Author Topic: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty ("Complete")  (Read 204389 times)

Offline Tiamet

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 91, 10/26)
« Reply #435 on: October 27, 2014, 11:38:38 AM »
*singing*

Goodbye, Earl
Those black-eyed peas?
They tasted all right to me, Earl
You're feeling weak?
Why don't you lay down and sleep, Earl
Ain't it dark?
Wrapped up in that tarp, Earl


Substituting Bryant for Earl of course!

Offline Rowan

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 91, 10/26)
« Reply #436 on: October 27, 2014, 03:37:24 PM »
Well now that's one way of doing it. It'd be nice for her to do it herself but I'll take whatever I can get.
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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 91, 10/26)
« Reply #437 on: October 27, 2014, 05:28:50 PM »
“Apparently the elders broke up with Bryant for you.”

Mwahaha this is PERFECT. All this flip-flopping and agonizing and poor decisions and running away and then the older generations just get tired of it and go "oh fine, we'll just do it for her." I can just imagine Bryant's stunned face as they deliver the news, then Franco insults his hair, Annette pours a tray of drinks on him and Lily knees him in the family jewels...

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 92, 10/26)
« Reply #438 on: October 30, 2014, 10:21:08 AM »
So, lemme clarify/spoil a bit.

That last part of the chapter is going to lead to something a little different than you might think.

Tegan will face Bryant. That's what I had planned out and still have planned.

In two chapters, that is.

I'm in a rush, so I'll answer the responses to Chapter 90 a little before 2PM EST. Sorry guys. :(



Chapter 92: The Other Side



”Okay, that is a way of simplifying it-

“Get your head out of that book and get into those slacks I put out.”

Moira has been telling me that for a few minutes now, with me insisting that I have to get through the next chapter. Alas, I’m at a cliffhanger again. Or what I wrote to be a cliffhanger. During then, I logged seven miles on the treadmill, with whether I can run seven more or not both in the air and especially crucial for a job as a legitimate criminal.

“The black ones?” I ask.

“Unless you like orange ones. Then you can wear orange slacks for the rest of your life.”

“So what’s in store for tonight?”

“Home invasion! They’re always a lot of fun, especially when you put mansions into the mix. Which we are tonight. History’s repeating itself, and we’re going to Dandy’s again,” says Moira. “I knew he was up to no good, getting rich that quickly. Not that I care about that, but he might also have some bad dirt on Maeve that we need to get rid of. So, invasion. Get your slacks on.”

While I’m dressing in black for the funeral of the last of my morals, Arthur fetches a pile of black and white clothes from the dryer. I can smell the fresh, linen-y scent from where I am.

“Comfort over camouflage?” I ask him, after he’s dressed (or undressed, depending on how you look at it).



“Works for tonight,” he says, wiping some sweat off his brow. “I’m covert half the time. But we need my other special attribute this time.”

“What he’s trying to say is that he’s profiting off being gay tonight,” Moira says. “And he swore three months ago that he wouldn’t be with older men. How old is Dandy? Don’t you remember?” Well, wait until I tell him about dad. “So he doesn’t have to lift a finger tonight.”

“It’s just for work. Your brother doesn’t mind. I don’t even care.” he tells me. “I’m done with him. He leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” I say, right after fitting my head through the narrow opening of a black turtleneck sweater. In this summer heat, this mafia is trying to kill me. But I don’t blame Arthur either, since I heard a threat on his property last night, straight from dad’s mouth. I’m going to have to tell them the truth one day, just because calling him “my brother” is the worst lie I’ve told in this life.

Back in Twinbrook, I’ve done worse. Getting to relive it through reading is a perfect reason to fail tonight. But I won’t, because my thirst for money hurts more than fear, which makes it a pain worse than labor and kidney stones (been there, done both). Combined.



A pair of tight black gloves were on top of the pile, and they go on last, putting each of my fingers into a comfortable sheath. I could blend into a bottle of ink now.

“Forgot something?” Moira asks. She finished dressing before I did, with her hair still in that long ponytail. Dark hair probably works better for this job, but I blame nature and my parents, and somehow I didn’t die of chemical poisoning from all of the dye I used as an elder. I can’t risk it now.

“Look down,” she says. “And then look back in my eyes.”



I swear that they forgot to include socks in my pile.

So I look back into her eyes. “Can you spare a pair?” I get a pair of black women’s socks, because finding a match is easy when they’re all black and knitted the same way. I’m also not surprised that Moira employs minimal footwear. Old Annette was a fabulous athlete with just the skin on her feet. It worked for us too. I’m glad I have no work-issued boots or whatever they wear in this city.

“We’re not done,” Moira says. “And there is a point where we are. But your face.”

“Blame my great-grandfather,” I say.

“You’re a pretty petunia. But you’re also kind of minty-colored, aren’t you? I know the feeling.” She grabs a pile of amorphous black fabric from the top of one of the washing machines, with a shiny black box. “The most important step.”

Moira takes a makeup brush and lightly brushes her face with powdered, nearly-white foundation from the box. “I think you could go for something darker and warm,” she says, with her face looking marginally more normal, except for her ears, which hopelessly stick out. “You’re not quite bronze, but I like the warmth of this one. Don’t you?”

The brush tickles against my face. Only now can I wear foundation for a job so dirty. I’m already sweating in this getup.

“Last step,” she says, giving me half of her lump of fabric. It turns out be an eye mask and a ski mask. “Wait, before that, your ears stick out a bit too much.” Yeah, I know. Everyone notices that about me. “You won’t get the mask on too well without some tape.”

I cringe. “Don’t cringe,” Moira says. “I have to use twice as much for mine. At least yours are rounded.”

I will say right now that I found my new least favorite part of this job.



But after all of Moira’s steps, I look like a proper thief. My blond hair is tucked in, when she has enough to justify saying “screw it” and leaving her ponytail out in the open. But, even considering that, chances are I’ll be caught and she won’t.

Tonight might be the last night I live, but I’ll have a good death story.

So Arthur doesn’t look as much like a lazy criminal in his pajamas as he does, he drives the van for us. Though maybe I need to emphasize again that this cleaner, who is a stickler for clean laundry and stylish black-and-white clothes, is going to work in a robe and silk pajama pants. With some rubbing alcohol and soft cleaning rags stuffed inside for the second half of his job, but he’s still in the world’s laziest uniform for an undignified night.

