Thanksgiving

What does Thanksgiving mean?

Food?

Family?

Thankfulness?

Being thankful for for the good things in your life

Is really really easy-

But what about when there isn't much good

When people die

When life seems to keep just throwing punches

When you're tired, you're sick

When the world is this big bad scary monster

Instead of a place you live in-

What about then?

Can you be thankful for hardships?
It's hard.

It's possible.

It's necessary.

Even if you can only be thankful

For the fact that the sun is still shining outside

For the fact that you're still breathing

For the knowledge that "this too, shall pass"

For those who support you while everything is falling

Even if you can't be thankful for what's happening

Thankful that they're not in pain anymore

Thankful that this will strengthen you

Thankful because your God does not have plans to harm you 

And because of that you know you're going to be okay---

It's vitally important

That no matter what we go through

Despite sunshine and shadows

Despite flowers and the mud beneath

Despite happiness and sorrow

We carry the spirit of the holidays

The spirit of Thanksgiving

And carry so much of it that our hands cannot hold anything else.

-KH

Introducing The Cause Of All My Emotional Problems Part Two

Hello, dear readers!

Ready for more stories?? In this next installment, you get to meet the ex-assassin who Clair befriends, watch as O'don finds out about Clair's strained relations with a certain blond villain, and get sucked into this fabulous tale of friendship and roommates. Hold on to your hats-- this ride can get wild.

 The Space Mercenary Finds Out Some Things About Clair And Later They Gain Another Roommate

Later that evening

I stick my head into the doorway of the living room, where O’don is watching TV.

“I’m heading out.”

He looks up. “Where to?”

“Out,” I reply, impatient to go. I have a time-sensitive mission waiting for me, something dealing with sneaking into an office building and checking out weapon plans. “I might be back late.”

He raises an eyebrow. I hastily exit before he asks questions.

“Just don’t let him know too much about your job, Clair. You never know what a suspicious, possible threat would do. You know how to handle this kind of work. He doesn’t need to get involved.”

I roll my eyes, recalling Dad’s words. He’s right, of course. O’don doesn’t need to get involved.

 It’s way later than I expected when I get back. Way past midnight. I open the door softly, trying to keep from waking up O’don, since I’m assuming he’s asleep. I hear the TV blaring and wonder if he fell asleep on the couch. Clutching my bruised ribs, I look into the living room and find the couch empty. I walk over and turn it off, plunging the room into darkness and silence. With that comes the same feeling someone’s watching me from earlier. I turn and find O’don leaning against the doorway, very much awake.

“I was watching that.”

He walks past me and turns the TV back on.

“Out a bit late, were you?” He raises an eyebrow, glancing over the A.R.R.O.W. uniform. “And with quite a fancy suit.”

I open my mouth to respond, but he cuts me off.

“What’s up with all the bruises? What were you doing?”

I sigh. “It’s none of your business, and anyway, I can’t tell you.”

He tilts his head. “If we’re going to be roommates…” he says, copying my statement earlier.

I walk out of the living room, brushing past him. “I really can’t tell you. You’d be in danger.”

“I’m living in the same house as you. Wouldn’t that put me in danger anyway?”

“You’re safer not knowing.”

“This is an A.R.R.O.W thing, isn’t it?”

I stop and turn around to face him. “Well, yeah, that much is pretty obvious.”

“But you can’t tell me what you were doing?”

“Nope.” I start up the stairs, slowly, every bruised muscle protesting.

“Looks like you took a beating,” O’don remarks, following me.

“Things didn’t go as planned.”

“And what kind of plan was there in the first place?”
I glare at him, too tired to even argue. “You’re not going to give up until you find out.”

“What can I say? I’m a naturally curious person.”

“It was an infiltration mission. I got caught,” I admit, adding hastily, “Their security was better than we had anticipated.”

“Ah.”

We reach the top of the stairs.

“So were you just going to sneak into the house?”

“I figured you would be asleep.” I open the door to my bedroom. “I need to change back to civvies, if you’ll excuse me.”

He notices the dark red stain on my sleeve.

“Is that your blood, or someone else’s?”

I give him a disgusted look. “Doesn’t matter.” I try to close the door.

“It’s your blood, isn’t it?”

“I’m fine.” I close the door, turn away, and roll up my sleeve.

