexpected headlights lanced over him and Cathal’s head snapped up, too late.

Cathal rips the knife out of his target’s hands. He spreads the fingers of his hand over the vampire’s eyes just enough to allow the blade through.

A horn blared at him, tires skidding against ice and slush. Cathal tried to leap away, too slow, the van striking him broadside and sending him flying away and into the snow-covered asphalt. 

The vampire screams. Cathal silences him quickly with a jab to the throat. The alley falls eerily silent. The knife flashes and glitters as he stabs into his target, over and over, wherever he can reach. The Ocularis slides limply to the ground, face clotted with blood. Cathal realizes his arms are covered in it, sticky and cloying. He slips the knife into his pocket, steps back once, twice. Then runs.

"The Wampanoag leaders were called sachems," Noemi explained to the class. "They were chosen by the women elders, but people of any gender could be sachems."

"Why were they picked by the women?" came a squeaky voice from the back of the room. Homecoming's library was packed today. More parents were starting to trust her and bring their kids to class. Some even stuck around to listen in. Rubbish sat behind her brother, who'd asked the question, and gave him a supportive pat on the shoulder.

"Well, I'm not really qualified to answer why," Noemi answered, choosing her words carefully. "I'm not a member of that tribe, so I don't have their cultural background. I'd only be guessing.

"But that's a very good question, Grubby," she continued to reassure the young ratkin. "It may be related to them being a matrilineal society. Does anyone know what that means?"

There was silence in the room. Noemi didn't intend to let it go on for long, but finally a young gryphon spoke up. "They only had mothers?"

There was some giggling from around the room, but Noemi was quick to counter it. "That's not a bad guess, but no. You're on the right track though. It means they traced their ancestry though their mothers, similarly to how Europeans traced lineage from father to son. Women were in charge of property and social status."

"Why?" came again from Grubby. Noemi laughed.

"I don't know. I guess that's something I'll have to learn more about. I think we'll stop here for today, then. Looks like I've got homework to do this time." Which wasn't much different from the usual. Noemi was often just one lesson ahead of her own class.

"I'll see you all next week," she said as they began filing out. "If anyone wants to read up on this and one-up me, go for it."

She glanced at the time as she closed her laptop and packed it up. 2pm already. She had a two-hour drive ahead, and she wanted to check with Jesseth to see if he needed any other help today. Sunday had gone from being her only day off to her busiest day of the week. But these kids were worth it, and everyone here made her feel welcome and appreciated.

It was a nice distraction from the rest of her life.

i see now. this was the plan >all along<. you cannot be trusted. top conspirator.

don’t worry i’ve trained for this ever since you told me about spirited englishwomen fleeing into the wilds of scotland. though you might feel spirited one day. can’t be too careful.

thanks. it’s been rough since five minutes ago when i saw my partners livestreaming getting lost on social media

Lane stood silently just inside the mall entrance, sipping her coffee (finally; after the disaster this morning had been) and waiting for Noemi and her friend to arrive. Pepper. The Grey who lived in hiding.

Ideally, the two of them could drag their friend from the funk she seemed to have fallen into. Lane was... not the best at such things, but she could be a reassuring voice backing the other alien’s enthusiasm.

I found a gadget that makes long eggs but I don't like eggs. Do you know if other things can become long? I would like to make a pancake tube, maybe even a cupcake tube. Also, do you know if you can make a mug cake but big?

I feel like a bowl enters the equation somewhere. It should. You have to put things in things or you'd have a mess. No one likes mess. I don't like mess. My customers don't like messes, which is why I sell them bowls.

I used to have a boyfriend that insisted on making this Jell-o salad with oranges and crab for every party that he hosted -every single one no matter the theme, always that same salad, haunting my dreams- and of course I never ate it. He kept telling me that he'd bet $100 dollars on me liking it if I only tried it but I had self-respect. Anyway, he's dead now, good for him, so now I can try it without the weight of a bet hanging over my head. I bet it's disgusting.

I also would like to make bread pudding. I like bread. :+)

@sclera69