“Kind of a sad job,” I say to Arthur, as we cross over the bridge to the mansions near the edge of town.

“Yeah,” he says, sighing a little bit as he makes a turn on to a blank tract of road.

Moira whispers to me. “Poor guy’s wasted his adult life sandwiched between a fake marriage and lots of sleeping around. I bet he likes this.”

“I heard that. I don’t like Dandy. He’s twice my age and kind of rude. Would be a nice fit for one woman I know,” says Arthur, as he parks at the curb. “Except for the obvious setback."

"I kid," Moira says. "I've had to use the same distraction tactics too," she tells me. "It all depends on who we're stealing from. You'll probably get the job one of these days."



Moira tells me the plan when we're on the property, as if she has done the same heist twice before. Which, first thing she reveals, is that she did indeed do this twice before. The first time, Michael Dandy had one of his parties going on, and she took advantage of the commotion to steal some prized Egyptian jewelry to pawn off or pocket. “My grandma was Egyptian. She’s thank me for reclaiming it if she was alive,” Moira says. “But I’ve gone through these motions.”

“Arthur is just a distraction, though he gets word of what rooms we enter so he can clean up the evidence while Mr. Dandy showers or something. The best part is that this man likes Arthur enough to stay distracted.”



“So he greets him and says something about how this strapping young man we brought has gained weight, because I knew Arthur a year ago. He’s right ‘cause the guy has chubbed up ever since Eileen learned how to cook. But it works for us, right? Mike cleans himself up, and Arthur makes sure that a few doors are left open when he’s not looking.”



“We sneak in through the side, or at least I do because you’re heavy on your feet, but I think you’ll learn. So, ever use a walkie-talkie?” I haven’t because I grew up in a digital sort-of world where we had cell phones.



“Well, leave that to me. He’ll transmit messages while he brushes his teeth. I’ve learned how to decode them by now.”







When we get the message, we get a clear idea of where to go. The mansion has three floors, and there is a bedroom with a blue motif and a secret room. The door is left open for us, and Arthur makes sure to wipe his prints off the pure gold knobs before he finds which of the four or five bedrooms he gets for the night.

But we have to wait until the path is clear and unwatched.



I make sure that my mask is in the right place, while Moira waits for another call from Arthur. We do know that the first floor is clear, so hiding out in the bathroom is the best choice. From what I’ve been relayed, Arthur is making his laps around the house in hopes of tracking down Michael, and just wants this part of the job to get over with so he can clean up our messes.

We’ve been whispering for the whole job, which hurts my throat and makes my regular voice hoarse too, but I have enough of a will to live to keep at it. The crackle of the walkie-talkie is loud, though, which prompts Moira to answer quickly.

“What do you mean?” she asks. She hangs up, or does the rough equivalent on a walkie-talkie.



“Dang it. He’s chosen the blue room. Already had the others cleaned today or something,” she says to me.

“Are we screwed?”

“Nah. It gets loud. He left the secret door rigged so we can open it easily, and all we have to do is listen to that soundtrack for the evening.”

“How long do we have?”

“Probably a while. Just be quiet when you’re going up the stairs. We’ll know when it’s safe.”

I end up trusting Moira, which works in my favor, as it is loud upstairs, and we slide open a door hidden by a tall, filled bookcase. I have to trust Moira with that too, because she was the one doing chin-ups for a warmup. She shoves away her body weight plus more in books, and we enter a room filled with lockers and gold. The door shuts behind us, which still isn’t enough to rouse suspicion. Moira stops whispering.



“You might think we’re here for gold,” she says. “But, as I said, we really need to get into those lockers. He thinks he can blackmail us and put us all behind bars, but without the evidence, he’s just a criminal with a beef against other criminals.”



Moira presses herself up against the locker. “I could just rip this darling off its hinges,” she says. “And Arthur can put it back together. That’s his real job.”

“Ever pick a lock?” I ask her.

“Well, yeah, but I usually have a whole night to do that.”

“Can you crack a safe?”

“With someone else.”

“You gave me a screwdriver. I’ll take care of that.” I can take care of it, because criminal parents are occasionally great things.

“Alright. I’ll pocket the gold, though,” Moira says.



I’m told that what we need is in the second-to-last locker, in a box with ordered folders of gossip and details for blackmailing. McGrail is probably in the middle of it. I survey the locker. Its lock is lower down, set up with a single dial, much like a basic safe. However, lockers are a little flimsier, and I can get Moira to rip the door off its hinges if I fail.

Ah, screw it. I’m just loosening the unit at its weak spots.



“Doing well?” she keeps asking me, as she picks up half her weight in gold coins. For anyone else, I’d wonder if this was a death wish, but Moira is strong and fast. Annette was too, even in her old age. Still, she struggles to find space for all of the coins in her pockets, or stuffed into her sweater. I keep wriggling the lock. It’s easier because of the cracks in the door, and how it isn’t sealed like the average safe, but I’ll admit that this was never my job. Dad gave me a project when I was a bored teenager, and I have a good memory.

Ten minutes pass, and we’re still hidden. The locker room might be soundproofed too, considering that it’s hidden and full of gold. Moira still leaves some coins on the ground. “He won’t miss ‘em,” she says. “Have you gotten that lock off yet?”

“Give me time,” I say. “A lot of it has loosened.”

“Hurry up, though. They can’t last forever.”

Half of it falls a bit. The door is close to opening. The falling lock makes a clanging sound each time I wiggle it now, but Arthur is keeping us in the clear. Plus, he can screw this back together a little easier than he can put a whole door back where it belongs.

Two more minutes and the whole unit falls, with a huge bang on the bottom of the locker. I scrunch up my face at the noise.

“Haven’t gotten a call yet,” Moira says. “We’re still good.”

A box sits on the bottom, below a few silk suits that are hanging up above. Papers overflow from the box. As Moira said, it’s alphabetical and McGrail is likely towards the middle. I eliminate it by chunks, going past names like Granger and Kaufman that I don’t care about and that Moira doesn’t either. I get to McBride, which is close and where Moira says “probably about Tank’s ex. I dunno. Take that too, because I care about dear Clara.” Right under that is indeed, a few incriminating photos of Maeve and her wares. It’s mostly juice, and some weapons almost out of shot but not quite. There’s a bit of plasma on her hands and on the handle of her cane.

