When It All Goes Wrong Again: This Is Your Life

[x-legion.livejournal.com]

The cold water that drips into his collar makes his skin feel stiff and distant. He only needs to stay awake a little while longer. They're almost home.

Water blurs the reflection of a face made sallow against blue paint and flourescent lights. A grope for the arm of the dispenser is met with a useless whirr: no towels. He wipes his face with the sleeve of his sweater instead. The red fabric soaks through black.

There's a bang from the store outside, then muffled voices are making their way through the restroom walls. More than voices. Shouts.

What's going on?

He puts his hand on the door.

The world goes white.



And suddenly, things are different.

Julio



He slept through his alarm that morning, one hand briefly emerging from the covers to hit the snooze button before disappearing again. It was too cold to get up early anyway, and his bed was so soft. A few more minutes turned into another hour, and he was still dozing lightly when his bedroom door opened and the soft padding of footfalls could be heard. Julio snorted and opened his eyes at the sound, but he wasn't quick enough for what happened next.

A sharp tug on the ankle that was sticking out of the covers pulled Julio off his bed and onto the floor on his back. "You're getting soft, boy!" a familiar voice boomed, before ducking out of the room. Julio was on his feet just as fast, and he pounded out of his room and down the stairs after his assailant. Upon reaching the ground floor, he paused, suddenly unsure. That's when his assailant struck again. Within seconds Julio was on his stomach with a knee pressed into the small of his back.

"Oy, old man, get off me!" He wheezed, "You're crushing my spine!"

"Having a girlfriend has made you slow," Luis Richter crowed, still keeping his son's arms neatly pinned. "Staying out late, sleeping through your alarm, letting me get the drop on you twice. Where did all of my training go, huh? You forget it all as soon as you see a pretty face."

"I do not!" Julio protested, struggling ineffectually against his father. He was half-a-head taller than the old man now, but still didn't outweigh him. "Get off me, fat-ass!"

"Fat-ass? Fat-ass?" Luis released one of Julio's arms to whack him over the head. Julio used this opportunity to elbow his father in the ribs, and he fell off Julio with a grunt. Julio rolled quickly to his feet and put his father in a headlock.

"How's that for quick, old man?" Julio declared, planting his feet firmly so Luis wouldn't knock him over. "Even with a surprise attack I can still kick your butt!"

"Ay, such violence!" Ana said from behind them, dodging around the pair and headed for the kitchen. "I know two overgrown children who will not be getting fed for the foreseeable future." She chided, and disappeared into the kitchen. Father and son exchanged looks.

"I will let you go, only if you promise not to ambush me for the rest of the day," Julio said, looking his father squarely in the eye. Luis grunted. Julio shook him. "Swear, on your honor. No more attacks."

"Only if you swear, boy." Luis said, red-faced. They nodded at each other and Julio let him go. Luis clapped his son on the back. "Not bad, not bad at all. You'll make this old man proud, one day."

Julio pffed. "I can kick your ass anytime, and you know it." He followed his father into the kitchen, where Ana was already fixing breakfast. Luis seated himself at the breakfast table.

"You missed your morning run, sleeping through your alarm. And you still want to go to that futbol tournament in San Diego? Boy, you best keep...boy, what's wrong?"

On the mention of San Diego Julio almost knocked his glass over, and he fumbled quickly, slopping juice on the table. He took a wad of napkins and began to sop up the juice hurriedly. "I..I don't know," he said, genuinely puzzled. "You said San Diego, right?"

"Yes," Luis said slowly. "You know, the city in America, where I'm not supposed to go? You have an exhibition game there in February, remember?"

"I-yes. Of course." Julio finished mopping up the juice and tossed the napkins in the trash. He scratched his head and sighed. Now that he was properly awake, he was also struck with the sense that something was very missing. But he couldn't quite tell what it was.

"Your little girlfriend coming too?" Ana asked innocently.

