2.2 Geb
6th of February, 2011
I had put aside today for painting.
But not any kind of painting, not exactly.
I side-eye the Millenium Spellbook on my bedside table, my week-long project now complete – and now sporting an elegant leather-and-gold hardback I have zero recollection putting together and by this point am just a bit too spooked to ask. Finishing it had made me aware of something, right at the edge of my perception, thrumming under my skin, like a sense I never knew I had finally unveiling itself to me.
And I know what it is. My Ka, my vital energy, at least according to the Egyptians of old, millennia ago.
And I also know of a way to weave it into a spell, a ritual, that would call upon the Spirits to lure the one resonating the most with my Ba, my soul.
I didn't even have to crack the Spellbook open to learn it, since I was the one who wrote it front to back. I already know everything there is to know about what the YuGiOh translation I've read a lifetime ago downplayed as 'Shadow Alchemy'.
In truth?
It's Soul Magic.
Soul Magic of the very stupidly deadly kind.
And I am not about to touch that with a ten-foot pole as long as I have any say in it. Not because I am creeped out by it – and by the Throne am I creeped out by it! – but because it's heavily reliant on rituals, ceremonies, symbolism and sacrifices, making it wholly impractical by every possible metric.
What I am about to do today is, frankly speaking, the least objectionable application of this branch of magic, and it would've killed someone without my ressources.
See, the Egyptians of old from the world of YuGiOh sacrificed people to carve the first images of Duel Monster Spirits in stone tablets to then use them during their Shadow Games. They used the vital essence of an oftentime involuntary participants to fashion a stone vessel able to house the soul of a Spirit, which a Summoner would then be able to use as a medium to summon said Spirit during their spooky ritualistic death games.
In theory? I shouldn't be able to paint the image of a Spirit without sacrificing someone to it first to weave their Ka into the painting.
In practice? I have the Panacea and can use my own vital essence instead, which is a nice workaround for the issue. I mean, it's not like I'm fundamentally opposed to the idea of nabbing an Empire sympathizer off the streets to give him a better use, but disappearing bodies is messy and full of busywork, and that's before people start asking uncomfortable questions like 'hey, did you see John?'.
And I hadn't been able to find another way to reach the Spirit world besides this sole avenue because, spoiler alert, it isn't a thing in Worm.
Ergo, I had put aside today for painting, two doses worth of Panacea safely hidden amid my supplies to not keel over mid-session, all because the kid at the back of my mind really, really wants to pull the Duel Monster Spirits' gacha and see what comes out on the other end.
Which the adult part of me is currently cautioning me against, because there's probably a thousand and one ways this could go wrong, but–
"What if it's the Dark Magician Girl?" I challenge adult-me.
–it could also go very right in equal measure.
Humming a tuneless song under my breath, I uncap my first tube of paint and start to paint.
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VxKwueTfSKw&list=RDVxKwueTfSKw&start_radio=1
And as I start to channel my Ka into the brush–
–the canvas takes a live of its own under my delicate touch–
–and between two blinks, I am elsewhere.
I stand alone atop an endless pool of dark, oily water, surrounded by absolute darkness on all sides.
Unbidden, I feel myself shift in a combat stance, my eyes darting all over the place.
Yet I am alone, and remain so for a long, long time, until holding myself ready for a battle that never comes becomes too tiring.
Right as I finally start to unwind, the faint sound of displaced water behind my back breaks the oppressive silence of this too-eerie realm.
At first, I barely make her profile amid the ever-present shadows as she unhurriedly stalks my way.
My first glimpse of her is a dark-purple leather clad and studded leg, tapering into a point that stabs into the dark water laying at our feet.
My second glimpse of her is the broken, wretched doll she cradles protectively to her torso; a wretched and abandoned thing those glass eyes stare lifelessly in the distance.
My third glimpse of her is her deep blue skin, broken by puppet-like limbs and a mess of metallic parts where a flesh and blood abdomen should be on a human body.