Moira takes a look at it. “That’s what we’re looking for. Let’s just be clear that Mr. Dandy does most of the same things.” Her walkie-talkie gets a call right after that.

“Coast is clear. Mike’s getting ready for bed. Arthur’s gonna take a thorough shower or three and do the rest of his work after that.”

“That’s good?”

“It is good. He also wanted me to tell you that your brother still made him feel far, far worse.”

We tip-toe to another bedroom. This man, who lives alone, could consider downsizing, but it’s his life. A large window overlooks the back deck and the pool, the same place where I met Moira. It’s a historic note now.

Even better, the window overlooks all of Roaring Heights, from the skyscrapers to the lighthouse a little beyond Maeve’s mansion. All of the lights are on tonight.



“The city looks lovely tonight,” I say. “I wish I had this view a little more often.”

“You know, I’ve been to a lot of places. Like when Eileen got married in Moonlight Falls, when we went to school in Hidden Springs, when I lived with Shaun in Lucky Palms. I loved them all, but I can’t ever tear myself away from the city lights. I like this the best,” Moira says.

“Would you ever live in a small town?” I ask her. “I mean, I came from Twinbrook. It’s a sleepy place. Hot as all hell and the mosquitos never let up.”

“It’s not like I’d mind living somewhere like that. It’s a good place to raise kids, right?”

“Didn’t seem to harm me.”

“Then I would. I half-considered moving to the suburbs with Bridget, but she likes it here. All her friends are here, and me? I couldn’t live that long without paying a visit here. Even if I lived in Twinbrook, I’d travel.”

You survived pretty well without it.

“You’re not suggesting that I move away, are you?” Moira asks.

“Nah. You’re doing pretty well for yourself here,” I say.

“It’s not the best, but it’s what I was born into. I can’t change that now.”

We’re still stuck in the home we invaded.



“So, how do you plan to escape?” I rub my chin, pretending to think of an alternate plan. Then I realize that she’s going to suggest jumping out the window, which jumpstarts my mind into thinking of an alternate plan.

“We’re going to jump out the window. It’s only two stories,” she says.

Well, crap.

“Will I be okay?”

“Most likely.”



While I land without injury, I also land in a heap on the ground, while Moira gets up and flicks the dust off her sleeves.

“Now scram,” she whispers. In the dark of night, she disappears before I can find her path. I think going down the stairs is a good plan, though. If Mr. Dandy is inside, then he won’t hear me going down the flights and flights (okay, more like two of them) of stairs. And if Arthur’s still inside, he might be worse off then I am.

My legs are a little sore from the run. Yeah, I’m a marathoner. Seven miles did me in. Jumping two stories did that too. But I still do my best to run the length of the deck. As long as I disappear into the dark and outside of his outdoor lighting, I’m golden.

The back door opens. My heart races and hopes that it’s Arthur, who did a quick job of showering and putting a lock back together.



Alas, I think he still has work to do.



Word Count for this chapter: 3,009
Word Count so far: 179,430

Notes:

- Moira/Annette...part-Egyptian? I wish I had some pictures on hand, but if you put her on a regular skintone slider, she had olive skin (a little lighter than Eileen's, but still tan) and ambiguously Middle Eastern/North African features. I chose Egyptian because it works in the context of TS3.

In case you want a breakdown of what I envision her ethnic makeup to be, she's "Irish" (two grandparents from Dragon Valley, and with an Irish surname), Egyptian, English, and French. Obviously, Eileen has the same background.

I've spent too much time thinking about this for some characters.

- I realize that my characters tend to have a lot of woohoo with different partners. I'm not trying to make commentary or have an opinion either way about their actions. It's really just a way I like to play.

And Arthur does it because duty calls. I think he would like nothing else but to settle down with someone he loves, and if he could love Eileen romantically, he would and they would be the sweetest couple ever. Eileen's habits will get a spotlight in the future, though she's more of a serial monogamist (while in a sham-marriage) than anything.
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Offline Trip

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 92, 10/30)
« Reply #439 on: October 30, 2014, 10:42:24 AM »
"The elders broke up with Bryant for you." Well, that's one way to find out.

It's unusual, for sure.

I'd love to see Teagan break up with Bryant herself.

Well now that's one way of doing it. It'd be nice for her to do it herself but I'll take whatever I can get.

You'll be more satisfied with Chapter 94, then. :)

*singing*

Goodbye, Earl
Those black-eyed peas?
They tasted all right to me, Earl
You're feeling weak?
Why don't you lay down and sleep, Earl
Ain't it dark?
Wrapped up in that tarp, Earl


Substituting Bryant for Earl of course!

Perfect! ;D

“Apparently the elders broke up with Bryant for you.”

Mwahaha this is PERFECT. All this flip-flopping and agonizing and poor decisions and running away and then the older generations just get tired of it and go "oh fine, we'll just do it for her." I can just imagine Bryant's stunned face as they deliver the news, then Franco insults his hair, Annette pours a tray of drinks on him and Lily knees him in the family jewels...

You'll see how things went down in a few chapters...
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Offline Rowan

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 92, 10/30)
« Reply #440 on: October 31, 2014, 06:44:14 AM »
Oh you with the cliffhangers! But it's Two Lines, No Waiting, we get two stories for the cost of one. So I'm not complaining. Looking forward to seeing Tegan and Bryant face off.
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By samoht04

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 92, 10/30)
« Reply #441 on: October 31, 2014, 06:50:38 AM »
Ah, why do you have to leave it there? I demand to know what happens next!  ;)
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Offline Trip

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 93, 11/11)
« Reply #442 on: November 11, 2014, 03:58:03 PM »
Sorry for the delay. It's been a busy two weeks, and I tend to divert my spare time to...other pursuits now. It truly hurts my goal of getting to Tegan's immortality by January 25th (a.k.a. the one year anniversary of me starting this story). :(



Oh you with the cliffhangers! But it's Two Lines, No Waiting, we get two stories for the cost of one. So I'm not complaining. Looking forward to seeing Tegan and Bryant face off.

Two cliffhangers for the price of one! It's evil, but at least I'll resolve one right now. ;)

Ah, why do you have to leave it there? I demand to know what happens next!  ;)

Oh fine. Have a chapter!



Chapter 93: Gold and Rubies



I’m going to die within the next hour, or even sooner. This isn’t a coward’s job, and this coward froze in place, upon seeing this older gentleman get ready to get rough. His fingers were tense. All of him was tensed up. He pulled my mask off, tearing it and revealing the scared little imp behind it. Worst of all, Moira ran off and disappeared into the bushes and beyond, and Arthur is wherever he is, which if he’s smart, is not here.



