Jun Yabriel: Hey, everybody! Surprise - a preview of my (newly remodeled) 1st chpt of Picturesque! I'm not gonna get too ahead of myself here, so the fic will remain "On Hiatus" for another while, till I unclutter my brain of other projects. Hang tight, though! Let my other works tide you over in the meantime. I just wanted to post this one now because I finished it - like - an hour ago. XDD

Enjoy!

In Sickness and Picturesque Lies

Part One

.frame one.

Black ink scuttled smoothly by the X mark along the footer of an official-looking document. The pristine gold watch on that flicking wrist read forty-three minutes past the eighth hour.

The atmosphere was sunny and warm, and a tad breezy for such a late-summer morn. The air conditioning wasn't needed for that time of day; the casual breezes floating through the windows sufficed. A few windowpanes were open around the relatively tall concrete base, but from the ninth floor on it turned into an even taller triangular prism—although, it was still much shorter amidst the other buildings. The upcoming fall's chill started to kick its way in, and the warmth would soon make a displeasing departure. Schoolchildren would be returning to their classrooms in caps and mittens, soon. Ice cream vendors would have to choose between hot chocolate and soup to sell streetwise. Autumn holiday had reached full swing, so the chances of gaining employment were nigh.

Fine silk drapes rolled.

"It will truly be a pleasure doing business with you, sir."

"Likewise. It's quite an honor for me to be hired by such 'accomplished' designers."

"Please don't be embarrassed to say that by any means! This'll be a big start in all of our careers!" A third male clapped with enthusiasm. "No need for gaucheness, right?"

The second man nodded a half-smile to the colorful-bow-tied, white-suited man.

"Please be in the lobby at the same time tomorrow. The receptionist will direct you to our office, so you won't have to go looking for us," the first male voice instructed, smiling over his summery hound's-tooth necktie. "Until then, good day, Mr., umm…?"

"Shadow," the second man replied. He nodded. "Just Shadow."

The other two men blinked. Then, they smiled. "Thanks for clarifying," spoke the black-suited man again. "All right then, Shadow. We bid you adieu." They stood formally from their seats and exchanged handshakes.

"Thanks again," Shadow said gratefully, returning their handshakes and showing a friendly smirk. "I look forward to working with you."

Shadow left the attention-grabbing executive building with a binder, bearing the company's chic insignia stamped on the cover, tucked under his arm. He stopped a little bit a ways to check his phone.

The sky was now overcast, but sunbeams still found crevices in the clouds to shine through. He took his chance with the morning and wore a black patent leather overcoat off his shoulders, a modest T-shirt-waistcoat combination, and faded-black skinny jeans, since he wasn't a frequenter of outside daylight. He carried a similar-looking umbrella just in case of a cloud burst. His boots tapped out a rhythm on the pavement.

He pecked at his Smartphone's screen. "Contact Saved," the notification read.

"That is now my workplace's number. Score," Shadow smirked, sliding the phone into his pocket. "Oh, wait. That's right." He spun on a ball and made his way back inside.

Moments after, Shadow rode out of the parking complex. A "Dark Rider" to the core, Shadow's Harley Davidson XL 1200 mirrored most aspects of him. Red and black, it was a creative classic to every biker in town. Shadow made sure his baby was meticulous to the T. It was beautiful. Ever since he graduated from college, he vowed to make it his first "car." Scrounging up too little to make it a graduation gift to himself, his discouragement fled when a neighbor, an elderly mink, discounted it to him. A previous belonging of her deceased grandson, Shadow promised love and upkeep would go into it before she moved out to a nursing home.

Shadow always rode it with pride. The engine growled like a tiger, and the license plate was big enough for "ULT RIDE" to fit. In regard to it, Shadow's motorist boots were also black with red trims. His helmet was streamlined for smooth riding, contoured to his specific head size and to accommodate his quills. Even his ears were put into consideration. An otaku could easily resemble him to Celty Sturluson; any who were especially ambitious could see it right down to the cat-suit. Albeit, that'd be over the black hedgehog's dead body.

"I can't believe I nearly forgot my baby!" He knocked on his helmet. "I've been riding the bus way too long. Thank you, Mrs. Dillard!"

Both sides looked clear. Shadow took off, heading towards an intersection. An overhead light flashed in his favor.

The city park looked active. Was some kind of event going on? Shadow coasted by, seeing booths and tables set up around the main pathway. He even spotted a concert stage with a live rock band performing for hundreds of spectators. Decorative pots held exotic-looking flowers. Self-published books made plenty of debuts—and money. Handmade trinkets came in all sorts of colors and shapes but on cool, convenient key-rings. True enthusiasts came in vivid costumes. While some were brighter than others, they all shared a whimsy native to the Far East.

