Welcome, readers! This is actually bonus material for my story "The Story of Keigh," but can also be read as one shots.
So far, I just have this one chapter, which is GabrielxOC.
Not an Entry 14.2I had met the girl when she was just a little one, only a few years old, really, as the humans count. Now, I knew she'd be older, so decided to have a few good tricks up my sleeve and stay just a little ahead of the game.
Of course, just copying her room was a little boring. So I created some alternate ideas. All the disorganization of a real teenager's room left plenty of scope for creativity. I made, just for example, a horror version, a sparkly pink and rainbow-colored little girl's version, and a completely edible version, just to get started. But I don't want to bore you.
When I finished adjusting Keigh's room, I recreated the completely boring duplicate version with a snap of my fingers, and instantly transported the curly-haired hybrid wench there.
She proceeded to sleep peacefully for another 3.5 hours. Long enough for me to get a certain little- hm- plan of mine just about perfect. I was so absorbed that I didn't notice she was waking up until three minutes before she woke up.
I was too busy wondering how she would respond to my little replica of her room and forgot her reaction to me being in it. She woke up and turned on the light. I was ready for her to scream, but she just sort of froze and scooted away.
So, we were still on for a good conversation.
"Good morning, Keigh," I said cheerfully, watching her response.
"What are you doing in my bedroom?"
So, a girl who gets right to the point. I like that. Next, I pretended to be annoyed. Just to gauge whether she was the apologize forever type or the won't give a robber an inch type. Just, like, for my personal information.
"Fine," I said, a little sharply. "We're not in your bedroom." I suppressed a silly grin of excitement; she was about to watch me perform a trick. I snapped my fingers. Empty warehouse. Well, mostly empty. You'd be surprised how much work goes into making a place look real, especially if it's empty. Not that Keigh would appreciate my labor, but at least I got the cool vanishing-bedroom effect. Since she seemed pretty chill, I decided to up the sarcasm.
"I'm just trying to make your flight as comfortable as possible," I joked, getting in just the right mixture of emotions. Pouty, whiny, smart, genial, sarcastic, sassy, sexy, annoying.
The girl wasn't so impressed.
"Cut the crap, Trickster," she said. "I need sugar."
She did look pretty sleepy. I have to say, though, even raccoon eyes can't hide the beauty of a girl as gorgeous as this little entitled princess.
Since the only thing I love more than caffeine is sugar, I was happy to make her wishes come true. Candy- everywhere! Maybe it was overkill, but I was pleased with the effect.
Okay, so maybe I orated my ego a little.
"Finally, a complaint I can sympathize with. You won't believe how long it's been since a heard from a girl after my own heart, like you." [Dramatically snaps fingers. Room gasps in awe.]
I couldn't help but notice the almost-eye-roll that flashed across her face before she gamely grabbed a bag of Skittles and started eating them by the handful.
Not satisfied with merely mocking my diet, she turned on my own best speaking style. You gotta love a kid that can match you sarcasm for sarcasm.
"So, what are you doing in not-my-bedroom?"
I grinned and turned up the charm. "I'm so glad you asked that, Keigh." (It's important to know your customers so that you can address them personally when speaking.) "As you may be aware, your father has requested that I [dramatic pause]- assist you in relocating yourself and protecting sensitive information about your identity. I'm here to make sure your ride into a new life is as smooth as possible."
"Wow," said Keigh, tossing her head. "That was some good baloney. How long did you spend practicing that speech?"
Of course I practiced it. Who does she think I am? It's only professional to prepare your sales pitch well before you think you will need it.
The truth is a little narrow. A good Trickster always gives himself options.
"I'm naturally eloquent," I said, smoothing back my hair and smiling. Keigh grabbed another bag of candy and smiled sweetly back at me.
"Of course you are. Did your Mommy tell you that?" she deadpanned. I almost winced. A worthy opponent indeed.
Maybe even worth sharing some of my real self with.
"I don't have a Mommy, and Daddy never says anything."
I usually am not surprised by what comes out of my mouth. It was a fluke. It totally had nothing to do with the fact that a pretty girl who was completely off-limits was staring at me, pretending sweetly that neither of us was an obnoxious brat, which was patently untrue.
I covered up my emotions with an elegantly inserted, mostly fake pouty face. I must be losing my touch, because it was a total flop.
Keigh instantly lost the fake smile.
"Well, hey then, we ought to be able to get along," she said quickly, looking me in the eye. I am not going to get attached to this girl. That is definitely not going to happen. No way.
Keigh was still talking. "I never knew my mother, and Dad's pretty okay sometimes, but he can be a little distant, so I totally get it."
Was she serious? She was serious. She was actually offering me friendship. I think.
"I will be checking up on you regularly, so it's entirely possible that you may see me around. Just look for candy wrappers."
She was still looking at me. I needed to stop things before she started to feel sorry for me or something awful like that. I cleared my throat and got her attention.
"Now, you have an eentsy-weentsy crush on our Deany-poo, yes?"
Massive reaction. Blushing, ducking, looking away, squirming, the works. I love reactions. This one even came with commentary. I was definitely putting this one in my mental portfolio.
"You're not supposed to know about that."
