full moon fucked over

Ghanee sat down with Jarvis on the oily garage floor as he tinkered with a large, old automobile. It looked valuable and vintage. Jarv was talking excitedly while Ghanee nodded politely and worked on the other axle.

Men and their cars. The obsession never made sense to her: was it necessary to produce multiple cars every year with a different name and engine and fiddly bits that all had extremely vague names, often combined with numbers. She could appreciate the engineering and the design, but the enthusiasm about it was beyond her. However, this was the best-paying job she could find. Ghanee learned to mask her confusion. Besides, she also got to work on the motorcycles.

Jarv had a side business in motorcycles. Easier to buy, sell, and to move around than cars, they had a good two dozen in the gravel back lot, behind the garage and used cars for sale. Jarv would buy old ones and fix them up, making them brand new to sell for cheap.

Ghanee secretly wanted one. She liked the idea of a motorcycle. She liked the mobility and the sleekness that cars were just lacking. Ghanee’s favourite was the dark black one that seemed to lean forwards, even while it was parked. She liked how it only seated one.

A ding-ding! alerted Ghanee to the presence of a customer. Waving to Jarv not to get up, Ghanee slid out from underneath the car to find this prospective client.

"Just-- Just looking!" He stammered, and forced a nervous smile. He'd been coming in once a month for nearly six months now, though he'd forgotten around December-- And November-- And, well, October, too, if he was honest. He'd meant to come in, really.

But he'd walked by the windows enough, that was for sure, and it was still there. A nineteen eighty four, Honda Magna in well-faded candy maroon. Sure, it was missing the front wheel and they'd been working on it for as long as he could remember, and half of it was nearly scraped to death or completely off, but it shone in the low flickering light like a pulse and he'd been drawn to it. Even just glancing.

He swallowed and shifted his hands into his pockets, flickering a glance to the machine: It'd never happen. Not in a hundred years. Not if he left and drove a thousand miles from home.

"Oh, Pretty in Pink is on!" he said, and added, "I mean, I know it’s a kinda— silly move and all, but I like it." He switched channels and watched briefly as Molly Ringwald and Andrew McCarthy kissed in front of a dilapidated house.

Andie reminds me of you, he almost said, but bit down on the words. May was smarter than he was, she’d figure it out. And, Corin figured, if he’d had a worse haircut and clothes from the eighties and, well, functioning legs, he figured he’d be a pretty good stand-in for Blaine.

"I've seen this one!" She announced, a little giddy with the knowledge. Maybe it'd been a long time, but she had seen it. She glanced to Corin and grinned,

"May Forester, close to three PM on a Tuesday afternoon in March," he said, loudly and clearly, and set it in the space between them.

He bit the inside of his cheek as he searched for words and started without them,  "Okay, okay— wait, seriously, okay, I have an— explanation, or whatever, i guess— okay, seriously, I didn’t mean to. Like, honestly.” He punctuated ‘honestly’ with a nod and his eyes widened, as if honesty in him was hard to come by and he knew as much.

"I was with Kirin Pierce and Haley Bos— wait, no, switch that, Haley Pierce and Kirin Bos, at the coffee shop, right?" He didn’t wait for her confirmation. "And so I, okay, yeah, my fault— accidentally, like, slipped up. Told them, yeah, okay. Explained myself, too," he added, with a suspicious look to her. 

"No clue what happened to it next," he said. "There were, yeah, okay, my fault again, like, tons of people there— but I told them to keep it down, okay? Honestly.” 

He dropped his head to perch his chin on his fist and his elbow on his knee, tracing patterns in the dusty dirt with the toe of his shoe. “When you told me you didn’t— you know, kill him, I tore up all my notes and told the administration I had nothing. Figured you needed this place more than I do.” He shrugged. 

"Seriously?"