"Ana, this is a team exercise, Emilia can't come. She's not on our team." Julio plucked an orange from the bowl and began peeling it.

"Yes, so nice to have a girlfriend, especially someone like Emilia, so normal." Luis said, not looking up from his paper. Julio became keenly interested in his orange. Both father and son knew more than they should about the sudden death of Felicia Mendoza, the young wife of Luis's boss. Alejandro had told everyone it was a car accident, but there were whispers of suicide. The woman had been clearly unhinged, after all. Going after a 15-year-old boy and everything. Julio stacked the orange peels neatly on the table, a muscle in his jaw working. He had put all of that behind him. After she had tried to get him to run away that summer, he'd called his father. Luis had taken him home, and a few days later Felicia had disappeared, and no more was said. Mendoza was getting remarried soon anyway, to a pretty blonde girl from Poland.

Luis grunted and took another sip of water. "Have any plans for today?" he said, clearly changing the subject.

"Hm? Oh, maybe a movie later," Julio said, putting the rest of his orange on the table. A small silence passed, punctuated by the clink of dishes. Julio looked back up at his father. "Papa?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you ever get the feeling you're forgetting something? Like, something important?" He resumed shredding an orange peel.

"All the time, boy. Too many knocks on the head. Don't worry, whatever it is. It'll come back to you." Luis put his paper down. "For now, you eat. You must keep up your strength, and be on guard in case of disaster," he winked.

"Yes, Papa." Julio shook his head and grinned. Crazy old fool.


Laurie



Laurie turned the key in the door to her brand new car, and positively beamed at her father. She couldn't believe he'd given her a car, especially since her birthday had passed quite some time ago. But she supposed she had been mentioning wanting to start learning to drive quite a bit this past few months. Still...her own car, this was just...wow.

"You are by the best father in the entire world." she said, sliding into the drivers seat.

She wouldn't be able to drive it without one of her parents right now but in time, once she qualified for a full license, this car would mean freedom to go almost anywhere she wanted.

"So, you like it then?" Zack replied, slipping into the passenger side and buckling his seatbelt.

"I love it. I can't wait to see the other kids faces when we drive into the school parking lot. They're going to be soooo jealous."

Laurie put on her own belt and reached forward to turn on the ignition, slowly backing the car out of the driveway. This was going to be the best school day ever.

***

"Why can't I go to the party? Everyone is going to be there and it's not like I can't take care of myself." Laurie cried, her voice ending on a slight whine as she sent a pleading look her mother's way.

"You know I trust your judgment Laurie, but I just don't want to see you getting involved with the wrong sort of people. I've heard some stories about these parties." Gail replied as she continued to stir the sauce that would go on their dinner. "Now, pass me the oregano."

"Yes mother." Laurie replied, grumpily.

"Don't use that tone with me, young lady. Or pull those faces at me." Gail replied.

Laurie paused in her gurning, grinning. "How can you possibly see what I'm doing when I'm behind you?"

"Obviously, I'm psychic. "

"Uh huh, so what's my future then?" Laurie replied, amusement now evident.

Laurie never could stay grumpy for long. Besides, she'd bring her Mom around on the party idea at some stage, it wasn't for another week, after all.

"I see chores, a variety of chores and helping your poor aged mother set the table for dinner." Gail said, rubbing her fingers against her temples in classic mind reader gestures.

"Slave driver." Laurie said, taking the cutlery out of the drawer and heading toward the dining room.


Forge



"Is there a problem, sir?"

The silver-haired gentleman in the Ralph Lauren blazer scowled and leaned over the counter, staring down the teenaged clerk, a rental contract rolled up in his hand.

"There damn well is a problem, son. You see here, I am a Level Four executive, Regional Director of Account Distribution. When I fly into Miami for a meeting, when I fly into San Diego for a meeting, when I fly into godforsaken Tupelo for a meeting, I expect an appropriate automobile waiting for me at the airport."