He has me on my knees. “I can’t get that other sneaky devil, but at least I have you. What the hell were you doing up there?”

“It’s my first night,” I tell him. “Don’t hurt me.”

“I’ve been in this game for a while. Newcomers are expendable,” he says. “I don’t think they’ll miss you.”

And the worst part is, I think he’s right.

At his words, death reaches a certainty. I want my last memory to be pleasant and out of context. Heck, I’d even take my best karaoke night with Simon as a suitable last memory. But my mind conspires against my heart and pulls out a dreadful tape instead.

There was a time when I had long hair held back by a hair clip, and when both my biology and my birth certificate said I was 27 years old. I remember much of it only because I wrote it down, and because my dad can find embarrassing moments to bring up. It passed by in a dreary eternal haze. A more lucky me would remember her book signings and her first woohoo being that year, but alas, the picture points towards me kneeling on a rustic wooden floor in that wretched old barn my dad owned as his hideaway.

I left that cold night, taking grandpa Franco’s car after he told me that I can’t go around breaking hearts, no matter what my reasons are. He and my grandmother had the best reactions to the news about me having no leeway for those plans. In a shorter sentence, I told the elders that I’m a lesbian.

Annette perked up her big, pointed ears when I admitted it. ”Gonna have to arrange a marriage now. You’re killing me, Jo.”

I hanged my head down, defeated. "But why an arranged marriage? I don't even want one without you guys in the mix."

”Yeah, arranged marriages suck, but we have to do what we have to do,” Annette said, “You’re marrying Simon whether you like it or not. Because, guess what? That’s all the sweet kid wants from you.”

“What about how I feel, though?” I asked them. “It’s bad enough that you dragged me here tonight. I told you, I don’t like men. I don’t like Simon. I want good times to look back on like you guys have!”

“Doesn’t matter when you’re ruining my family,” Annette said. “I’m gonna have a lot of grief wrangling a useless lesbian now.”


Those words stung like walking face-first into a thorn bush. Useless because of who I am. For one night, she kept that phrase within the family. I didn’t have the heart to tell dad, who was at work at the time, that she had the nerve to say that about his daughter. He got enough flack for being sleazy and bi, after all.

The next day, she followed me to the bookstore and ran into an old friend of hers. The friend and Annette gossiped like bad old ladies do, and I ignored them as I negotiated pricing for my newest book with the manager.

“Oh, I found out last night that my Jo is useless to the family now,” Annette said. “She’s just a useless lesbian who won’t listen to me now.”

“What a darn shame,” her friend said. “Not even the right man?”

“We tried.”


Yes, this is the last thing I’ll remember in my life. That Annette couldn’t keep her big mouth shut, especially not about her useless granddaughter who was that dirty l-word. I couldn’t bear to apply that to myself after that afternoon.



“I don’t want to die tonight,” I say, choked. “I don’t deserve to.”



Mike grabs me by the shoulder and heads towards the stairs, down which is where the pool is. “We’ll see what works best, how about that? You know too much.”

“About what, though? I wasn’t getting your information. I was getting my own!”

“You’re with that Arthur kid, and now you know the side I play for.”

It all comes out of me without much thought on my part. “I’m not the one who would snitch,” I tell him, sternly. “That other one would. She did the same to me.”

“What?” Mike asks.

“She outed me.”

He lets go of me. He lets go of himself too, curling up on the ground and ready to sob, as if I told him his death sentence. I may have anyways.



“I can’t let them know,” he says quietly. “It’s that business partner of mine. He’s always told me that he’d dissolve the business before he sides with a gay man. And if he found out about me? I’m done. No protection, nothing.”



While he’s mulling over the ways that this will destroy him, I lean on the fencing on his deck. “Hey, I can try to reason with her. Or get some special help.”

“Do you forgive her for it?”

“I don’t, not at all. It ruined my life, which, well, that’s why I’m here. But I can do my best. If you let me go, I won’t destroy you at all. I’m not stooping that low and betraying my own community.” I smile a little bit. “And if I come back to her safe and sound, what would she have to say against you? Why would she have to say anything? I’ll admit, I disappointed her before she told the world my secrets.”

“So what did you grab anyways?” he asks.

“Stuff about Maeve McGrail and Clara McBride.”

“Well, it was just around for curiosity. There’s not much of a rivalry, just two criminals and a paranoid old bat being one of them,” Mike says.

“I’d believe it.”

“Take care, then.”

“Letting me go so soon?” I chuckle.

“I’ll save my strength for someone who needs it more,” he says.



As I exit the property, Arthur follows, still in his pajamas and ready to lead me to the van. “Thought you were a goner,” he tells me. “Didn’t think he’d pardon anyone. You might have noticed that he’s successful. All that gold…”

“I’m happier this way,” I say.

As we get into the van, he says one of his last things for the night. “You guys are filthy. Moira better pay me well for this.”

“What?”



“I had to clean up a lot while you were being held. Fun stuff. Getting to hear everything.”

“You wouldn’t betray him, would you?” I ask.

“Nah. And I can’t see how Moira would either. She did that to you?” I freeze, considering that she did do it to me, while using a different name and far, far into the future. A future Arthur wouldn’t live to see whether he died at 23 or 93.

“Just to a few at the café,” I say, quickly. “I’m not as angry as I sounded. Don’t bring it up with her.”



He nods and keeps driving into the night.

We pick up Moira, who was hiding a few lots down behind a thick palm tree the entire time. She gives me a hug upon seeing that I made it out alive. She places the folders in my lap.

“We did it. Well, how did you?” she asks, eager to hear my solution.

“Wits,” I say, ignoring how I slandered her in the process. She wasn’t around to hear that. “I’m just glad it’s over.” Arthur nods, looking pained.

“I need some coffee,” he says. “Do either of you mind? It’s just the next town over. In a more modern town.”

Moira perks up. “Well, yeah! It’s been forever since I’ve seen Ruby.” I pretend to know who this Ruby is.

“She’s a mechanic,” Moira explains. I guess I can’t feign knowledge. “Also makes a good cup of coffee in some fancy cappuccino machine. Never tattles. I just love that woman.”

“Sounds like a nice one.”