She wanted to yell at him and hit him and hug him simultaneously. On one hand, he was a fucking moron. On the other hand, the fucking moron had also risked-- And accepted-- expulsion on her behalf, or perhaps just on behalf of the truth: She wasn't ready to give herself too much, or frankly, any credit.

Instead, she shook her head and exhaled shakily, looking at Duncan with befuddlement:

"Jesus. Seriously? Seriously?" She laughed a little nervously, then a little louder, and her hands flew over her mouth, "Duncan! You idiot, I could fuckin' hug you!"

In that instant she didn't give a shit if Kirin or Haley thought she was-- Well-- A murderer. Whatever! They didn't have to believe it. She knew plenty about Bos that wasn't too great, either, just from the rumor mill. And Haley? Well, she had a bit of firsthand knowledge on that particular subject. Besides, Pierce kept to herself and her skating, mostly: She wasn't the type to blab. So someone else heard and spread it? Only a rumor.

Only a rumor now. Sure, there'd be lots of-- Damage control-- But what would the police believe? Evidence or rumors?

"I think it’s about space travel," he said, a little doubtfully. Did’ja know, if two pieces of metal touch in space, they become permanently stuck together?" he added, and gestured to explain,

"No, really! Two pieces of metal without any coating on them will make a single piece in the vacuum. This doesn’t happen on earth— ‘cos the atmosphere puts a layer of oxidized material between the surfaces. ‘Course, you’d think it’d be a big problem on the space station but as most tools used there, are, you know, from earth, so they’e already coated with some kinda material."

He lit up and it made her heart lurch and her stomach tightened. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed that--- Or maybe she'd just been denying it. She swallowed and laughed a little,

"No! No, that's-- That's kinda neat, actually. I didn't know that. So, what, they just become one hunk of metal?"

She whistled, "Sounds intense. They just go THUNK and colide, just like that? And then they're one."

has she killed you yet if she did just type back 1 wait

Duncan pressed his lips together to smother a grin and glanced back at May, but his repressed smile soon turned to a vaguely disgusted look of protest as he said, “I am not,” with as much gall as he could muster, but still he let his backpack slide from his shoulder onto his arm, and he set it down, instinctively reaching for something from the back pocket. He unzipped it and brought out a square, smooth plastic box with several buttons—

"Tape recorder," he said. "My hand was cramping up." He eyed her, and then dropped his gaze, "Okay, okay, I’ll put it away. Sheesh."

He sat, and raised a brow,

She raised her brow, "Record away if it makes you feel better. I really don't care. I'm not here for recordings." She frowned and removed her hands, empty and threatless. She realized too late how suspicious she'd looked, and felt a little guilty--

But only a little. Shifting her weight she looked Duncan up and down. Kinda scrawny, definitely nerdy-- Probably faster than he looked. She could probably out run him, but she'd be winded, she figured.

Soooooo.

Right. Taking a deep breath, she met his eye and asked,

"Did you seriously fucking tell people you thought I murdered Chad? Because-- People are talking, and it's not a great position to be in, y'know?"

At the mention of Thalia and Nik being ‘friends,’ Kirin couldn’t help but break into a huge grin. “Well, yeah.” she said, nearly bursting with giddy teen energy. “Thal has a crush on Nik—” She stopped herself, growing red. “Please— Don’t tell anyone I told you that, or she won’t trust me. I’m supposed to put in a good word for her.”

The giddiness faded quickly as she remembered the last moon. “I don’t think that electrical knowledge is gonna help him in wolf form. Unless you have your anchor, you’re not you. You’re just a wolf. A really scary one, but still.” Kirin bit her lip, picking up her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. If Nik had been caught, she had no doubt that Gaius would do everything he could to get Nik back, but Gaius was only one person. He couldn’t do everything. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest.

His tongue ran over the scars inside his mouth, and the bitter tang of healing flesh reminded him, that yes, he could be frightening. He flushed further, hands curling at his sides: Could be? Are.

