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Part II:

The words snapped through the air like a Sharps rifle, and the soldier, roused to action, leveled his Springfield at the other man.

“Who’re you?” the soldier demanded.

The man raised his hands in supplication, the harmonica held gently in his right, “A simple traveler in between destinations. Or is the in-between the destination?” the man grinned, “All this time and I’m still not sure.”

The soldier blinked at the man in confusion before rallying. He didn’t seem overtly hostile, and it wouldn’t do to kill a preacher or a harmless lunatic.

Keeping his rifle steady, he asked, “You ain’t a Reb?”

The man quirked his head, like a curious bird, “That is a very different question to me than to you, but no, I am not a Confederate.”

“Rebel,” the soldier countered, “They ain’t ‘Confederates’ unless they win the war.”

The man chuckled, “Fair enough. So, Sergeant, since I am not in immediate need of being shot, could you perhaps lower the rifle?”

The Sergeant glanced at the sword; if he lowered his rifle, he’d be vulnerable, but not defenseless. Slowly, he aimed his Springfield down, just enough to keep it off the man, but still ready to aim if needed.

The man smiled and lowered his hands, keeping them away from the sword, “Thank you. Now then, may I ask your name?”

The soldier spent a moment thinking, momentarily forgetting his haste as he appraised the man. After several seconds punctuated by the dull roar of war, he replied, “McKinley, 23rd Ohio.”

“Jedidiah, at least this time around,” the man returned, “you may call me Jed.”

“Bill, then,” the Sergeant said, “now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to the rear and grab some chow for the boys while I still have a vague notion of where they are on the line.”

Jed raised the harmonica to his lips, but didn’t play. Instead, he remarked, “Sounds dangerous.”

As if to punctuate his statement, another round of artillery thundered through the air. Bill quirked his head to try and gauge their location.

“The cornfield?” he guessed aloud. Shaking some sense into his head, he said to the man, “I need to get moving. Pleasure meeting you, but I need to run.”

“I wonder,” Jed mused aloud, “what makes a hero?”

Bill paused and sighed, “No idea, but I do know I need to move. There’s a war on, if you haven’t noticed.”

Jed grinned as Rebel Napoleons boomed impotently in defiance of the Union thunder, “I noticed. There’s always a war on, Bill. France is invading Mexico even as we speak, Columbia just had a civil war, and China’s having another rebellion. And that’s just the last two years –humans seem to love war with an unbridled passion that never ceases to amuse and amaze me. Which brings me back to my earlier question, my young friend: what makes a hero?”

Bill mentally sighed. He really should just ignore the man and get moving, but his rural sensibilities required he reply to the question.

“When all is said and done,” Bill grumbled, “a hero is someone willing to do what no one else will because he’s the only one dumb enough to do it.”

Jed lowered his harmonica and blinked at the soldier. Then, so suddenly it made Bill flinch, he started laughing.

“W-well now!” Jed exclaimed as he struggled to control himself, “I don’t know if you’re earnest or despondent, but either way you have an excellent view on the matter! Well said, well said!”

Bill rolled his eyes and turned to leave, only to once again be interrupted by Jed.

“So then,” the odd man began, “does that mean a hero hurls himself into such stupidity thinking he’s a hero, or just a man?”

Bill sighed, considered clubbing the man just to shut him up, and, his rural honor once again rising, replied, “The way I see it, if you go into something planning to be a hero, you just end up dead.”

Jed nodded in understanding, “Well reasoned. I’ve seen my fair share of heroes, you see, and I always wonder what they think of themselves. Unfortunately they tend to be too busy doing stupid things to answer me.”

“What a difficult time of it you must have,” Bill remarked, “look, I need to go. Don’t get shot, alright? You seem decent enough, if a bit loose in the head.”

Jed grinned, “You aren’t the first to say so, but thank you. I’d say try not to get shot back at you, but from what I’ve been hearing so far, I’ll just say good luck, and Godspeed.”

Bill nodded, turned toward where he hoped the rear was, and darted off, this time uninterrupted.

Jed, bringing the harmonica to his lips once more, mused aloud, “Perhaps I will stick around for a little while this time. Such an interesting world to visit….”