The clerk gulped, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and glancing at his computer screen. "I'm sorry, Mister... Gal-Galaweckzi? I show your office made a reservation for a 2006 Chevy Malibu..."

Mr. Galaweckzi crumpled the rental contract in his fist, the grinding of his teeth sounding like millstones in the small front office. "And there's where you've obviously made a mistake there, son. I am a Level Four executive. I don't ride in a goddamn mid-size sedan. My personal assistant knows that I get picked up in a Lincoln Town Car, or if one's not available in some podunk burg, a Mercedes. So long as it's a damn S-Class and not one of those little two-door import shitboxes. Now, she's been working with me for fifteen years, son. How long you been working here?"

The clerk swallowed, hearing his manager's office door open behind him. "Five months, sir."

"Fifteen years or five months. Who do you think made the mistake, son?" Mr. Galaweckzi glanced over to the red-faced manager who was waddling out to the front desk. "Ah, somebody who looks like they got a shred of sense. You want to explain to me why I had to settle for this mid-size crapheap out there instead of the damn reservation I know was made?"

The manager, 'Jeff' by his nametag, glared over at the clerk, then apologetically at their incensed client. "I'm sorry, sir. I'll correct this myself. If you let me have your reservation number, I'll make sure we cover the costs of any upgrade that needs to be made. We don't have a Lincoln in the lot right now, but we do have a 2007 Infiniti..."

Mr. Galaweckzi's frown turned to a complacent grin as he looked down at the clerk, who was practically cowering. "You see, son? That's all it takes. Little bit of common courtesy if you want to have a career beyond a fry cook." He took the offered key ring and nodded before turning on his heel to leave through the 'Lot' door.

Jeff watched until the executive had entered his new car and driven off the lot before whirling to face the young clerk. "God DAMN it, John! Did you even check the reservation history?"

Behind his glasses, John closed his eyes, twitching. "Yes, sir. And our website requires the person making the reservation to confirm twice their choice of vehicle. And the signature block on the fax matches up with the previous reservations. This wasn't my fault."

"It's NEVER your fault! Listen, I know your dad pulled some strings to get you this job, but that doesn't mean you can coast through it!" Jeff's rotund face was crimson with frustration. "Aerie Corporation might be all about planes, but even the bosses have to drive somewhere, and they can't do that without us, can they? How many times do I have to tell you, huh? How many chances do I have to give you? I swear, I ought to get on the phone up to Corporate Legal and get your dad on the line-"

"No!" John blurted out, then cleared his throat. "I mean, I'm sorry, sir. I'll straighten this out. Really, I will. It won't happen again."

Jeff shook his head with a sigh, then paused as he caught a glimpse of a small silver can behind a clipboard. Before John could hide it, he reached out to snatch it. "And how many goddamn times have I told you about snacks at the goddamn counter? Jesus, John. Have a bit of common sense. And fix your tie, you look like a goddamn bum. Straighten this shit up." He turned to go, and then glanced back. "And don't let me catch you making more of those personal emails on company time again. Talk to your damn 'internet girlfriend' when you get home."

As the door slammed behind him, John let out a deep breath, looking over his shoulder before alt-tabbing away from the customer management screen to quickly send the email he'd been composing. Removing his glasses to wipe his eyes, he looked over at one of the mirrorlike windows and straightened the knot on his tie, instinctively reading his nametag in the reflection: J. Forge - Aerie Corporate Vehicle Rentals - Clerk.

"This is your life..." he mumbled to himself as he turned back to the computer, "and it's ending one minute at a time..."


Shiro



Yoshida Shiro rested his head against the cool glass of the airplane's window. He was half-asleep, but too awake and too anxious to nod off again. They were to touch down in Los Angeles in an hour, so it wouldn't do him much good, anyway. His sudden yawn attracted the attention of the middle-aged man sitting next to him, who offered him a small smile before turning back to stack of papers that sat on the tray table in front of him.