 That guy with the knife was fast.

I reach into my dresser and pull out a first-aid kit, wrapping my arm in a bandage.

“That doesn’t look fine.”

I turn and glare at O’don, who had opened my door.

“I’ve survived worse.”

“Like what?” He crosses the room and takes my arm, examining the bandage, to my annoyance.

“I’ve been stabbed. Shot. Almost drowned, once. Half a dozen other major injuries.”

He drops my arm and grins at me. “Seems like a lot of people just want you dead.”
I shrug, wincing slightly. “Comes with the job. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” I steer him out the door. “I need to change.”

  Things settle down in about a week. O’don and I get used to living with each other, I get used to living in a place that isn’t floating hundreds of miles in the air, we get used to the house.

Of course, it’s now that something totally disrupts all of this. Well, two things, actually. First of all, Will finds me. Second of all, we gain a new roommate.

It was a Monday when I encountered Will. I was walking home from the grocery store, having run to get more ramen, when I feel a cold breeze blow from behind me. Previously, the warm summer wind had been keeping my hair out of my face. I turn, clutching the plastic store bag, and glare at Will.

“Where have you been?” he calls lightly, stepping away from the shadow of the alley where he’d been hiding. “You haven’t been around the Lift.”

“I moved,” I reply, taking a step back.

“Ah,” he replies. “Got tired of taking orders from your lying father?”

I clench my fists. “I’m still working for A.R.R.O.W.”

He tilts his head. “And looking none the better for it.” He steps closer, invading my space, tracing the remains of a bruise on my jaw.

I back away, narrowing my eyes. “I do what I have to.”

“You could be like me. You could join us.” He sighs softly. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. But you and I both know I can’t join you and that Uprising.”

“And you and I both know I can’t join you and A.R.R.O.W.”

I take another step back. “Then why don’t you just leave me alone, now?”

He moves close, taking my arm. “You superheroes, you’re so weak. You wouldn’t force me to go to your side, it goes against your precious moral code. I have an advantage,” he informs me, trying to pull me down the alleyway. “I don’t have a moral code.”

I try to pull away, but his grip is stronger than I remember. He lucked out on grabbing the arm with the still-healing stab wound, so I can’t pull too hard without risking opening it again. I hear approaching footsteps and pray it isn’t another Uprising member.

“Hey, Clair, I hoped to catch you at the store. We’re also out of—“

O’don pauses as he takes in my predicament.

“He a friend of yours, Clair?”

I glance over my shoulder at him, shaking my head slightly. I want to tell him to run and get out of here. Will is too dangerous.

“I could ask the same thing,” Will says, looking from O’don to me.

“O’don, this is Will, Will, this is my roommate, O’don. Now we’re all introduced, so you, Will, can leave, and O’don and I will go home.” I tug against Will’s grip persistently.

“Or, perhaps, I’d like to get better acquainted with your roommate, Clair,” Will says, loosening his grip on my arm slightly. He takes a step closer to O’don, giving me the chance to twist out of his hands and grab his arm this time.

“Leave him alone,” I growl. “If you lay one finger on him, I swear I’ll—“

Will laughs at me. “You’re cute when you try to be scary.” He wrenches away from my grip, tenderly touching the bruise on my face again. “I’ll leave you to him, Clair, but don’t worry. I’ll find you again.”

He’s gone.

“What was that about?” O’don raises an eyebrow.

“Remember talking about the fact a bunch of people want me dead? Yeah, he happens to be part of an entire group that hates me.”

“There’s literally a whole group just for people who want to kill you?”

I shrug. “I mean, mostly they want to overthrow the government and take over the world. I keep on stopping their plans, so yeah, they don’t really like me.”

“Ah.”

“What were we out of?”

“Milk.” He yawns.

I hand him the grocery bag. “I’ll go get it. Here’s the ramen.”

 Lucky for me, I get to avoid explaining about Will to O’don by getting a mission assignment. There’s a guy hiding out in an abandoned warehouse who’s wanted for, like, a ton of murders. So I take the milk to the house, change, tell O’don I’m leaving, and get out before he asks questions.

The sun is just beginning to set as I approach the warehouse. Pushing the door open cautiously, I brace myself for attack as soon as I step foot inside. Nothing happens for a long moment until I hear the crash of a glass bottle breaking upstairs.