His brow knit slightly, trying to process. He'd heard rumblings of anchors, but frankly, he'd dismissed the idea. What kind of anchor could a guy like him have, anyway? He didn't like people or things, and people and things don't like him much, except Polly, but she doesn't count-- He scared her, too.

"Er... I guess we could give it a shot. I think 'we; would work better, I mean, like you said."

"Are you— r’you saying that because." He brushed his palm over his cheek and momentarily pinched the bridge of his nose. "Because you want to— think that, I guess? I mean," he started, and clarified, "because you want to think that I don’t wanna— be there, or…" He shrugged, stiffly, the bandages around his chest limiting motion.

"Because," he said, and looked away. “‘cause then— you’re dead wrong." There was something large and colorful playing on the television and he stared at it without seeing it. 

"I don’t know much about independence," he added, almost as an afterthought. "But— there’s a lot to be said for all or nothing," he murmured, and glanced at her. His right hand moved to brush at the back of his neck, "and a lot to be said for sucking at things, I guess."

He shrugged. “You suck at being independent. I suck at walking. Darcy sucks at— I don’t know, a lot.” 

"...You're right. Not even probably right, just-- Right. Thanks. I mean," She glanced to him holding his nose and tried to not smile but failed at it and felt stupid and aloof, and muttered, "Thanks for not being what I thought you mighta' been. You're a nice surprise."

She shrugged, "And Darc' may suck at... A lot. But she's got her good points. And there's plenty you don't suck at," She nudged him, and in doing so, moved slightly closer.

The television was distracting. She blinked, then asked, "Hey, what show is this?" 

"I  asked you for a reason,” he added, quietly. “And you would’t give me one— okay, okay, I’m going,” he said, and raised his hands in the ‘don’t shoot’ signal, though it seemed aggressive and half-assed. 

He moved down the hall backwards for a short time and turned, almost tripped over his own feet and rightened himself, flushing badly, but kept his lowered as he jogged down the empty halls. 

—

"Dunc’, buddy, what’re you going to do?" Marvin Melvin said and turned in his seat in Chemistry to look pleadingly at Duncan, as if there was something he could do. Duncan sighed,

"Cut it out, will you? I’m trying to learn." He sighed, propped his chin on his fist, and underlined a portion of the text without knowing if it was useful or not.

"Yeah, okay," Marvin said, doubtful, and turned back. A moment passed, and he turned and said, "I think you should fake thick. Go home."

"I’m not scared of her," Duncan said, and watched the clock tick from 2:18 to 2:19. "And I didn’t tell you so you could be scared of her, either."

"Yeah, okay," Marvin said again. there was another moment of relative silence. "I’m just thayin’, and all, for your wellbeing."

"Gotcha." Duncan chewed the end of his pen.

"Because, man, you really don’t want to get in a fight with a— well, you know," he said, and looked nervous. After a beat, he dropped his voice, and murmured, "You know— a killer.”

"She didn’t kill anyone," Duncan said, and dropped his fist to rest his cheek on his desk. 

"That’s what you thaid," Marvin said.

"Woah, woah, woah, I was the one on the case," Duncan said, and raised his head. "Look, okay, I made— a mistake. I did. Got it? Okay, okay. Whatever. I made a mistake because it all added up and I let it out to the whole school and now— and now Forester’s probably going to kick my ass at the bike racks. You win some, you lose some."

"But you’re lothing it all. You just got ecthpelled, man!" "Thanks, Marv. I can always count on you to cheer me up." 

The teacher shushed them, loudly, and both Marvin and Duncan fell silent; Marvin was the only person Duncan knew who actually paid attention to the announcements, and so he busied himself with making spitballs and sticking them to the back of Marvin’s head. 

When the bell rang, Marvin stood up and frowned. “Is there thomething on the back of my head?”

"Nope," Duncan said, and slung his back over his shoulder. It felt heavier than usual as he passed by the front entrance and down the hall where the vending machines were but didn’t work, and he pushed open the door into the alley and was vaguely disappointed that the fire alarm didn’t sound (it was broken, Duncan knew, and had been for two or three years) even though he knew it wouldn’t. 