Arthur drives up a winding dirt road, leaving Roaring Heights behind in the dust and behind the branches of oak trees that dot the landscape. We find some streetlights again, as well as neon signs from bars and a diner, and a couple of houses with night owls for residents. Everything is made of red brick or off-white siding. The buildings are sparse. One sparse road leads to an old factory on one side, and a small petrol station on the other. He pulls into the latter.

“You can just go inside,” he tells me. I look inside the garage instead.



We won’t be alone tonight. I hope the “no tattling” promise is true.

“Jo! Just because she’s single doesn’t mean she’s gay,” Moira says. Whatever. She’s not ugly, but she’s not doing anything for me either. Maybe things would change if I got to know her, but I’ll heed that warning. “Get inside with us. They’re just starting another Twilight Zone episode.”

I forgot that television is a rare treat for these two.



They lead me inside and head straight for the couch, one at either end. I have to climb over a coffee table to get in the middle, which is too awkward to try. I stand near the cash register instead, with the hiss of Ruby’s paint gun breaking through the walls. I’ve had eternity to watch “I Sing the Body Electric” a few times before.



”You can’t run away?”

“I can’t. I won’t!”


It’s a shame how I did, then. That’s how things ended between most of the family and myself. I could even count myself lucky for having my dad return to me again and again with requests for bail.

I won’t tell the story to my new friends, though. This is just a television show, and I’m just a tired newbie to them.

“Looks like we need some coffee,” Arthur says. His voice has gone so quiet tonight. “Hopefully Ruby will be done with her car soon. I won’t trust either of you girls with it.”

“Fair enough. I can’t use that technology well,” Moira says. “Percolators are a different story. I can’t wait to introduce Bridget to them.”

The door opens again, as the credits roll and roll into the next episode. “I know I need some coffee to keep up with you night owls,” the newcomer says.

“Be glad we visited!” Moira says. “I missed you Ruby, and your drinks.”



“I’ll be sure to include two shots,” Ruby says, weary in the early morning hours and yearning for caffeine to rescue her. “And light roast for Arthur, and what does your new friend like?”

“Something strong,” I say.

“And I’m sober,” Moira says. “Now I am, anyways. Give them to Arthur instead, since he saw hell tonight.”

Ruby nodded at the euphemism. “Good on your wife for putting up with that,” she tells Arthur. She gives out the mugs, and asks for my name when I get mine.

“Josephine Waverly.” She hesitates for a second or two.

“Moira didn’t learn her lesson, huh?” Moira herself rolls her eyes at that.

“She’s different, Ruby. Stop talking crap about my in-laws. Isn’t it funny how I never say those things to you about Jamie?”

Ruby turns towards me. “Don’t believe her for a second. He’s the best ex I could ask for.” What an odd web this group is, but then again, who better to trust than the amiable ex of a friend?

I take one sip of what she gave me and nod in approval.

“Well, why don’t you take a seat, Jo?” Ruby asks me. “I’ll get the table out of the way for you.”



Ruby does her best to be a welcoming hostess, but she and Moira are the friendliest together, with biting senses of humor, some stories from Ruby about the gory misadventures of her gravedigging best friend forever, and Moira gossiping about everyone in their shared circle of friends. Apparently Jamie is a fun drunk underneath his technical façade.

I have a feeling that Arthur knows her, but his job tonight silenced him. I just hope that it was because I tracked in far more dirt than I thought, and left fingerprints all over the railings on the stairs.

“So, any weird customers?” Moira asks.



“You guys have to stop dragging in so many rainbow folks. It looks suspicious,” Ruby says. I would have dropped my mug if I didn’t put it on the coffee table beforehand.

“Don’t blame me! I haven’t had a hand in any of it. Doubt even Maeve has,” Moira says.

“Yeah, they didn’t seem to want you, come to think of it. And they looked a little different. Uh…two of them were kind of blue. I felt sorry for one of them because she looked so disturbed.”

I interject. “Hey, uh, when did they come into your shop?”



Ruby counts it out on her fingers. “Gosh, maybe four, five days ago?”

“What’s the matter, Jo?” Moira asks. “Afraid you have family after you?”

Well, yes. I remain tense in my seat.

“I’m off to try and finish this car before Reilly has dig a hole for me,” Ruby says. “There’s some soup in the fridge if you’re feeling hungry.”



Moira is the first to grab a bowl of cold split-pea soup. “She makes the best!” she tells me.

“Nah, I’ll pass. I’ve put on some weight lately, and you can’t have me left behind again, now can you?”

“Whatever works.”

“Is there cell phone reception over here?” I ask. Both Moira and Arthur nod.

“I have something to check on, then.”



For the first time in ages, I turn my phone on, and a few bars show up in the corner. Then it vibrates with notifications, probably because nobody is home to pay my bills now, but I’ll deal with that when I’m running off more than coffee. I scroll through the missed calls and voicemails regardless. Sunset Valley Electric, my ISP, and a reminder from six days ago that I have a week to pay until they shut my cell phone service down too. Good timing, huh?

A few numbers stick out to me. Two are international, in some way belonging to households across the pond. One’s from Starlight Shores. I can tell by the area code, because researching for books has given me this knowledge.

It sickens me when it hits me as to who could have called. Lily lives in Starlight Shores, and I can’t say that we’re best friends. She called me a dynasty-ruining idiot. I should listen to whatever new anger she’s gained for me.

Hi Jo, it’s Lily. I honestly can’t believe you. Apparently there’s a threat on my dad that can be traced back to you? Why don’t you stop being so selfish. You’ve always been. I’ll see what military threats I can still get from Bronson before I threaten you. Thanks for nothing.

I check her latest call too.

Hi Jo, it’s Lily again. Bronson knows some snipers, just in case-

That’s enough of that. What did I do to Franco anyways? I called him…on a bugged phone. Tapped and collected by some old enemies, according to Jamie, who have been getting petrol from this same dealer if Ruby’s remembering the details right.

The two international numbers make more sense now. Franco lives internationally, as does Tegan. I go for the one that looks more unfamiliar. They left a voicemail.

I can’t believe this is happening. You…you put us in danger? I don’t even know what you’re doing to us right now, Jo. But apparently Meg said something to grandpa about it, and…god, I don’t even know what to say to you anymore. You’ve always been so out of control.

I mean, I still love you. I’m still your grandmother. Don’t do this to us.


