All I Have Left Of Her Chapter 1-6, Family Of 3+Friends 1-7

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When i first wrote this story it was meant to be a simple live lost tale. Then I realised it was becoming a family sitcom and changed the title in subsequent titles. Hence the confusing and sudden title change after chapter 6. Sorry about that. If it confuses

Chapter 1 - All that I have left of her

Somewhere in the Special Little Sparks school, a student flailed awkwardly, trying to get their balance back... then fell down.

Teacher Lucy sighed a little, then glanced over to Principal Maurice. "As you can see, they're absolute complete neophytes at moving their bodies in such an unusual way. Perhaps we should give up on trying to bring in the Y'tole Academy. Maybe ballet classes?" She rubbed the tiny nose on her muzzle, the sign of situation she didn't enjoy.

Maurice sighed a little. "Don't look at me, the people on top got mesmerised by that wackadoodle African dance and now they want some of it in our curriculum." He scratched his head a little, then realised... he was losing even more hair trying to make the impossible happen. "They're going to just look at our students and walk away at this rate... Anyway... I noticed we're short of one student here?"

Teacher Lucy frowned. "That would be Elliot Manners, sir. he's got some serious problems with moving around, so we didn't even bother with trying with him... He's probably on his way home by now."

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Elliot closed his eyes and took a deep breath as the jalopy slowly and safely got him home, his mind thinking about this and that... he was indeed the clumsiest child at Special Little Sparks, regularly falling into a bundle and sitting up on the floor. He laughed a lot about it, but it did hurt a little watching folks walk or hop around happily like it was the most ordinary thing.

There had been one moment where he'd felt exactly like that... He glanced up and brushed at the blue ribbon he kept tied in his hair. The faint scent of vanilla wafted from the ribbon and into his nose.

He missed Vanilla a lot.

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Seamus Arendt took a deep breath... "Well folks, we're here. Gdanzeland. only the most advanced country in this part of Africa. Would you take a look at all this rustic beauty..."
Bellamy Arendt frowned. "You know how much I hate military juntas, right? every possible thing wrong with-"

Seamus laughed a little and cupped Bellamy's mouth as a patrol walked past, giving 'another tourist' a dirty look. He did this for five long minutes before sighing and letting go. "Please, don't advertise your opinions here. we don't know what they might do...."

Aymee Ichigo rolled her eyes. "You lot are like kids. we're going to create a diplomatic incident sooner or later at this rate. Anyways... have you guys thought of anything to occupy our little interloper?" She motioned to somewhere behind herself at where Elliot Manners was meant to be tagging along.

Seamus made a small show of trying to formulate an answer several different ways. Eventually, however he raised a point. "I think he's found something. He's not there."

Aymee blinked hard and whipped around. The boy had wandered off. "OF ALL THE COTTON PICKING-"

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Everything around him felt different.

Elliot carefully brushed his fingers across a carefully knitted carpet, watching the crowds swell and ebb. A thousand and one scents plyed across his nose. It hadn't been this marked back home... There was a sort of commotion brewing up nearby. a Gdanzeland patrol pointing around furiously as if finding someone.'

There was a young lady looking around panickedly. Elliot put two and two together and looked around. "Over here," he hissed...

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The patrol cased the place for what seemed like several long minutes, eventually giving up and moving on...

Elliot winced a little. he had made the mistake of assuming this basket was roomy. It was, but once you shared it with an adult, it wasn't...

To her credit, the lady realised this fast as well and quickly decamped from the basket after a few cursory glances out of it, proceeding to help Elliot out as well.

He sniffed the hand that she had grabbed a hold of. She smelt of something... sweet. nice.

The lady gritted her teeth. "Honestly, all that fuss for two mangoes?" She cursed a little, then blinked. "Erm... thanks for helping me out there.... Mr... erm..."'

Elliot grinned, partly to hide his horror at having assisted a theft. "Elliot. Name Elliot. you are?"

The mischievious thief laughed. "Oh, I'm Van'iia. That's what everyone calls me in the dance troupe."

Elliot gave a faint 'whistle. "So not a thief, Miss Vanilla. Not normally, anyway."

Van'iia facepalmed and hissed. "Van'iia, not Vanilla, little boy. Vanilla is the nice smelling thing, I'm Van'iia."

Elliot nodded quickly as if he understood this. "Okies, Vanilla!" Poor Elliot still had problems with pronouncing certain words, and would often wind up with some hilarious names for folks. "Uncle Seamy" and "Uncle Belly" were all too familiar with it and had resigned themselves to being called such by Elliot (though Seamus raged whenever Marcus or Aymee teased him with it)

The pixie-faced woman gritted her teeth.... "You're not very smart, are you?"

Elliot gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Me? Smart? Never."

Van'iia sighed a little. "You're probably not supposed to be on your own. Where are your parents, kid?"

Elliot pointed behind himself. "Mama and Papa. Honeymoon. With Uncle Seamy. Uncle Belly. Aunt Aymee!"

Van'iia made a small show of trying to formulate an answer several different ways. Eventually, however she raised a point. "I think you've wandered off way too far from them, little one."

Elliot blinked hard and whipped around. The boy had indeed wandered off too far from his caretakers. He raked his mind. What would Aunt Aymee say in a situation like this? Oh yes-

"OF ALL THE COTTON PICKING-"

[handle2]

Chapter 2 - Even a Fish can climb a tree
Principal Maurice looked away uneasily. He had delivered his report on their efforts to date in preparing for the Y'tole Academy's scouting visit, and it was not looking good for the higher-ups' weird pet project.

They had sent a gentleman with a 'fatal' case of baldness and a last ditch attempt to retain some nobility by growing a small goatee and mustache combo in white. He read through the papers, then thought for a bit... Then, finally, Paul North spoke up.

"Mr Maurice, are you aware of what they do to Y'tole dancers in Gdanzeland these days?" He observed matter of factly.

"I... I'm not really a fan of the World News Network, Paul. What do they do?'

"Murder. Rape.Persecution. Not very pleasant, the junta is." Paul calmly reached for a cup of coffee that had been brewed for his visit and sipped it. "The fact is, this isn't just about being able to sell an education in something that isn't ballet or tapdancing or half a dozen other things the other schools elsewhere have done. We're trying to do them a favor."

"I get that, but why the insistence on getting our kids read in on a few basic steps? Surely if they need the help, they'll lower their standards?"

Paul set the coffee aside. "Oh, Maurice, you fucking imbecile. I've met with the principal of the Academy. She won't bring the Academy curriculum and trainers in if we''re not up to a certain standard. There's not going to be any charity from us. She'll just walk..."

"... is there anything else we can do?"

"Focus on the children we know have extra intelligence in kinesthetics, cut their hours in other classes for the next two weeks or so. It won't matter any more in two weeks anyway." Paul sighed and rubbed his head. Being Paul North hadn't made things easier for him, had it?

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After a fruitless search for the rest of his group, Van'iia had just given up and dragged Elliot along.

Elliot gave a small eep. "Where are we going, Vanilla?"

Van'iia sighed. "You think I'm going to let a foreigner kid wander on their own here? you're one heck of a target. Have a little more caution."

Elliot looked down a little. "Oh. okay, Vanilla."

"AND FOR THE LAST TIME, IT'S VAN'IIA, not VANILLA!"

Van'iia eventually got to a small inn and started climbing the stairs along the outside, Elliot stumbling behind. She took a deep breath. "Now I should warn you, my brothers are a total bunch of utter nincompoops."

Elliot smiled. "Nincom-nin-nincom-.... idiots? FRIENDS!" As if to emphasise this point, the first thing flying out the door was a piece of clothing that landed on Elliot's face. "Can't see. Suddenly night?"

Van'iia walked right into a room full of young boys having a sort of clothes fight. She just stood there for what seemed like a long while... then screamed. "Stop screwing around with your costumes! We're going to need them in a few hours, and I don't have time to mend a tonne of tears!"

... boy, that stopped it quickly.

An wizened old man slowly walked out from amongst the chaos as the boys started tidying up in fear. "Ah, Van'iia... how goes the preparations for our performance?"

Van'iia scowled as she set down the mangoes she had pilfered on a table near one of the windows of the inn room. It was clearly the type of room you booked if you had a lot of people in a group and privacy wasn't an issue. There was an adjoining room that the old man had come out of, but that was probably the only concession to privacy this lot was getting.

Van'iia didn't sound happy. "The rains might be coming in. We might have to delay final prep till we're sure there aren't anymore postponements or cancellations, papa."

The old man considered this. "... it's okay, isn't it? a little more time for the boys to enjoy life won't hurt them."

There was a flicker of ... something... in Van'iia's face. "It won't... you know, papa-"

The old man cut her off abruptly with a wave of his hand. "Not in front of guests. And who might you be?

Elliot had elected himself Protector of The Mangoes and was busy standing on the table, shuffling the mangoes out of reach from Van'iia's brothers. He blinked and lost his footing on hearing the old man's query. "ow! erm... Elliot, sir. Elliot Manners. Pleased. Meet you."

The old man reached a gnarled hand out and rubbed Elliot's warm brown hair. "Manners.. indeed... quite a fitting name. What a polite young boy... Call me... G'in."

Elliot squealed and nodded. "Old man G'in!"

G'in winced and looked over at Van'iia. "Is it possible that I've made an error of judgement here?"

Van'iia is hunched over, collecting randomly strewn outfits. "... You should see what he calls me, papa. Vanilla. VANILLA. Like I'm some sort of ice cream flavor."

G'in stared blankly.... then he laughed. a booming, loud laugh. The kind that said he was going to enjoy having it at Van'iia's expense.
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Eventually, they'd worked out a plan - Elliot would hang out with the dance troupe and watch them practice, relax, act like general idiots, and stuff. Just as well too - no sooner had Van'iia put down the phone after ordering an extra meal for Elliot that the rains began.

Van'iia cussed. "Which idiot scheduled opening this marketplace in the midst of a monsoon season? This is just a waste of our money."

G'in looked up from dozing in one corner, before motioning to one of the boys to do a dance step differently. "Oh, you mean the money that the junta agreed to foot for every single day they delayed our performance. Lighten up, Van'iia."

Van'iia had a slight edge to her words next. "Does it matter? we do the things the junta want us to do, then we vanish into the darkness like we don't matter until they want to trot us out for 'the tourists' again."

Elliot looked up from watching the boys perform some sort of dance that was more reminiscent of people hurtling through the air than any dance he'd seen back home. There was a certain frisson in the air... he should do something about it... He thrust a hand into the air. "VANILLA! Teach me? Dance?"

Van'iia opened her mouth to protest, then thought about how this supposedly clumsy boy had managed to evade a dozen outstretched paws and kept the mangoes safe from her brothers... Besides, anything to diffuse the tension that was building up in this room... "Sure, Elliot. and again, my name is ... =sigh= oh forget it you're going to screw it up again."
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Elliot took the same spot he always did, in the middle of the lawn, carefully checking the ribbon in his hair was still tightly done up. It was practice, he didn't need to wear anything fancier than the shorts and shirt he always wore in the spring warmth. Assuming the position as Van'iia had taught him to... and...

Elliot started bounding around the grass, bare feet sending up an occasional burst of green, as he closed his eyes, focusing entirely on the Y'tole variant he'd been taught to the sounds of the Gdanzeland monsoons.And of the fish that refused to believe that it could not climb a tree...
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Elliot crashed out yet again. This was, what, the 87th time? He began to regret even imagining he could have the same grace as the boys and their sister. Always that same shift of the feet, causing him to keep falling.

Elliot winced a little on the wooden floor as he looked up. The boys had all decided to take a nap in their bunks, sprawled out in a wild assortment of positions. Two of them were even sharing one, to the regret of one of them, as a foot kept being shoved into his face in mid sleep. Elliot was still the only one dancing in this room.

No, that wasn't true. Van'iia had danced along with him, showing him the steps and then having him try it, one more step after the other. It was just that this particular step he wanted to emulate had been... frustrating.

Van'iia sat down next to Elliot, sweating profusely from the damp air and exertion. "Right, let's... just rest a little, okay? you've done pretty well for Mr Clumsy, haven't you?"

Elliot nodded slowly, sitting up. "Clumsy. Managing. Fear. Limit reached." He looked away, as if ashamed of telling Van'iia that he was about to give up.

Van'iia frowned a little... "... Elliot, could you go out to the window and tell me what you hear?" She motioned to the window.

Elliot nodded and tiredly walked over to the table, where the mangoes still sat. He strained his ears a little... some sort of tiny pigs grunting away... "Weird... Tiny pigs?"

Van'iia laughed. "No, body, those are mudskippers... they're a type of fish... you'll find them in the trees sometimes."

Elliot nodded as if this was a matter of fact... then paused. "But fish can't climb trees!"

Van'iia walked over and looked out, carefully wrapping herself behind Elliot. The scent was back again, stronger than ever. The softness was a new sensation though - almost like mama, but younger... "Oh, there's one?" She pointed at a mudskipper, its weird face puffing a little and letting a grunt out.

Elliot yelped. "several floors up. How? Fish can't climb trees!"

Van'iia deadpanned. "And who said that?"

Elliot thought about a lot of people... "Teachers. mama. papa. friends at school. even janitor once laughed when I said fish could climb trees."

Van'iia giggled. "And look who said 'watch me'. That titchy little fella grunting in victory..."

She pointed at the midskipper as it hopped away to accost a potential mate. "I want you to be that mudskipper. don't ever let anyone tell you you can't do something you've set yourself to doing. You've proven yourself more agile than you thought yourself to be. Finishing all 100 basic steps should be an easy thing... just keep practicing... and maybe..."

Van'iia let go of Elliot and backed away. "Maybe you can do this too. Call it homework, maybe?" And with that, she began twirling with beauty again.
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Elliot sweated a little. This was the step he'd screwed up over and over... foot lifted slightly in the air and -

he put it down right where it was supposed to. imperceptibly. like two keyframes stuck back to back, with nothing in between.

Elliot whooped a little. This was a small victory... now he just had to -OOF-

Elliot wound up staring at the blue spring sky, panting. Oh yes, he'd managed the 87th step, but the other 12 were going to take some more time clearly. He blinked slowly, then aimed a finger gun at the sky and shot it, as if performing a rifle salute. "Vanilla. Getting better. Happy. Can see?"

[handle2]

Chapter 3 - Final Curtain Call

"So, hit us with it. Good news, bad news." Aymee Ichigo leaned back in her sofa and watched Seamus Arendt with feigned disinterest.