Somehow, guided by the dimly echoing swearing more than anything else, Bill managed to find the rear of the Army’s line. Soldiers ran to and fro loading caissons and carts while artillery thundered and rifles cracked in the distance. A makeshift kitchen stood to the side, pots steaming and simmering over a field of slowly smoldering embers. A lone Corporal tended the fires with a poker and some branches. A wagon with several very disgruntled mules waiting nearby sat unused, in case the whole thing needed to be loaded up on the double.

“Benson!” Bill barked at the Corporal, “That chow hot?”

The Corporal, after recovering from the unexpected bark, looked up at the disheveled sergeant as he bolted forward.

“What the blazes happened to you Sarge?” he asked, “And yeah, it’s hot, for all the good it does us –the whole line’s goin’ at it something fierce right now.”

“Never mind that,” Bill pointed at the nearby wagon, “rouse the mules and load that wagon with every pot of food and coffee and biscuit you got. I’m going to the bridge before the Rebs force us back again.”

The Corporal gaped at Bill, “Are you outta your tree, Sarge? If the Reb artillery doesn’t use you for target practice their sharpshooters will take out your mules before you get halfway there!”

“The Rebs have to be low on rounds by now and their artillery’s been short all damned day,” Bill returned, “Now load that wagon!”

Benson sighed but did as he was told. He and Bill started loading every pot and biscuit they could grab, the battle’s thunder seeming to rumble all around them. A Rebel yell loud enough to reach the rear made them pause for just long enough to try and gauge it’s location. Giving up on the effort, they returned to loading the wagon, somehow moving even faster than before.

“That everything?” Bill asked.

“Only what I can fit on the wagon –if I overload her we might lose everything, and I’d just as soon shoot the mules myself as risk feeding those bastards.”

“Find whoever you can to grab whatever’s left and haul a rifle to draw fire if we need it.”

Benson nodded and started shoving the remaining pots and biscuit bundles into the hands of any soldier too stupid to look busy. With a quick bark of orders, the Corporal rounded them and a few others with free hands and rallied them to the wagon.

“This plan is insane, Sarge,” Benson warned him, “want me to come with?”

Bill hopped into the driver’s seat, grabbed the reins, and shook his head, “You stay here. Lord knows you’re the best cook in the outfit. Now mess detail, forward! “

With a firm grip of the reins and a lot of swearing, the mules slowly started to lumber forward, the soldiers easily keeping pace even as the wagon picked up speed. To the west the rumbling sound of gunfire continued.

Benson sighed and wiped his forehead with his heavily stained apron, “That fool’s going to get himself shot.”

==

I enjoy writing historical fiction, even if the research is a pain. Good thing I have a degree on the subject.

William McKinley was the last President who served in the Civil War, as a member of the quartermaster corps in the 23rd Ohio (he himself was from Canton, Ohio. Not Canton, Michigan, where I’m from. And yes it matters. Stupid Ohio) ending the war as a Major. The actions above occurred at the Battle of Antietam, for which McKinley was promoted to Second Lieutenant.

So he was a better soldier then a President, apparently. Anyway, the more you know, see you next time.

Hoitash wrote: Woman I just had to mow through enough Squats to start a game of Dwarf Fortress, do not test me.

...

Again, deal with it. And yes, you are. Mork knows you have the legs for it. I also have a Kiki uniform, Louise from Familiar of Zero, and of course Hermione. Although I think Misha would look better in that, honestly, even if your chest is closer to Emma Watson’s.

Little stumbles on the italics, otherwise majestic stuff.

WillDfly wrote:

Hoitash wrote: Woman I just had to mow through enough Squats to start a game of Dwarf Fortress, do not test me.

...

Again, deal with it. And yes, you are. Mork knows you have the legs for it. I also have a Kiki uniform, Louise from Familiar of Zero, and of course Hermione. Although I think Misha would look better in that, honestly, even if your chest is closer to Emma Watson’s.

Little stumbles on the italics, otherwise majestic stuff.

Ugh, html. Fixed but grammatically incorrect now.

Emi blinked at the crumbled residue of the Fourth Wall as Lynda finished a bottled water to help down the rice crackers.

“Huh. That was… how was that holiday themed?”

It’s supernatural and shit. You’d have to get the reference, I think. Oh, Lynda, I have good news, bad news, more bad news, and ugly news.

