Charlie scraps

## Background Check

Here's what Juliet found running a background check on him:

Soooo ... my paternal unit ran a check on your beau, just to make sure we weren't letting trouble in the house. Juliet clears her throat. Jackson E. Jones, age twenty-four, born Port Macquarie. Single, never married, no kids on record.

Squeakiest of squeaky clean; boy hasn't even gotten a parking ticket since he hit the age of majority.

Graduated from the University of New South Wales in twenty-twelve, top quarter of his class, earned a degree in computer science with a minor in engineering. Seems a fairly smart cookie so you shouldn't humiliate him /too badly in a battle of wits.

Charlie snorts.

Employed by /**very** classy firm in Eveleigh where he's one their ace 3D modelers—according to Dad's sources, at least. He usually works on prototype toys, but can handle anything. Their office is three blocks from your favorite cocoa shop, so that's how he ran into you.

His post address is for a building of one- and two-bedroom walkups /**aaall** the way over in Summer Hill. Rents seem a little above average for the neighbourhood so he's probably making good money.

Here's something fun. Mister Jones is a bit of an athlete. A /**tri**athlete, to be precise. According to the results, he's a regular competitor, even though he's never even made the top twenty finishers. Not the fastest guy, but he's consistent in his times. The swim is his best event.

His birthday's November thirtieth which means he's a Sagittarius, in case you care—and I know you don't.

## Whisper

 Initiating author
 Inspired by

The vice principal strides by Kirra's spot to the library office with flighty, purposeful footsteps. ""Are there any students in here?""

""Only in the copy room--what happened?""

""They dropped bombs!"" hisses the vice principal, voice too high. ""On Sydney!""

Kirra's heart stutters.

""Gail's drafting an annoucement--""

""Is it dead?""

""They don't know yet. Garigal's on fire, the north side's trashed--""

""Oh my god.""

""The phones aren't working, no one knows what's going on--""

A beep.

Fabric rustling.

""Gail needs me back in the office.""

""Keep me posted.""

""Will do.""

The vice principal half-runs from the library.

The librarian sighs, gathers up a stack of papers, wanders into the back--"Oh my god, Kirra, did you hear all that?" Drops the paper, drops to their knees, hugs--hesitates--

Kirra catches their wrist.

--hugs her. "It's okay--"

"You can't fight bombs," Kirra's voice cracks.

"You can't," agrees the librarian. "But it would've been quick. They wouldn't know what was happening." Adds, "They wouldn't be alone."

Kirra shudders, leans into their shoulder.

The librarian takes a deep breath. "I'll write you out of class, okay?"

Kirra nods.

THe librarian swallows, gathers up the papers, leaves.

## Midnight

28 July, late, after "Sponsorship", "Coupon", and "Pillow"; Juliet's washroom

""Hello?"" answers Cecilia.

««Hi, Auntie,»» greets Charlie.

««Oh, Charlie! How are you?»»

««I'm okay. How're you?»»

««I'm well.»»

««Sorry for calling so late.»»

««That's fine.»»

Charlie takes a deep breath. ««What're we doing for my birthday?»»

««Let's see...»» Cecilia takes a moment. ""Will you be coming back for the holiday?""

"Sure."

""Then we'll make your favourite food all weekend and have a cake each night.""

## Name Day

### Meta

Timing: April 16th, 1996

Setting: Darling homestead outside Mount Isa.

### Text

Red steps out onto the veranda with their sixth pitcher of lemonade.

Another uneasy ripple shivers through the flock.

The hands can hear it now, too—muffled yelling from upstairs.

Daisy drains his glass.

Mike worries her scarf.

Johnstone remains. calm.

A string of curses from inside.

Tilda shrieks, puffs up into a giant, two-legged featherball, unleashes hell upon one of the denser males.

Mike reties her hair, heads off to sort them out.

Red wipes his hands on his trousers.

The boards creak.

They look—

Johnstone and Daisy scramble to their feet; Red straightens.