Seamus scratched his head. "Something's jamming the internal locator in Elliot, so we haven't been able to do more than combing the streets and showing his photo to random folks." He paused... "But whoever they're hanging with seems to be doing an AMAZING job. Three days so far without a blackout." He fished out his communicator and showed a screen, still pinging Elliot's vitals including his blackout episodes. Not a single one had occurred in the three days he'd been missing.

The only point of concern showing was how Elliot was down to his last 24 hours of charge. They would have to locate him soon or there would be hell to pay. He briefly wondered if he could just fab a new Elliot unit and pass it off to Marcus, then shook his head. He'd notice alright. and then he'd ask questions. and then there'd be hell to pay.

"I'd love to ask how they managed that without even knowing his circumstances. Even I can't go longer than a day between his episodes." Aymee sighed. "... goddamn rainstorm. Thank God it's ending in the morning."
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Elliot woke up, unable to sleep. Perhaps it was the mudskippers. They had been nice as an object lesson in something, but once you were done you were left with a lot of noisy bastards on the trees. Elliot sat up a little and looked around. It was simply adorable how Van'iia's little brothers were so excited for the morning's performance, they'd even fallen asleep in their dance costumes.

"... but where does it end, G'in?" Van'iia's voice came from behind the separate room. Elliot blinked a little and walked over to peek through the keyhole. Van'iia was standing still, totally stark naked, as she kept talking. "We take one of them out, and another bastard just fills the gap. it's like a terrible game of whack-a-mole..."

Gin walked over to Van'iia and did some adjustments of some sort. "Well, my dear, we'll just have to kill them down to the last one. Just like I promised you all those years ago."

Van'iia sputtered. "That wasn't me you promised. You need to get it out of your head... I'm not your wife, G'in... I'm just your little revenge playtool."

G'in blinked and stood back. "God, I wish this detonator design wasn't so slow burning... having to have an argument everytime we do this is killing me, Van'iia... Look, I promise you, just a few more stunts like this and I'll let the rest of the people fight this war. We'll return to my home and you won't ever have to do this again..."

Van'iia paused as she considered this. "With fewer children, please, You know how having all these guys running around underfoot drives me a little... crazy."

G'in nodded quickly. "Just you and me, dear. You won't ever have another rugrat running wild."

Elliot blinked a little as he backed away from the door. Adults had peculiar discussions. Children were best seen and not heard, and certainly not seen hearing them surreptitiously. He went back to sleep.

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Elliot was the last to wake up in the morning. It really helped that the music was sudden and that it was very loud. He yelped as he fell out of bed, then looked around as the boys were taking turns to wipe down their faces. "Oh yes.... it's finally happening, isn't it? The performance, I mean"

Van'iia nodded. She was dressed in her own dancer costume as well, no sign of exhaustion from the previous night's nocturnal activities on her face. "Yes, we're going to put on an unforgettable show, something nobody will forget!"

Elliot looked up in awe... then deadpanned as soon as Van'iia opened her mouth. "Really, Vanilla?"

Van'iia clapped a hand to her jewelled forehead, wincing. "Oh no, it's happening, isn't it? being around an idiot makes one stupid."

The booming laugh of Old Man G'in sounded in response. "No, you're just beginning to like him!" He smiled as he walked over to the two of them, clearly having time in between every bit of final prep to sass them.

Van'iia scowled a little, but there was a slight fondness in that tweak of one corner of her lips. "DO NOT."

Elliot took a deep breath again. That sweet scent again. coupled with the picture of beauty in front of him... Perhaps he was still too young to know anything about love but... "I like you, Vanilla. Can I come along and watch your performance?"

Old Man G'in shifted himself slowly behind Elliot, shaking his head as he looked at Van'iia. Van'iia shook her head. "Oh no, honey, you can't come along. not where we're going... but you can be with us in spirit" She glanced up at her headdress... one ornament less wouldn't be noticed.

One hand went up in the ornate decorations and fished in it.... a pale blue ribbon came out, and Van'iia carefully tied it to Elliot's hair. "Keep practicing. do the homework I gave you. One day I'll be back to check on it."

Elliot nodded. "I will. wow, this ribbon really looks-"

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Seamus blinked and tapped his communicator. "Huh, that's funny. the jamming's gone."

Aymee grinned as she drove the rental jeep via manual control with her own hands. "That's good news."

"Aand he's gotten a blackout. a manually induced blackout."

Aymee didn't say a word for a while... "You know, once. JUST ONCE. I'd like my good news to come without any bad news! Anyway, where's that kid? I need to chew him out for making us worry for so long.

Bellamy raised a portable charger.in one hand. "You can do it after we deal with his lack of power, your Highness."

The jeep paused as a truck rumbled past them, gaily decorated in letters that read "J'nn Y'tolo Dancers - State Sanctioned - Trust You Can Rely Upon". They didn't think much of such a truck.
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It didn't take long for them to find Elliot with the jamming gone.

"really looks nice. Erm... oh. hey. Uncle Seamy? Uncle Belly? Aunt Aymee?" Elliot finally finished a sentence he'd been shut down in the middle of. He looked around once. blinked. Looked down at the portable induction pad that had been glued to his bare back. "'sup?"

Aymee Ichigo cracked her knuckles. "Now can I punch this annoying little brat for making us worry about him all these days?"

Bellamy looked up from the charger he'd brought along. "Can you hold off for about ten minutes? He won't fully understand the pain till he's had more juice in him."

Aymee groaned, but withdrew her fist. "So... what have you been up to these past few days, little man?"

Elliot thought a little. "Well. I-" He did not get to even start summarizing his dance education when Seamus calmly pushed his tablet against his chest and tapped a few buttons, causing him to fall silent again.

Aymee glared at Seamus. "Seamussss.... reading the fucking room much lately?"

Seamus sat back down. "Oh, relax, you dunhead. it's just a two minute procedure and he wpn't feel or remember a thing. I just need records of his past 120 hours of activity, that's all."
Aymee yelled. "Stop treating the kid like he's machinery, goddammit. Some days, your psychopathy feels like it's only gotten worse rather than better! You could have just put up with his yammering like an ordinary kid."

Seamus looked up. "I prefer precision in my reports, Aymee. You know that's always been one of my worst habits since we joined together as a group. besides, no amount of talking can replicate actual blackbox footage..."

Elliot snapped back to life. "Well, I ran into nice girl. marketplace. she stole two mangoes-"

Aymee wept. "Oh my god, he's become a delinquent!"

Elliot continued as if Aymee hadn't commented. "couldn't find you. stayed with her troupe. learnt some dancing. now you're here. Nothing in between."

Seamus sighed a little. "See what I mean? I'm going to review the recordings while we get back to the hotel. Then we'lre going to pack up and catch our flight out like nothing bad happened to us this trip-"

The room whited out.
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[handle2]

chapter 4 - Life In A Bubble

As decapitation strikes go, it was extremely unexpected - and effective. Someone apparently worked out how to smuggle in enough ordnance to wipe out half the Gdanzeland junta. What had been simulatenously a celebration of the opening of a new cheap market for its people and a herald to the return of the old ways after the shock results of the previous election turned into a white-hot bloodbath. A huge char mark was visible from space via satellite, and clearly nobody could have survived the carnage... In theory at least

Seamus was the first to recover from the shock, rubbing his head. His hand rested on something whitish and squeaky... He blinked and looked around. It was some sort of balloon. It had somehow formed around everyone in the entourage. it was slightly warm to the touch, and disconcerting in so many ways... "Sound off, guys?"

"Aymee here."

"Papa, I wanna go home, these crazy people keep getting me into strange situations everytime we go somewhere on holiday.'

"Bellamy. You okay there. bro?"

"Wolfe. And may I say, congratulations on your exoneration." The last remark came not by sound, but by whatever tech the Kindred had foisted onto Seamus as part of his 'investigative parole'.

Seamus sighed. "Thank god. all accounted for." At the same time, he texted a silent reply to Wolfe... "Explain."

The gruff tones of Wolfe came back after a few seconds the same way it had first arrived. "Initial analysis from satellite suggests the same kind of occurence that we accused you of. However, you literally lucked into the effective radius of the explosion. This is not the act of a man guilty of setting bombs. We are in fact amazed as to how you survived. Please enquire further..."

Seamus did exactly that. "So... exactly why are we in a white balloon instead of, you know, dead?"

Aymee groaned a little. "All hail the Emperor, great is his wisdom... I really wasn't going to bring this doodad, but my hubs insisted. this thing here will withstand an unreasonable amount of kinetics and heat the moment it senses that shit coming in to make life miserable for a royal of the Chinajapese empire..."

Wolfe had a pondering tone in his voice. "Interesting, we shall have to pay closer attention to this newcomer than we thought if they could come up with such unique protective technology. Making a note..."

Elliot had gone quiet after his initial whining, as if he'd realised something... "She's dead, isn't she? Big kaboom. Only us in bubble."

Seamus opened his mouth as if to say something, then realised that anything he said would be pointless. Elliot fingered at the ribbon that had been tied into her hair. It was all that he had left of her...

The entire balloon fell slient as death... Then Seamus blinked as his communicator rang. "Hey, Marcus, yeah... I think you've heard about that huge bang that just happened in Gdanzeland. I just want you to know we're all okay. no need to panic. No injuries.... no damage-"

Elliot suddenly started bawling like a child several years younger than his apparent age.

Seamus blinked hard. "Oh, absolutely nothing happened to your son. No hardware or software damage that didn't exist before the trip. honest. I'll even give him a look over when we get back to the office if that worries you... That? I think that might be emotional damage... I know, it's amazing how delicate they can be. Even I'm amazed at Bellamy's work sometimes... I'll call you again when I get a better signal that can run video."

Seamus closed his communicator.... then his eyes. If it hadn't been a matter of his own life and death he wouldn't have gotten anywhere near this accursed place. It was on him that he'd dinged a dent into Elliot.

Elliot sniffled. "We can find her, can't we? You can fix her like you fixed me?"

Seamus sighed. He was hoping his first "Talk" with Elliot would be about the birds and the bees, not... death. Best to rip the bandage off right now. "Oh, Elliot... I'm not a doctor, and this kind of overpressure pulps people. Hell, it'd pulp you too. Sometimes, people just... go away. I know it sounds cruel, but it just means you should treasure the time you have with folks you love more. Can you do that in future?"

Elliot nodded slowly and tried to stop sniffling. "Yes, Uncle Seamus."

Bellamy cheered. "One small win there. Go on, Elliot, call me Uncle Bellamy!"

Elliot giggled a little. "Uncle Belly?"

Bellamy frowned. "Oh come on. is this based off respect or something? Do you not respect me?"

Aymee hrms as she briefly tests the balloon. "Hrm, still too risky. it's still filtering in oxygen but it's still hot enough not to crumble... And for what it's worth, he's always called me Aunt Aymee.

The entire balloon erupted in a swamp of laughter. Everyone joined in except...

Bellamy yelled in the dim glow of the balloon walls. "I am feeling so neglected and disrespected here."

[handle2]

Chapter 5 - Diamond In The Rough

'Shows promise, but not good enough for full training yet."
"Terrible. has the agility of a rock leaving someone's hand."
"Who let this clown audition?"

Another child burst into tears as they fled the gymnasium. The spite levelled at them came from a wizened old woman perched slightly on a cane. "Mother Ammi, please... these are just young children. You shouldn't be so hard on them." One of her minders pleaded as another ego was shattered.

"When I was their age, I wasn't scarfing burgers. I was weaving through the grasslands and the woods with the goats and the sheep and the... " Ammi tossed her hand up. "They have some basics, but it will be a very long time before we have anything like suitable material to train into a Y'tole dancer of any kind. Figure... ten years?"

Paul North looked away. "I... I'm sorry, Ammi, I tried my best to get you good students."

Ammi still looked cross, but there was a different tone in her voice. "You're a good man, Paul. I know what you're up to here.... but that doesn't mean I can just slack off and demand less like it was some sort of ... State-Sanctioned Y'tole class. We'll put in some classes to help them brush up their flexibility and speed, but as I said... I can't find anyone worth the effort of setting up here.

Paul frowned and looked as Ammi pointed at another child and issued a blunt silent "get out" sign. "And how many children like that would you need?"

Ammi raised a single finger.

"One hundred? but that's kind of unreasonable!"

"Not one hundred. Just... one child. that can make all the difference between us teaching just basic callisthenics and us bringing the entire curricula of the Academy to bear on this place.

Paul North sighed limply. "Well, before you go back into your usual place of exile... I don't suppose I could interest you in a tour of the local area, maybe raise more plus points for a Academy here?"

Ammi frowned. "I'm not likely to change my mind. but I've heard Little Sanctuary has this most delectable ice cream that no other place in the world has... Not that it would change my mind. don't think you can use it as a bribe."

Paul quickly walked away. "I'll get a car, I know just who makes the best in Little Sanctuary. and no, it's not a business."
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Six months. Sink or Swim.

Elliot smiled a little as he opened the drawers of his cupboard. Finding the materials had been a pain, as had trying to get someone to sew him a properly specified Y'tole Emma dress... There was only one person he was going to impress today, and she wasn't even here anymore... He calmly donned the dress, swishing it slightly, possibly inviting jeers about his orientation if anyone walked in.

He didn't care. he wasn't the first male to take the role of an Emma in an Y'tole dance. he didn't know what his dad would say, but he had always supported him in so many endeavours. His mom had hugged him and told him to go for it on the lawn. "I'm making Rocky Road for dessert today. Whether you come back with your nose held high or crying a mess into your dress... We're having Rocky Road after dinner."

Elliot walked out onto the lawn, pausing to check that his feet had been properly wrapped. Shoes hadn't worked, in the end - he needed to feel the ground beneath him every step. To be loved by the soil, much as he had been loved by so many people around him. He closed his eyes. He didn't need them.

Mouth the words, assume the position... for a second he could fool them all into believing he truly belonged to this art.

And then another second, and another...

======================
Marcus Manners and Julie Manners had every right to be concerned. Their good friends had done all the checks and he was undamaged. That was hardware wise. Software wise... it didn't look good. He was curled up in his bed, refusing to engage in anything remotely resembling social interaction. "I should talk to him." Marcus offered...

Julie cut him off. "Honey, I love you, but I think this is one of those times where I have to do the job." She took a deep breath and walked over, sitting down next to Elliot. "Hey.... did you have fun in Gdanzeland? do you want to talk about it?"