He’s known for drinking. He kills and then steals a bunch of beer. There’s a high possibility he’ll be drunk when you find him.

I walk up the narrow ramp to the second floor, avoiding loose boards. The sounds of loud swearing and more bottles smashing lead me to a small, thin-walled room in the back.

He sees me as soon as I open the door, and he knows exactly what I’ve come for.

“Whaa… no…” he slurs, stumbling to his feet, the beer bottle in his hands shattering on the ground. The entire place reeks of beer, and glass shards cover the floor like a carpet. “I can’t go back…”

He charges me, fists swinging recklessly. I dodge once, twice, and land a solid punch on his jaw. It doesn’t do much to the huge man, just disorients him, but that’s all I need. I grab his wrists firmly and pull out a pair of handcuffs.

“You are under arrest in the name of A.R.R.O.W, charged with the murders of—“

The glass window that had so helpfully brightened the room now shatters. Seconds later, my captive collapses to the ground, dead, with a bullet between his shoulder blades.

I bend down and check for a pulse. He was dead before he hit the ground. I turn to the window and squint into the sunlight. A shadow leaps from a neighboring roof and flees.

I give chase.

Dashing down the shady alleyway, I suddenly hope Will doesn’t catch me now. This was probably a really bad idea.

Oh, well.

Distracted by the sudden turn ahead, I don’t notice the foot stretched out from a small hiding spot right at my feet. I suddenly find myself tripping, falling, and then I’m flipped over onto my back and there’s a knife at my throat.

“You saw nothing, A.R.R.O.W agent,” a deep, female voice warns. “You—Hold up. How old are you, kid?”

I blink, surprised by the sudden change of topic. “What’s it to you? Who are you, by the way?”

“You’re, like, twelve. What is A.R.R.O.W doing recruiting kids?”

I stiffen. “I’m a special case.”

The person with the knife relaxes a little, the blade pressing more gently.

“Who are you?” I shove upwards, surprising the lady, and slip out from under her.

“That’s none of your business.”

“It is when you kill my target. I needed him alive.” I stand warily, eyeing the tall, dark lady.

She makes no move to attack me  again. Not yet, anyway.

“Yeah, well, I was paid to make sure he was dead.”

“By who?”

She gives me a tired look. “You know what, I didn’t even pay attention to that. He gave me money and pointed me in the right direction.”

“What kind of assassin doesn’t know who paid them?” I mutter to myself, relaxing my posture a little.

“Ex-assassin,” she corrects. “This was going to be my last job. I’m retired now.”

“Ah.” I am slightly confused, but, whatever. As long as she isn’t trying to kill me, this lady actually seems pretty interesting.

She turns to leave and pauses. “Wanna get some Starbucks?”

I hesitate, about to say no, before hearing approaching footsteps and feeling a cold breeze at my back.

“Yeah, sure. Let’s go.”

Don't ask how, because I'm honestly not sure, but somehow this ex-assassin, who goes by Black'Fang and refuses to give her real name, becomes the occupant of the third empty bedroom in the house.

And no, I'm not looking forward to telling my father that I'm now sharing a house with an extraterrestrial and an assassin.

__________________________________________________________________________

And that, dear readers, is just the beginning. 

From here, the story tends to dissolve, shattering into a multitude of headcannons, one-shots, and roleplays. Things for the next six or seven years of their lives are less certain, more speculative, with a few more solid stories thrown in here and there. I'll keep posting about these one-shots, roleplays, and so on in the future, so as to properly introduce this cast of characters before everything comes to a screeching halt and spirals into flames. 

Enjoy!

Everybody's Story Deserves To Be Told-- Even If You're A Villain

Before I even start the story, I shall make you, my reader, a promise.

This story will have a happy ending.

There, I made it. You’ll need to hang on to that promise, because there’s a lot of bad stuff in the beginning, and even more in the middle, and the area around the end is worst of all. But it will all work out, I promise. Remember I promised.

Are you ready?

Picture it now, red velvet theatre curtains, spotlights just in the middle. Then the curtains are pulled apart and a scene is revealed.

And we are watching a kid get beat up.

What?

Oh, yes. You read right.

The bigger kids surround the shrimp of a boy, teasing him, jabbing with boots and fists and words.

Get over yourself, Miss Malane.