I’m sorry too, Tegan, for whatever I just did. If Franco was at the end of the other international call, and it wasn’t just a telemarketer reaching abroad, maybe he has an answer.

It’s Franco. I don’t know what rules you’re breaking, but blackmail for it? Why didn’t you think of that?

Just…Christ. I have a family to care for now. But you need to stop for all of us.


That gave me nothing, even if I feel bad for whatever I’m doing. I have always been at odds with parts of the family, but I don’t need to follow their rules. Meg set up rules, but she lives in the mountains, and she’s my granddaughter. I should have the power to come out on top.

The only woman I can turn to now is Ruby, and hopefully she won’t charge as much as her ex does.



Her paint gun is going again, as she has a lot of exterior to cover on the old convertible.

“Any color they like, as long as it’s black?” I ask her.

“It’s easy to cover up with,” she says. “Need some help?”

“Yeah.”

She takes a seat on the car, on the ledge over one of the front wheels. “I’ve done a lot of work on the frame. You can take a seat too.” So I do.



“How well can you keep a secret?” I ask her.

“As well as the best of them. We’ll leave the selling out to Jamie. He’s a greedy scoundrel, but the best greedy scoundrel of them all,” she says.

“I don’t have such nice words for my ex-husband, I’m afraid.”

“We left on good terms. Marriage wasn’t his thing, and you know? I don’t think it’s mine either. He’s my best friend no matter what.”

“I wish I could say the same about all of my family. Which leads me to my real question. What were those ladies there for?” I ask her.

“I didn’t want to say it in front of Moira, but yeah, they asked about a Josephine. One of them had red hair and the greyest eyes ever.” Ruby looks into my own. “Just like yours, but smaller.”

“Um, did they say I was doing something wrong?”

“Just something vague about a punishment. Look, I bet Jamie has a lot more info on them.”

“Nothing I don’t know.”

Ruby draws me into a gentle hug. “I just know that you’re all in a rough industry, and heck, I’m covering for the worst of you a lot of the time. Stay safe.”

“I’ll consider it,” I say.

I spy Arthur climbing into the van, though the glass garage door.

“Looks like my ride is leaving. I just want to get home, though you’re pretty nice, Ruby,” I tell her.

“You’re a nice little newbie,” she says back.

Arthur and I don’t talk for the whole ride. We left Moira behind, because she crashed on the couch and can always find her way home. He knows where I live, but instead turns towards his place. No matter. I can walk home, and change into my regular clothes that I left there.

The whole city shines in a hot pink sunrise as we pull up to his house. I prepare to say good-bye before he grabs me with a question.



“What did you mean by that?” Arthur asked. “I don’t actually think Moira would say that about you. And about me? No way. She’s rude. She no bigot.”

“Okay, I lied, and I think it was a crappy thing for me to assume-“

“Enough of hiding. I’ve spoken with Eileen about you lately. Are you hiding something? Because Moira might be playing dumb about it, but you’re hiding something. Someone named Waverly with fangs like those doesn’t come around without a secret. Whatcha hiding, Jo?”

“I’m not hiding!” I stamp my bare foot down. “Things happen. I’m perplexed by it all too.”

“When were you born?”

“January 24th, 2036.”

“Your real birth date. I can bench at least two of you. Why don’t you stop lying so I don’t put that to use?”

“I’m telling the-“ He grabs my wrist and squeezes, putting me under the real threat of leaving with a snapped wrist.

“When were you born?”

I’m close to tears again for the second time today. Choking up, I tell him the truth.

“January 24th, 2321.” My wrist is freed at those words. We trade tears.



He holds his head and looks away. “I…I don’t know what to think of you anymore. I don’t know why you’re here. And I don’t want to know what you know about Moira. Who is she to you?”

“She’s the devil, and the greatest person I’ve worked with. I wish I could tell you. I really wish I could.”

“And all that you said to Ruby? About who’s chasing you?”

“I’m the only one in danger. Please don’t cry, Arthur. I care about you like you’re family.”

“I bet I am. I’ll keep working with you,” he says. “But get out of my house. Stay out of my laundry. Don’t get near my friends or my family. I’ll see what Eileen has to say. She’s been so confused about you.”

I wave good-bye and make my way home. The sky loses its pink as I turn towards the curb and towards the front door. I look back towards Arthur’s house and watch him from the distance, getting the mail and saying hello to the little newspaper girl after he gets his delivery.



I hope for hyperbole from him, and still expect the worst. But I can draw the shades for a day and try to forget about everything and every side. I will trap the bad memories of Twinbrook in the darkness, and relinquish ownership of my own daughter. My own granddaughter. My granddaughter’s wife too. I’ll kick dad out for the day and forget him as well. I’ll forget that Arthur blew my cover, and work with him if they need me again.

But that’s the funny thing with minds; everything lingers. Threats do when they’re physically impossible, rivalries do when they don’t have the justification. I have my grudges.



I curl up on the bed without changing and stare down Eight Ways. I will have to explain myself one day, probably soon. Even Moira will stop schmoozing and ask why and how. I wrote down the explanation for them and bound it in green.

If nothing else, it’s a safe way to confront everyone coming back from the past. It’s a fenced-in area to practice before someone from the family comes knocking on my door.



Word Count for this chapter: 3,810
Word Count so far: 183,240

Notes:

- January 24th was the actual birthdate of Josephine, albeit in 2014. :P
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Offline Rowan

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 93, 11/11)
« Reply #443 on: November 11, 2014, 06:30:33 PM »
Wow. How awful for Jo. No wonder she's messed up. It's a wonder she's not more so. Poor thing. No one deserves to be told they're useless by their family. Especially not for that. She's not useless! She obviously still had an heir like she was supposed to, and for the rest of the requirements it doesn't matter.  And her granddaughter has a wife and nobody cares? Just because she didn't have to have an heir. The double standard is killing me here.

In the plus side, she didn't die, that's nice. Now who's after her?
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By samoht04

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 93, 11/11)
« Reply #444 on: November 12, 2014, 04:32:02 AM »
Poor Jo. I didn't think her family would have been so rude about her orientation, but then again we haven't seen Jo's story yet to know.
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Offline Trip

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 94, 11/12)
« Reply #445 on: November 12, 2014, 03:27:57 PM »
Wow. How awful for Jo. No wonder she's messed up. It's a wonder she's not more so. Poor thing. No one deserves to be told they're useless by their family. Especially not for that. She's not useless! She obviously still had an heir like she was supposed to, and for the rest of the requirements it doesn't matter.  And her granddaughter has a wife and nobody cares? Just because she didn't have to have an heir. The double standard is killing me here.