Elliot didn't want to talk about it.... until he sniffed. "Did you bake something, mama?"

Julie nodded and gave Elliot a hug. "It was a welcome home gift. I learnt so much about baking while I was down at Bueno Vegas I wanted to share the love with you."

Elliot buried his head in Julie's apron. "She smelt like this. She was beautiful. She taught me how to dance a little..."

Julie gave a look of interest. A first girlfriend for this little boy? He was growing up so fast... "And you exchanged addresses? got Pen-pally?"

Elliot looked up, a clear feeling of total lousiness on his face. "Well, she blew up, across an entire city block.don't know how to address letter anymore. for her hand to hold? or her eye to see? spread out a lot..." There was an attempt at humor, but Julie could see a tear form on Elliot's face.

Marcus started cussing. "SON OF A-"

Julie quickly shot Marcus a look. It spoke of dire consequences should Elliot learn how to cuss in that certain way. Marcus excused himself, yelling as he went down the corridor to make a private phone call. "THEY SHOULD HAVE LED WITH THAT. IDIOTS."

Julie frowned. "I guess the Vanilla buns are out of the question?"

===============
They had not been out of the question. in fact, Elliot had started finding himself drawn to a million things that smelled of vanillin. It didn't even have to be the fancy real stuff that came out of an actual pod... His mom took a dim view of people who insisted on the real thing, saying "What I'm saying is, once you push the reactions that happen in an oven onto vanilla, it all looks the same.... would you like one now?"

Marcus calmly sat down and chewed on a vanilla bun. He appreciated that it wasn't easy to make them every other day, but his mom had insisted. She had also insisted that he 'do his homework', just as he had promised Van'iia. When he had shown her examples of the dress he would need to wear for a full performance, she had only briefly had a double take. Boys didn't wear dresses, supposedly.

When they were playing the part of an Emma in a Y'tole dance, apparently it was normal. Marcus tried to express some concern about letting Elliot get even more effeminate, but Julie had shot him another one of those rare looks. The ones that said "Marcus, I love you, but if you stop this thing from happening, I can become little Elly's mama bear..." She had leaned in closer, as if to silently say "and you don't want mama bear to be angry."

Marcus didn't mind after a while. in fact, the assertiveness she had displayed, the mental acuity she ran with after her spa trip aka full rebuild was refreshing. He'd been busy keeping Little Sanctuary afloat more than usual, but he was really looking forward to having all of that turned on him one day.

And so the days had become a little weird - Julie playing the role of devoted housewife, Marcus being the defacto mayor of the town, and Elliot quietly putting scraps together into what eventually took Julie's breath away. "Are you sure, that you're not a girl, Elly?"

Elliot shook his head furiously. This was a homage to someone he missed, not a cross-dress party costume.
==============
Elliot clapped his hands clean of vanilla dust, breathing it slowly as if it was some forbidden drug that would empower him to do what he would do next. He couldn't possibly keep asking his mama to make vanilla buns as a tribute to someone she'd never even met, it just didn't feel right.

He got up again and walked to the centre of the lawn. Closed his eyes again, assumed the position and... grass sprayed into the sky as he bounded wildly in seemingly impossible ways.

This was a love song for the broken hearted, and he was singing it as softly and as fast as his feet could carry him
==============

Paul North rolled his eyes as he slowly drove his jalopy. He briefly cursed his decision to switch out his luxurious little slice of heaven for this... thing... but people would have raised questions if he'd driven his favorite car in this guise. Everything in Little Sanctuary was the perfection they had carefully charted, built, and rolled out for the benefit of every Arendtcore employee who could move in here... The sun shone through the trees as he glanced behind himself at Mother Ammi and her guards on either side of her. It seemed a shame that she could not find peace anywhere, not even here... Perhaps the Rocky Road the Manners made would-

"Stop the car." Mother Ammi had noticed something.

"But we're almost there..."

Mother Ammi wasn't repeating herself. She opened the door, causing the overly-rententive safety system to kick in and halt the car. Somewhere deep inside Paul North, a psychopath was cursing loudly about idiots opening doors in mid trip. Paul just held a soft 'oof' and smiled. "Something got your eye?"

Mother Ammi had parked herself at the fencing of the Manners house. She was watching intently at a ... young girl? in a festive dress? dancing some sort of Y'tole dance, but it had a grace that none of the children at Special Little Sparks had managed... He peered a little... the psychopath in him idly commented. "Wow, that's not how I expected it to go. our little wooden puppet has become a real live girl?"

Paul North did not appreciate the intrusive thoughts, but that was quickly drowned out by what came next.

Mother Ammi suddenly dropped her cane, displaying an alarming amount of agility as she hopped the fencing. She kept watching Elliot dance, then did the time honored greeting that she used to say so much...

"Ah, a emma. are you looking for an lemme to dance through this moment with?"

Not in English of course, but the native tongue "Ytole came with...

Elliot froze and almost fell over. He knew what he had to say, but he was a little surprised that the person playing the part of the lemme was a old woman, rather than some noble man. Then again, the ship HAD sailed when he decided to dance like an emma, didn't it?

"Yes, let us dance through this moment like .... uhm... every fish matters..." He flubbed it a bit but Mother Ammi was... impressed by his command of the old dance ettiquette. As if powered by a combination of springs and explosives, Ammi suddenly started dancing along, but it was not any of the lemme dance he had seen in Gdanzeland.

Mother Ammi winked. As if to tell Elliot "Go on, challenge me. show me it's not just a rote and blind replay... Surprise me."

===========

Paul calmly walked over to the fence to watch Elliot dance with Mother Ammi. He had had very mixed feelings about the whole show... He was showing Mother Ammi something she wanted to see, but he had based his love for the art on a total lie.

"We should tell him." "Weshouldweshouldweshould." "Delight in ruining a young boy."
Paul shakily reached for his pocket and scarfed some new anti-psychopathy medication his contacts had offered, claiming it was more effective... the voices faded, leaving him to enjoy the odd view of his nephew in a dress dancing with an old woman even as her guards panicked... something about her infirmity.

He was Paul North. Paul North was not someone who would ruin someone's fun randomly.

============

Eventually, the dance ended, leaving Mother Ammi sitting on the grass next to Elliot. She panted weakly. "I haven't had such fun since... my wedding night..."

Elliot blinked slowly... "You danced for him?"

Mother Ammi gently corrected the child. "WITH him. you're not the first male emma I've danced with ever."

Elliot understood the code. "Ah... still enjoying company?"

Ammi stopped breathing for a moment, as if she couldn't bear to let something out. "first thing the junta said was, let's kill all the Y'tole dancers. He apologised and ran off to fight. That... went rather badly." Mother Ammi noticed the ribbon on Elliot's hair. "In fact, he used to wear a ribbon just like THAT. right down to the frill edges."

Elliot seemed suddenly wiser than the youth he looked like. "things to mourn. we have plenty."

Ammi sat up a bit more. 'Oh do grow up a little. the essence of Y'tole dance as a peaceful endeavor is that it's a celebration. Perhaps focus on that, young man? By the way, may I know your name?"

Elliot sat up slowly, little strips of grass covering his dress. "Elliot Manners."

"What a fitting name. And where do you study?"

"Special Little Sparks. Small school. fitted to different children's skills."

Ammi thought about this for a moment... "I take it this was the place you wanted to bring me for Rocky Road ice cream?"

Elliot looked away apologetically. "Mom makes it. But alcoholic. Okay with that?"

Ammi chuckled. "Wow. the same brazen confidence as the son... Paul... when we're done with ice cream here, we're going to have words about how you should have led with this child. Remember how I said I only needed just one child to make the Academy worthwhile?"

Paul sheepishly watched as Mother Ammi's guards rushed to stabilise her and give her back her cane, even though moments ago she had looked like she never needed any of it."Yes, ma'am... perfectly clear as rain everytime you told me."

Mother Ammi reached out a hand to help Elliot get up from the grass. "I think I found the child in question. Now... about that ice cream..."
=================

[handle2]

Chapter 6 - Kitchen-table issues

Marcus Manners scratched hs head tiredly as he let his trusty jalopy navigate the long distance between Minnesota's Town Hall. It had been kind of bizarre watching the disjoint between the lovely gated community they had spent so long building up, and the horrendous mess that had been created in the world outside.

The first indignity had occurred just outside as the jalopy acted up slowly while trying to do a parallel park with considerably fewer points of reference. In Little Sanctuary, there were so many things you could latch onto as a reference before you used satnav.... out here, it was a desert. stars on the ground, satnav in the sky. What would have taken two minutes at home now took ten. In fact, he had taken advantage of the limited smarts of the AI and hopped out, before letting it continue struggling.

Marcus had experienced another sort of indignity as he walked into the Conference. There was a lot of opprobium amongst the delegates, and most of it was centred on a whimpering mousy lady. "We are Minnesotans. if we don't stand for independence within our union, we are nothing." "Integration with our enemy? how dare you suggest that. Corporate takeover scum!"

"I... I just thought of all the positive indicators I saw about them and I thought my people would want some of it." the mousy lady peeked out from behind the placard with her name and locale. Mayor Chablis Brissom, of Okachunee District? It was one of the biggest districts in Minnesota after the Despotic Years had screwed up so many things...

Marcus matter of factly walked over, located the seat right next to Mayor Chablis, and sat down. There was a certain advantage in arranging the seats based roughly on the positioning of the districts in Minnesota. This was one of them. A reassuring big hand came down on Chablis' shoulder. She blinked, then looked up. "I wasn't planning on doing lunch out here, but I changed my mind... Lunch?"

Mayor Chablis Brissom whimpered,teared.... then suddenly bawled.

Marcus looked away. "Keep it together, there's potential in this merger." he thought. but loooking at Mayor Chablis virtually turn into a chubby crying mouse was awkward...

=========================

Marcus walked back to the park bench after selecting from the hot dog stand least likely to have actual dog in its hot dogs and sat down next to Brissom. The dimunitive dwarf was clapping her hands a little. "Eat up. I'm sorry it's not crab and oysters."

Chablis laughed a little. "Don't be, I've had crab and oysters all the time for ages!" She bit down on the hotdog and slowly chewed it. "... .... hmm... Greater Minnesotan rat."

Marcus calmly put his own hotdog away and brought out his workbag, his tablet was great for a lot of things, but when it came to governance nothing spoke of power like a leather suitcase. This one was from his own father, a veteran of the pre-Despotic Years where people went whereever they wanted all the time. He fished out a map of the Minnesota Union and his smart tablet. "As you can see, Okachunee District is considerably bigger than Little Sanctuary by a factor of 10. Significantly higher rates of human infant mortality and crime per capita..." He watched Chablis pale and look away slowly. This was a deal that offered nothing to Arendtcore and Little Sanctuary, and in fact saddled them with a whole new bundle of problems. And then there was the biggest deal-killer of them all.

"Little Sanctuary is a Corporate Town. That means everyone in this town works at Arendtcore or one of its subsidiaries or local contractors. No strangers allowed. I know, it feels like some sort of Malt-Eisner setup..."

Mayor Chablis whimpered and looked down. Marcus watched her... good. I want you to fight for it. I want you to prove you deserve to be part of us just as much as you want to be... Show me.

Oh god, was he becoming one of the Arendts? Time to look into psychopathy medication?

The fearful mousiness suddenly broke into a look of determination. "Phase it in. We break Okachunee into five or six smaller districts, and gradually bring them into the fold. I know some of my people are anti-corporate, but it is as they said... judge me not by my name... but by the fruits of my labour."

Marcus fished out his worn copy of The Knowledge. a few flips brought up the exact words that Mayor Chablis had said.

Marcus smiled and extended his hand over to the pint sized brave. "I'll bring your proposal over to the others in my team. let's do a proper lunch and iron out the details to bring Okachunhee into Little Sanctuary."

Mayor Chablis nodded, almost squeaking as her little frame almost bounced while trying to shake Marcus' hand... "Listen... can I have that hotdog if you're not going to eat it? Greater MInnesotan Rat is DELICIOUS."
==============

Marcus idly crossed the Southern gate of the Little Sanctuary Limits as a vandal almost torched his car. The security systems in the fencing worked out this wasn't okay and proceeded to light him up with a few dozen rounds of pain and knockout... he would live, but perhaps he wouldn't be as open to accosting another member of the community. The trip from the gate to his house would take longer from here, but he could use the time to relax.

A giant bipedal black and white cat in an anorak jogged past his car, accompanied by a lanky and clearly tired young man. That man was clearly focused on her ass. Marcus blinked a little, then shrugged. With all the experiments Seamus - ... sorry, Paul North was doing, everything was a possibility.

His car suddenly stopped just shy of the garage of his house. As he looked out, he saw the cause:

A group of people had camped themselves on the lawn, slightly impinging into the same lane space the old AI of the Jalopy had marked for itself virtually. it was not going to take a risk on running them down. He signed and got out.

He started recognizing some folks... There was the African delegation for a school that he had briefly met two days ago. Just three of them actually. Paul North was sitting next to them, half drunk. An empty bowl was in each of their laps, having previously held alcoholic Rocky Road ice cream and.... Well, Elliot was being Elliot, sitting next to an elderly lady in the delegation and somehow prying into her with choice short sentences and syllable words. He was also kind of dressed in an intricate Y'tole Emma dancer's dress... in fact, if you didn't know his swing you'd swear he was indeed a girl

He decided to do the obvious thing you'd do for a girl, walking over and giving Elliot a smooch. "Ohh.... hey, paaapaaa...." The simulated effects of alcohol had been encoded into the "full simulation package" Bellamy had worked on over the years, and right now, it was a perfect mess.... A slurred, half drunken case of child endangerment.

Marcus decided he would have to speak with Julie one day about making non-alcoholic versions of ice cream. Having this happen everytime they had an ice-cream moment in the house was probably grounds for a Child Protectors raid.

"Hey Elliot," Marcus asked, "Where's your mama?"

Elliot smiled."In kitchen. making canapes. sudden dinner party for seven."

Marcus glared over at Paul North. He would be having a major hangover in the morning, but it would be nothing compared to the flaming he was going to give him for commandeering random residents' homes for a celebration, even if said resident worked at the same level as him.

Marcus walked into the house and.... saw Julie sitting down on the sofa, looking extremely tired. "Honey, you okay there?"