Miss Malane wants to run home to her mommy!

Don’t be such a girl, Malane.

Mac Malane, the little kid, is close to tears. This is the first time this has happened to him, but he knows it won’t be the last. They found out how sensitive he is, his artistic streak, his soft side, and it’s like blood in the water and sharks.

Boys are supposed to be tough.

He hates it. He hates his soft side. He hates the taste of the tears rolling down his cheeks, he hates the blood running down his forehead. He hates being helpless.

But sometimes to be soft you must be strong.

So he just puts his head down and rolls with the punches.

And that’s what he does all year. And the year after that. And the one after that, and after that, and after that.

Until that day.

The day he snapped.

Nobody talks about that day now. It is lost to the progression of time, killed by the refusing voices, kept alive only in the minds of those who were there.

Mac still doesn’t know how it happened. He was there and he was taking the punches and then he was on top of the other kid and punching. Punching repeatedly, mechanically, until some teacher dragged him off. The other kid could’ve died, they had said, if it weren’t for the timely intervention of the teacher.

Nothing was ever the same after that.

Whatever snapped inside of Mac stayed broken. He was no longer sensitive and artistic and kind. Mac Malane became a name to be feared instead of taunted, and he walked the halls with the predatory grace of a shark.

“It’s like his heart is black,” his parents used to sigh, “like a permanent stain killed all the light inside.”

He hated when they said that. He hated them. He, in fact, hated everyone. Everything. Anything to do with what he was before. Anything that made him think of how helpless and weak he used to be. The first few years were rough on him, rough on everyone. Then he managed to control the anger and the hatred and cooled it into something else.

Something worse.

Even in the emotional state he was at the time, his first kill was the hardest.

But isn’t it always?

He hated his parents. He hated them, even after he cooled down. They kept trying to fix him, as if there was something wrong. They kept trying to help him even when he told them he didn’t need help. They were an obstacle and they needed to be removed.

They never deserved it. They were good people. They did their best. Went to church. Brought up a kid and tried to save him when he went down. Did all they could for their family.

But now they’re dead.

He was nineteen when he did it. He killed them and then ran, left the country, laid low in England for a year or so. Then he returned and got caught.

He spent time in jail, but thanks to bad politics and revolts and rebellion over jail time and faulty records, he was out within the year.

He knew he needed an alias. No more Mac Malane, he needed something new. Different. Better.

It’s like his heart is completely black now. Like a permanent stain killed all the light inside.

BlackHeart seemed fitting.

It wasn’t long before word got around in the underground. One thing led to another, and before he knew it, the man known as BlackHeart had over fifty confirmed kills and assassinations and was, once again, someone to be feared.

Was there ever guilt? Regret? Fear?

Of course.

One day he looked in the mirror and all he could see was the blood on his hands.

One day he woke up screaming with the voices of the dead in his head.

One day he made a wish that he’d never snapped that day.

And one day he stopped regretting. He knew it meant he was weak. He knew weakness would no longer be tolerated, not any weakness from him.

So he just stopped.

He would look back, occasionally, and pinpoint the places where things kept going wrong. But he forced himself to view those times as necessary, things that only made him stronger in the long run, things that helped him by harming him.

And one day he looked in the mirror and saw a villain. A strong, powerful villain. Someone to be feared. Someone who was not weak, sensitive, soft.

 Someone who he never wanted to be.

And here our story ends.

You see, I lied. And there’s something to be learned from this story, too.

Sometimes people break their promises. Sometimes you just can’t trust anybody, no matter how good their lies sound.

Sometimes people do bad things. Sometimes people don’t get redeemed after they do bad things. And sometimes when people do bad things, they just can’t stop doing bad things and they have to keep going.

And sometimes?

Stories don’t all have happy endings.