My fourth glimpse of her is the jagged, roughly sewn together scar at her neck, alluding at the most grievous death she once survived.
And my fifth and last glimpse of her is of her stern visage as she looks down at me. Silent and judging, weighting my worth as she peers at me with deep-seated yellow eyes surrounded by their oppressive, dark sclera.
I feel so, so very small as she closes the distance between the two of us until she stands right in front of me.
For an instant that seems to stretch forever and ever, neither of us make the first move. Me because I know with absolute certainty that I'm beyond powerless in this realm, and her because she has yet to make her decision.
Until, out of nowhere, a little smile curls the edge of her lips. It is not a kind one, nor even a comforting one. It is something almost hungry, predatory, the one I can easily picture a tiger making right before pouncing on its prey.
Slowly, the smile never leaving her face, she bends closer to me, right until her mouth is nearly flush with my ear.
She whispers one word in a too-cold breath, one that scratch at the folds of my brain, carving itself into my very being–
–and I–
–know.
I fall down from my chair, my head swimming and with an object clutched in a death grip in my hand. The grip is familiar and a blurry-eyed look confirms my suspicion.
"T-Three–," I slur slightly while weakly trying to sit after letting go of the empty vial, "Three doses would have been way better."
A knock at my bedroom's door forces me to focus in the right-the-frak-know.
"Yes?" I ask aloud, having to repress my first urge to hiss through gritted teeth as my everything hurts soul-deep.
"Jacky? Are you alright?" aunt Zoey's voice reaches me through the door, "You've skipped lunch already and I'm worried."
A distracted look toward the razing sunlight peaking through the window tells me that this is now very late in the afternoon and I have to repress the urge to wince a second time.
"I'm alright aunt Zoey," I pause to catch a shallow breath, "I guess I got a little too into it?"
A pause.
"If you say so," she answers, her tone neutral, "Dinner's almost ready, and I don't want you to miss it a second time, young lady."
"I'll be there," I promise.
I wait for an answer, but all I get is the sound of her footsteps as she climbs down the stairs.
I release a breath I didn't know I was holding, before feebly sitting on my bed.
Only then do I look at my painting.
My eyes land on a perfect rendition of the stern and somber look of Dark Necrofear, standing alone amid a decrepit and dusty room, her doll cradled in her arms.
Right at the edge of my thoughts, I feel a sliver of a darkly ominous and utterly alien mindset, one who speaks of revenge beyond the grave and tenfold paybacks.
I make a face, before sighing explosively.
***
Night has fallen and I lay motionless under my comforter, still too emotionally wired to sleep despite my bone-deep exhaustion as I stare at the ceiling without really seeing it.
The Spirit closest to my Ba is Dark Necrofear, the body-snatching Fiend who can kill you with just one look and haunts you from beyond the graveyard in the series. The signature card of Yami Bakura, or more accurately Zorc-body-snatching-Bakura through the Millenium Ring to enact his vengeance from beyond the grave.
And I can't help but think in circles about what it means about me.
Is it through sheer happenstance that I find myself bound to this particular Spirit?
Is it because she's genuinely one of my favorite cards in the whole game and my subconscious guided both the ritual and my brush toward summoning her in particular?
… Or is it because Jacqueline Barnes used to be a very real little girl, and that I took her place when I woke up in her body a month ago?
And the more I think about it, the more this last hypothesis makes sense.
I have an entire backload's worth of memories just sitting right here, in the back of my head, one from which I occasionally tap into to play my role and which sometimes slip through when a detail pulls my attention toward it. Almost an entire decade's worth of a life lived, of happier times with a loving family in a familiar country.
Memories I keep doing my best to repress in favor of furthering my goals as I walk down a path of conflict and destruction toward a purpose that is so many times bigger than myself, hoping to succeed is nothing more than man's response when faced in front of unbeatable odds clad in hubris.
Yet…
Yet, despite myself, despite the odds, despite the sheer existential dread of living in a world on borrowed times, I'm starting to like it.