Lynda looked up at the ceiling, “What’s the good news?”

I found a way to send you back.

Emi raised an eyebrow, “What’s the bad news?”

It has a 50-50 shot of working, which is pretty impressive considering I’m seeing double right now. The other bad news is I’m down to Fleischman’s, by the way.

Lynda wrinkled her nose, “Gross.

Emi rolled her eyes, “What’s the ugly news, you Clint Eastwood knockoff?”

Because of her bipolar disorder Lynda can’t transfer to Yamaku.

Lynda quirked a confused eyebrow, “That was an option?”

No. I just said that.

“Why can’t Rin send her back?” Emi asked.

Her powers only affect your room. She can stabilize other dimensions that converge with this one but can’t actively converge herself. Or in jock speak, she’s a northbound train and we need a southbound one on her track.

“I’m not sure that analogy works, but whatever,” Emi struck a dramatic pose, pointing toward her dorm room’s door as she declared, “Writer, make it so!”

Aye, aye, Captain! Oh, you two might want to get away from the door, just in case. Ah, one last thing: Lynda, you want an extra costume? I got Diana’s day uniform that I think would be stunning on You-Know-Who.

Rin slowly rose from her bed, her eyes wide with drugs and maybe a little fear, “Voldermort is here?”

Lynda smirked as she tucked herself into a corner away from the door, Emi behind her for extra protection, “You think so? How about the Hermione outfit?”

Eh, they’re pretty close. Have both and tell her Happy Birthday from Yamaku.

Two packed and wrapped costume uniforms appeared in Lynda’s hands, while Rin slowly focused on the door, her pupils dilated to Ludicrous Speed as she stared.

“Ready to stabilize,” she declared.

Thanks. Oh, one last thing for real: regardless if this works or not, there’s a… thirty percent chance this will cause the heat death of the universe.

Emi and Lynda stared at the ceiling.

“I so don’t wanna be a magical girl,” Lynda muttered.

“Are you serious?” Emi asked.

Only one way to find out! BACK YA GO YOU NAUGHTY PLUG!

With no warning the door burst from the wall, exploding into a fusillade of shrapnel that somehow flew around Rin as it pattered against the opposite wall. Emi eeped and Lynda held up her arms to block the shrapnel, but the door bits flew back to the doorway, vanishing in the cloying green mist beyond. From the mist came a head wearing a cowboy hat, yellow neckerchief, and a pair of gold framed pince-nez. A well trimmed mustache bristled as two eyes scanned the room, eventually settling on Lynda.

“Oh there you are,” the head said.

Lynda sighed in relief, “Thank Christ it worked. Hey Will.”

“Hey.,” the head returned, “You a magical girl yet?”

Lynda rolled her eyes, “No.”

“Louise’s familiar?”

Lynda snorted, “No.”

“Then what the Hell are you doing? You have a birthday to prepare for, remember? Not to mention this portal is held together with pizza sauce and an eldar Farseer model.”

“I’m coming,” Lynda stepped forward, turned to Emi, and bowed, “Thank you for having me over.”

Emi, eyes wide, heart racing, and hat in serious danger of falling off her head, managed to reply with a very eloquent, “Uh… sure.”

Lynda turned to Rin and bowed as well, “Thank you for maintaining your end of the portal.”

Rin nodded and slowly sank back into the bed. With that, Lynda stepped through the doorway into the mist The head tipped his hat to both girls.

“Miss Ibarazaki, Miss Tezuka, dee-lighted to meet you!”

With that, the head retreated.

=Wise Up!=
Servant: Rider
Master: The Writer
True Name: Theodore Roosevelt
Title: “Colonel Roosevelt”, “The Boy Governor”
Alignment: Neutral Good
Strength: B
Endurance: A
Agility: B
Magical Energy: C
Luck: B
Noble Phantasm: B

Class Abilities:
Riding: A
The ability to ride things. Does not include demonic or holy creatures or dragons, if only because the Age of Gods was long past.
Magic Resistance: D
Nullifies single magic action. Magic Resistance equivalent to a warding amulet.

Skills:

Charisma: B
Natural talent to command an army. It increases the ability of one’s army during mass combat. Charisma is a rare talent, and Rank B is enough to lead a country (eventually.)

Protection Against Arrows: C
Single target ranged attacks from short or medium range do not harm this Spirit.