-BlackHeart 

Introducing The Cause Of All My Emotional Problems (Or At Least 40% Of Them)

Hello, dear readers!
This time, I'm not even going to talk about how it's been forever since I've posted... I know it's been nearly a month, but I promise I tried. 
In the meantime, I've been sucked into a world of... well, of a lot of things. It started out simply enough but soon became a swirling whirlpool of secrets, priorities, misguided betrayals, misunderstanding... a place where the black and white I'd originally seen blurred into about twenty thousand shades of grays and nothing is as it seemed.
Disclaimer... none of it was my fault.
Well, okay, maybe 20% of it is, but we can blame all the rest on the friend I'm writing these stories with. You know who you are.
Anyway, the universe we're writing/have written uses my main characters who you already know and of course love, Clair Fury and William Helado, and two of my friend's OCs, Black'Fang and O'don. I just want to throw out that I don't own them but I'm using them in my blog anyway because I'm a terrible person so that I can expose my lovely readers to the trauma my friend has exposed me to :)
So here are the first two stories as to how it all began!
_______________________________________________________________________________

Clair Has An Awkward First Encounter With A Space Mercenary 

Clair's POV 

I slip through the crowd, eyes on the passing faces and the description in my hand.

Black hair up in a bun.

Purple markings on the skin.

Most likely wearing a suit.

“Shouldn’t be too hard to find,” I mutter. Nevertheless, it takes a good fifteen minutes to find anybody similar to the description. When I find them, I follow orders; wait till they don’t expect it, wait till their back is turned. Then make the move.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” I reach to tap on their shoulder.

They turn around.

Wait. Oops.

“Yes?”

“I-I’m sorry, sir.” I catch myself blushing. “They didn’t give me much detail.”

“I get that a lot, no big deal,” he replies easily with a smirk.

“They told me you were the person to see.”

“About?”
“I’d like to get into the… modeling project. From what I heard, you’re the one with connections.”

“Interesting…”

He tilts his head—I get the feeling he’s sizing me up.

“You’ve got the jawline for it.”

I’m at a loss.

“Thanks…?”

“I could probably get you in, no trouble…”
I can’t help it—my face lights up. Never before has this been so easy.

“…For a price.”

Great. Of course...

“I have connections of my own. You’ll get money.”

“Money first, action later.” He almost looks like he doesn’t expect me to pay up right away.

“Fair enough.” I pull out my phone, tapping the case. “You want to take money right away?”

“As soon as you can get it to me. Before I’ll get you in.”

“I can bring it in right now.” I rapidly type out a text and send it. “They’ll be here in a second.”

His eyebrow arches slightly.

A moment later, a tall man with dark sunglasses approaches us with a suitcase. I take the bag and the man leaves.

“How much?” I ask, lifting the bag.

“Six hundred.”

“Perfect.” I hand him the suitcase. “You happened to pick the exact amount I brought.”

He opens the case, rapidly confirms the contents, and snaps it shut again.

“You’re in.”

   I start work the next day. O’don, as he called himself, managed to get me in as his secretary. So at nine in the morning, I pick up a white latte and head into the hub of one of the largest modeling agencies out there.  I find O’don talking to a couple of tall men in black suits—much like the men I’m surrounded by on a daily basis.

“Tell the old man the job’s done and whatever that skimpy little woman says it’s the truth.”

 I focus on the conversation, however, I had purposely positioned myself in a way that they wouldn’t be able to detect me in the crowd.

Technically, I’m just dropping in. Not really eavesdropping if it’s my job, right?

However, this tactic fails, because as soon as I came close to the perimeter of their small area, the model waved them away.

“You made it,” he greets as if nothing suspicious just happened.

“Yeah, traffic was a bit insane today.”

He tilts his head slightly, studying me. “Ready to start today’s work?”

I hand him the coffee. “Always.”

  It’s not until later when I find a chance to do my real job here. I’ve been kept following O’don around all day as he talks to various people, most of them other models, nearly all of them girls. Nobody notices me and I remain anonymous behind my clipboard, covertly scanning the people around me. Late afternoon is when I finally get a chance to get my hands on a computer and do some digging.

“I’ll be back soon,” he tells me, walking out of the office.

“I was just going to get a little paperwork done in here,” I reply. “Should I wait for you?”

He barely glances back at me. “If you want.”

And he’s gone.
I quickly sit at the computer and pull up all the records of the models in the agency. With keywords like ‘recent’ and ‘male’, I find the one I’m looking for. He’s hiding as a model in this agency, posing as a newcomer to the industry ‘with potential’. That means if I just keep my eyes open long enough, I should get my chance.

O’don returns just as I finish up. I quickly click out of what I was doing and open a random fan-fiction tab.

“Still here?”

I close the tab and the laptop. “I just finished.”

“Fan-fiction? Didn’t think you’d be into that.”