Another go at life, from another angle.
Extending a hand upward, I look at my too-thin, too-dainty fingers and my pale flesh.
"I like it," I mumble to myself.
"I like this whole mess, the challenge, the thrill of it."
Unbidden, memories of the aftermath of my little showdown with Sophia comes to the forefront of my mind and I feel my cheeks going red-hot.
"And I like this new body of mine, dammit!" I admit to myself at last, "No matter how I got it."
I absentmindedly rub my thighs together as my eyes drift toward the portrait standing on my easel.
"Fine, I get it," I grumble, "We're somewhat alike, you and I.
"But you better pull your weight, or I'm going to be very cross."
A low, dark chuckle echoes right at the edge of my mind and I feel a ghost-like touch atop my head.
Did she just–
I pout, huff, and bundle myself in my comforter, ignoring my blazing cheeks at getting a headpat.
***
7th of February, 2011
Sophia was gone, and it was all the parasite's fault!
Worse even, Emma only learned of it today despite her hero having left Brockton Bay two days ago!
Two. Whole. Days!
And if that little parasite hadn't stolen her phone, she could've–
She would've–
She hadn't been here when Sophia needed her, and that was killing her inside!
Even more than the looks her mom kept giving her, like she was weak, sick, something to be protected!
Like she couldn't see her strength!
The parasite needed to go, and Emma had a plan.
She was going to make her hate her life until she left. Simple, easy, efficient.
Emma walks into Anne's old bedroom, fully intent on stealing the parasite's things to throw them away when nobody was looking–
Her eyes land on a painted canvas standing on a child-sized easel and something in the back of her mind curls in fright.
She only realizes that she's taken a step back afterward and it pisses her off something fierce.
Once again, she steps further inside the room–
Grave-cold, ghost-like fingers wringing her neck–
She yelps out loud as she stumbles back, her back against the wall and her eyes wide open.
Unbidden, her eyes slide toward the portrait. A creepy, dark figure, sternly looking back at her, a broken doll cradled protectively in her arms.
Emma only realizes that she's hyper-ventilating once she's properly pay attention to her breath.
"No way…," she whispers under her breath, "There's no way…"
She flees the room, her back slick with sweat, never noticing how the portrait's smile curls up as she does so.
And when she would later show it to her mom, swearing on everything she owns that something is wrong with it, it would be back to being a perfectly normal, if creepy painting.
[AN: Jacky rolls the DMS gacha! And her prize is a creepy body-snatching Fiend with a doll fixation!
Like explained in text, the reason she rolled this particular Spirit is two-fold. First, because that's hands down my favorite card in the game – Yami Bakura vs Yami Yugi atop the Zeppelin in Battle City is my favorite duel of the OG YuGiOh! show – and second because it's thematic and fits both her Ba and her circumstances as a body-snatcher herself.
Also, Dark Necrofear is going to haunt the shit out of Emma every time she tries to pull a fast one over Jacky. Which I'm sure is going to be absolutely fine in the long run. :3
2.3 Geb
8th of February, 2011
Zoey kept drumming her fingers against the wheel as she drove her niece to Juniper Middle School in the morning, occasionally worrying at her lower lip while side-eyeing the younger girl.
Truth be told, she is a bit worried for the girl. Not due to her youngest's tendencies to cry wolf about Jacky's supposed haunted painting, no, but rather because her niece's rather unique artstyle couldn't possibly come out of nowhere. Especially after she quietly learned from her husband that her niece painted with her feelings.
In Zoey's opinion, the girl has always been a little withdrawn and cagey around them – a behavior she's convinced part of the blame lays at her youngest's feet and her absolutely awful attitude with her cousin – more often than not keeping to herself in her room, but this somehow managed to take the cake.
Zoey could've understood if her niece had been a couple years older – god knows how she had coped with the throes of teenagehood herself – but this kind of imagery at twelve years old, going on thirteen?