The rider hums, dismisses them, looks towards the upstairs.

"Lemonade, sir?" asks Johnstone.

The rider waves, gazes out over the flock, leaves.

They sit back down.

Mike clears up four more fights, Red makes two more pitchers of lemonade, and they see the rider, once, watering his mount from a far trough.

The wind changes; Johnstone, Daisy, and Mike set out to feed the flock their supper, and Red goes inside to do something about human food.

(use » for Gangalidda)

## Sponsorship

Timing: July 28th, probably

Charlie gets an email (the day before) from the dean that she has a meeting in their office at a time when she's between classes.

Dumps her stuff in her locker (she rents a locker for her coat and textbooks she's not using. they are /godsends.).

Goes to the meeting.

PPDC's there. They (and the dean) rave about her accomplishments and her grades and all her contributions to the university (she's a notetaker for all her classes, TAs a couple others), what a good fit she'd be for the Jaeger program and UoS would be /thrilled to sponsor her.

"It's a relationship built on mutal trust and respect. Not just your Drift partner, but your LOCCENT team and your crew. It's like a second family--they're there to help you and have your back."

## Charlie says 'yes'

Charlie keeps to herself, barely looks at anyone, much less talks.

They do manage to find her an 02--Sabine, she-her-hers, blonde.

First time they Drift, they wake up the next morning in the same bed, sticky and tangled together.

They get on with their lives.

.

Their Jaeger's brutally efficient. (Charlie lets Sabine coordinate with the other teams and LOCCENT.)

They sleep together a couple more times, always after they Drift, always desperate comebackcomebackcomeback

Until they don't.

Charlie stops speaking all together, starts withdrawing.

Sabine's worried, brings it up with their handler.

The PTBs give Charlie pretty things, pretty people, try to get her to engage with /something.

They send her home.

Her family doesn't try to get her to talk; they only see her when the table's set, hide-nor-hair the rest of the time (Tilda, too, for that matter. They're not worried even if she and Charlie aren't wandering together).

.

The PTBs bring Charlie back to the base.

She doesn't look at anyone, much less talk.

She and Sabine keep Drifting, keep deploying, keep winning.

And then Charlie slips away.

The other team takes the kill, the choppers pull them from the ocean; they're a little bruised from the fall but otherwise fine.

Charlie reacts slowly to noise, hardly at all to pain, and doesn't notice anything in a visual field (people, for instance. Sabine. Their handler. Doctors, family, crew, faces she sees everyday. A potted plant.).

DriftSci runs every test they can think of, hooks Charlie up to every available sim, including some not even in development yet.

Nothing.

.

The PTBs give Charlie an honourable discharge, send her home.

Her family parks her on the swing with blankets and pillows, books, games, and lemonade, narrates out loud what they're doing when they're nearby as they go about their day.

Tilda makes herself comfortable on the veranda in a sunbeam, moves around with it.

As Cecilia's checking on the state of Charlie's toast, one morning in the third week, Charlie catches her hand, doesn't let go.

## Birthday

### Meta

**Timing**: April 16th, 2015, late in the day

**Setting:** Charlie's flat

### Text

Charlie plods down the stairs, lets herself into her flat.

Sanctum.

Inhales a lungful of flowery air, kicks off her shoes, exhales tiredly, dumps her bag in a chair, drags herself to the kitchen.

Flowers ...?

On the table sits a kinda large bouquet of chrysanthemums, and since it's sitting on the table, it's probably safe.

Charlie promises never to speak to Juliet again if it isn't, though.

Steps quietly, deliberately to the table, plucks up the card, retreats behind the counter.

- Happy birthday, Wash! -

Signed with a calligraphic swirl with a flare from four o'clock.

Guess it could be a 'Q'?

Charlie shrugs, flips it over.

- DAY BY DAY / SUITS OF GREY

DON'T AGREE WITH A THING THEY SAY

also the flowers are safe--they're for good luck!--enjoy :) -

Okay then.