Independent Action A
It is possible to take action even without a Master. However, to use Noble Phantasms of great magical energy consumption, backup from the Master is necessary. At Rank A, it is possible for a Servant to stay in the world for about a week without a Master.

Noble Phantasms:

Little Texas
Though Roosevelt brought two horses to Cuba, only one survived disembarkation. Texas, the smaller of the two, proved an invaluable mount throughout the campaign. While friends all around him died, Roosevelt himself seemed supernaturally immune to enemy Mauser fire.
While mounted, Roosevelt’s Protection Against Arrows and Magic Resistance increase one Rank.

Remember the Maine!
This M1892 Colt Army & Navy revolver, salvaged from the wreck of USS Maine, was used by Roosevelt throughout the Cuban campaign, and is, as far as he ever knew, the first weapon he used to kill a man. The misguided fury of an entire nation is behind every shot, requiring Agility or Luck of at least Rank B to dodge, or Protection Against Arrows: Rank C or better.
Anti-Personnel Noble Phantasm
Range: 100 yards
Maximum Target: Single
Rank: B

Charge of the Rough Riders
With the full force of a cavalry charge Roosevelt barrels forward, machete and steed trampling and hacking anything in his path. Such is the might of this attack that it aggravates the Colonel’s malaria, permanently reducing Roosevelt’s Endurance one Rank each time it is used.
Anti-Army Noble Phantasm
Range: 300 yards
Maximum Target: Up to 500 people.
Rank: B/C/D

Alternative Classes: Many Grail scholars insist his insistence on hard work would preclude any interest in the Grail, thus making him a candidate for the Ruler class. Others snidely insist his boisterous nature makes him an excellent candidate for the Berseker class (after all, if Florence Nightingale qualifies….)
==

Emi blinked and shook her head, her hat skewing as she asked, “What the fuck was that?”

I may have accidentally a war. I forgot about that possibility in my calculations.

Readjusting her hat, she glared up at the ceiling and growled, “And did you ‘accidentally’ break my door?”

No, that just happened. Here, use this in the meantime.

A roll of duct tape appeared in Emi’s hand. She used her free hand to flick off the ceiling, before turning toward the far wall, her smile clearly forced and a vein twitching just underneath the brim of her hat.

“Okay! Our next story is a dark foray into the mind of the mad and how they cope. Rin, send ‘em the story.”

Rin lazily waggled her left tow, and the world dissolved anew.

“Why couldn’t you fix my door, by the way?”

Thresholds block magecraft, not sorcery. Duh. Story time, go!

Part II:

(Hi, it’s me legit this time. I don’t normally do this trigger warning stuff, but I am going to be writing overtly about suicide in a way that oozes cultural values dissonance. As someone who hangs out with a lot of people with depression and possibly has it himself, I know it can be a touchy subject. So please, if reading such material makes you uncomfortable, skip this story.)

I need to end it. It isn’t fair to him that I keep going, that he keeps suffering after our family broke. I’m an anchor tied to him, preventing him from moving forward and away from the fragments of our farce of a family. The time has arrived; I just need the help to end things, so he can lead a life worth living.

The nurse entering my room interrupted my thoughts, scattering them across my mind. I desperately struggled to grab what pieces I could, to maintain my senses as long as possible. It got harder each time, and proved when they finally collected why it was time to move on, to end the torment for both of us.

I needed her help. If only I could remember her name. I could never remember the help’s names.

“Hello, Mrs. Setou!” the nurse chirped, “How are you feeling today?”

“Broken,” I replied.

The nurse frowned and walked over, her eyes looking me over for physical wounds, as if what was wrong with me could be that simple.

I slowly tapped my temple to tell her what I meant. I was never good with words, and even worse when I needed to hang onto the pieces of my senses. If only I could remember her name.

The nurse absorbed my non-verbal reply before slowly nodding, “Okay, I’ll let the Doctor know and he’ll come in for a chat later today, okay? In the meantime, how about we get your room spruced up a bit?”

The nurse went to work without waiting for an answer. She did her work quickly, faster I think than with the other patients. If I wanted to act I had to say something soon, while I still held the bits of my mind together and before she left.