She couldn't help but worry.
"Jacky," she eventually tries as the morning's traffic crawls to a stop at a red light, "Are you alright?"
Her niece looks away from the window to give her a slow blink of confusion, before tilting her head slightly to the side right before answering.
"I'm fine, aunt Zoey," her niece answers, her tone honest, if interrogative, "Why do you ask?"
Zoey worries at her lips for a beat longer, enough time for the light to turn green and the traffic to restart, before sighing under her breath.
"I saw your painting," she eventually ends up saying, gauging her niece's reaction in the corner of her eye all along, "It's–," creepy as hell, "–unique?"
She has to actually repress the urge from cringing as she lamely tries her best not to hurt the girl's feelings and makes an awful job of it.
"Thanks," the girl answers back with a little smile, eyes all crinkled up at the perceived compliment, "I wasn't sure where I was going with this, but it ended up turning alright, I think."
"And do you know where you were going with your painting now that it's done?" Zoey awkwardly hazards, inwardly relieved that the girl hasn't taken offence and hasn't closed herself off at an imagined attack.
"How would I put it?" her niece hums in the back of her throat in consideration, one hand distractedly coming to cup her chin as she does so, her usually warm brown eyes turning a little glassy as her gaze gets lost in the distance, "... It's about the loss of innocence and how it forces you to change, to grow up, sometimes even for the worse."
Zoey blinks, before turning her head a quarter of the way to give her niece a confused look of her own.
"Really?" she can't help but blurt out, because she certainly wouldn't have described that ode to creepiness that way in a thousand years.
"The doll is your innocence. It decays and withers as time goes by, as you're forced to acknowledge how the world truly works," the girl answers, her free hand making aimless gestures in the air to illustrate her words, "As for the woman? It's easy to see that she isn't a good person. She doesn't look like one, doesn't smile like one. She's wicked, fiendish almost, yet she still carries her doll around."
Her niece's eyes focus once more and she looks back at her as the hand cupping her chin drops back into her lap.
"Even the evilest person on Earth still carries a part of their innocence everywhere with them. An inner child that never truly dies, no matter how warped their views of the world can be," the girl cocks her head, and Zoey has to repress a shiver as she gets an impromptu case of goosebump at how intense she looks in that moment, "The loss of innocence, pulling the strings of your adult life; that's what this painting represents."
A heavy silence falls in the car as Zoey's niece turns away now that her piece is said.
Alright, she silently exhales under her breath while slowly her fingers from the wheel to loosen them up, maybe I misjudged the situation.
Maybe Jacky is simply a very precocious artist, her mouth goes a little flat despite her best attempts at not letting her true feelings out, with a very unsettling artstyle.
"Do you truly believe it?" she finds herself asking in a bid to shake the awkwardness that has now settled in the car.
For a beat, her niece remains silent.
"... There was once a boy called Jacob," she starts, her tone low, almost contemplative even, "Whose parents didn't like him very much. So they put him into a box, pretending it was for his own safety and so that they wouldn't have to take care of him beyond occasionally feeding him. Out of sight, out of mind.
"Yet the boy believed them. How could he not? Those were his parents after all. Surely they wouldn't lie to him. Surely they cared about him. Surely they had a good reason to keep him in the box, right?
"Until one day, the boy got out of the box, and he realized that his parents had lied to him. They kept him in the box simply because they couldn't bother with him, and it broke him.
"'Till this day, the boy named Jacob never shook off that revelation. He'd see the world burn to forget that betrayal, the loss of his innocence on the altar of child neglect," Zoey's niece pauses, before adding, "So yes, I truly believe it."
Despite herself, Zoey finds herself swallowing in apprehension.
"Jacky, where did you hear those things?" she asks.
Her niece side-eyes her, before smiling thinly.
"Now aunt Zoey, that would be telling."
And try as she might, Zoey Barnes would never get a clear answer on the topic.