He hefted his backpack up on his shoulder and moved out of the alley and to the side of the gym. Girl’s volleyball was having practice; he was only a little interested. 

At Duncan's approach she tossed her head, the hood falling back, and exhaled:

"Fuck, Detective. I thought you'd bailed. Glad to see you've got some stones."

She glanced to the gym behind her and frowned, "They're a racket, huh?" She'd had some time to calm, to mellow out. Rehearsal wasn't until five, and the ability to escape the rather dramatic and idiotic notions of her pressing reality was enough to make her relax slightly. Sure, she was still hell-bent on wanting to punch Duncan's face in, but she considered that a pretty normal reflex to...Well, Duncan.

"Ever see one of them fall?" She lifted a brow, "It's like magic, I swear to god. They squeal and then -- It's like two water balloons hitting plywood. Then they bounce back up and start again. Fucking amazing."

"Okay, okay, whatever, lower your voice, c’mon, Forester—" but he came to the realization that if everyone knew (damn you, Pierce, damn you, Bos) there was little he could do in terms of voice-lowering or not.

"Okay, okay, can we do this— okay," he said, and wilted a little under her gaze, but plowed on steadfast, "You’re reasonable, May, I know you are— you’re a reasonable girl, right?"

"Fine. I don't see what the difference it makes, but fine. After, by the bike rack by the North Gym. If you're not there I will find you."

She held up one finger and prodded him in the chest, "No later than fifteen minutes after, Duncan."

With that, she turned and stalked off, her bag bouncing on her back, looking for all the world like a cat who'd had it's tail stepped on. She had things to say-- But now she had time to figure out how to say them.

---

The bell rang at 2:36 each afternoon, the announcements ten minutes prior, and chaos thirty seconds prior to announcements. Due to Eli's absence, though, Marcy whatshername was filling in-- And her voice was nervous and half-stumbling over each message as May drummed her fingers on her desk, head pounding:

"And, uhm! The Spanish club will be meeting at Two...Forty five. Sal-oo-dos!

Uh. Our Principal would like to remind everyone that-"

"Excuse me," A voice cut in in the background. May frowned as Erza cut through, "I have an additional note for Four H-" "Oh! Uh. Go ahead."

"Thanks, uh- Four H meeting this week has been cancelled due to precedence of Junior Counsel about Junior Prom! This years theme is Giving and Caring! Half proceeds for tickets are going to the Baxter memorial scholarship fund, set up by..Junior Coucil. Thanks! And, uh, gracias por la club de Español!"

"Thanks Roo-weeze!" "Er, it's-" "AND THAT'S ALL THANK YOU! GO WITH SAFETY!"

The bell rang, cutting her off. May couldn't believe she was missing Etheridge's voice, but his dry sense of humor-- She couldn't tell really if it was funny or just alarming sometimes--and his no-nonsense approach was infinitely preferable to step-in guests and Marcy's dragging things on. Throwing her bag over her back, she moved out the classroom quickly, with determination in her step.

'I think falling in love for the first time is such a transcendent feeling, you know? It’s like eating pizza flavored ice cream. Your brain can’t even process that level of joy. I really feel like our whole lives no matter how low our self esteem gets there is some part of us that thinks, I have a secret special skill that no one knows about, and eventually we meet someone who’s like “you have a secret special skill” and you’re like “I know, so do you, let’s eat pizza flavored ice cream together.”

And that’s love. It’s a mountain of pizza flavored ice cream and… delusion.’

But he couldn’t tell her that— for fear she’d run, like she was wont to do, for fear he’d cry, for fear he’d break something. Get angry. He didn’t like being angry— he’d always delegated it as a job to Darcy. He was sure she was angry enough for the both of them— at what? At May? But she’d been angry before May and she’d be angry after May. 