Julie looked up and smiled wanly. He rushed over and checked her ear studs - dull brown. just a few inches from shutting down. "They were all having so much fun,,, I stopped looking after myself a bit and... well.... I am feeling t-tired now. Such a ditzzzz,,,,: Julie slurred and stuttered weakly as Marcus scooped her up. "I think I made more than enough for you too... tooo..."

Marcus shushed her. "You're tired, you should rest up." "did I doooo goood?" Marcus smiled.... "Yes dear. yes you did."

Marcus carefully tucked Julie into bed and made sure the induction pad was contacting properly before he stepped back out, pausing at the kitchen to get some thin breads, a few thin slices of something fried in a way that somehow didn't leave it very oily, and a small bowl of Rocky Road.... he stared at the ice cream... at some point, Julie had become more than a basic housework and fucking droid. She kept ducking out occasionally to learn new recipes, and regularly gossiped on the Housewives' channel for tips on housework... He had grown to love her not just for being a wonderful ride in bed, but also someone who held the house up high.

He sighed and walked out. His plans for 'stress relief' tonight were going to have to be cancelled. at least the Rocky Road would get him drunk.
==================
Mother Ammi was leaning on the safety fencing, indulging in some sort of herbal cigarette while slowly eating her bowl of ice-cream. the party had pretty much crashed out, with people strewn all over the grass. Marcus noted with a odd mix of disturbance and curiosity that a bipedal brown and white cat in an anorak - the same one he had passed going home - was now parked on the porch roof,drunk and happy on the overrichness of the house speciality.

He was really going to have to ask Paul North about that as well.

Marcus parked himself next to Mother Ammi and started eating the same way he always did when Julie's Rocky Road was on the menu: ice-cream first."Did you have a good day in Little Sanctuary?"

Ammi took a drag and sighed... it sounded almost post-coital. "The best. I found a dancer with promise - that kid over there..." She motioned to Elliot, who had parked himself ass up in the sky with even less grace than normal. "I had the best ice cream ever.... and I suspect that very soon Paul North will have one more thing to brag about."
Marcus made a mental note to tuck Elliot into bed as well... as for the rest of these dotards, they could damn well get off his lawn in the morning. anyways...

"You seem to be thinking of something." Ammi observed.

"I was thinking.... is it wrong of me to want this better life for everyone?" Marcus asked.

Ammi thought carefully about this, there were so many contexts this could be interpreted through... "Wanting a better life for everyone is a noble cause.... just please be careful about making sure you have enough cloth for the curtains...."

Marcus understood the code and nodded. He rolled a piece of crackling in ohe of the flatbreads and chewed on it, the salty and crispy fat melting as he chewed on it. "God, Julie makes the best crackling."

Ammi nodded. "Yeah, I've heard great things about Greater Minnesotan Rat. it's amazing what you folks can turn it into."

Marcus abruptly crashed out on hearing those words. More precisely, he had a reverie, and it was not a gentle one, as he sat himself down against the fencing before he totally blacked out.
=================

The warm scent of beef. Chicken Drumsticks. Pasta with actual describable meat sauce. Meatloaf. Carnivore's pizza. milkshakes made with actual cow's milk, not some... soy-based sham....

Things he had once eaten as a child and even a teen, before the Despotic Years ruined farming and took chicken and beef stuffs off the menu. He'd heard about families in Little Sanctuary who still occasionally had such meat on hand, but it was a pleasant occasional luxury now, and everyone was eating... rat. True, Arendtcore Foods had stood as a barrier against the potential disease issues such a diet might cause, and they had plenty of ideas on how to turn it into various things, but in the end it was all just... rat

The reverie he was getting this time as a side effect of his premium rejuvenation therapy seemed oddly targeted and intended to hurt him.

"... Mr Manners, are you okay there?" Ammi worried face blurred into view as Marcus woke back up. "You looked like you had a blackout..."

"... we had a better life." Marcus murmured... "we had a better life once." He snapped. "WHERE IS THAT LIFE, AND WHY CAN'T EVERYONE HAVE IT!?" And with that, a perfectly grown up old man started crying like a child.


Mother Ammi frowned, glancing at her drunkard guards and Marcus. "This is going to be a loooong night, isn't it?"

[handle2]

and this is where that weird changeover happened.

Family of 3 + Friends --
Chapter 1 - Age Catches Up With You

The world had begun hinting to Elliot Manners that he should at least begin to grow up a little...

Teacher Lucy had summoned Elliot to her desk after class one day for an important discussion.

"You've been in this school for three years... next year will be your graduating year, Elliot." Teacher Lucy gently informed

"... that long? Can't be. Only 10." Elliot had looked back worriedly.

"Based of your circumstances, that's certainly not the case. Not that I know your exact age - Administration won't disclose it for some odd reason. But i do know it's been three years to the date we first welcomed you, and Administration flagged you as a graduate for next year." Teacher Lucy sighed got up to pace over, giving Elliot a small hug. "You've been one of my best students, but holding on to you after next year isn't happening. Have you thought about your future yet?"

Elliot blushed and shook his head.

"Please do. If you know what you're aiming for, you can do more to prepare for it..." Teacher Lucy advised, before returning to her desk and writing something. "Dismissed."
=======
Elliot had joined Julie for a spot of shopping a few days later when a elderly black lady approached him and smiled. "Hello, may take a rest here?"

Elliot smiled and nodded. "Please. Take a break." He went back to sitting on his part of the bench, biting into a round chocolate-topped biscuit. It had been his favorite all these years, even back in his days at-

"Platine... it's been a long time since I've seen a child actually enjoy those." The lady had observed him a little before suddenly speaking up.

Elliot glanced over at her, taking her teeth off the biscuit... "they're called Plateys, granny... would you like one too?"

She gently pushed the proffered Platine/Platey away. "My teeth aren't what they used to be, little one. I can't exactly bite down on one with a glass of lemonade with the Bundt boy down in Hedgerow like i used to as a girl. Those were such nice days. and you look so much like him too. But he'd be a old man by now...."

Elliot looked away a little uneasily. "I'm sure he thinks of you sometimes as well." He made an excuse of chewing his biscuit slowly to say nothing else, nothing that could become a slip of the tongue, a reason to suspect...

"Elliot!" Julie Manners had yelled as she approached the bench. "Im done with that shop. Is there anywhere else you'd like to go?" She lightly helped Elliot off the bench, checking he hadn't sat on anything awkward.

"No, mama." Elliot quickly glanced at the old lady to see how she would respond. They had not taken it too well - they had paled a little, murmuring... He quickly smiled, but said nothing to her, judging it best not to try to make excuses or lies. "Want go home. Now." He grabbed Julie's hand and pointed at where the nearest shuttle and jalopy wait point was. To her credit, Julie had simply followed him along, talking about what he was about to get for dinner from her that evening.

The old lady had said one last thing just as they rounded the corner out of sight and earshot... "but that was his name too..."
======
The final straw had been his Y'tole Academy dance practice. The instructor had introduced him to the wondrous basic forms of the second stage of the Emma variant, and it had looked so wonderful. But when he got the sheet with the first dozen or so steps, a few had been crossed out.

"Teacher, why do some of these steps have crosses next to them?" Elliot had asked...

"They are not steps a mere youngling could attempt. I don't ever want you to try until I see that your body has matured enough to perform them. You might injure yourself doing them as you are." He had said.

"Let me give one of them a try." Elliot had tried a small sequence in the basic steps, but when he had gotten to the forbidden step, he realised he couldn't quite get into it and had crashed painfully. He tried to start doing it again but the instructor raised palm and stopped him.

"I let you try it once, but if you repeated that a few more times, you still wouldn't succeed. You'd just hurt yourself. I'm not planning to injure a young potential prodigy... stick to the allowed parts. Nobody will penalise you for skipping the adult bits at this stage of... immaturity." The instructor noted with a sympathetic frown. "Take a break there for a bit before we resume the safer forms."

That felt galling. Very insulting. As Elliott sat against the mirrored wall, he looked at his tender arms and hands. A wall had risen up that no amount of practice would surmount. This was a matter of lacking the physical ability to do so.

He lifted his head and gulped deeply. Elliott had run out of room to keep pretending he was a mere boy. Sixty years had been afforded him by his foster father and the man he had always called his real father.

The former died in Alaska and he himself had lacked the physicality to survive but for the last-minute intervention of rescuers and his uncle Bellamy.

The latter was getting older and the gulf between their apparent ages had crossed from cute to quickly, perhaps even impossible under careful examination.

Elliot decided he would need to grow up, finally. It was time to talk with his dad about doing it. Perhaps at bathtime tonight....
===

[handle2]

Chapter 2 - Always an educator, sometimes a woman
A pair of big feline eyes glanced out at the dusty school field through partially nudged blinds, watching a Teacher Unit in the shape of a biped dog lead a long line of Gdanzi refugee kids through some sort of song and dance.

There was a knock on the door of her spartan little office. Principal Luci Nost turned around slowly and walked to her desk of office. "Enter" she said, as she sat down and glanced at the paperwork needed to keep the school safe and educational.

A lanky man walked in. A member of the local Reset Crew, they had opted to doff their anonymizing hazmat suits as the warm Etruruscan climate was not conducive to wearing them. Instead, they all wore the same dun colored overalls, badged with the Arendtcore RC logo and their names velcroed on. There was also no hierarchy per se, any breakages either attended by the nearest qualified member or temporarily patched and the nearest qualified member referred to it.

That was the theory anyway. Some breakages were exclusively handled by Patter Nost. "Excuse me ma'am, I had to see to a glitch in the chef section. Sorry for the delay in coming in."

Luci smiled sweetly. The rules had been quite clear on them fraternizing during work but ever so often excuses could be made. She reached out her right paw, watching the digits twitch and jerk a little. "I need this paw looked at. It hasn't functioned properly for a week, and I don't believe it's a software issue."

Patter leaned in closer to examine her stubby paw. Ever so often, there would be tremors, or paw digits folding erratically without command. "Excuse me, ma'am... could you write with your left paw for a bit? I need to work on this paw of yours a bit..."

Luci nodded. "Carry on, Mr Nost." She calmly flipped her pen with her remaining front paw and carried on, occasionally glancing up as Patter carefully removed her paw and began stripping the white fur covering on it, exposing the simple mechanisms and electronics beneath, before popping his old Fix-it kit and fishing out a few tools to treat her malady.
======
Patter was so serious about it, and his body had toned up with age and the hard work that running around the World Protectorate outpost for Gdanzeland refugees keeping it in good condition had provided for nine long years.

Luci on her part had adored the children and wanted to care for them in her small section of the outpost, a special franchise of Special Little Sparks taught in English and Gdanzi, with small additions to keep the children safe and properly nourished.

She had even taken on another five years of this work (and been promoted to Principal) on top of the initial five she and Patter had agreed to as "punishment" for Patter's hijinks back home. There would be a major gift waiting for her at the end of the year, even - she was already running this body of hers far longer than had been recommended and the awkward creaks and breakages every few weeks were now a fact of life.

Fortunately, the only unsolvable issue had been her eyes, for which glasses had been prescribed to compensate for them refusing to focus beyond a certain distance. She could do paperwork without them and look across her office too but chose to keep them on most times now - she enjoyed the authoritative look it gave her toy-like face.
=======
After what seemed like a long while, Patter got up with the paw in his hand and leaned over. "Hold still for a moment", he asked as he clicked the disembodied paw back into place, holding her wrist firmly as she tested out with various paw flexes and claw ejections and retractions. He smiled... "That should hold another few more weeks till... Christmas."

Luci gave herself a moment of irreverence. "We're going home for Christmas... new house, new body, new jobs, new life..."

Patter smiles and looks up at Luci. She was certainly looking forward to-

The door to the office clicked shut. At the same time, the air raid siren came on. The Principals were trapped shut in the office as a security measure during raids. Except that Assistant Principal (and Understudy) Frogger had set out to tour the school compound and was now presumably locked down elsewhere.

Somewhere else, a shell had thudded into the soil. It didn't explode, the Gdanzi military stretched their supplies by omitting the explosives and simply relying on heft and impact to damage the compound. The roofs had been unarmoured to survive even an explosive shell, but the thud of heavy metal into them still scared many.

Principal Luci had mysteriously vanished from her chair. A brief examination found her curled up on the visitors' sofa, shivering in fear. Even after nine years, she was still afraid of the roulette the Gdanzi bastards played with the lives of her charges, as well as the Knights of the World Protectorate.

Patter walked over quickly and sat himself down next to Luci, hugging her. One hand fished a instant popcorn kit out of his overalls, which he deployed to the coffee table and ripped the tab from, starting a heating pack to melt the butter and start cooking the popcorn kernels in the silvery sack. The scent of butter soon filled the office, in contravention of several office rules about this sort of thing.

He didn't care about them right now. His lady was in distress, and the popcorn butter scent would calm her even though she had no actual digestive system to speak of.

Luci did indeed calm down, ears slowly wilting from standing on edge. "... thanks, Patter... I needed that..."

Patter nodded slowly. "Any time, Luci." They sat there together, fraternising as hard as they could without taking their clothes off. Luci simply hugging Patter, as if she was a giant soft kitty toy, while Patter closed his eyes and breathed slowly, a little scared too but doing his best not to share the fear.

There was a special showing of Sixar's Koi Story 3 on Thursday night for the schoolkids. Something to delight the children after a long week of studying. Robotic school staff would all get looked over and maintained on Friday. Saturday and Sunday would be their private day most weeks, to carefully explore each other and just be "Luci and Nost". Not the Principal and the senior Reset Crew member in their separate fortresses within this fortress.

The thought of their upcoming times with each other brought a smile to Luci's face. She glanced over... Patter's stoicism had broken as well, watching the first popcorn kernel exit the kitbag. The scent would intensify for a few hours, then fade.

The scent of popcorn made everything feel like a movie trip, and she too finally eased up and just let go, allowing Patter to start munching idly on the corn...
=======
After what seemed like an hour, the raid had definitively ceased. Patter took this as a sign to grab his Fixit Kit and his bag of toasty popcorn. "I need to go inspect the damage, ma'am. Stand by for reports." He was all business now, the loving husband sinking back into the shadows to wait for the weekend.

Luci quickly sat up properly, equally prim and proper. "Carry on, sir." There had been a frisson of arousal as she watched his ass carry him out of the office, but he had restrained himself from acting on it, simply parking herself back back in her perch of power and starting the usual reports for this sort of raid in preparation for any good and bad news.

But for the rest of the workday, the scent of butter lingered, a lovely reminder of the prolonged time they had spent together...