***
I had made very little progress on my tinkering yesterday and it had left me in something of a pouty mood.
Not because I had still been too tired after binding Dark Necrofear to her painting – and also kinda-sorta myself? I'm not entirely clear on this – or because I hadn't found the time to do so, no.
The true reason is far simpler, and also a lot more aggravating than that–
Ghost-like fingers, mussing up my hair.
"Quit it," I hiss under my breath, "Not while I'm at school!"
An amused chuckle echoes at the edge of my thoughts and I have to repress a powerful urge to scowl.
Simply put? My Spirit is a bit of a mother-hen who spent the entirety of the afternoon bothering me until I conceded and got a start on learning her magic.
Which, on one hand, it's great! Having some new tools in my arsenal is always going to be useful!
On the other hand, I'd really appreciate it if my consent had somehow been included in the learning process!
I pleaded, bargained, whined, until my Spirit finally got the hint and accepted my point of view.
I still had to meet her halfway though – or she'll probably start haunting people to get back at me or something – so I'll be learning a spell a week until I'm caught up with her repertoire.
Is the prospect exciting? Yes, absolutely.
Will it mess up my schedule? Also yes, which is my main gripe about the whole thing.
But Dark-chan is more transparent than she thinks she is – comes with the territory when you mainly communicate by sending feelings other people's way – and I know that it's because she doesn't want me to be defenseless – even if it is far from being the case already.
Still, all of this is going to eat into my already rather sparse time with YuGiOh, which means that I'll probably have to take another look at my short list and see what I need to prioritize.
"–cky, you with us?" Louise's voice wrenches me from my musing and I force myself to focus back on the now as we all make our way back from the cafeteria for our afternoon classes.
"Sorry, I got distracted," I apologize with an awkward smile, "You were saying?"
My friend very theatrically rolls her eyes in exaggerated exasperation, unleashing a concert of titter at my expense, before saying.
"I asked if you wanted to come for a sleepover Saturday," her annoyance vanishes like snow under the sun as she excitedly babbles, "We've known each other for ages–"
"A little over a month."
"–and we still haven't had a true girls' night–"
"I don't think those words mean what you think they mean."
"–where we watch cheesy movies, paints each other's nails, do silly games–"
"Please don't add what I think you're going to say."
"–and talk about cute boys," my friend – clearly fed up with my antics – glares at me, cheeks all puffed up and with her arms crossed over her chest, "So! You're cordially invited and your refusal will be refused!"
I blankly look back at her with my best deadpan look, before woodenly locking eyes with Missy.
"Is she for real?" I can't help but ask the Ward in disguise and our group's token voice of reason in this madhouse that is middle school in America.
"Hey!"/"She is," three guesses as to whom those voices respectively belong to, the first two don't count.
I frown a little, my lips pursed in thoughts.
"I had some things I wanted to do on the weekend," mainly tinkering, mostly tinkering, "And I'm not sure my guardians will accept. I should probably ask them first," my eyes go back to Missy and I find myself asking the question burning the tip of my tongue, "Are you coming too, Missy?"
"It's a sleepover, of course I do," she answers back with a confused look.
Uh, so there's still a child hidden somewhere under the 'Miss Tough-as-nail-Shaker' attitude, I mentally grin, I'm glad she still takes the time to be a child when she isn't strutting on the Boardwalk.
Though that does represent an opportunity…
"I'll ask my guardians about it, promise," I tell Louise and the rest of the group at large.
Said girl ends up fistpumping while hissing 'yes!' under her breath, to our shared amusement.
***
I close the attics' door behind my back and only then address the air aloud.
"Dark-chan, are you there?"
An unseen hand, straightening my blouse's collar.
"I'm going to take that as a yes," I chuckle, before turning serious, "Listen, I really, really need you to let me focus on a project. It's extremely important, vital even."
I get the mental impression of a disapproving frown at the edge of my thoughts.