I blush awkwardly. “You never know about these things.”
“Hm.”

I stand up from the desk, picking up my clipboard. “If you don’t need me for anything, there’s… someone I need to find here in the agency.”

Just as I say this, I see the one I’m looking for.

And he sees that I see him.

“Well—“ O’don begins, breaking off as I brush past him.

“Be right back!” I call as I sprint out the door.

“What?”

I’m too far away to reply. The one I’m chasing is fast and not above shoving people and objects in my way as he escapes. I dodge a potted plant, spilling brown earth on white tile, and put on a burst of speed. If I can get him before he reaches the doors…

With another burst of energy, I tackle his legs just before he would open the door. We both go crashing to the ground, and I manage to scramble onto his back before he can move.

“You’re under arrest by order of A.R.R.O.W for the kidnapping and murder of Travis Swartz,” I announce, retrieving a pair of handcuffs from my pocket and securing the man’s wrists.

The sound of applause startles me. I glance up to see O’don leaning against the wall, clapping.

“Well handled,” he says smoothly, as if this is a completely normal thing to see your secretary do.

I stand up, brushing myself off, keeping one eye on my catch and one eye on O’don.

“All in a day’s work,” I reply evenly.

“A.R.R.O.W, huh? Never heard of them.”

I notice the surrounding people staring with curiosity.

“Not so loud,” I mutter, glancing around. “We tend to work outside of the public eye.”

He shrugs.

I lean down and haul the handcuffed man to his feet. “I should get him away from here.” I glance back at O’don. “I’m fired now, I’m assuming.”

He takes a sip of his coffee. “…Yeah. You’re fired.”

_________________________________________________________________________________

Clair Has A Slightly Less Awkward Encounter With A Mercenary And They Become Roommates 

                                                    ... A Few Weeks Later...

Clair's POV

“I’m moving out,” I announce.

Dad blinks. “Wait, really? This is the ultra-big life-changing news you had to share?”

I shrug. “Big news to me.”

“I mean… I figured it was only a matter of time. Believe me, I’m happy for you.”

“Happy for me, or happy that I’ll be gone most of the time now?”

He rolls his eye. “Maybe it’s both.”

“Love you, too, Dad.” I grin.

“When are you moving?” he asks, changing the subject.
“Tonight, hopefully. I have a line on a house for cheap rent.”

“Nice,” he nods.

I glance down at my watch. “Speaking of, I should head out. I’m supposed to meet with the landlady in like, ten minutes.”

He steps forward for a quick hug. “See you later?”

I nod.

“If all goes well.”

  I step out of the car and immediately see the landlady, standing out in front of the door.

“Hi there,” I call with a broad smile, walking closer.

“Glad you could make it,” she says lightly, shaking my hand. “Care to see the inside?”

“If it’s as pretty as the outside, I can’t wait,” I reply, looking up at the white exterior and dark blue door.

She smiles and opens the door. “Now this is a two-story house, but I decided to open it up to two people, to help cut the rent. So, you’ll have a roommate.”

“That’s fine,” I respond, eyes adjusting to the dimness of the hallway.

The landlady leads the way into the living room. “Still here?” she calls to someone inside.

“Yep,” replies a somewhat familiar voice.

I step into the living room and blink. I recognize him as O’don, the guy from the modeling agency I worked at a few weeks ago.

Wait. Something’s different.

His ears, instead of looking like normal human ears, are long and pointed. He also has interesting purple markings under his eyes and a snake-like tattoo on his arm. He half-turns and sees me.

“Oh. Hey.”

He’s decidedly somewhat wary, now. Not quite like the calm, confident man at the modeling agency.

“Hi,” I reply with a little wave, deciding not to bring up the change in appearance… yet.

“You two know each other?”

“Kind of,” I admit.

“Ah,” the landlady says, looking a little caught off guard.

“We’ll get along fine,” I assure her, turning away from O’don. I don’t know about him, but I definitely don’t want to give up this chance at a cheap two-story house. I suppose if he really doesn’t like it, he can leave.

“Sure,” O’don agrees, handing a sheaf of papers to the landlady. “I signed everything already.”

I smile at the landlady. “And I’d be glad to go ahead and sign the papers, too.”