[handle2]

Chapter 3 - A new Addition To The Families Programme

The Reset Crew van pulled into the house garage.

During the introductions programme that had been recently started, new employees had been housed initially in the Corporate Retreat to get to know each other over hard drinks, soft beds, and planned gatherings and discussions. A few employees had brought their own spouses and children. Some had bonded with each other and made plans.

That had unfortunately left a few more employees. The Arendtcore rules were clear: they were required to live within Little Sanctuary. They were not allowed to be alone. Either they specified their choice of companion, or they would be forcibly assigned one based on their psych profile, absent their ability to specify what they would desire.

That had been the latter case for Monk Matreus, the latest engineer Arendtcore had picked out of the dirt. He had reluctantly agreed to the Families Programme, and had frankly couldn't be bothered to specify anything about the kind of housebody he would have preferred. "Surprise me," he'd gruffly told the housing coordinator, before he went back to destroying another future colleague in a game of othello.

The Reset Crew van was yellow, the color assigned to the team that set up Arendtcore units all over the enclave and collected them back as needed (a thing that rarely happened). From the van, a technicians exited, clutching their gear and the first of several packages they would place into the house as they entered. They no longer wore hazmat suits, instead wearing overalls keyed to the same color as their assigned team.

He got into the house proper and settled down his Fixit It and the package, before opening the package. It was a standard Arendtcore Employee Welcome nutritional package for an initial month for two persons' three meals a day. A healthy balanced mix of carbohydrates, proteins, fats and trace sugars and salts to indulge the employee, plus two small cans of A-List Wine to celebrate their new home along with... condoms.

Occasionally a new employee wanted to go all the way in celebrating their new life, and the condoms were a message to him to practise safe sex, even if any spouse they had been assigned was technically STD-Immune and was cleaned thoroughly every month.

He carefully followed the standard instructions, storing various groceries in various parts of the kitchen before walking into the main bedroom to deposit the condoms discreetly next to a letter welcoming Mr Monk Matreus to the Arendtcore family and outlining the house's various provisions.

He left the room. Several minutes later the technician returned with two packages, one considerably larger than the other. He dropped the packages by the left side of the bed and fished a safe knife out of his Fixit Kit to carefully deploy the larger box.

The Technician gently cradled out a modestly thicc sleeping brown-skinned brunette, followed by a jewel box with a Secure Personality Chip, carefully customised to fit Monk's personality profile and operate as wife, companionship and (if desired) lover. Shifting the woman slightly, he parted her legs and jabbed a tool into the jewel box after first confirming the identity of the woman who would become the support of this household, he lifted the chip out, before gently but firmly inserting the chip into her false cervix, briefly watching her cervix fold in in a very tight seal before standing back. As he grabbed the other package, the brunette had started coming to life and announcing that she was downloading the digital "soul" of "Ameile Matreus Mailer".

In a few hours, Monk would arrive in his new jalopy (another gift that came with his Employment package), step into a house with Ameile prepping a welcome meal and... what happened next would be good for him. Good for employees retention too, the tech reflected as he carefully populated part of the clothes closet with Ameile's various outfits and undergarments, before marching out to check that the house lights and audio video systems were functional.
======
The technician pulled out of the garage for hopefully a very long time, smiling. He had done this job several hundred times and while there had been less pleasant moments, this was the part that made him feel human and contented with the job despite its modest pay and long hours. He hoped that Monk would be happy and that there wouldnt be immediate... returns.

He had cut it a bit close - the base had alerted him in the midst of his perfectionist checking of the house's five rooms and two bathrooms and Monk would be halfway here by now. As he had walked into the main bedroom for final checks "Amelia Matreus" had begun to dress herself up in the default sundress and slip-on house shoes humming a gentle ditty. Like all other artificial women (and men - some entrants had preferred men either because they swung that way, or because they were women, the company did not get snippy about non-cisgender assignments and just went ahead with them as needed.) Amelia had been programmed to ignore Reset Crews in the first few hours of her new life unless technical emergencies called for it. She thought nothing of a man standing right in her bedroom who wasn't her 'hubby', continuing her prep for her new life. And with that, the technician had grabbed his Fixit Kit and started walking

He paused and looked back briefly. He really hoped that the many hours the Arendtcore Family Programme had spent setting this place up to be more than a mere house with furnishings and a perfunctory gift basket would please Mr Matreus. He quickly exited into the garage and boarded his van, really cutting it close as Monk would practically pass by him on his way back, most likely...

The technician leaned back slowly, happy about himself. "Home base, James." He lazily indicated to the AI authorising the van to go ahead and leave the garage, before settling in his seat for the ride back.

[handle2]

Chapter 3 - There was a better way to handle this

Barely four hours later, when he should have been ready to leave for home and the comforts of his own family, the Yellow Team Reset Crew technician was now stuck outside another employee home in Little Sanctuary. That was his first sign that something was wrong tonight.

The second sign of wrongness had been the other vehicle and who had come out of it. It was a Reset Crew Van, but upsized and armored and painted in a shade of black that spoke of a willingness to do dark things in the service of the community. From it, four lightly armored and armed members in matching all black had come out, all wearing tactical helmets as if to hide their shame at what they did. They were Reset Crew, but they spent far more time exercising, eating properly, and drilling in tactics and firewarms. A completely alien group amongst them, but not by choice. If they showed up, things had potentially gone very wrong. unfixable, perhaps.

One of the Black Reset teamers had walked up to hm and raised out a gloved hand. A firm grip had ensued. "I'm Black-10. You understand what type of situation this is... we go in, we neutralize all threats to non-armed Reset Crew, the rest of you go in to pick up casualties and.... and..." He left the rest of it unsaid.

The Technician introduced himself. "Davies Poppodilo. Not my first rodeo at this kind of incident. fear it won't be my last."

Black-10 sighed. "Hang back. we'll give you the signal when we've neutralised the problem..." He turned around to look at his own team mates.

"Okay luvs, two of you round about and enter from the upper floors, we'll execute a forced entrance via the front door. There's nobody in the garage according to the camera override. We run the place in 60..."
=======

They had indeed taken over in 60 seconds. it had taken minimal damage to the house fittings as they filed in from two directions to find and neutralize all potential threats to the well-being of Little Sanctuary. There had been only one. A Arendtcorp logistician had gone insane and applied the sharp end of a knife to his wife and son. Fortunately this had been damage inflicted to Families Programme Androids - there would be no need to transfer the employee to the actual Minnesotan police outside of the walls of Little Sanctuary for an actual murder charge... This could all stay in the family...

Black-10 popped his head out the front door after a while and motioned to Davies to come in. His face concealed his feelings about the matter, and his choice of vocal tones hid them very well too...

=====

Technician Davies followed Black-10 as he ushered him into the living room. The Television was still on, set to a channel showcasing old funny cartoons and family movies. The boy of the family was still parked on the sofa, a few stab wounds through his chest having broken something that caused him to become a mere doll. He spoke gibberish every few seconds, clearly malfunctioning. "Hi, I'm Markie. Apples Orange Ducks Quack Brbllprmmm...zzzrrpp..." Davies briefly leaned over and located the power switch, silencing the poor innocent moppet.

In the kitchen, the housewife had frozen totally, from a few hard stabs into her torso core breaking something critical.

Davies shook his head. There were plenty of ways to avoid this. you could alert your Housing Co-ordinator that you were becoming uncomfortable or displeased with your Families Programme units. They would pair you with a therapist, who would counsel you into acceptance of the way things were, or provide psychomeds to blunt away any edge and help you with the same acceptance. In the worst cases, they would withdraw your FamilyProg units without prejudice against your continued stay and a employment, though you would be relocated to a much smaller home intended for the single person as the only demerit. This was true even if you had snapped despite proper counselling and broken them before they were removed...

The person involved in the stabbings would not be treated as a murderer, but he was looking as both a firing, and an actual exile back to his home village or town as someone who had lost his job in Arendtcore. if he had not checked himself into therapy as previously pointed out.

Davies partially unzipped the victim's and traced the wounds... the crazed employee had shorted her out by cutting her data lines and several critical power components that had fortunately not electrocuted him in response or caught fire, merely stopped providing power to make her move or emote. He safed her by cutting her power entirely, then started planning to evac two damaged units - there would be no need to do any emergency repairs to safe any potential electrical fires or explosions in this incident. That... didn't make things feel much better.

Davies watched as Black Reset members helped him relocate the deaded Family Units into his van. They were under no obligation to help him, but they had a shared agreement to do so whenever a Yellow Team attended as the job was already sufficiently tough for them without coping with the trauma of a bad night.

A gloved hand clapped his shoulder. It was Black-10. "Employee Insanity leading to destruction of Family Programme Units... we get that a lot?"

Davies shook his head, trying to smile. it wasn't working. He did however, blink as Black-10 calmly patted a small can of some soda against his chest. "Look, I'm not like many of the other team leaders. I know that when you attend one of these events, it really hurts." Black-10 sympathised, as if frowning behind the full-head helmet.

Davies examined the soda, it was apparently some sort of "calmer soda for bringing the mind down from a high it didn't need. probably a legitimate narcotic in a dosage small enough to barely express such effects even if one chugged several cans in one night. "I... I don't find it any easier even after all these attendances. But other colleagues back at base do the emergency repairs and storage so I don't have to bear it alone"

"Good, don't do that. you shouldn't have to fall apart because you're a good man trying to salvage a bad situation. Rely on us too. We're here to help you with the violent bits even if most of my men lack the capability to express that part themselves." Black-10 looked back at the house, now taped up to prevent entry while it was assessed how to handle the matter. "Go on, drink up. You need the Tymacine."

Davies nodded and sipped... then choked. It was a strong grapefruit, so bittersweet, just like tonight's trauma.... and he still had to get in his van and deliver the damaged family unit back to base for repairs, disposal, or storage...

[handle2]

Chapter 4 - An invite, A rudeness, A backfire

A year into his studies at Y'tole Academy and homeschooling at home, it happened.

"Me?" Elliot pointed at himself.

Mayor Chablis Brissom of Ochachuhee nodded. "Yes, seeing as you're the foremost expert of Y'tole who's a Minnesotan."

Elliot looked worriedly at his dad next to him... He was closer to 12 now, and he'd had two years dancing across the grass, but he didn't feel ready for any sort of major sports event, even a mere regional meet. To make matters worse, observers from several foreign nations were observing. To make matters even worse, one of them would be the Chinajapese Empire... chaperoned by his own Aunt Aymee as the Empress Eimu.

Piled with all these unpleasant occurences, he felt he had to just run to the Appalachians, dig a huge cave, and hide in it for a year.

Marcus Manners protested. "Please, he's only just taken up formal studies.He's only like 11-ish at the moment. I think we shoud let him mature more and try at a later date."

Mother Ammi suddenly spoke up. "It will be good experience. He will learn of the world outside our little town, and how other people dance the Y'tole. I'm all for it, even if he loses dismally."

Marcus briefly glared at Ammi as she calmly sipped her tea, not caring that Elliot's father was not approving of her approval. But it was too late, Mayor Chablis as the local Olympics coordinator would sign Elliot up, and put Julie into biathlon lessons as the biathlon representative for Minnesota. This was either going to be amazing... or appalling.

=====
The year of prep came and went fast. As part of prep, Elliot had gained an inch or two all over. He was still no young man, but he was tiptoeing along the cusp of maturity at the apparent age of 12 years old... then the buttpinch incident happened.

It was weigh-in day and all the athletes were checking in for their respective sports. Julie had gone first, but after she did she had briefly ruffled Elliot's brown soft hair. "Well, despite all your worries, you're here. and I'm proud of you, my little bundle of joy. Go on, Marcus." Julie nudged Marcus as they watched Elliot. "Say something to your boy..."

Marcus did something totally off. He grabbed Elliot by the shoulders. "One more step to manhood. I'm not asking you to utterly dominate the other Y'tole dancers out there, but I want you to try anyway... okay?"

Elliot nodded solemnly. "Always, papa, Alw-"
Elliot blinked as he felt a sharp pinch on his butt. He wheeled around to find the representatives for Omaha. "Did one of you just.. pinch my butt?"

A girl several years older than him grinned. "I did, whatcha gonna do about it." As she said this she was accompanied by or four other athletes, all but one of them boys.

Mayor Chablis approached their chaperone, a blithely ignorant young adult who had watched the proceedings without interfering. "MISTER PACKHARDT - I must insist on better behavior from your charges on the Omaha Team!"

Packhardt turned to put his gaze on Chablis... then accorded her very little respect in response. "Kids will be kids, ma'am. I'll give them a stern talking when they go too far. They haven't... yet."

Chablis stuttered and started loding another protest when a hand stopped her... it was Elliot. "It's not worth it.... you too, mama. papa." He sauntered over to the girl who had assaulted him, resplendent in his dark blue and green sports suit. "May I have your name, miss?"

The girl had deigned to give her name after a few minutes of silence. "Annabella Maybliss... of the most talented Maybliss siblings."

Elliot grinned upwards at him. "It's always good to know my fellow competitors. you're doing Y'tole dance as well?"

"Yes, what of it, lover boy."

Elliot considered this. "I hope we can be friends on the grass field. Real friends, even if the grass is fake and merely a warmed stage for our dances." He bowed, then looked up at her again. "We shall hopefully have fun together even if we merely place or don't score a gold or silver at all." With that he walked off to continue his registration for Y'tole dance.

====
Annabella was disturbed. She had pulled that buttpinch stunt several times over the past few months, and each time it had ended in a disadvantageous outcome for the targeted boy and their team. And yet, this... Elliot Manners child... he had blithely just shrugged it all, even looked to her as a possible friend.

She shook her head in her hand a little, unsure of what to do next, even as her idiot siblings mocked his lack of fight... The boy, she felt, had fight, but he would show it at the worst possible moment, possibly one that would sink her and her eldest brother.

A firm big hand clasped her shoulder. "Don't worry, he'll fracture. they always do."

Annabella looked up at her brother Morton fearfully. This was his last year at the regionals, and he had had almost reached the pinnacle where the national selectors might start considering him as part of the US team. perhaps he would crush the boy the same way he had all the others who had gotten in their way. But the Elliot boy had a firmness to him that would not yield to mere intimidation - all the better to flatten him harder, Morton seemed to muse...

================

Somewhere else in the arena, Aymee was scowling very hard at a another smug bastard. "Hidori. You bastard. what are you doing here?" She asked firmly, as her two guards edged their fingers for their close-in weaponry.