"Let me explain!" I voice aloud while starting to pace a little, "Saturday's sleepover is a big, big opportunity for me. See, Missy is a hero–," a sharp look, "–no, not that kind of hero, urgh!" I look heavenward in a bid to find some strength, "It's entirely different and I honestly don't know how to explain it in a way that'd make sense to you. She has the ears of important people, important people that I don't want sniffing after me, alright?"
I get a vague sense of acquiescence from my Spirit, which I take as a sign to carry on.
"So if I can pull off a heist and get seen doing so at the other side of the town while 'I' am peacefully sleeping at Louise and Missy knows it for a fact, then I'll have an ironclad alibi for the foreseeable future when those same people finally starts putting two and two together, which will throw them off my trail, see?"
A reluctant sense of agreement hovers at the edge of my thoughts and I brief a sigh of relief.
"I'm glad you understand," I smile at nowhere in particular, "So please, let me work in peace on the hologram tech this week, and I'll learn two spells the next, deal?"
Stillness, something that feels like a grumble, then rueful acceptance.
"Thanks," I chirp aloud, already making a beeline for my work station.
I pause, then ask the empty air.
"Do you want to help me?"
Perfect silence is the only answer I get.
"Figures," I huff, before delving into it.
2.4 Geb
12th of February, 2011
I straighten up and away from my work station in the attics, distractedly blowing up a loose strand of red hair out of the way as I look at the result of my work, the night sky already lightening up through the window as the sun crawls closer to the horizon.
It took me almost the entire last five nights' worth of time, but I pulled it off.
"It's so… tiny," I can't help but wonder aloud as I look closer to the end product of my nearly sleepless nights.
A functional hologram generator from the ARC-V generation, the tail end of an entire innovative branch.
And I only landed here because I went through every generator's generation one after the other, groking its underlying principles by completing the end result, then dismantling what was outdated and/or I didn't have a use for, before starting back from scratch for the next generation.
Over and over again, until I reached my goal.
As a side-note, I now know a frakton about electronic hardware and miniaturization. Probably enough that giving Dell a glow up is going to be a breeze.
I blank a little as I start going in my head over the potential schematics for the potential project–
Cold hand, gently shaking my shoulder.
Until Dark-chan jostles me out of my musings, prompting me to snap out of my sleep-deprived, tinkering-fueled haze.
"T-Thanks, Dark-chan," I mumble under my breath while failing to hide a jaw-cracking yawn with the back of my hand, "'Should go back to my room now that I'm done, I'm beat."
I've still a bit of programming to make, but it shouldn't take me that long and I can whip it up after catching some z's.
I stumble toward the attics' door, flip a switch I installed during the course of the week – waste not, want not – and sneak my way back to my room.
I'm asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.
***
Three hours of sleep and a dose of Panacea to cheat my way out of my bone-deep exhaustion later, I'm a functional human being again.
"Rewind the last minute, please" I mumble under my breath, Dell in my lap as I keep hammering at some code while simultaneously keeping an eye on a video.
My pseudo-Cogitator's fans rattle and stutter in displeasure, before their pitch suddenly increases in a bid to huff intake as much of the stick of incense I have burning nearby on my bedside table.
"My gratitude," I hum under my breath as the video seemingly hiccups before restarting.
I honestly have no idea how the Machine Spirit inhabiting my pseudo-Cogigator of an early two-thousand laptop understands plain English, but I'm not complaining. All I know is that it is generally happy to do what I ask it to do as long as I have some incense on hand and don't give it a command too complex.
Dell is still an ornery little bastard, though. It has no patience for me using it to 'waste time' like fraking around on HeroTube – urgh! – and generally only wants me to do something productive with it. On the other hand, as long as it is for what it considers to be my work – and the very end goal of terminating the central-control node of the local xeno hive-mind issue – it pulls all the stops without complaining.
My best theory regarding its behavior and the fact that it seemingly perfectly understands me without me screeching at it binary is that, as the one who breathed life into it by simultaneously inputting a bunch of VI softwares which had no rights working together into it and somehow did, I'm basically its mommy or something along those lines.