“You haven’t even seen the rest of the house yet…”

I shrug. “If it’s as nice as what I’ve already seen, I’m sure I’ll love it.”

O’don gives me a weird look, which I catch out of the corner of my eye.

The landlady hands me a stack of papers, which I read through carefully and sign.

“It’s yours,” the landlady announces when I hand her the papers. She hands both me and O’don a copy of the keys and leaves.

I half-turn to face O’don.

“So… the ears?”

He gives me a look and walks out of the room.

I frown at his swiftly retreating form and turn around, examining the living room. The walls are white and all the furniture is dark fake leather. There’s lots of windows, giving the room a light, airy effect.

I step into the hallway and find a kitchen across the hall. This, evidently, is where O’don went after rudely leaving me in the living room.

I walk in and lean against the counter. He ignores me.

“Are we not going to talk about the whole, ears and tattoo thing?”
“No.”

I frown at him again. At least he isn’t just going to leave the room again.

“Why not?”
He just looks at me and sips his coffee.

“I mean, you already saw I’m not technically a normal person,” I point out. “And I’m more curious than anything.”

He leans against the counter, giving me a very obviously fake smirk.

Of course, now that I’ve seen his real side, it doesn’t take much to recognize the fake exterior.

“I’ll tell… for a price.”

I roll my eyes.

“Seriously, if we’re going to be roommates…”

He raises an eyebrow, waiting for me to finish.

“Keeping secrets isn’t going to last long.”

He looked a bit taken aback.

“Honesty is the best policy,” I remind.

“Honesty? Really?” He smirks dryly. “What kind of world do you live in, kid?”

I fold my arms, regarding him coolly. “I’ll find out sooner or later.”

“Personal space is my policy,” he replies, turning to leave.

“I mean… the information sharing doesn’t have to be all one-sided here,” I offer.

He stops, barely glancing back at me.

“I’d answer any of your questions… providing the answer wouldn’t endanger anyone,” I continue.

He sighs. “What’s your favorite color?”

I blink. Okay. That was unexpected.

“Yellow.”

“Weird,” he comments.

“Okay, now you get to tell me what’s up with your ears.”

“That’s not how it works. You can ask me a question on the same level as my question.”

“So we’re, like, going to work up to that? Fair enough.” I think for a moment. “Uh.. What’s your favorite food?”
“Coffee.”

“That’s not food,” I object.

“Yellow is a weird color,” he replies, finally turning to face me.

I roll my eyes. “Fine.”

He tilts his head. “Want to continue with the questions?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Alright… what’s your favorite animal?”

“Foxes.”
“Alright, nice. Your turn.”

We continue like this for a while, barely moving up in the intensity of our questions. He refuses to give anything. I won’t give much up either. We’re almost at an impasse when O’don slips up.

“What does the acronym of your agency mean?”

I blink, startled by this level of question.

He realizes the mistake. “Wait—“

“No, you already asked the question,” I announce.

He gives me a purely done look.

“Actually, nobody really remembers what the initials stand for. The meaning was lost, like, a century ago after the organization first shut down and was restarted.”

“How about… A.R.R.O.W; A Really, Really Odd Wheelchair,” he suggests.

I laugh.

“Or—“

“Wait a minute,” I interrupt. “You’re just doing this to get away from the question game.”

He groans in response.

“Would that level of question get me an answer about the ears?” I ask, mostly out of curiosity.

“Absolutely not.”

I sigh. “Worth a try. What about the markings?”

“Possibly.”

“Oh?”
He looks at me. “How about, I get to ask you two questions, of any depth, and then I’ll tell you about the ears. And the markings.”

Finally. “Fair enough. Ask away.”

“Are you single?”

Wait. What?

“Uh. Yeah, currently.”

“And… what’s your number?”
I give him a weird look. “Wait, is this whole thing just you hitting on me?”

“Yes.”
At a loss for words, I just give him another weird look.

He shrugs. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“I’m flattered, but—“

“So, the ears are because I’m not from Earth. The markings are a sign of my clan.” He yawns carelessly, as if it didn’t matter much.

Now I’m just really confused.

“Okay, wait, let me get this straight. You’re an alien, and you pretended like that was a big deal just to weirdly hit on me?”

“Yep.”

I cross my arms. “You’re really weird.”

“Glad  you noticed.”