In the plus side, she didn't die, that's nice. Now who's after her?

The double standard kind of makes sense as time goes on. Even doing some math, Jo's granddaughter would be generation eight, and the family can't care as much about the preferences of them as they do about a sim who has to bear a child.

Well, that's all I can say without spoilers.

Poor Jo. I didn't think her family would have been so rude about her orientation, but then again we haven't seen Jo's story yet to know.

Yeah, it more relates to her story. As a whole, I never saw the Waverlys as homophobic either. Just close-minded when their plans stray, perhaps...



Chapter 94: Spring Break



“Okay, that is a way of simplifying it,” Hephaestus said. “He came over to them and they told him off. I guess he knows a little more now.”

“Unsalvageable?” Tegan asked.

“Probably. Call them when we get home. I want to finish this string, though.”

She called back home later that night, when Hephaestus crammed to get the last of his sketches done for his weekly quota. Her voice helped keep him awake, if internally melting from desire.

“Hey, Annette?” Tegan asked. “I appreciate you guys doing some of the work for me, but golly, what happened? You breaking up with Bryant for me?”

“It’s the easiest way of putting it. What a night we had last night,” Annette said. “You sitting down right now? I need to tell you a story.”

It was a pleasant spring night the night before, back in Twinbrook, anyways. Most of the frost left for the year, and best of all, dishes were cleaned and Piper was tucked in to bed by 20:00. It left three elders alone in the house, and with a heated debate on whether clubbing, a jog, or video games was going to keep them amused until bedtime.



Everyone was won over by the prospect of games and pajamas, so the three did just that. They weren’t expecting any guests, after all. Not until the doorbell rang.

Annette let her player get defeated. “I’ve beaten you guys before anyways. I’ll get this.”

“But you’re wearing…that,” Franco said.

“Like Twinbrook hasn’t seen me before? I’ve woken up naked in public before. I’m going prudish now!” Bare-legged Annette looked through the window to gauge how rudely she needed to greet that guest.



Bryant attempted to strangle himself on the porch, in a fit of mild psychosis. On that cold night, he wore a t-shirt, swim trunks, and in the greatest insult to beach fashion ever devised, swim flippers. Considering how he usually dressed reasonably around Tegan and took enough medication to stave off delusions, Annette had a feeling that something was amiss.

She opened the front door and made no attempt to hide her legs. “Can we help you, or are you just here to make us miserable?” she asked.

“What are you wearing?” Bryant made an exaggerated gagging noise. “I don’t like loose women, but at least most of them are under 50, ain’t they?”



“You’re just jealous of what some gym time can do.” Annette put her hand on her hip and gestured at him. “Can’t you see that we’re busy? I thought you’d appreciate a few elders enjoying your kids’ games”



“Listen, you disgusting hag, I’m not here for you guys and I really don’t care,” Bryant said, rubbing his finger close to Annette. “I think you guys are trying to get rid of me.”

“Duh,” Annette said. “We set the bar pretty high for spouses over here. You know, when you’re worse than a fat, aging politician, you’re doing bad.”

“Shut it. I know plenty about Bill. That guy wasn’t even close to brave gentlemen like me.”

“I’ll see if you can tell that to Franco and live to say that to me again, kiddo.”



Bryant approached the other two, his swim flippers flopping loudly against the hardwood floors. Both of them groaned, and feared what sort of man Bryant could be if Annette in her nightshirt didn’t scare him off.

“She’s not home yet,” Lily said, mumbling.

“That’s the problem. Was that her way of…breaking up with me?” Bryant asked.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you call her?”

“I do. She doesn’t sound sincere. I think you guys might be trying to break us up, even.”

“We’re just thinking of her,” Lily said. “Bryant, Tegan is my only child. I care about her more than any sim in the world, and I just always feared that this relationship isn’t right for her.”



“It’s just that I don’t see why you don’t like me,” Bryant said. “I’m educated, and I have a lot of money saved up. I like to hold doors open, and I don’t hit on girls at the bar like the scum of the world. I also have the world’s most formal trilby at home, ready for when I need to look classy.”

“Trilbies are not fashionable. Get your head on straight and take your meds again,” Franco said. “And besides how I overheard you insulting my father, you really think that you’re a gentleman?”

“Are you even close? I heard that you have ten illegitimate kids.”

“It’s just nine, and at least I’ve been nice to the women in my life. Lily can vouch for a lot of that. Plus, I have table manners, know when to say please and thank you, and live off a far more civilized diet than Fritos and Mountain Dew.”

“I just want this one thing in my life! No other girl has even remotely shown interest in me. I’m nice, I need someone like Tegan who oozes more of it!”



“Look, Bryant, stop your whining,” Franco said, getting up from his seat. “You know when I finally married the love of my life? I was 70. I was more than twice your age and I had plenty of mopey times before that, but I didn’t once blame anyone else for my problems. You’re not entitled to Tegan, and you’re not entitled to crying about it either when you’re barely 30.”



“You just don’t get the struggle of us nice guys,” Bryant said, rolling his eyes at the old man. “And I bet I could take you down anyways.”

“Maybe you could, but could you take down Lily?” At that cue, Lily got up from her seat and engaged in a pantomimed fist fight with the air.



“I’ve damaged quite a few punching bags with these,” she said.



“You’re almost as delusional as I am. I’m going home,” Bryant said. “I think it’s time to bulk anyways.”

After he left, Franco turned to Lily. “You’re a runner.”

“I’d do my best anyways,” she said.

“So why didn’t you try?” Franco asked. Lily stormed off after that.

“So that’s all I have to say,” Annette said over the phone a night later, to Tegan. “We did our best to scare him off. Now it’s your turn.”

“I have school, though. I know that spring break is coming up, but I need to make up some work so one of my classes counts,” Tegan said. “I need to do this later.”

“Or now. We got him nicely primed for you. Better not wait until it wears off, huh?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sleep on it. I bet you’ll change your mind. And you can just bribe off your professor for the credits anyways!”

Tegan went to bed that night, next to an exhausted Hephaestus. He woke up, sort of, once Tegan was right next to him, keeping him warm in the mild New Simland summer.