The snide oldish man looked up at the woman he was supposed to call Empress... Aymee had discovered things about his study of the Chinajapese arts of Maho To Ne that violated the original beneficient intent of the art, and agreed with Emperor Ma Erhuang that this man was no good - he had been cast out of the studios beneath the eaves of the Imperial Palace. For his part, Hidori had thrown his lot in with the Gdanzeland junta, and was now making stealth equipment of dark purposes for them. No matter, the child who had replaced him was a genius and could run circles around him in the precepts of the Maho To Ne, all without breaking its rules... at least the ones that stopped practitioners from visiting harm on others with their creations, they were.... perhaps a bit less respectful of some of their other rules.

Hidori stroked his goatee calmly. "The same thing I am doing for my new masters, your... Highness." He said the last word without the respect he would have once accorded. "There is no rule that says I cannot do the same."

Aymee nodded in reluctant agreement. "Yes, there isn't. I hope you don't do anything untoward towards any of these young children." She looked over to where the contestants were signing up. "This is after all a celebration of the human spirit."

Hidori gives a haughty snort. "HUMAN. Some of these children are robots. They should not be competing!"

Aymee watched Hidori with a strange sort of interest. "Given the demographic disaster we're having, having a fixation on the biological or lab origins of our children is no longer a viable stance... Or are you going to insist on being a human supremacist."

Hidori angers as he hears Aymee's accusation. "How dare you-"

Aymee raishes a white-gloved hand. "Anyhooo... let's agree to just observe these children having fun, regardless of their origins. No shenanigans from the Gdanzeland junta, and certainly none from the Chinajapese Empire."

Hidori sees an opportunity for some mischief, gently rubbing a switch on his green-edged black gloves before firmly shaking the Empress' hand. "Certainly, your highness..." He lets go as if nothing is wrong, and walks away to speak with his new masters.
=============

As Aymee walked away from the confrontation, she calmly observes something. "Oh, what a bother, Hidori was a traitor, and a scum, and he would definitely had done this..."

One of her guards looked over worriedly. "Whatever do you mean, highness?"

Aymee raised the hand that had shook Hidori on their mutual non-interference promise. The Maho To Ne circuitry in the glove had fired off, and the glove that had that had shook Hidori's cursed paw was in the process of gently disintegrating away, leaving Aymee's big, bare bruiser paw.

The guards glanced back in anger. "An attack on our Empress? This cannot stand-"

Aymee grabbed and hugged her guards under her armpits, reminding them that she was very much capable of out muscling them both at once in a fair fight. This hadn't been a fair fight of course.... She closed her eyes. "As your empress, I command you to only file a report on what just happened, and to do nothing else. Arjunta's new gloves have saved me once from being poisoned... and you know what's the best part? It's a reflective barrier." Aymee's gentle majestic face suddenly took on the menace and hard grit that had followed her years as a bruiser in Minnesota. "it's a real shame we can't see what's happening to Hidori right now. But at least we can see the sights and the sounds and ... oh, there's my lovely nephew! Let me go say hello to him!"

[handle2]

Chapter 5 - I went to a fight and Thomas Dolby broke out

Marcus had called a halt to the training as a assistant minor-domo for the Minnesota team. "I don't care if you're doing Y'tole dance, or curling, or biathon, or hot coal 100m sprints or what not. tonight is the night before the games officially start. I want all of you to relax. We're doing a team pub crawl together.

Mayor Chablis Brissom, the major domo aka the curling team's ace, looked to her other team members. "Well, he does have a point. at this point I'm not sure we can improve from further practice." She got no disagreement from her other team mates, known in these parts as The Five Ice Doctors. Medics who also knew something about the peculiarities of curling. "I see no reason to turn it down. lock up your gear, and let's go," Doctor Chissolm had observed. Nurses Pratchett, Domingo and Goodenplenti had nodded, and Doctor Abemarthy had followed a minute later...
======

Elliot stood outside The Chill Dome, the only pub in Nebraska that was sufficiently large enough to host every delegation at once. Marcus was the first person to make an observation about Elliot's looks. "I get that it's meant to honor someone your love and miss, but... did you really have to wear that feminine little blue ribbon?" He asked, pointing at the blue ribbon tied into Elliot's hair has it had been for the past four years.

Elliot glanced sideways at the ribbon, then shrugged. "token of honor for a dear friend. Still very much male. No further discussion enter-enter-ent... brooked about this." This discussion had been had before so many times, surely papa must understand by now that it will end the same way no matter how he presses it, he smiled at Marcus as he shrugged at the black coat Bellamy Arendt had given him as a gift and walked into the Chill Dome.

Julie had followed in right after Elliot, her eyes glancing firmly at Marcus, as if to say "We had a deal. I am disappointed that you still think this way of him.", before she went in as well.

=======

You could make out the teams after a while... Nebraska, Omaha, a team from Sasketchewan, California, Louisiana... on one wall section were the observer teams: Gdanzeland, Chinajapan, Singapora, Brazil... The major-domo for the Chinajapese Empire, Empress Eimu, waved subtly, or rather it was Aunt Aymee.

Elliot waved back with the same subtle hand flapping, before sitting down at the table that had been reserved for them. After a few orders, Marcus taking care not to give any of the underaged at the table alcohol, Elliot had sat back quietly, waiting for the poutine to come out, before walking over to the Chinajapese contingent.

The other teams were a little mystified at how this young teenager could blithely walk up to the very Empress of the Chinajapese contingent, and simply bow to her. "This little one greets your majesty and wishes you have had a wonderful time in our country so far."

The Empress did something unexpected. She put down her mug of root beer and stood up... then bowed to him as if he was an equal. there were a few gasps. "Empress Eimu greets you in return, and rewards you for your courtesy and bravery in treating me as a fellow sportsperson..." She firmly shoves a bunched-up glove with a note tucked inside of it into Elliot's hand. "I hope this will bring you victory. And we shall speak later in less visible circumstances, perhaps?"

Elliot bowed again and backed away, before attempting to make contact with the other observer teams. "Please observe that I bring no cheatery to the West US Regionals, only my hopes and my skills at Y'tole dance." He had made this as part of his greeting to each of the other teams.

The Gdanzeland contingent had, of course rudely snubbed him. The boy had clearly been trained in the traditional forms of the dance, which were ananthema to the brash, hard bearing moves of the State-Sanctioned Variant. They were enemies. They barely made a show of acknowledging his existence and perfunctorily wishing him good luck in the games, before going back to their act of superiority.

Empress Eimu/ Aymee noted with satisfaction that Hidori had bandaged the hand he had shaken hers with. apparently he had tried to poison her, but thanks to Arjuna's canny studies in Maho To Ne, the attempt had backfired onto his person. A few circuits had been etched clumsily into the bandages, presumably to accelerate decursing and healing. Hidori gazed angrily back at her, causing the Empress to whistle a ditty into the air as she sipped her beer...

Ah... it had always been so hard to find a proper safrole oil root beer even before she had left for Fujing, a place not known for its rootbeer of any sort. This was bliss. The anger of a traitor, and the proper prep of root beer by someone who understood a fatal dose of safrole oil was achievable only after a few thousand mugs at once. Not just two or three mugs in a blue moon...

The Singapora contingent had marveled at the 'bochup' (couldn't care less) attitude they had seen Elliot give Annabelle Maybliss of Omaha, and now the Empress of the Chinajapese empire. From them, he had obtained a small brooch of some sort of lion in profile cast into silver, and a kiss from the minor-domo over the protests of the other junior officials. A very motherly kiss."Now go get them tomorrow, tiger."

The Brazilians had brought a few capoeira dancers, who had expressed an interest in Y'tole dancing as a possible adjacent to add to their own arts. Elliot had decided to risk it and spoke up for every other Y'tole dancer participating in the coming week's Y'tole events. "I hope we can give you some ways to add grace and power to your own artform even as we learn from you in your exhibitions..."

That had knocked the Brazilians backwards a litte with its candid warmth, and Elliot had returned to his table with an additional small tome on the practice of capoeira, with the signatures of the Capoeira junior team slathered across the cover page. They had even apologised for the absence of their coach, a man who paid more attention to the senior team and only saw them as feed into that team.

Elliot smiled and handed the capoeira manual and his brooch to his mother for safekeeping, but kept the glove, if only to read the note stashed in it:
"You are amongst friends, but one of these observer teams is also an enemy to me and now, perhaps, to you, seeing as they know of our possible relation. be careful around the Gdanzeland junta's observers. They bear ill will. This glove is one of a pair I wore here. Don't ask why one is missing. I'm certainly no longer wearing it, if you must know. Wear it with pride and let it protect you once against those who would seek you actual harm, not just merely defeat you and leave you ashamed on the arena floor - Your Aunt Aymee

There was a post script:" P.S. we're not competing so I think i can say GO MINNESOTA."

Elliot giggled a little and tucked the note back into its glove before sending it into the inside folds of his coat, picking up his virginal Shirley Temple to sip. enjoying its mix of sour and hard sweetness as the Chill Dome played a random song on its jukebox system...

===========================
The rest of the night went quietly and it seemed as if it would be a success through and through... Then the blasted Belgian observer team had to ruin it, though it had to be admitted Elliot had helped them along...

At some point one of the Belgians had decided that Annabelle Maybliss and him would make very beautiful kids. You could say whatever you wanted about the demographic crash around the world, it did not give him the right to accost Annabelle, and yet, he had done so anyway. The rest of the Maybliss siblings had not been helpful, even encouraging Annabelle to give in and have a time out with the Belgian interloper. She gritted her teeth at this advance as well as the uselessness of her siblings being nothing but men.

Elliot considered a few things as he finished his virgin Shirley Temple, before shrugging his coat off for safekeeping by his mama. "papa... could you order me a zero-alcohol Somerset Watermelon Cider? I need to settle something." He announced to the table, as he picked up his half-eaten Shepard's Pie, then considered something... "And another Shepard's pie. I'm still hungry, and I'm about to put this half towards a good cause."

==========================
"What's the correct colloquialism here... 'Show us your tits, love?'" The Belgian had continued pressing on Annabelle Maybliss, with no apparent help forth coming, even as the rest of the Belgian curling team (which is who the boys were) kept cheering the madman on... She was not liking this one bit at all. She regretted doing it to the younger boy she had met earlier...

A tap on his shoulder interrupted the belgian. He turned around to see who it was and - ran right into a faceful Shepard's pie. The boy responsible for this had started calmly walking to the centre of the dance floor, punching a set of numbers he had memorised earlier. This wasn't about just standing for Annabelle Maybliss despite her earlier insult to him. This was about mischief.

The rest of the pub had gone quiet. They had done nothing to intercede against the Belgian's misbehavior, and here now was the same young boy who had briefly introduced himself to some of the bigger observer teams going foolish and stretching himself next to one of the jukebox control panels on the dance floor. The Belgian curling team on their part had taken it unkindly and were now approaching him together with their pie-faced brother, bits of minced beef still on his face as they rounded on Elliot Manners in an effort to teach him said Manners.

Elliot yawned a little as he hit the play button, before staring at the Belgians in the silence before the jukebox fired to life with his choice of music. As if on cue, one of the Belgians lunged at him with a punch as the music came on.
==========================

Urges, by Thomas Dolby

Early evening, he get these urges
Skin tension under leatherette
A back bar somewhere in clubland
Cigarillo and the scene is set

--------------------------------------

Elliot started falling into a y'tole trance as the beats of the song came afire, something totally alien to traditional G'danzeland beats and melodies, and yet fitting into them in the oddest spots. He avoided a punch, then at another punch before dancing out of the way of the third punch, his eyes closed.
--------------------------------------

See the bodies, now things are moving
Little twitches people can't explain
Young bodies, listen to them talking
New languageisms in their veins

--------------------------------------

Elliot could still see things moving even with his eyes closed, the twitches clearly turning to more violence as he spun around here and there. To one of the boys he administered a slap, introducing him to the language of shame into his veins. And then, he held still beneath one of the mirror balls, opening his eyes to watch the reactions of those to what he was doing.

--------------------------------------
Same face in a new situation
The mirror ball holds mesmerised
He look around, he's the new Clark Gable

----------------------------------------
Elliot took a deep breath and danced back into the crowd of Belgians as if inviting them to get a punch in, even as they remained unable to get a hold of his Y'tole dance, dishing another slap ever so often
----------------------------------------
Urges, urges, he get these urges
He don't wanna talk about
Heartfelt urges, he get these urges
He's not supposed to talk about
Urges, urges, these restless urges
He don't wanna talk about
Urges, urges, can't stop the urges
Lock them out, don't let them out
----------------------------------------
Elliot danced right out of the crowd again, pausing. To their credit the Belgians had decided to surround him this time as he slowly posed for a short bit, almost as if in prayer, before he exploded again towards the first Belgian to lunge at him. Even as he did this, Annabelle was looking on raptly, watching this strange child whom she had only insulted a few days ago at registration defend him, feeling oddly warm somewhere here and there... as if she couldn't stay seated, even as most of his brothers cheered him on even as Morton sat there quietly at his mojito, glaring at what this little boy was... doing....
----------------------------------------
She's here, the heat is rising
She moves slowly, she's a china doll
By degrees, he'll loosen her composure
She knows he knows, she knows he knows
One word to the man in the pulpit
She start twitching and she can't sit still
Seven inches of a black star liner

Urges, urges, he get these urges
Don't want to talk about
Heartfelt urges, he get these urges
He's not supposed to talk about
Urges, urges, these restless urges
He don't want to talk about
Urges, urges, can't stop the urges
Lock them out.
--------------------------------------------
Elliot continued slapping the Belgians regularly, eventually discombobulating most of them and sending one or two to the sides to do nothing but throw up.. Even as he did so, the Belgian major-domo looked down at his drink and slammed it. The lack of discipline, the way this child was handing them their asses on a plate - he couldn't take the shame even as this American ape spun circles across the dance floor beneath the spotlight

----------------------------------------------
Try to contain the stuff that's in your body
Bit silly when your head's no good
When you're ashamed of things about your body
You keep drinking like you knew you would
In the spot light the ape in motion
Spins circles all across the floor
--------------------------------------------------

Elliot mouthed the words as he assumed the position. For a second he could fool them all into believing that he truly belonged in the world that he claimed to belong within. He spotted Annabelle and felt... different about her for some reason.