At Corin? It seemed possible. It seemed more than likely. He didn’t want to think it, so he didn’t. In psychology, he remembered from a class, that’s called repression, and eventually  neurotic behavior occurs when repression develops under the influence of the superego, and the internalized feelings of anxiety, in ways leading to behavior that is illogical, self-destructive, or anti-social. 

He frowned at his cereal. A superego. It was a few letters away from a superhero and seemed more probable of existing anywhere near him.

"Sure it is," he said, slowly, unsure of what his words were even as he spoke them. "Useful, yeah, I guess," he murmured around a bite of cereal, covering his mouth with one hand; "I ‘unno," he said, after a while. "No people are good, too."

Because since he’d been in a chair it was people, people, people— and maybe he needed them only because they were there. There had been Darcy and his parents and his teachers and physical therapists and strangers on the street who couldn’t keep their mouths to themselves, the bastards…

"There's no inbetween and it's kinda shit on both sides, huh?"

She considered this thought and nodded. "Yep. Can't live with them, can't live without them."

She swallowed and added, very carefully, "Sorry I've been one of the can't-do-with-either people. Sorry. I just-- It's.. Kinda new." Her hands twisted around each other, as she struggled to explain without explaining... Everything.

"It's not that the Ruiz' aren't good people to depend on, but they're always there, and it's like... Such a shift from independence. Miserable, cold, stupid, proud independence, which is great until you nearly fucking freeze to death or you need someone and you realize you fucked everything over."

Her exhale was shaky, "And before that, it was like-- I lived with.. This foster family. And they were all there for each other and me and when.. I needed them it was good. And then-"

Her voice caught, fluttering in the room, a moth of sound and memory, of lights and torches, of low puddles, the smell of oil, forced hands, water rising in her throat, into her nose, bubbles, a dark surface-- Waking up alone. Again. 

"It ended." She swallowed and shrugged. "Nothing I could do. So I decided I could do fine by myself and-" She laughed bitterly, "Clearly I suck at that."

Duncan sighed and shut his locker, and his reflection in the two-inch mirror stuck to the back of the door promptly disappeared, and with that his resolve to tell his mother about getting expelled— no doubt the letter was already in the mail but he’d been fortunate enough; a thunderstorm, and for whatever reason the mail hadn’t gone out the day after that, too, with the roads being icy and wet— Duncan had to note that the whole ‘rain nor sleet nor hail’ bit was a hundred-percent fib.

Not like Duncan was judging or anything, either— sure, he’d fibbed just as much, too, but he tended to think that being a national organization and all, they might have a little more tact about their promises and deliverances. He supposed that he ought to have delivered when his mother dropped him off at school the morning previous, but he’d skipped on that, so in reality, he wasn’t much different from the United States Postal Service, which, he thought, said a little something about his character— or, maybe, that official kinds of services shouldn’t act like sixteen-year-old boys, if he was going the opposite way about it, and that way suited him all right, too. 

It was just that he hadn’t been looking forward to it all, he reasoned, and besides, everyone needed a day off. Elias Etheridge had sure taken all the days he wanted— but even now Duncan could only summon up some vague curiosity over what had happened to their student government vice president.

It seemed that Seacrest wasn’t much interested in him. So he wasn’t much interested in Seacrest.

After a moment, he realized, frustrated, that he’d slammed his locker shut out of frustration with the right words for explaining to his mother refusing to come— and forgotten to get his books. He frowned and unzipped his jacket, shrugging it off as he prepared to put it away—

"Oh, hey. May Forester, girl of the hour," he said. "Did y’hear? I’m expelled." He laughed weakly and chewed his lower lip.

"That means they won't mind if I decide to ask you what the fuck you think you're doing, telling people you think I fucking murdered CHAD FUCKING BAXTER."

The bell rang and she glanced to the classrooms. She had English to get too but it wasn't a priority. The hall officer would be rounding the corner soon, however, and that was important- "Come on."

