Note: Takes place during second week after "Back to the Barn"; day of "Too Far")
Contrary to semi-popular belief, Ronaldo Fryman is the ultimate expert on logical fallacies.
Strawmen, slippery slopes, anecdotal, ad hominem: you name it, he knows it. (Seventy-nine point four percent of the time, but who's calculating?)
Cause let's be honest, when you're a seeker of the truth and got enemies blocking you at every turn, you need any bit of info you can get (farfetched or otherwise). So if the rock people and their sympathizers want to play dirty, Ronaldo will gladly return the favor.
Fortunately, the workers/denizens of Fish Stew Pizza know him well, so there's no chance of drawing suspicion here. Besides, they have the best Wi-Fi.
Fingers steepled beneath the chin under the pretense of examining the screen of his laptop, he subtly zeroes his sights on the target, who's seated by a window across the room from the blogger. "Hmm, subject seems to be reading what appears to be a novel," began Ronnie as he typed down observations, "quite possibly a disguised report from his superiors."
That would explain the reflexive cover up in response to passersby.
Or embarrassment. The subject does give the air of someone who keeps things close to the chest...which would be the perfect attitude for someone under the rock people's control!
Ahem.
Plus, there'd been some weird lights cropping up in the forests around town every now and then, their beginnings correlating with the Flores moving back here, which could not be a coincidence. Something was up with this family and someone had to figure that something out one way or another.
Cue chin rub!
Hmm, maybe that old lady knows some secrets; Ronaldo could not recall ever seeing her the last time the Flores lived here—he jolts out of his thoughts at the sound of the chair in front of him scraping back then in, Kurtis's stoic face staring him down like a judge, glasses gleaming from the overhead lights like obsidian.
Damn it, I took my eyes off him!
Time for plan B: clear the throat with an authoritative air and plaster on the perfect poker face, hands clasped back together in aloofness.
"Can I help you?" Ah yes, dragging out the pronoun always adds a dash of 'one step ahead'-ness to one's demeanor. Now just to wait, stay cool, and watch this sympathizer fall apart at realizing his masters' plans have gone all—
"Wrong."
Oh...well that flat-toned answer has ruined Ronaldo's thunder for sure. The theorist scrunches his face, at a lost. "Uh..."
His stupor only extends after a book, its front cover an image of a kid's feet in mid-run, plops onto the table: Maniac Maggie. Less sophisticated of a cover up than Ronaldo anticipated. You'd think the allies of rock people would have more dignity.
Looking back up, he perks an incredulous eyebrow at Kurtis before crossing his arms like a ward, huffing. This suspect will have to do better than this to knock him off the scent.
The moment Ron opens his mouth to deliver a discourse about the foolishness of helping enslave humanity, the darker male raises a finger to his own lips in a shushing manner, returns the book to the handbag, and stands up. With a tilt of the head, he gestures the chubbier teen to follow.
"Boardwalk."
To talk? Out in the open? Okay our shrugging hero can deal with that. Still, he points two fingers at his own eyes then to Kurtis before gathering his own stuff and following the other teen outside.
Minutes later, the boys are sitting on the edge of the wooden planks, feet dangling over the warm sands, the caws of seagulls and lull of the ocean the soundtrack to this conversation. Kurtis had removed his glasses, revealing dark piercing eyes that gaze out to the cloudy blue sky over the waters. Running a hand through his hair, he inhales deeply and slowly as though bracing himself then starts.
The following conversation turns out as eventful as you expect.
Ronaldo would often bolt up with victorious fists into the air, blurting "I KNEW IT!", before going quiet at Kurtis's unamused glare (geez, the guy looked imposing without his glasses) and sometimes everyone else's befuddled stares from further away, too.
At one point, the potato heir, gasping, gets in the other male's face, hands balled from the excitement of whatever revelation became clear, eyes sparkling in anticipation, while Kurtis leaned back from the invasion of personal space. Ronaldo's voice comes out hushed to prevent any further eavesdroppers. "So my theory was right!"