---------
Girl this time it's a new sensation
It's never been this way before.
I look at you and I feel half human

Urges, urges, he get these urges
Don't want to talk about
Heartfelt urges, he get these urges
He's not supposed to talk about
Urges, urges, these restless urges
He don't want to talk about
Urges, urges, can't stop the urges
Lock them out.

locking out those urges, yeah,
urges (urges)
locking out those urges....
--------------------------
Elliot smiled as he spun back in for one last twirling, sending the second last upright Belgian into the wooden barriers of the dance floor. The last Belgian had decided to reach for his knife and charge the boy, only to get a empty Lion Beer bottle smashed against his temple and sent off to lala land.

Elliot blinked as the the last note of the song slowly increased into menace before abruptly dissipating. He turned around and briefly bowed in thanks to the Singaporan team's minordomo for her brief moment of indiscipline that had saved him, then at everyone who was clapping or cheering at whatfor he had showed them. Then Elliot was lifted by his dad and carried towards the pub doors in a sort of panic.

The majordomo smiled and waved back, then noticed and nodded to Empress Eimu. Two grown motherly women who had both agreed on one thing: Elliot was worth gooning over as cougars.

Julia caught their attention as well after a moment as she gave them ahd Elliot a thumbs up even as Marcus had quickly escorted the boy out of trouble and the pub, yelling at Chablis to foot the team's bill and make a takeaway of Elliot's dinner. Make that three perfectly sensible, grown older women.
========================
Elliot and Marcus stopped after about a kilometre of lifting him around, and they were both panting a little. "What the hell, my son.... what the hell." It was supposed to be an admonition, but one could see the same kind of joy Marcus had had getting into pub fights with Aymee. "Never, ever, let me question, your masculinity, ever again."

Elliot smiled faintly as he thought of something in the chill night air. "You used to do this sort of shit with Aunt Aymee too."

Marcus panted. "With her as my wingman, dammit, not alone like you just did."

"He has his father's gumption, that much is true." Aymee had suddenly shown up, trailed by her two guards. She had begged off her delegation to chase after them. To their credit, the delegation had remembered what would happen if they stood in her way and let her go.

Aymee sat down by the two men, smiling. "I'm proud of you Elliot... you're a diplomat par excellence AND a brawler at your age? Though I wouldn't call it brawling... that was an amazing dance and you managed to smack those older men down was well...."

Elliot grinned a little. "I'm.... not exactly proud of giving in to my baser instincts."

Aymee raised an eyebrow even as she motioned to one of her guards to shadow them back safely to the Minnesota camp after they moved on. "dearest child, were that I had married your father. you would make me the proudest of mothers with that little stunt. But your mom being my godsister will suffice"

Marcus didin't know exactly how to contribute to this odd chat. "I think we should keep running. not talk to the local popo."

Aymee nodded and started walking away. "Good luck on your participation in the US Western Regional games, boy." She made a few more gestures as she walked away, causing Elliot and Marcus to grow an extra shadow if they had the skill to look for it, even as they walked in the opposite direction back to the Minnesota Camp...

[handle2]

Chapter 6 - Even the smallest mouse can put up the biggest fights

"Good morning Good morning Good morning! Welcome to the biannual West Regional Games! I'm your host Eddie Boomhauer and this is Millie Maxine!" The localised AM radio boomed to life as the first day of events started with the morning sun.

Chablis Brissom was the first competitor out in the fields, walking to a specially iced-over and polished ice ground. She walked in, waving to everyone as her Five Doctors followed suit, brooms at the ready. Doctor Chissolm, Nurses Pratchett, Domingo and Goodenplenti, and Doctor Abemarthy and while Chablis was supposedly a spare, none of the medics had made her feel unwelcome despite her dimunitive height during the past year's training. Godenplenti, Pratchett, Chissolm and Goodenplenti would toss the curling irons, Doctor Abernathy and Chablis would sweep the way ahead for the irons.

Julie Manners walked out next. while she wasn't planning to distract the other competitors, her skintight ice suit would do the job very well in that regard. But she wasn't here to score points in a beauty contest - she was here to ski hard and fire a target rifle in the finest traditions of the biathlon, hopefully qualifying for the next day's heats.

Elliot wasn't competiting on Day 1. yet already he'd been singled out for attention.

Eddie Boomhauer idly noted that the "Belgian icefighter team has already been knocked out of contention." "What was that all about? I thought the Belgians were not competing, merely observing." Mille had sounded so puzzled...

"Apparently last night, they accosted one of the girls from the Omaha contingent and made her feel really bad. But who should have stepped in but the golden little boy from Minnesota, Elliot Manners, who made short work of them to the tune of a classic by Thomas Dolby and saved the night!"

================================

Aymee was really cheerful about this, clapping. She then leaned closer to the Bakubi twins, a pair of twins who were learning Y'tobe dance, but refrecting it through the gentleness of their own upbringing in the forests of Shukkaido. "Pay close attention to that boy, he will be your challenger at the next global games..."

The boy and girl had looked at each other, then back at the Empress... "You seem to have a torch for the boy, your highness." Ana Bakubi had pointed out. "I do hope you're not neglecting us as a result." Tommy Bakubi nodded his head firmly, but spoke nothing.

"I have spent nothing lacking in your training. The finest State-Sanctioned Dance trainers, the best nutrition every day except cheat days, the best ikebana lessons and cardio... I am sparing no expense in your cultivation." Aymee had clapped hands on their shoulders and smiled beatifically. They had nodded. Then the Bakubi twins paled as Aymee cheerfully finished in a very bad direction. "Just so you can hold your own against this tiny little teen. Maybe still get beat. probably. God knows it'll take a miracle with the kinda upbringing he's had. This Elly kid has had a very rustic and hard life by comparison. maybe that's what matters more."

The Bakubi twins stared at each other. The major-domo was not doing a good job at pushing them on. But she HAD been a realist about their chances at beating any event he was in. They resolved to work harder when they got back home into the forests...

===================================

The day passed uneventfully - The curling team had somehow gotten qualified despite a few silly mistakes by Chablis, the mousy major-domo cum curling sweeper. To be fair, it was her first time curling in a major event. She had merely joined the medics for an occasional game, not regular practice.

Julie's first runs down the slopes were the same half-good, half bad picture. She had made down the hill at a decent clip, but had failed to do more than clip the targets with her lightweight .22LR. Her trainer had reassured her that she would do better in the morning, and ordered her not to kick herself and just rest up after dinner.

A decent showing was had by all, even Elliot, who had had a brief light practice with Mother Ammi as lemme and emma in y'tole dancing across the morning in the dance practice chamber, before splitting to meditate and think about their routine.

On Day 2, Mother Ammi had a rude shock."What do you mean Y'tole Dancing is classified and scored as a martial art?!" She yelped as she stared at the scoring criteria sheet for the event.

The judge didn't seem to care. "It is what it is ma'am. our sponsors and pretty much all the other Y'tole dancers at these games have decided to follow State-Sponsored Y'tole rules. That means more violence, less melodicity... we'll still score rhythm and melodicity of course, but the primary goal here is to survive and not get knocked out."

Mother Ammi sat down and frowned at this unfortunate disclosure.

The judge was clearly biased against Minnesota. "You know, you COULD forfeit. folks know your style is a gentler way for people who just want to dance and feel good... not have a war. You have..." he checked his wristwatch... "two hours to make your decision."


Mother Ammi got up slowly and nodded. "We'll confirm our withdrawal. But first I need to speak to my boy about it."
=========================

"Yeah... and?" Elliot shrugged matter of factly.

"And?! Elliot, please, I can't recommend participating in a lynch job." Mother Ammi panicked. The boy was not agreeing with her on withdrawal. "Your only weapon in conventional, peaceful Y'tole is slaps and light kicks and pure avoidance. These people are going to go for you with actual punches and full on kicks. Please, Mr Manners, give me the word. let's just withdraw this year, and I'll source for a proper trainer for the more aggressive moves he'll need."

Elliot got off the pillar he had been leaning against, staring at Marcus. Marcus, for his part was mulling over it. "Papa..." Elliot began.

Marcus looked up. "I don't know, Elly... Ammi has a point. You should give up for this year."

Elliot blinked slowly. He got down on his knees and bowed his head into the ground. "Papa, I know I'm your fragile angel... but I NEED this. The only thing that keeps me feeling alive is the experience of the world even when that experience is pain. It still hurts me to speak in proper sentences. This is the only real way besides slothful writing to express myself. I... NEED... to hear from you that I'm cleared to go up there to perform..."

Marcus closed his eyes as if in thought... for what seemed like a long time. Finally, he took a deep breath... "I WILL worry about you, as your father... but... Proceed. Proceed and do your best. And know that I am the proudest man in the world today because of you."

Elliot smiled faintly and got back up, hugging Marcus and Ammi, apologising to her as he did so. "I'm sorry, Mother, I can't obey you today."

Ammi sighed and patted Elliot on the shoulders. "May Y'mma keep you safe," She invoked the old Gdanzi Goddess of rhythm and gentle winds in prayer to keep Elliot safe.

"Y'mma will keep me safe. Her and the Goddess of Existence." Elliot nodded.

"... you know it's cheating to have two different goddesses as your wingwomen, right?" Ammi joked, as if to ease her worries.

"I'm going in there without knowing how to be brutal in Y'tole... I think that will make it a fairer fight." Elliot kidded back as he donned the glove Aunt Aymee had given him. "Technically, I also have the best brutalist my father has ever fought along side cheering for me, so it might even be unfair." He turned around with grace, the Y'tole dress he had first crafted from colorful scraps now tailored larger to fit his frame as a 12-year-old boy, and walked over to the competitors' paddock.
======================
Elliot's first opponent was one of the boys from the Maybliss family from Omaha. About the same height as Elliot, Johnny Maybliss was. He also shared the same disrespect as his eldest brother Morton. licking his lips as he patted his fist into his palm. "This ain't no bar fight, Elliot... I was impressed by what you did for our elder sis, but respect will only take you so far... and this is where it ends." Johnny obsserved to Elliot.

Elliot nodded serenely. "I'm glad to hear your sister is feeling better. Now, shall we stop worrying about her and focus on giving our best performances?"

Johnny frowned. He had a need to be taken seriously, and this boy, his apparent age, refused to give it to him. No matter, he would take it from him... The buzzer sounded thrice as the judge started the bout, causing Johnny to pirouette towards Elliot quickly before hopping towards him, one foot aiming for a quick victory at Elliot's face...
======================
Eddie Boomhauer sweated profusely, his eyes slowly swivelling to take in the sight of a young Y'tole dancer getting served utterly and totally. Johnny was now in a ring-out, planted in between Millie and Eddie. For a brief moment, he was unable to yak away with commentary.

Johnny had almost committed his foot into Elliot's face when suddenly... it wasn't there.

Elliot had danced himself to one side of Johnny's lunge. He wasn't done yet. As Johnny passed him, Elliot had raised one of his feet into the air. "Oh dear, you activated my trap card," He had joked... before a foot full of strength from months of practice of Y'tole connected with Johnny's ass and sent him flying several feet out of the dance ring and in between Eddie and Millie.

Eddie recovered after a bit and leaned into his mike, straightening it as he did so. "Well, seems like Elliot Manners from Little Sanctuary in Minneapolis has punished Johnny Maybliss from Omaha for his brazen immediate strike at him. Frankly I'd rather it not end up with a competitor in between me and Millie, but these ARE the games. Now, while we wait for the judges to confirm Elliot's victory, let's play bac that winning move in slow motion... and enjoy a Atelier Ale from Nebraska One Brewery. Nebraska one, the ale that helps you with what ails ya!..."

[handle2]

Family of 3 + Friends
Chapter 7 - A moment of victory, a very old enemy

The Y'tole Dance event had been set up as a series of qualifier matches... 15 dancers across 8 states in the Western bits of New America. As Minnesota had been unable to field another qualified dancer alongside Elliot (Mother Ammi was from out of state and even out of America, hence her inability to participate herself), a roll had been made to determine who would get a bye and skip the first round.

It had been Morton Maybliss.This was supposed to be an opportunity to relax and go into his first match stronger (as he would be competing with a winner from the first matches on his side of the qualifiers, who would be slightly exhausted from the exertion of winning the match he'd been seeded into)

Morton was instead considerably agitated. He had watched Johnny's match, expecting him to wipe Elliot Manners. Presumably they would both win all their matches, and then Johnny would forfeit if Morton demanded it in the finals. Unsportsmanlike, but hey, he had the power in the family next to his parents. He could make the rules on the field, and his money-bags mama would make it come true. Truly, the behavior of a spoilt child who had been given everything he demanded lurked behind the prince-nez of the handsome princeling of the Maybliss family...

And what he was not given, he would take. For example, this Manners child's dignity. He glared as Elliot panted and rested himself a little in the shades after his winning match. Elliot stood up and started jogging into the tunnel to greet his mentor, his dress flaring subtly in the air as he did so...
========================
Day 2 of 3

Julie was running away with the biathlon today. After a rocky borderline qualification the day before, she was nailing it virtually perfectly on the snow, getting to the firing points with practised ease and taking the three shots with her calibrated marksman rifle using the three bullets on the table, before repeating the process with another glide down, another set of rounds...

Her trainer was busy with other matters.
==============================

It had been a very rude blast from his very young past, Diego Lucaine had reflected. Someone was in the trees aiming at Julie. He had made a few gestures to point the man out to a new friend of his, and five minutes later, the assassin was lying on the ground with Diego and a 'stealth artist' from the ChinaJapese Empire next to him (the new friend had declined to give his name as his ilk never gave their real names, not even to the Emperor and Empress. Fair enough, professionals had rules).

Diego decided a little close-in work was in order, despite his general dislike of acting like a common thug. He reached over to the unconscious assassin and-

The assassin suddenly opened his eyes. "My, my, Little Lucaine... Your mother was so delicious. It's a real shame I can't do the same thing to you." He suddenly sneered, purple-streaked eyes looking at Diego. Something was wrong with this man... Whoever had killed his mother all those years ago and mocked him as a child would have been considerably older by now. To his credit, Diego held on and maintained his overwhelming power. But he had a job to do right now, and vengeance would have to wait.

"What the hell are you doing here, sir? This is a tight-live-weapons zone, and you carried a piece on you... with which you apparently aimed to shoot my protection target AND my protege... I assume this weapon will not be on the register of allowed weaponry if I contact the games authorities. So before I hand you over, let's have a chat about your intents and purposes." Diego calmly asked the masked man.