“Ah!” she paused in her work to appraise the completed puzzle on the small table bolted to the floor, “it’s finished already! You two must’ve had fun during his last visit! I’ll remind him before his next visit to bring a new one for you.”

The puzzles… gathering the pieces… my son, my precious son, the one I never learned to love, spending time with me even when he had his own life to live and I wasted away… the pieces… … it had to end.

“Help…” I managed to mumble.

Frowning, the nurse walked over to me, crouching down to get a good look at me, “What’s wrong?”

“It isn’t fair,” I mumbled, “it isn’t fair to keep him waiting or drag him down with my suffering.”

The nurse blinked at me, looking almost as confused as I felt at the time. I had to do this for him. One last gift to the son I failed to raise like I should have.

Though it nearly broke the few pieces remaining, I looked up at the nurse, her eyes widening at what I imagined must have been a frantic expression on my face.

“Morphine,” I told her, “Enough to end it. Please.”

The nurse swallowed and looked around, “You should really talk to the Doctor about that. Let me get-”

“No!” I snapped, startling the poor girl. I had to keep my composure. I had to stay calm so she wouldn’t call anyone. I had to do this, while I still had sense enough to get it done. Thankfully, like a gift from one of the gods themselves, I finally remembered the one thing that might just help me.

“Aiko!” I declared.

The nurse balked, eyeing me like she had never seen me before, “You… remembered my name?”

I grinned, “Yes! I can remember your name if I try, but his name, and his name, they’re like fish in the stream, swimming away before you can grab them, the reflection distorted by the fractures in my mind.”

Aiko bit her lip and glanced to the door, “I… really should get the Doctor for this.”

I rose from my bed and took a shaky step toward her, nearly laughing in relief when she didn’t step back from my advance, “Please, I’ll do anything. Wait, I’ll do something better: my commissary allowance! I’ve never touched it! It’s been building ever since I came here! Get whatever papers you need and I’ll see you get it. He’ll understand in the end, and if I can’t do it, my son will.”

Aiko glared at me, “Really, bribing me? Shame on you! I should get the Doctor and have him call your son… but….”

The shred of hope still in me glimmered and made me giddy, but I kept it under control as I said, “But?”

The nurse sighed, rubbing her temple as she replied, “I’ll think about it. The next time you’re stable, I’ll… I’ll see what I can do, because you’re right; your son will understand, and I know seeing you here eats away at him.”

I just barely held my relieved laughter in as I lay on my hands and knees before her, “Thank you, Aiko. Thank you, thank you, thank you….”

Aiko sighed and I heard her leave the room. The pieces broke into dust not long after, but their remains would return eventually, and hopefully, after that, I wouldn’t have to worry about holding onto them ever again.

+++

Okay, it’s done. I’m gonna go chug a fifth of something and watch a video about kittens and puppies. See you tomorrow for the Last Story of the series!

I may have accidentally a war. I forgot about that possibility in my calculations. Accidentally started?

Loving this so far. Take some adamantium balls to put a dark story like that after whatever the fuck the last one was.

Toothless wrote:I may have accidentally a war. I forgot about that possibility in my calculations. Accidentally started?

Yep. It's a Hellsing Ultimate Abridged reference.

Loving this so far. Take some adamantium balls to put a dark story like that after whatever the fuck the last one was.

Thanks, it's definitely one of the darker things I've written.

Emi stepped back from her brand new duct-tape door, carefully prodding it to test its integrity. Satisfied with the result, Emi stepped back and smiled.

Said tape-made door immediately tore away as Miki burst through the mist, clad only in rage and an oversized Halestorm T-shirt.

Pointing her finger right in Emi’s face, she shouted, “What the fuck are you doing in here?!”

Emi, cross-eyed at the finger pointed right at her, replied, “Uh… Writer, a little help here?”

Hey Miki.

Miki looked up at the ceiling, “The fuck was that?”

Don’t worry about it. Sorry about the noise but we’re almost done here. I think. What day is it?

Emi sighed and glared up at the ceiling, “Ass! And what the hell were you thinking, ending the special on something like that?”

I’d give you a list but I can’t see straight.

Emi growled and glared at Rin, “Rin, I’m commandeering this series for the last story! It’s time for some piracy!”