Shiro just shrugged and reached into his carry-on to pull out a sketchpad and box of pencils. Only careful maneuvering and nepotism allowed him to enroll in art courses at the University of Tokyo, so he took full advantage and drew whenever he could to practice his skills. The price for that, though, was enrolling in the Faculty of Law as an undergraduate, a course of study that he often wanted to stab. Repeatedly. If not with the katana that his father's cousin had bought him then with his pencils. They could get very pointy.

His mind tended to wander as he drew. While his pencil danced over the paper, he found himself considering his current situation. He had two and a half years left at Todai, at which point he'd be expected to go straight to law school. Another round of entrance examinations and interviews. Lucky him. It's not that he didn't like law, but the spandex-clad super hero appearing on the sketchpad appealed to him much more. Maybe he could practice intellectual copyright law for mangaka. That's almost like being an artist himself, right?

His father always told him that being true to oneself and designing one's own identity are the most important things in life. And he'd been supportive of Shiro's choices. For the most part. There were some aspects to Shiro's lifestyle that Saburo did not, could not understand, tried though he had. There were just some things that one couldn't talk about, especially in the circles that the Yoshida family traveled in. And then of course there were some things that one was simply expected to do whether one wanted to or not. Saburo's not-so subtle insistence that Shiro study law or business or politics had seemed like cognitive dissonance to him; he didn't really want to make a life out of that. It wasn't him. But what else could he do? He was a Yoshida. There were expectations for him.

He thought about all this as the sketch neared completion: a young east Asian man wearing a form-fitting uniform that, like Western super heroes, didn't leave much to the imagination. His torso was adorned with a rising sun emblem, and flames decorated his gloves and boots. He carried a sword on his belt and held a string of tear-shaped jewels in one hand, and a mirror in the other. Now all he needed was a Captain Japan? No, too cheesy. Samurai? Too cliche. Kamikaze? Too offensive.

A smile grew on Shiro's lips as the perfect name came to mind. He put his pencil back and took a pen. サンファイヤー.


Lorna



Lorna smiled at the man talking to her--she thought he was one of Brent's colleagues but not one of the ones who mattered--and excused herself politely, moving away. The silk of her dress mimicked the movement, tracing her motion in scarlet, skimming over tanned thighs. She refilled her glass at the bar they'd installed in the condo when they'd moved in and chatted for a moment with Aaron who was playing bartender, his tie half-undone. He was half the reason she'd invited so many friends from school to this; two months since his messy break-up meant that he should be just about ready for a new relationship, she was glad to see he was making use of it.

But she moved on, accepting an air-kiss from Kristen and listening with a fixed, interested look as she babbled about her new baby and how bright she was--it must be all the Baby Einstein. Lorna made the mental adjustment to the invitation list in her head. Married was fine; parents were not. Too self-absorbed.

Escaping finally--who cared what Baby Emma 'said' this morning?--Lorna stopped for a chat with Aimee and Michael just for her own amusement. She dropped a casual, friendly kiss on her ex-boyfriend's mouth (his girlfriend seethed but Brent was nowhere to be seen and would just be amused if he heard anyway--there were no reporters or photographers here tonight) and slipped outside into the balmy, sea-scented Santa Monica air.

The balcony was a smoker's paradise, populated with waif-thin women and lean wolfish men. Lorna appropriated a cigarette from one and accepted at light from another, then leaned next to a third, eyeing her shoes. "Amanda-darling, I'm so glad you're here. What are you wearing?"

The brunette, usually described as bubbly, likable and cute by her press, scowled. "My stylist said they were a must." She rolled her eyes, "What the hell do I know. It's fashion. They're designer at least."

"It's awful." Lorna retorted. The starlet's mouth twisted in haughty dismay, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "I do like the hair," Lorna offered as appeasement, knowing she couldn't criticize Amanda too much if she expected her to come back. The actress was a bitch but she drew in people and Lorna could dine off the story of her party antics for weeks.