Doesn't stop it from bossing me around when I start getting distracted though. And the less said about the 'cute girls kissing' web research incident the better.
"One minute back, again," I hum under my breath as my fingers momentarily stop, my head cocked to the side and my brows creased as I redirect most of my attention toward the video.
I silently observe, eventually nodding to myself once I confirmed what I have just seen.
"Thanks, Dell. That'll be all," I lean slightly back, "I know all I need about my prey."
The corner of my lips curl up slightly in a mix of satisfaction and anticipation as I go back to my coding.
***
The car slowly crawls to a stop in front of where Louise's house supposedly is and aunt Zoey looks over at me, one eyebrow raised and a question already at the tip of her lips.
"Do you have everything you need, Jacky?" she asks after locking eyes with me.
I do the very young teenager thing of maturely rolling my eyes in annoyance before answering.
"Yes, aunt Zoey," I answer aloud – and more politely, "I have my sleeping bag, my clothes, my PJs, my toiletries, and even a gift."
As well as my latest hologram generator – preloaded with exactly one program of me soundly asleep; a duo of Synskin-Solvent spray cans; a weak 41st millennium-era soporific in aerosol form and its counteragent – those recipes my Callidus training whispered to me as soon as I thought about it; my Nightflyer mask; my Power Dagger and its holster; two duffle bags bungled up together; and lastly a dose of Panacea to deal with any potential injuries – and bruisings from potential Synskin overuse.
As a side-note? Saying that I'm now very good at tetris-ing everything I'll need for an operation into a too little bag would be putting it mildly.
"Don't give me lip, young lady," she huffs, before smiling my way, "It's good you've been making friends in the Bay, I just want your sleepover to be a success," her eyes turn a little distant as she goes on an impromptu jaunt through memory lane, "Why, I still recall how it usually went when Emma had little Taylor every other day at the house."
I very carefully keep my mouth shut, unwilling to touch the T-topic with a pole the size of a Vengeance Class Grand Cruiser.
Not my Catachian Deathworm, not my battle.
Blessedly for my sanity, aunt Zoey quickly remembers my presence and promptly ushers me out of the car before stepping out herself.
It doesn't take long before I ring Louise's house bell and step back while dialing my cuteness all the way up – first impression matters!
The door cracks open shortly after and I look up.
And up.
And up.
"Yes?" an absolute giant of a black man answers, his guard visibly up as his eyes shift between aunt Zoey and me.
"Hello, my name is Zoey Barnes and I am–"/"Jacky! You're here!" my aunt's introduction gets cut short as Louise shoulders her way under her dad's massive frame to glomp me into a hug.
I flush a little, my previously dropped jaw audibly clicking shut as I hug her back before stepping away from my grinning friend.
I lock eyes with her before asking a very important question, my mouth firmly set to convey all the seriousness I feel the topic requires.
"Can your father be bribed to give shoulder rides?"
"Jacky!" aunt Zoey exclaims, looking poleaxed.
Louise's grin widens and her dad barks a laugh, tension visibly bleeding out of his frame in the corner of my eye.
First impression; success.
Now onto the most important task; surviving what's left of the afternoon and an entire evening surrounded by excited young girls.
***
"Here, as a thanks," I plop a neatly rolled up sheet of drawing paper in Louise's hands with a smile, aunt Zoey having yet to leave after striking a conversation with her parents – Joe and Veronica.
"Erh, thanks?" my friend mumbles awkwardly, her cheeks darkening a little while Missy, Caroline and Adealid's attention all zero on her, "You shouldn't have!"
"Don't worry, I made it myself, it didn't cost much beyond some time," I reassure her easily.
She gives me an unreadable look before untying the flimsy length of string keeping the sheet rolled up, unveils it and promptly gasps.
"Is this… us?" Caroline asks aloud, her head slightly tilted and a finger poking at her own cheek.