Miki raised an eyebrow, “Shouldn’t you be dressed like a pirate and not a witch?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Emi declared. Spinning to face the far wall, Emi beamed and chirped, “Four our final story we have a heartwarming tale of death and acceptance, featuring yours truly. Rin, send them the story!”

“I think I’m coming down.”

You got this, Rin. C’mon you two, show me what you got!

Rin smirked, waggled her left toe, and the scene once again dissolved and reformed.

“Holy shitballs what the fuck is going on?”

Rin will explain. Story go!

==

On a regular summer day, before a simple gravestone amongst many, stood a young man with tanned skin and long black hair. Beside him stood a young woman with light brown hair, her orange and white stocking clad feet shifting uncomfortably as she glanced to the man next to her, her eyes darting between him and the grave so quickly it started making her a bit dizzy.

Observing her antics with a hidden smile, the man spent a moment of silent thankfulness that he finally broke the greatest wall in his relationship. Her stubborn refusal to let closer despite the otherwise intimate –both physically and emotionally- grated on his nerves and heart far more than any other relationship in his life.

Thanks to Hisao’s information and his own determination, the man patiently wore down the stubborn woman now standing beside him, until finally, finally, she let him close enough for him to face the most daunting challenge any boyfriend must deal with: meeting the father.

With those thoughts in mind, the young man, his expression formal and confident despite his unprofessional hair length, turned to face the grave and bowed.

“Hello Mr. Ibarazaki,” he greeted, “my name is Kwan Kotobuki. I am currently dating your wonderful daughter. Having met her mother, I’m guessing she got her stubborn streak from you?”

Emi couldn’t help faintly rolling her eyes.

“Jerk,” she grumbled.

Kwan smirked and glanced to the short woman, “Am I wrong?”

“I… maybe?” Emi glanced to the grave, mumbling half to herself, “Dad… was… sweet, and fun, and… persistent, so,” she furtively glanced back to her stupidly patient boyfriend, “… maybe?”

Kwan smiled faintly and refocused on the grave, “Emi speaks very highly of you, and I consider myself very fortunate to have met her.”

Emi smirked, “You got that right.”

Kwan bowed to the grave once more and turned toward Emi, “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Emi shrugged and glanced to the grave again, “It’s just… I’m not good at letting people close, and you were getting close and I liked it but I was scared to let you close but you did it anyway and now you’re here and I’m not sure how to handle all that.”

Kwan stepped forward and carefully embraced her, “Here’s how.”

Emi relaxed into the hug without even registering it, returning it with a sigh and a hiccup as she fought back forming tears, “And you think I’m stubborn.”

Kwan rested his chin on her head, “You are. You're stubborn and shortsighted and fiercely determined and I love you

Emi hiccupped and held him closer, “I love you, too, , you stupid stubborn jerk who just sat there waiting and expecting me to let you in if you stayed long enough and when I tried to push you back you pushed harder and now you’re here despite everything and I love you.”

Kwan grinned, carefully not mentioning his conversations with Hisao lest it get both of them in trouble. Still, he definitely owed the man a beer for tipping him off as to what ate at Emi, though Kwan had had to figure out how to break through the barrier himself.

After a moment Kwan moved to pull back, but Emi refused to let him go. For several moments the two held close, the summer breeze causing their hair to flutter about them. Finally, Emi pulled away from the taller man, looking up at him with moist eyes.

“Thank you for staying,” she said.

Kwan smiled, “You’re welcome. Thank you for letting me stay.”

Emi managed a weak snort, “I didn’t let you –you refused to leave.”

“I guess your stubbornness rubbed off on me,” he remarked. Smiling lightly, he added, “and I have no intention of leaving anytime soon.”

Emi smiled, “Good, because I’m not letting you leave, either.”

Kwan grinned, “Duly noted.”

Smiling, Emi turned to the grave and bowed.

“Hey Daddy,” she murmured, “Sorry about getting all love-dovey in front of you, but you know how I get sometimes. Mom really likes him, too, although she keeps bugging him to cut his hair. Kwan’s a great guy, though, and I’m lucky to have met him and even luckier he stuck around.”

“Sounds like we’re stuck together, then,” Kwan remarked.

Emi grinned, “After everything, we deserve each other, so it makes sense!” Emi frowned suddenly and glanced to the grave, “Mom normally does it, but she’ll do it anyway even if we do it, so…” she glanced back to Kwan, “do you… want to help me clean it?”