Amanda tossed back the rest of her drink--still two years under age but who in this town counted anymore?--and smiled her bright, false-sincere smile. "New stylist there too. I'll give you his number. He can work miracles with absolutely anyone."

Lorna had to fight to keep her smile in place, recognizing the jab at her own not-so-expensively kept locks--sunshine blonde right now but naturally honey brown. There was nothing particularly unfashionable about them but it wasn't a $1700 haircut by any means. "That would be sweet of you." She threw her cigarette into the canal and pushed away from the railing. "I have to make the rounds. I'll catch you later."

Inside Brent had reappeared and she went quickly to his side, a quick glance in the mirror over the hearth assuring her that her appearance was just right, that they matched perfectly as always. His arm went behind her, hand pressed to the skin at her lower back, possessive and proud as he raised his glass to the room, gaining quiet instantly. For now, he was only a lawyer, nothing special. But everyone here knew that one day the attractive young couple who entertained them tonight would be in the position to grant favors, smooth laws and perhaps, if they did everything right, take the top office.

These were the kind of friendships that you cultivated early on. It wasn't what you knew. It was who.


Kyle



Life by the bell. Wake-up call at five, and the cell lights came on from their nighttime dimness to brighter than the sun, white fluorencent light right in his eyes. Up and hit the cold floor with bare feet, because someone had taken his socks. Again. And then breakfast.

If you could call it that. Kyle didn't call it anything. Plain oatmeal, or soggy cornflakes, maybe a coupe of orange slices or half a banana if he was lucky -and- it didn't get taken from him before he could shove the whole thing in his mouth.

Barely enough time to shower, if he felt like braving cold water and embarassment, and the risk of having his stuff stolen, or being 'tripped', or just having one of the older, or larger boys make threats, or worse, 'suggestions' about how Kyle could get treated better. At least they didn't try to force him. Kyle had a reputation as a biter. Two guards, three cellmates, and a social worker who tried to imply that he needed medication.

He didn't need any freakin' medication. He just needed to not be here, not be the target of daily shoving or worse, not be trapped in this place.

'Classes' were at eight, not that they learned anything besides how to harass some poor guy underpaid to try to get a dozen teenage boys to sit down, shut up and do maybe ten math problems. They'd been on the same chapter in the stupid book for English for the last four weeks.

Another meal at noon, more classes, and then 'self-enrichment' time. Which was a glorified gym class in the center yard. How they were supposed to do anything on bare dirt, surrounded by fences and barbed wire, Kyle didn't know. Not that he did anything except watch. It was always the same four guys playing basketball anyway. The short one, the fat one, the one in glasses and the one with dreads. He didn't even know their names, and didn't have the guts to ask. And guys like those would've never let him in anyway.

"Move it, Gibney." The guard nudged Kyle, where he was slumped against the wall. "Rec time's over." Kyle looked up and gave a half-shrug, rolling his eyes. He didn't feel like moving. The sun was out, and even though the Montana winter was bitter cold, the sun on his face felt good. "I said -move it-, Gibney. You're one more smartassed comment from solitary."

Solitary. He had a love-hate relationship with it. Almost unbearable boredom, and no windows. But, peace and quiet, and blissful time away from the pack of jackals in his cellblock. "Yeah, you can kiss my ass." Kyle said, straightening. "You inbred fucks can blow me. No, wait, your mom can blow me."

The hard yank on his shirt collar was nothing new to Kyle, and he struggled against it, which was also nothing new. And just like everything else, the trip to solitary was routine.


Angel



"Dad?" Angel stared down at the paper in her hands, fingers clenched tightly to the point of nearly crumpling it.

"What's up..." Bart hobbled into the kitchen and then stopped, sighing when he saw what she was looking at. "Honey, I was going to tell you soon, I promise."

She glanced up and gave him a watery smile. "Big offer in New York, huh? Are you, you know, moving? Are we moving?"