The assassin paused for a moment... then he laughed. A weird, wrongish laugh. "I thought I'd walk around today, get some glow in. And your protege was such a rich source. She just needed her wings clipped first. Ah well, I guess I'll have to go directly to the main course and skip the appetizer this time around. I wonder how he would taste, this woman's son..."

Diego paled and snapped. "You're not doing any of that, you sick psychopath. We are marching you somewhere where you can do none of that.Now, up!"

The assassin laughed even harder... His head started to distend and swell in a very peculiar manner. Diego quickly hopped backwards. To the credit of the 'stealth artist'. he too had done a few somersaults away.

The assassin continued speaking. "This was merely a scouting unit, Little Lucaine... I wouldn't risk my own corpus for such a small but special load of glow... no, i'm elsewhere... right now. Now... what's that word humans like to use so much in situations like these..." His head was now incredibly distended and on the verge of popping. "Oh, I'm out of time... I'll just... go with..."

The assassin's head suddenly exploded, showering the white snow with some sort of purplish blood, before falling back down dead.

Diego cursed a little. He hated operatives who suicided right away rather than give in to the fear he could inflict with a choice set of interrogative methods... More to the point, he had to secure Julie as soon as the medals (or lack thereoff) had been awarded, and he had to get back to the Grassfield to secure Elliot Manners.
==============================

Elliot seemed incredibly bored. Either he really was, or he was just trying some psychological warfare.

Elliot had made it to the finals, and as expected by the pundits, so had Morton Maybliss. The prodigial genius and the happy-go-lucky child. They were squaring each other off while the buzzer to start the performance hadn't sounded. As a privilege, one of them could chose the music for the performance as a reward for making it this far. A coin toss had given that right to Elliot, and he had smiled wickedly for a moment.

Morton was suspicious, the boy was up to something. No matter, Morton would have the last laugh.

Elliot almost absentmindedly spoke up. "I hope your siblings are doing okay, Mr Maybliss. Johnny tripped and fell really hard earlier, and Annabelle seemed a bit shaken in the pub."

Morton was ever polite. "Yes, the medics have told me he'll need a few days recuperating. As for my sister, I thank you for interceding on her behalf with those... wretched... out-of-country yokels. But none of that buys you any mercy from me..." Morton pulled down his half-mask, a subtly decorated dark purple mask with silver etchings in the G'danze Modern style, when Gdanzeland natives co-opted the Portuguese's customs and dressing, including the Y'tole dresses that traditional dancers wore. Morton had opted instead for a dark purple bodysuit with checkerboard arm sleeves.

Elliot suddenly spoke up again. "67.3cm. Your arms are 67.3cm long. give or take a little asymmetry."

Morton paled. Son of a bitch, Elliot had somehow broken a trick he was trying to pull when he had worn the checkerboard. He had counted on getting a few hits in while Elliot had issues measuring his arms due to the checkerboard pattern. How had he managed to do such an accurate measure anyway?!

He had heard this child was a little off in the head and not quite smart off the Y'tole field Yet here he was, smiling and calmly disclosing that he had managed an accurate optical measure of Morton's arms at least, if not his legs as well.

Elliot grinned and thanked Jiminy silently for doing the body part measurements and relaying them to him. His old handler was amenable to what seemed like such a minor request, but an awareness of Morton's body would help in gauging how he could move around him. Was it cheating? definitely, but the Omaha rep had asked for it when he tried to create confusion with his checkerboard sleeves and leggings. Fair play was fair play.

The music suddenly came on, the buzzer sounding off the start of the dance shortly after. It was... not the usual rhythms of G'danze drums and wind whistles. It was ... some sort of remixed techno track? Morton blinked hard. What was this kid up to-

Eddie Boomhauer was puzzled too. "Is that... Confusion by New World Order?" He read the paper that had been given to him earlier for commentary. Millie nodded as she bopped her head. "This child is a fan of the classics clearly. I don't think he's been allowed to watch the original Blade film, though..." "A most peculiar choice of music for this dance. It's not exactly windwhistles and scraper drums..."

Elliot started the proceedings with a free slap. If Morton was going to be dazed by all the weirdness Elliot had brought to the dance, he deserved at least this. And if he didn't shape up soon, he would get slapped harder too. Fortunately for Morton, he somersaulted back right after the slap, to take stock of what had just happened, slightly discombulated and cheek aching. He was going to crush this child into the grass, figuratively set it on fire, and then pee all over the ashes.

Morton did the one thing Y'tole artists were guaranteed to lose a war dance over - not because of rules, but because of a loss of calm and sanity. He screamed as he started twirling himself in spirals around Elliot, lashing out with his feet.

Morton was only five years older than Elliot, if one went by apparent visual age. By actual age Morton would have been a grandchild suckling on a pacifier to Elliot's ninety-plus years of age. It had been a very strange life for Elliot. But being a actual grandpa in years didn't match up with his agility as he dodged Morton's first strikes.

This was going to be a fun one. Elliot might even catch a few hits from Morton - Morton was that good and unpredictably wild - but Elliot was going to have fun...
============================

The mascot stared fearfully at the old man in front of him. The smile stayed frozen on the cartoony white-tailed deer, its voice still cartoony, but it was filled with fear.

The old man wore a purple blazer suit of sorts and had been slightly hunched over as he asked for directions to the Y'tole Field, so the Mascot hadn't noticed. in fact, if a mote of the York Particulate Cloud hadn't rested onto its circuits and spawned a new Cloud Agent, he might have not noticed ever. In fact, he might have remained safe from what was about to happen.

The old man had noticed his sentience alright. Suddenly a clawed hand grasped the mascot's black nose. "I thank you for your directions and your politeness. Now, allow me to reward you justly."

The last thing the mascot had gotten off in the general area of the Indoor Sports Center of the West US Regional Games, right before Vizhar Ari turned his neural boards to slag and sucked out all the working Agent code from him, was a loud virtual death scream.

"The Anathema is amongst us. Save yourselves. Run whatever defensive actions you have."

=============================

Elliot had felt it, and it had briefly shaken him out of his rhythm. This was punished with a hard kick to his side. "Pay attention while I'm trying to own you, boy." Morton smugly taunted Elliot, having sensed the brief inattention and taken advantage of it. perhaps he could push out of the hemming that Elliot was laying down on him on the grass. Perhaps he might even start winning -

Two hits to his calves came back in response. The child was clearly cued in on what might happen to a human man if you kept inflicting blunt trauma to his calves. Elliot said nothing, having said nothing at all since he started getting in the grove. He let his body do the talking, as another hit to Morton's calves was met with thin air where his head should have been, the punch by Morton failing to connect with the wiggle and crouch Elliot had just pulled.'
==============================
Julie paled and stopped for a moment. Diego blinked "Why are you stopping? we need to get you to safety."

Julie glanced at her trainer. The man was handsome, but he seemed troubled all the time. Sorry, but she would have to add to his load. "Not without my son. Not without my hubby."

Diego sighed. "I've contacted the nearest free Minnesota official. We all know what Code Modelo is." Everyone was supposed to flee to the Minnesota camp, or shelter in place, or trust in the games officials to protect them as they carried out whatever event they were doing unless those officials also called the event off. They had not. Chablis and the Five Doctors were still surgically demolishing the Alaskans, no games-wide alarm had been called, only amomgst the members of the Kindred who had heard the shrill death cry of the poor Games Mascot.

Julie frowned and ripped her hand from his. "Sorry Diego. Either you come with me or I go to them by myself."

Diego scratched his head. His special client was going to chew him out for this... "Okay, I'm escorting, but if things get messy, I'm overriding you and carrying you back to camp."

==================================

Marcus stood alone, watching his son having fun prying apart the haughty Morton Maybliss. Behind him, other Minnesota officials were panicking as they executed Code Modelo, packing and making preparations to evacuate from the various venues of the Games. if necessary, they would take a rain check on any awarded prizes. He had panicked a little more as Julie had broken with the rule and was heading this way instead of returning to camp. What was she THINKING!? What Marcus was thinking as he fidgeted at his communicator was "who is this Anathema, and why have the Kindred seen fit to raise a silent alarm amongst everyone who's been read into their midst?"

What Morton was thinking as he finally fell onto his legs, all tender and shaky like a newborn lamb after one too many kicks to the calves, was "I underestimated this child. Well played, Mr Manners." He was sore, and bitter, but he knew how to be a decent sportsman. "I yield" He yelled, declaring the dance over.

Elliot smiled faintly and reached his hand out to help Morton up. "That was a good dance. Not exactly beautiful, but I felt your urge to win. Sorry I couldn't fulfil you on that."

Morton gritted his teeth, as he stood up slowly on slightly recovered legs. "Don't be. When you saved my sister, you posted advance notice of your abilities. I was a fool myself not to pay proper attention in the pub to what you were capable of."

Elliot was about to leave Morton with more of a fond memory when Marcus suddenly marched right through the feel-good session and left, carting Elliot's body on his shoulder in one fluid motion "We gotta go we gotta go. We'll get your medal in the mail, but we gotta go NOW." Marcus yelled as he ran.

Elliot frowned. He had really wanted to stand on the podium with all the other dancers, make friends, plan for a post-games date at the Chill Dome before going home. "Code Modelo sucks... this IS code Modelo right?"

"Right. Sorry to be like this, child, but we need to get to-"

Julie's voice came up as she rushed right to Elliot and Marcus, Diego glancing around worriedly. "Oh thank goodness... I was so worried when I heard the warning."

Marcus yelled loudly. "What is it with this family and their continued disobedience of my orders! We are going to have words about this when we're safe-"

"And just where is it that you three are going?" A voice the color of evil and death calmly asked them.

Marcus turned to look and - the Manners family was sent flying backward with Diego following along.
================
Marcus slowly woke up, seeing Julie firmly standing in the way of a very old man in a dark purple suit combo. Behind her Elliot was slowly sitting up, dazed and only gradually realising what Julie was doing... "Mama! Get away from that lunatic, he's bad news!" Elliot had screamed, but it was too late.

"I thought I wouldn't be able to start with an appetizer earlier," the wizened old man ungloved his left hand, explosing a badly wrinkled hand with claws on the finger tips. "How nice of you to offer yourself up to me." He suddenly grabbed Julie's head by the face, causing her to start glitching weirdly, making odd moaning and whirring noises as her lovely Imagineered head module started to go haywire, little tendrils of purple energy crazing her face. "R-run. Save. Elliot. Mom.mom. loves. y-y-you...."

The old man had been smiling. Suddenly, he wasn't anymore.
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This had been a bad outing for Vizhar Ari. possibly the worst in his 4000 years to date so far.

He had lost a secondary host to a crazed ninja and some overeager beaver of a sports trainer... who turned out to be a child whose mother he had feasted on years ago. He had been ground under by a zamboni that had harbored a particularly brave York Particulate Agent - Vizhar had managed to suck up just enough of the Agent to take control of the Zamboni briefly, scooting out from beneath to finish the job with a hand on the machine's AI access panel, but he had been greviously hurt. the Anathema would revive him somewhere safe if he died as long as he kept it supplied with more members of the York Particulate Cloud. Normal uninhabited electronics were not an option, as they took more energy to burn out or control and there were zero returns in terms of 'the glow'.

A group of three janitor bots had charged and stabbed him with jury rigged staves, then ran off before he could seize any of them and recover using their glow. A brick had inflicted a head injury - it was thrown by a child bot, whose own human parent had scooped her up and ran off with before he could even apparate over to take her glow as a fatal punishment for 'poor parenting'. The Particulate had wised up and were now attempting to delay or even unsummon him with excessive distance damage to his main host.

This was not going well.

Vizhar had lucked into another 'mother unit' that he had sensed the presence of the glow upon, and was now feasting on her. But something was wrong - this was... normal electronics. His already badly starving and wounded body couldn't resist and had latched on, but there was NO GLOW in her brain whatsoever, despite the sentience of this woman. She certainly wasn't doing any real sentient thinking within her brain. in fact a quick scan showed no glow at all. This was a dumb, supposedly non-sentient android, and yet she was showing a willingness to protect her own child and even use dynamically generated words to yell him down. Actual sentience, without any presence of a York Particulate agent of any form. What was going on here? Aside from the gradual drain as the Anathema tried to reclaim the freedoms it had given

He didn't have any time to consider any further possibilities before a bullet went through his head. He had died. The Anathema would drag him to the nearest safe hidden spot and repair just enough damage for him to get to safety before fixing up the rest of his body very slowly, a ugly, disgusting sort of immortality that the Anathema would have him on the hook for later.

The last thing that came to mind as Vizhar slowly collapsed into a fine dust to escape from the disaster, like a disaster made of nanites rather than vampire blood, was that how badly things had gotten today. And they had started so well. Perhaps he shouldn't have had that amuse a bouche of the mascotbot and just focused on stealthily eating just the things he really wanted... It was a shame that he would have enough memory loss not to fully derive any lessons from this-

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Marcus rushed over to Julie and cradled her gently. "JULIE. Julie. Are you alright, speak to me!"

Julie's eyes were unfocused, irises corroded into random heterochromia rather than the lovely blues she was configured to have normally. Her ear studs were flickering oddly, as her voice came on, sounding far more robotic than even he would have preferred in the quiet of his bedroom, her face twitching and jerking like a broken machine. "U-unit. damaged. Heavy cor-corrosion to audio-visual pro-processing units. Heavy damage to facial. anim.anim.matronic modules. speech system... unable to access desired accent and vocal pattern.... zero dam-damage to critical neural process-processing. No damage to mem-mory. No damage to Memory OTF. Encode-Decode... Query: are Elliot Manners child unit and M-Marcus Manners spousal unit un-undam-aaaged?"

Marcus nodded. "we're safe. You did something stupid, but it saved us... whatever the heck it was you did.."

Julie blinked erratically, closing her eyes slowly. "G.Good. Directive to pre-preserve health of Marcus and.and. Elliot family units. Achieved.... ssssshuting down now to avoid p-possible failure prop-propagation to more important subsys-sstems... Please... fix me. When you c-caaaan...." There was a faint sequence of things whirring down and beeping error noises before Julie went limp.

Marcus was still sitting there as Diego asked if anyone was hurt, carefully checking a full-enclosed pistol he had smugged all the way from his home in Brazil in case he had to kill anyone else menacing. When he did fully realise what had happened to Julie, though, Diego had run off, yelling for assistance...