Kwan smiled gently and nodded. , After cleaning the grave, the two departed, leaving the grave as silent as before their arrival. Still, the sun shone brightly on the cleaned stone, and Emi’s mother, waiting silently in the car, smiled as the two returned, hand in hand.

==

“There!” Emi puffed with pride, an impressive feat considering her modest curves, “How was that?”

You copied a scene from the visual novel and rambled until you reached 800 words.

“So?”

Eh... I’ve read worse, and I’m happy for future you.

Emi managed a small smirk at the ceiling, “Thank you.”

You’re welcome. Now please wrap this up so I can go sleep it off.

Miki, meanwhile, kneeling by the bed with her arms and head on the mattress, tilted her head at Rin.

“So Prussian blue tastes like blackberries?”

Rin smiled smugly and slowly nodded.

Emi sighed and turned to the ravaged Fourth Wall, “Alright then,” managing a grin despite everything, she continued, “I hope you all enjoyed this little mind-fuck series of stories! Until next time we meet, then! Rin, do you have something you wanted to say?”

Rin nodded and slowly rose to gaze upon the far wall. Her eyes slowly clearing of their drug-induced fog, the young woman uttered her final words of the story:

“Something.”

Emi groaned and palmed her face as Rin settled into the bed one last time, Miki snickering beside her. Recovering after a few moments, Emi grinned at the far wall and set her hat at a jaunty angle.

“Well, that’s all folks, Happy Halloween!”

+++

Well that was a thing I did. I should probably get some links into the first post and get to work on my Christmas special, because of course I have an idea for a Christmas special.

I regret nothing. Happy Halloween!

You got this, Rin. C’mon you two, show me what you got!

I thought there was gonna be some ghost shenanigan from Emi's dad, but sweetness is also holiday-appropriate, thanks for the candy

“I guess you’re stubbornness rubbed off on me,” he remarked.

*your
Because there's always the one.

There was a ghost in the first one I think. Or maybe it was really a stoned student messing with Hanako.

Really loved this series, looking forward to the next one.

Praise be the Omnissiah!

Hoitash wrote:Thanks Sharp-O for letting me borrow Rika! Hope I did her justice.

I think you got her spirit, if not her voice. Then again, when was the last time I wrote her so what do I know? Nice little story series, Hoitash, not overtly spooky but very nice overall

Toothless wrote:There was a ghost in the first one I think. Or maybe it was really a stoned student messing with Hanako.

Really loved this series, looking forward to the next one.

Praise be the Omnissiah!

Thanks, glad you liked it! You can't tell but I'm making a sign of the Aquila while I type this.

Sharp-O wrote:

Hoitash wrote:Thanks Sharp-O for letting me borrow Rika! Hope I did her justice.

I think you got her spirit, if not her voice. Then again, when was the last time I wrote her so what do I know? Nice little story series, Hoitash, not overtly spooky but very nice overall

Spirit of the law over letter? Lawful Good go!

Glad I got something right, at least, and yeah, I'm not very good at spooky, so I figured I'd keep it to a minimum for this set.

Finally caught up with all the new stories after getting back from my vacation... Seriously, you go away for two weeks, and when you get back everyone and their uncle has published new stories... I'm not complaining.

Getting the technical stuff out of the way first:

even as a vien near her hairline throbbed unnaturally

"vein"

Fortunately I was used it from both of them

"used to it"

So he was a better soldier then a President

"than"
...plus a few things that I'm going to assume are intentional and/or references I don't get.

As always I love your writing style and the banter of your characters as well as those references that I DO get (I like to think that's most of them, but what do I know?).
As short stories are wont to do, you like some of them more than others - for me the last few didn't click as much as the rest.
Also except for the first one's the Halloween ties were tenuous at best. Still I enjoyed it overall. Thanks for putting in all the hard drinking work.

I'm glad you enjoyed even a few of them. Truth be told, my aversion to horror probably affected my theme choices for stories (writing the Kenji's mom story hurt my everything, for example, and it wasn't even horror.)

And I put in plenty of hard work and hard drinking work, so thanks

Truth be told, my aversion to horror probably affected my theme choices for stories

...says the one responsible for the best horror stories on these forums...