"It is," I grin back, "Look, here's Missy!" I point at my artistic rendition of a certain Ward cosplaying as the Dark Magician Girl.
I find the way the blonde's expression flickers between embarrassment, annoyance, slight awe and thankfulness on repeat entirely worth the hour I spent coming up with a gift for Louise.
"Hey, that kinda suits her!" Louise grins, hands spread apart to better the show the product of my work to the other, "Very cute, she even looks a bit like Vista–"
Said cape's head snaps to the side so fast it almost causes a sonic boom.
Wow, talk about an absolute lack of pokerface, I mentally lose it.
"–except way cooler."
The way Missy's face struggles between falling or turning incensate in that moment?
Priceless.
***
I don't exactly know how we landed here–
I warily observe the bottle stopping to a crawl with its tip angled my way and I let out a sigh as a concert of cheers and giggles erupt in my vicinity.
–but I'm starting to regret schooling everyone else at Twister by abusing the absolute shit out of my Callidus training.
In my humble opinion, Twister was way safer than 'truth or dare'! And for that matter, we're a bunch of twelve years old, why are we even playing that stupid thing in the first place?!
"Yes!" Missy, the dirty sore-loser that she is, fist-pumps with her eyes full of challenge as she locks eyes with me, "You know the rules! Choose, Jacky!"
I sigh a second time, with emphasis.
"Truth, I guess," I grumble half-heartedly.
Cue another concert of giggles.
"Sooo," the little villain – no way she is a hero with the way her eyes crinckle all up at seeing me squirm – drawls with a wicked smile carved on her face, "Which boy do you find the cutest at Juniper?"
"None?" I answer back.
"Hey! You have to tell the truth, that's the game!" Adelaid – who's been way too much into this since we started – insists.
"But that's the truth? I don't find boys cute at all," I insist in turn.
Most of those gathered don't get it, except Louise who makes a little 'oh' of realization before flushing a bit.
"Hey, girls," she cuts through the onslaught of bickering and accusations of 'cheating' aimed my way with an awkward cough, before saying, "I think it's alright if Jacky says she doesn't find boys cute. We shouldn't insist she's lying."
Her well-thought argument sends the rest of my friends in a contemplative mood.
I give Louise a quick smile and a nod of thanks, and she shyly winks back at me.
***
The others scream in fright, all huddled together in a big pile of hugs while trying to convince each other that they absolutely have to keep watching the movie.
As for myself?
I bark a laugh.
"T-That has to be worthy of a Darwin award," I wipe a tear off my eye while snickering, "No way someone would fall for that!"
"Jacky! He's dead!" Missy scowls my way.
"Not my fault he was an absolute dumbass," I shrug, before grinning, "Get this; he got himself naturally-selected!"
"Jacky!"
I make a zipping motion over my mouth under the blonde's heated glare.
To my defense, I warned all of them that I am a terrible public for horror movies.
***
"What's that smell?" Louise asks aloud a short beat after I step into her room, already sniffing the air.
"My deodorant," I hum in answer while making my way through the grouped together sleeping bags, "I don't like getting all icky during the night and I am a redhead."
We trade a nod of shared misery, before she scampers on all fours atop her bed to give me a good sniff.
"Hmmm, smells good!" she chirps after leaning back.
Right next to me, Caroline visibly wars with herself for a second, before imitating her friend.
"Wow, it really does," she admits, "What is it?"
"Patchouli," I answer while Missy and Adelaid curiously jumps in the bandwagon, "I really like it, I always sleep a lot better after I use it."
"Pah, sleep is for the weak!" Louise declares with all the passion of a twelve year old determined to burn the midnight oil despite her parents' disapproval, "We shall remain awake until one, no, two in the morning!"
I let out an amused giggle as the rest of my friends clamor their excited approval, the little patch of the soporific's counter agent already hard at work under my tongue.
Everyone else is out like light twenty minutes later, and I slip into the night shortly afterward after putting my decoy in place.