I was already winning, so I decided to up the stakes. Time to bring out the big one.
"Dean likes babies. Maybe we should get you one, you know? Like a child actor." Rambly, I know, but it was a good cover for my mental calculations.
She started to protest, but I went ahead. With a snap of my fingers, I was a little baby, lying in the arms of what certainly appeared to be me. A double transform. You've got to hand it to me; I'm good. She totally bought it.
Or least, she was so enamored with baby me that she completely ignored fake me. But I don't think she caught on.
"Aw, look, he's so cute," she said, talking to fake me but still staring at real me. "Can I hold him?"
I made fake me smirk and say, "Sure." I would have said it, anyway. Never mind that I really wasn't motivated by what I would have done if I was really full grown and holding a baby boy instead of being the baby boy and faking that the grownup illusion was holding me. Hey, beautiful lady, possible real friend, thinks you are cute? No matter what form you're in, what's not to love?
Instead of taking me, she asked another question.
"How am I going to take care of him, Trickster?" she asked. It was a good question. If she botched it, I might be a little miserable. However, with the Harvelles' help, I thought Keigh could do a good job.
I wasn't really tired of being called "Trickster," even though I could almost hear the Mr. she wasn't putting on the front, because she wasn't calling me that. However, for the sake of accurate faking, I called her on it.
"Yeah, about that," said fake me, "you can call me Loki. That is one of my names. You'll have help with the baby."
"Loki, huh?" said Keigh. "Shall I name him Tom, just for you?" I knew I was missing some obvious cultural reference, but I didn't care.
Keigh took me. It was a relief to not be sustaining an illusion and levitating at the same time. She was so gentle.
Maybe I should think about being nicer to people. I hadn't noticed how likeable it makes you if you're nice instead of being bratty.
Keigh rocked me a little, and I reached up to touch her face. I gurgled, and Keigh held me a little closer.
I could do this being a baby thing.
"What kind of help?" she murmured, still talking to fake me.
"I'm taking you to a family that supports the hunting community. They know the Winchesters a little bit, so you'll have to stay low profile, but they won't freak out if you know too much. You'll need a new identity, of course, and preferably a new appearance."
I could have ditched the illusion and just used a disembodied voice, for all the attention Keigh was paying. She was too busy getting to know her new baby.
"What do you want me to look like?" she crooned. "What does he want me to look like, Tommy?"
"A little younger would be preferable," said fake me. I hadn't even realized he was talking. I must have programmed him to be able to guess what to say.
"You look like a twenty-year-old, but you act like a teenager."
Hey, fake me, don't pick on Keigh. She likes babies. That's the only important part.
"Well, I'm five," said Keigh. "Go figure."
"At least you're a few years older than your hypothetical child," said fake me. Keigh laughed. I tried to laugh, too, but it came out kind of squeaky. It's whatever.
"So, how old is Tommy?" asked Keigh.
Fake me got goofy. "Five minutes? A few thousand years? Meh, we'll go with seven months."
Seven months. Reflecting, I realized there had never been a number that had less to do with my real attributes. Not that it mattered.
"Loki," Keigh complained. She giggled again, and I waved my hand at her. Keigh examined my fingernails. "Aw, he's so little. Look at his little fingernails, Loki."
Obviously I was totally winning the popularity contest against myself. Fake me started to get annoyed and sighed dramatically. Just what I would have done, in his position. Which I wasn't. I was the center of Keigh's almost undivided attention.
Even the sigh wasn't enough to bring Keigh back to the real world. Eventually she absent-mindedly asked, "Sorry, what were you saying?"
Good job, Kiki. Way to have a conversation. You know what, how about you just ignore him, and we can run away together? I'm sure you would be a great Mommy.
Fake me answered the question. "You need to change your appearance. Your father tells me you have some shapeshifting abilities. Ideally, you want to look different enough that facial recognition software will not recognize you as the same person, and also you would ideally look a little younger than you do, maybe around seventeen or eighteen."
"Okay," said Keigh. "I'll need a mirror so I can see what I look like. Then I won't forget and shift back to my original appearance."
"Sure," said fake me. This was right up his alley. He snapped his fingers, and I reluctantly allowed him to set up a mirror, and a crib to put me in. What he needs this for, I don't know.
Until Keigh goes and puts me in the crib. Traitor. You will regret this. Besides, it's not fair. You know the real me is way cuter than any fake dude that just happens to look like me.
The toys were utterly pointless, so I just took a nap while I waited for the nincompoop to finish messing with my new adoptive Mommy. It was super boring. When I got bored and sat up, they were arguing about Keigh's hair.
I hadn't noticed before what gloriously pullable hair Keigh has. Tragically, critical details like these were lost on me for all of my adult life.
Keigh flickered back and forth between herself and the all-new makeover edition perfectly crafted to annoy an already-attached baby boy. Fake me saw the smoke, and I guess he freaked out. Of course, I developed him to behave like I was planning to, you know, as if I were merely a Trickster. I'm not stupid enough to miss Keigh's interesting heritage, but I guess my illusion was. I hope his stupidity never gets us all killed, because the next thing he did was grab me and run out of the room screaming.