“Hey babe,” he said in a sleepy voice. “I guess I overheard some of that.”

“Yeah.”

“Get out the money, get out of makeup work, and do it. I want him gone as much as you do.”

“I can’t bribe my way out of this,” she said. “That’s just not something I do!”

“Find some way to confront him. Because the sooner you do that, the sooner I can, you know, get out that ring I bought last year.” He yawned. “And then we can raise a family, go on vacations…” He faded off into sleep again.

“I guess I can retake the course next term,” Tegan said. She looked for plane tickets the next day.

After a barrage of “welcome home” greetings from the family, Tegan headed upstairs, turned on her phone, and cringed. She hated the way it vibrated, and how sensitive the touchscreen was. She knew why and how touchscreens worked, but the world was better off with telegraphs or those beautiful dial phones that the world forgot about.

She still had Bryant’s number in her phone. Time after time, it went to voicemail, which she didn’t leave him. If he knew her at all, he’d know that Tegan was approaching him with a friendlier breakup than what the elders gave him.



After her failure, Tegan started building a new harvester at her workbench, because her first batch sold well and she couldn’t get rusty with her skill. But even over the clanging metal and ambient hiss of gas from her blowtorch, a mild noise broke through. An organic chirp broke the mechanical mayhem. It sounded like no bird that Tegan knew of, so she looked behind her and into the eyes of a different beast.



A purple dragon, no taller than Tegan’s shin, stood there and watched, occasionally flexing its wings.

“Hey, who are you, little buddy?” she said to the reptile. “I thought we didn’t have any pets.”



The dragon climbed on her arm when she extended it out. It opened up its wings and yawned, which was when Tegan noticed a tag affixed to one of the wings. In nearly microscopic print, Tegan learned why there was a purple dragon in their house.

Hi! My name is Harwood the Second. I don’t bite!
If I’m lost, please return me to Shark Racket
40 Puddlewick Drive, Twinbrook, 67390-09


“Aww, it seems that we’ve forgotten about you for a while!” she said to him, as he perched on her shoulder. “I think you deserve a better name, though. Or just being let free. Could I at least talk to you? I need to get my fiancé over here, and he isn’t answering my calls. I don’t want to wrong him, but we need to talk. If only he would come over.”



At those words, the dragon flew from her shoulder, in a puff of purple smoke.



Circled by runes and a beam of light, Tegan had at least one being that would listen to her. Now if only Bryant would.

“Hey, I’m back for the break,” Tegan said. “I knew you wanted to talk.”



“You lied to me just to cheat on me with that crazy old slimebag!” Bryant sent her back with the point of his finger. “And your elders threatened me. You’re turning them all against me, aren’t you?”



“Well, that’s always been their doing,” she said. “I didn’t know where else to turn to. I needed to find a way out of this somehow. You weren’t even answering my calls.”

“I thought that maybe you’d learn the error of your ways. You don’t deserve me anyways. You deserve getting widowed young, with the way you’re acting. Because that’s what will happen. He doesn’t even take his meds.”

“I’ll take it.”

“What?” Bryant said.



“I’ll take that over you. I want to enjoy my break and get back to uni. Why don’t you go home for tonight?” she said, hand on her left hip.

He spit on her shoes and left. After cleaning them off in the bathroom, Tegan looked in the mirror. She finally did it and confronted the beat herself, and with many beautiful, Bryant-free years of youth and adulthood ahead of her. Even the classes scheduled for the next term (everyone dreaded Organic Chemistry) couldn’t phase the good streak she had going on. Nor could a crying toddler.

She exited the bathroom to run into a crying Piper in the nursery. The elders left that precious little worm alone, and how could that even cross their minds? Tegan’s heart missed Piper so much while studying on the other side of the country.



“Oh, darling,” she said, scooping Piper up and calming her instantly. “I missed you so much.”

“Heph?” she asked.

“No, he’s not here. He had to make up his sketchbook assignments after all. But you like me, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you know what you heard up there? That should be the worst person you’ll ever meet. Because we’re all pretty great in this family, and heck, I’ll have a little one like you one day! Maybe after I finish school. So no more bad guys?”

“No more!”

“Alright! Now, what could this be?” Tegan held out a wiggling, tickle-ready hand to Piper. “Looks like some cute little girl is gonna get tickled!”



Between the promise of no more Bryant and tickles, Piper was the happiest nooboo in Simnation. She slept through the night that night without bothering the elders.

Meanwhile, Tegan stepped outside, with Harwood the Second perched on her shoulder again. Little did she know that Annette was following her.

“Tegan, glad you found him,” Annette said. “I thought you could use a bit of assistance, so I got him out of his cage.”

“It worked. Thanks, gram,” Tegan said. “But I think we need to do him right.” She started to unwind the screw hat kept the tag on his wing. “We ignore him as a pet, and give him such a bizarre name?”

“Look, if you knew the original Harwood, it made a lot of sense-“

“It doesn’t matter. I’m letting him free.”

“Okay. I mean, it has been a while since Shark cared about it anyways.”

“I guess it’s settled then.” Tegan brought a little table scrap to lure the dragon with, and threw it into a nearby tree. He flew up to grab it.

“And we leave him there, because the worst is past us,” Tegan said. She started home, while Annette watched the dragon up in the tree.

“I mean, I hope so,” Annette said, to herself.



Word Count for this chapter: 2,247
Word Count so far: 185,487
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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 94, 11/12)
« Reply #446 on: November 12, 2014, 07:15:54 PM »
Yes, he's finally gone! Perfect. It wasn't as mean as anyone else should be, but it was good for Tegan. I hate that "nice guy" routine. If you're really nice, then you won't feel entitled to women's attention for it. He is so that stereotype and I hate it! Glad he's gone.
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By samoht04

Offline Hallucination

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 94, 11/12)
« Reply #447 on: November 13, 2014, 01:09:05 AM »
Tegan's adorable when she's angry. I'm not sure she could be threatening if she tried.
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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 94, 11/12)
« Reply #448 on: November 13, 2014, 08:30:33 AM »
I love Lily in those shots, I can see just how scared stupid Bryant was of her  ;D
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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 94, 11/12)
« Reply #449 on: November 14, 2014, 10:32:29 PM »
Trip, I just spent the last two days catching up on about thirty chapters of this dynasty, and I have to ask-are you sure you arn't secretly Rick Riordan? Tamora Pierce? Some other famous author?