Shadow pulled over across the street after spying a Mexican food truck. The entrance's banner exclaimed "14th Annual Aninomicon—where chic geeks and otaku masters can band together under one Sahaquiel-shaped umbrella!"

A question mark hovered over Shadow's head for a moment. "An anime convention? I didn't know they held those here…." He took off his helmet to blink at a cosplayer actually in a costume reminiscent of the creature referred. "What an ominous-looking eye…!" He could feel his skin creeping.

The truck vendor waved him off after the order of nachos was made. Shadow took them into his hands, but as he turned away, abrasive Spanish spewed from the mustached man's mouth. A tough day on its own—but in front of an anime convention, mysteriously. The hedgehog shrugged it off, though.

Classically striped, a parasol promised to protect streetwalkers from whatever the sky decided to cook up. The grayness did seem deceiving: Was it going to rain? Was Shadow's phone's weather app really that reliable? Should instinct or technology have governed his next move?

Well, at least he wouldn't be alone, even if the weather did deceive him.

A blue hedgehog appeared very engrossed by a handheld—videogame, according to the sound effects Shadow heard. An 8-bit soundtrack flowed in micro-staffs from the relatively old model. Perhaps a Gameboy or something? Shadow wasn't too far abreast of the day's game crazes. But what the blue hedgehog had looked really, really old—like obsolete, ancient, it had to be a technological antique.

But somehow, Shadow was inwardly charmed by it.

"Hey, excuse me?"

The blue hedgehog stole another couple bars' worth of 8-bit soundtrack before looking up.

"Was someone sitting here?"

In an almost blindsided manner, the other hedgehog shook his head. Slowly. Carefully. As if not to miss a single movement.

Shadow nodded a "Thanks" to him, pulled out the chair, faced it towards his bike, and sat down. There was only one line of tables along that side of the street. Sadly, it was disproportionate to the other seven food stands just across from them. People weren't going to sit in the rain, most thought, if they had important things to do, places to go, people to meet. So, in a way, Shadow was lucky. This kid didn't look like he had better things to do; he was clearly a gamer, merely looking at him. Eyes glued to the screen, a satchel with game cartridges inside clipped to his belt—he even sported a videogame-themed T-shirt. Not sure from which one, Shadow dispatched any guesses from his mind.

The exception was, the boy's eyes weren't glued to the screen anymore. In fact, they'd stayed on Shadow. The black hedgehog seemed mildly amused by the candid-camera fashion walks these cosplayers were doing. A couple of girls were in Goth-Loli dresses, a guy or five in Gundam armor-suits, an Edward Elric and a Roy Mustang. Some even came as they were—in T-shirts, jeans, sneakers, and a hat, maybe. He sipped a Dr. Pepper to it, stifling snickers and hiding tiny smiles. Before he transitioned to tinkering with his phone, Shadow snatched up a return in eye contact.

"Is there a reason why you're staring at me?"

The hedgehog gamer immediately averted his gaze to see Shadow's bike instead. The shiny finish was first-seen, but a good contingency plan for any cop-out answer he'd give. "I just…put two and two together and…figured out you're the one with the 'Ultimate Ride.' That's all…sir." But his eyes didn't stay and went past the parasol.

Somehow turned off by the offhanded answer, Shadow gave the younger male a dismissive look. "Yeah, you're not wrong about that…but it's still impolite to stare."

"Sorry." It came quickly. But as Shadow's eyes closed, the boy's eyes lowered.

"I guess it's alright. No worries." A nacho was brought up to his mouth. Then—crunch!

The chips must've been really thin. Really crisp. Cheese glued them together in mangled shapes. To some Shadow chuckled, other he simply pulled apart. The zesty cheddar hit the boy's nose hard. Perfectly gooey and tasty, Shadow sucked his fingers clean before cycling back into it all.

The boy's eyes caught motions he'd missed before. Shadow was making nachos look and sound so good. Did he want nachos? The Spanish-flinging vendor would blast him out of the water if he loitered too long. Money equaled supply shopping to that man. And that meant more money towards bill-paying, business-keeping, and—most importantly—mouth-feeding. Whether it regarded his customers or his wife and kids, the late teen didn't know. But one thing that was straightening out was the taste for melted cheddar.

"Nachos sound good right now…" he thought.

Some cheese had dribbled across Shadow's chin. A thumb swiped it off before rendezvousing with his lips and tongue.

"…Like, really good, right now."

The other young man veered his eyes toward the binder. There were papers sticking neatly out of it. The laminated cover had a glare on it; its label was hard to read. At the top was handwriting. Wasn't sure whose it was, but he saw that it was in red ink.

Just like the older man's glare.

His gaming system face-palmed: Bwee—bwee—byoop! "GAME OVER."

Frame One Photographed…