At the surprised look tossed his way, Ronaldo adjusts his own glasses with a knowing smirk, chill demeanor back in place. "I commend you and your folks for keeping this under wraps. Your cover was pretty sound; no match for my keen observational skills, though."
He pauses to note Kurtis' slightly expanded eyes. With no small amount of pride, by the way.
"Plus, there's been an interesting increase in electrical storms. Nowhere in Beach City, mind you, but definitely throughout Delmarva and most of the surrounding states." He angled his body in a smug manner, eyes staring down his peer. "Sound familiar?"
No answer besides Kurtis looking away with a thoughtful hum—and staying that way. Ronaldo cranes his head at the other boy's expression before looking away, feeling more awkward the longer the silence continued. This moment does not feel like the triumph he'd been hoping for.
Way too casual, way too quiet, way too calm, way too...normal.
Any wonder then why the blogger starts fidgeting, mind reaching for straws at this point. Anything was better than Kurtis's lack of reply. "Buuut...if on the off chance I'm mistaken by your allegiance and you're willing to prove so, I could drop the charges."
As expected, that offer earns an incredulous stare. Finally, a response.
"So what do you say?"
After a few more moments of Stare-down Central, Kurtis reluctantly nods.
Just the answer Ronaldo needs. With new vigor, he launches up to his feet with bright eyes and enthusiastic fists. "Then meet me at the lighthouse by six," like a comet he takes off, shouting over his shoulder, "and make sure to bring your informant with you!"
As the blogger dashes into the not-yet sunset, Kurtis shakes his head with a wry frown. Talk about a quick one-eighty. Quite a piece of work, that guy. A glance of the watch confirmed now to be 3:26 PM—plenty of time to head back home and check on the family before heading out.
Whether all of the family would be present, hopefully that probability would turn out as a reality. Otherwise Ronaldo's time of contact would have to wait another day—and wowie, would that be a fun rant to sit down to.
Returning the glasses to their proper place, Kurtis turns the direction Ronaldo went to walk back home.
"Ya know, for someone who wants nothing to do with Ronaldo, you really are goin' out of your way to get 'im off your back."
Huh? Kurtis pauses and gazes towards the source—and scowls once he does: Jenny.
More specifically Jenny leaning back next to the entrance to Fish Stew, legs and arms crossed with more coolness than the Arctic. Kurtis edges his glasses down his nose, eyes discerning the girl's empathetic smirk with skepticism.
The twin raises her hands in acquiescence, a surprise in itself considering her usual in-your-face attitude. "Just sayin'. The more you prove or disprove him, the more interested in you he's gonna get."
Kurtis readjusts his glasses with a huff then the strap of his bag before walking away. The 'concern' was touching but unwarranted. If Ronaldo remained anything like back then, tiding him over with a little confirmation will spare Kurtis and his family a world of headaches in the long run.
He has no idea.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Speaking of having no idea...
What the frack are those three doing in the Kindergarten?
Hmm, better take a closer look. A hop there, a hop over here...ah, this spot will do nicely!
Huh, appears as if they're doing something to that old injector. Are Amethyst and that human kid trying to dismantle it?
That green one—might be a Peridot, but looks awfully short for one—isn't doing much besides speaking into something in her hand.
Some talking, some more talking, a couple of laughs—actually, that Peridot's the only one laughing now. And now she's showing the others this hole where the wall opposite this hiding spot meets the ground.
Even from way up here, the sudden tension in Amethyst's shoulders is palpable.
You'd think that Peridot would be smarter about ticking off a—Whoa.
Whiplash with a bit more than necessary aggression; straight through that drill, too: yep, angry smol Quartz.
Hopefully, if Amethyst still associates with them, then no worries for the Peridot and the kid. If not...
...
Best keep an eye on them for now.