I glance down at my watch. “Oh, uh. I should go back and get my stuff. I told my dad I’d be back.”

“You still live with your dad?” Something flickers across his face, but it’s gone before I can read it.
“Not anymore, I don’t.”

“You seem awfully anxious to move away from him.”

I shrug, already turning to leave. “I love him and all, but we don’t exactly see eye to eye on, like, anything, and I’m super tired of fighting with him.”

“Ah.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

“See you then.”

Packing up my stuff took much less time than I expected. Arguing with my father about having an alien for a roommate was much more of a hassle.

He didn’t want me around ‘that kind of person’.

I pointed out it would be easy for me to keep my eye on a potential threat if I’m roommates with him.

He told me nobody knows what kind of stuff he’d been doing in space before coming to earth.

I informed him O’don works at a modeling agency and he helped me with the modeling mission a couple weeks ago.

He said that didn’t mean anything.

I pointed out that this was how my friendship with Will started.

He mutters something about “because that worked out so well”.

And I leave.

After making my way across town, I arrive at my new house. Shifting the suitcase in my hands, I unlock the door and step inside, noting the distinct scent of O’don still in the house.
“I’m back,” I call.

“Neat,” O’don replies from the living room, where he’s watching TV.

I poke my head into the doorway.

“Did you pick a bedroom already? The landlady said there were three. I’ll take whichever you don’t want.”

“Mine’s the blue room at the top of the stairs,” he replies, not even looking up.

“Alright, cool.”
I drag my stuff upstairs and look around. Immediately on the right is a closed door—I assume that’s O’don’s room. One door slightly open reveals a bathroom. I open the next door further down the hall and find a yellow bedroom decorated with white and light grey furniture, much like my old bedroom. The next bedroom I find is painted white with dark furniture, like the living room. I go back to the yellow bedroom and drop my suitcases.

Unpacking takes up less time than packing did. All I need to do is sort out my clothes into the dresser and put up all the books I brought onto the shelf in the closet, and I’m finished. Halfway through, however, I get the unsettling feeling someone’s watching me. I wait one, two seconds, and then whirl around quickly, claws unsheathing instinctively.

O’don raises an eyebrow. “A bit jumpy, are you?”

I hide a sigh of relief. “You startled me.”

“I noticed.” He leans against the doorway, watching me. “Nice knives.”

I look down, having barely realized they had come out. “Uh. Thanks.” I quickly retract them, a little embarrassed. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

He shrugs. I continue unpacking.

“That’s a lot of books,” he comments.

I glance at him. “I read a lot.”

“Apparently.”

O’don yawns and moves to sit cross-legged on my bed, still watching me unpack.

“So what’s the deal with your dad? Is he in the A.R.R.O.W business, too?”

“He’s the leader of the entire organization, so I guess so.” I keep my eyes on my work.

“Must be nice.”

“Not always.” I shrug. “He gets paranoid.”

“Don’t most fathers?”

“He’s not my real dad,” I mutter, remembering our argument earlier.

The conversation dies.

“You never did give me your number,” O’don reminds me.

I sigh. “Listen, I’m just going to warn you, people dating me basically  never turns out well for, like, anybody.”
“Why is that? Your father?”

“Kind of.” I put the last book on the shelf and turn around, task completed.

I mean, it is my father’s fault I’m in the business. And this business is dangerous for relationships.

“So if that’s a warning… what if I don’t listen?” He gives a charming grin.

“You’re an interesting and nice person, and I don’t want you to get hurt,” I reply, leaning against the dresser.

“And that means…?”

“No. Sorry.”

He shrugs, then goes for dramatics. “Oh, it’s no big deal…” He stands up with a deep sigh. “I’ll be downstairs, recovering from a broken heart.” He starts out of the room and glances back. “I’ll try to survive,” he adds, heading down the stairs.

I know full well this is an act, and he knows I know. A moment later, he pokes his head in the room.

“Want some ramen?”

_________________________________________________________________________________

And this is just the beginning, dear readers...

You haven't met Black'Fang yet, or found out what happens to Will, or heard of all that occurs between a crazy group of roommates, or anything yet. With any luck, next weekend will bring the next story for you guys as long as I don't completely give up by then. Until then, go and read my guest post on my mom's blog!(  http://fourlittlepenguins.blogspot.com/ )

--Kaytie