Carefully, her father walked into the kitchen and then stopped next to her. His free hand landed on top of her hair, messing it up. "I gave it some thought, honey," he said. "It's a big offer, that's true. But I can get a big offer her as well."

"So..." Angel hesitated and glanced down at the offer and whistled softly. "Daddy, that's a really awesome job."

Bart chuckled and kissed her forehead, drawing her against him. "Yes it is. But you're life, my life, is here. This is home and this is where we're going to stay."

His daughter sighed in relief, turning to give him a hug.

~~

"Hey, Angel, wait up!"

Angel turned and grinned, waiting on the corner near the high school as Jacob and Julip Travers sprinted to catch up with her. "Hey guys," she said, slipping her arm around Julip's shoulders.

"Hey yourself," Jacob replied, mussing up her hair.

"Gah!" She ducked, nearly sending herself and Julip to the ground in the process. Once they righted themselves, giggling, she asked, "You two ready?"

As one, they turned to look at the school and sighed. "It's pretty big," Julip said, sounding thoughtful.

"Yup."

"So."

"So."

"You think we can prank the entire senior part of the swim team by the end of the school?" Jacob asked, sliding an arm around Angel's waist.

His twin grinned at him around the red head. "Do I detect a hint of challenge?"

"You do, you do," Angel replied, grinning madly. "Can I be all like sneaky cohort?"

"When are you anything but?"

Giggling, Angel started forward, pulling the other two with her. "This is going to be the best year ever."


Tommy



Overall, Tommy had to say that life was good.

The planning for the literacy rally was practically doing itself, which was a relief since Tommy had a huge history test tomorrow and as the leader of the planning, he didn't want to have to let anyone down by not doing his job. But the group of people he worked with were just that good.

As he walked through the halls, he smiled and waved to almost everybody he saw. Some would claim it was because he was on the football team that made him popular but those who knew him would say it was just because he had to be involved in everything, especially when it came to fighting for a worthy cause. This weekend it was children's literacy and he had to remember to ask Duncan about next weeks fund raiser for the local pediatric hospital. His history teacher kept asking if he'd considered going and interning on Capitol Hill over the summer, since it seemed like the place for him to be. Tommy always smiled at the idea.

When the bell rang, Tommy was already in his seat, pencil ready for notes and a worn copy of Frost's poems on his desk. The English teacher had said Frost was to be their topic of discussion today and having memorized practically all of the man's work, Tommy was ready.


Crystal



Princess Crystal Boltagon woke up.

Blearily, she eyed the hotel suite she was in. The sound of running water alerted her to the fact that Johnny was still there, or had come back, whatever. Sitting up, she glanced over at the clock nearby. 12:38? Shit. She had missed her appointment. The Boltagons were going to be ticked… again.

Sighing, she stood and made her way over to the shelf where a picture of her happy parents and their two smiling blonde children looked back at her. That was then. This was now. They had been taken from her so young, and the Boltagons' idea of how to bring her up properly had been to adopt her and then send her off to boarding school. Fuck them. Boarding school sucked, and she had spent years going from one to the other.

Different schools, different countries, different cultures. What was the point of it all? Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Crystal approached the bathroom. "I need to shower, too!" she said as she pushed open the door


Amanda



So. This was America.

Amanda sat on the plane as it taxied towards the terminal, wishing she was allowed to keep her carryon bag on her lap - it had every important thing she'd brought with her. The thought made her eyes suddenly prickle. Twelve months away from Kurt, her clan, the circus. How could she have left? Blinking rapidly, she looked out the window, even if there was just runways and planes to look at. She was Szardos, and she would not cry.

Even so, her hand crept into up to her neck, to the crystal pendant hanging around her neck. The charm her mother had given her, to bring her good fortune. Magic wasn't real, just superstition, but somehow, holding onto made her feel a whole lot better. She took a breath, and then started a little as the seatbelt sign above her head blinked off with a small chime, and the people around her started getting up and collecting their possessions.

This was it. No going back now.