NovemberHawley

The BLU Spy was starting to get bored. Still invisible (not that it seemed necessary; he hadn't seen any REDs in a couple hours), he looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes to twelve. Fifteen more minutes, and if he didn't find anything he'd give up and go back to his base. His weapons had been pocketed an hour ago, a step on the way to giving up and going back to base. He still didn't understand where everyone had gone. At this point he almost wanted to come across a RED just so something different could be happening. He'd spared those three this morning, that Scout and Sniper and that new employee – what was she again, a Cook? - and no

Scout’s house was tall and skinny, a three-floor slice out of a long rowhouse that lined a somewhat quieter neighborhood street. The bay window next to the little front door was clean and framed with white curtains, the patch of front yard trim and clear, the concrete stoop clean and new. The mailbox was a little beat up, dented and paint-chipped here and there, the result of a history of bad drivers. A mix of red brick and white clapboard, you thought it looked nice and cozy from the outside. Scout stood at the end of the walk with you, holding your hand again. “Ya ready, girly?” he asked, grinning a little. He seemed to h

The sensation of flipping over in transit between teleporters somehow stayed in your skin a little longer this time as you arrived in what was presumably Boston, whirling around in the dark and tripping over Scout’s legs with your own before crashing into a cold hard floor with a yelp. The crimson energy of the machine momentarily lit the area around you, but your head was spinning too much to focus on looking around before the sparks vanished with a burning hisssss and you were swallowed in blackness. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel it in your mouth and lungs as you coughed out the cold, mildewy dust that your fall had

“Wonderwall” – 10/28/11 “Halo…” It was your name, called softly, clearly. You turned. “Who…?” “Halo.” You knew the voice, but you couldn’t place the name of who it belonged to. “Who… Who is it?” As if answering, he appeared before you, tall, silver-haired, serious. He glided towards you, his hand outstretched. He was smiling, something you saw only rarely, as he neared you, standing close enough to wrap you in his arms. “Ah…” You reached out, your hand moving as if through water, too slow, and you laid your hand in his. 

The trip back to RED Base hardly registered with you. You stood still and steady on top of the teleporter and waited for it to come to a lazy halt as if you’d done it your whole life, and then you calmly stepped off onto the homemade welcome mat, feeling numb. Scout followed a second later. You looked around slowly, taking in Engineer’s workshop for the second time that day. The sounds of humming machinery and a sleepy guitar tune surrounded you from all sides, the base itself welcoming you back in its own way. But the sound felt so empty, the room too cavernous even filled with all its clutter of tools and half-finished machiner

“…So, we’re going to make something Cleanup showed me from her new favorite anime.” “Yeah?” Scout was washing his hands slowly, distracting himself by watching Cook hunt down ingredients in the refrigerator. She was indeed wearing an apron and it certainly flaunted her assets, but it was a creamy yellow and didn’t say “Kiss The Cook.” Oh well. She still looked cute in it. She continued to talk, partially to Scout and partially to herself as she placed a few things on the counter. “Yeah, it actually sounded pretty genius when she described it to me. She didn’t have a written r

“He’s not gonna make it – ” “He’s gonna make it.” “He ain't gonna freakin’ make it – ” “C’mon, he’s almost there!” “But the pitcher…!” “He’s too close to – OH MY GOD, HE MADE IT!” “YES! YES YES YES!” Scout was pleasantly surprised to find that Cook’s dad and brother could get just as hyped up as he could over a ballgame, so he felt no shame in his loud whoops of joy as the batter for the Red Sox slid into home plate. Scout was actually recording this game on the TV set back on base (he ho

“…So, what’s, uh, ‘special lunch’?” Scout and Matthew sat in the living room while Cook and Judith moved about in the kitchen. Scout had offered to help make everything, but Cook had insisted that he was her guest and that he simply sit down and make himself at home. “But maybe you can help me with the dishes afterward,” she added as an afterthought. And Scout agreed. The more he watched them through the doorway, the more Scout kept mistaking Cook’s mom for Cleanup; he was so used to seeing them like that. Mina was hurrying back and forth from a little bin of toys and craft supplies to

The face of Cook’s house was simple, normal, and kind of cookie-cutter, with a cozy porch, a small green yard cut through with a concrete pathway to the street, and a metal mailbox. The house sat in the middle of a suburban street in a quiet neighborhood, save for the occasional barking of a dog or revving engine of a car. Scout marveled at the house, instantly making a list of all the things that were different about the outside of it from his ma’s tight little Boston row house. Cook opened the mailbox and peered inside, then laughed at herself, pointing out how her old habits hadn’t left her yet, and then she started up t