What did she mean? She was the 500 piece puzzle he left with Darcy for days scattered over the living room floor, and by the time they’d had it together every corner was tattered and the image scratched— but they’d known it was a good picture before they’d put it together and it even if it wasn’t as bright as before it was still.. Special.

And even if it wasn’t hung up on the wall and if he’d never seen it again and had given it to the toy drive two Christmases ago it still— meant something.

And he was sure she meant something to, but it was always the same with May; whatever she meant escaped him and he knew— he thought he knew she intended it that way but there was nothing else to do beside add more milk to his bowl and listen to the clink of metal on bowl as he set his spoon down,

"Good." She smiled relentlessly and looked over to him in full now, "I'm glad to hear you are."

There was a cracked pause and she found her hands fluttering to themselves. Sure, I need people-- But what sort of people? Was she one of them? She probably wasn't the sort of person a person needed-- Not like air or water or light. Maybe someone that you'd see now and again, but not someone for whom you'd feel the pangs of loss if they vanished for weeks at a time.

When she came back it might be a relief, but it'd be brief. She wasn't the sort of people a person needed. Her lips thinned, and she almost missed the last half-

I'm kinda lucky.

She nodded and her expression neutralized. She hoped his luck held out.

"It is--" She struggled for words briefly, then decided, "Useful." No, that made them sound like commodities--

"I mean, not useful like..Useful, but. It's good. To-- Have people you can have near you when you..Need people. I dunno." She ran her fingers over the knuckles of her left hand nervously,

"I'm not really used to being in that position. Sorry-" She blurted, realizing it sounded like blame, "I'm just-- It's my fault. Shit, that was a stupid question. I'm sorry."

How had she handled herself so well upstairs when all she did with Corin, it seemed, was to come back to the same old thing, to fuck everything over? Her confidence with him rose and fell in waves- She wore down and rose up unpredictably and it bothered her, but certainly not as much as it bothered him. One minute she was aloof and fine and he didn't need to know anything and then she wanted to tell him anyway.  What the fuck, May? You hate burdening people-- But it's all you seem to do anyway. 

Kirin frowned, trying to remember if she’d seen Nik since the incident. She shook her head. “No, I haven’t… He wasn’t at the house when Gaius and I met there the next day, so he must have followed me out of the building when we were let out. Shit!” 

"She.. Would, right? They're like, friends?" He wondered if he sounded clueless. He felt clueless. Stupid, stupid!  "I don't think he'd be that-- Reckless. I mean, guy works with electricity and shit, right? He knows how to play with fire. Uh. Metaphorically speaking and all." Frowning, he added,

"If anything happened, I'm sure Gaius can-- could-- would handle it, right?"

She swallowed, lips pulling thin before she continued, “But… Things are getting worse and if Gaius isn’t here then we d-don’t stand a chance.”

They really didn’t, did they? None of them knew any real control yet, although- Kirin touched a small pouch on her necklace, next to her pendant- they were perhaps starting that journey. But two nights a month was too short a time to learn anything and it was too long a time to run around without control.

"Yeah- Yeah. Uhm- No, I think I'm good. Just," He glanced around, and cleared his throat, "Maybe not so tight- Er- Around the back of the pants?" He flushed and muttered, "My little sister's gonna come see this thing... She's really excited."

He cleared his throat, and a thought occured to him. Brow knitting, his moved his hand off the door handle and asked suddenly,

"Hey- Have you seen Nik..? Like, recently? After we- I mean we didn't go back to the house, so I don't know if he was there or anything-- It kinda got.. Chaotic. And I haven't seen him sense. D'you think...?" He trailed off, and his chest tightened. God. He hoped he hadn't been caught. He hoped Nik had the sense he was born with to get out and to evade, but there was no way he could have known that-- No way he could've--

He forced himself to stop thinking about it, and swallowed hard. He managed, carefully,