WELL. I've got a feeling lots of y'all thought I abandoned this, as long as you've had to wait for a new chapter. Normally I'd apologize for the wait…but…well, honestly, I've been beating myself up enough as it is and it's not like it happened out of the blue. Update follows for anyone wondering; if you're not, just skip to the SL and title.
I've warned about an impending grief hiatus in all my stories since my uncle Bob's cancer diagnosis a few Decembers back, and the hiatus came to pass this December. Shortly before Christmas [2018] Uncle Bob finally lost his fight to cancer after two years of treatment and fading. The end came on rather suddenly but in the end he went peacefully and without pain. His death really messed me up, especially since I was already struggling with depression. Our first Christmas without Bob was also our last Christmas with Granny Chance, his mother and my grandmother…she suffered a massive stroke in January and died soon afterward. In the space of a month, my family and I lost two members, one right after the other. In a word, the whole situation has been FUCKED and it's still not completely over. There are good days, and bad days…and, to quote a certain Del Toro film, "Then there are the really bad days." Between those, we're all slowly working our way through the fallout and healing process.
This chapter has been in the works since before last chapter was posted; in fact, thanks to writer's block it's spent this entire time sitting around half-finished and taunting me. It's a real relief being FINALLY able to get some writing done but it's still going pretty slow. TBH, I don't know for certain if I'll be able to catch up to my previous writing abilities or pace anytime soon but I'm certainly going to try. In less angsty-whiny news, this story has a couple playlists on my Spotify profile; you can find links on my main Tumblr. [ Ghost-Chance] HOPEFULLY we've only got one more chapter of story setup before the ball really gets rolling.
Lastly, I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone for their patience and understanding, and give a shout-out to some wonderful people who've made the last few months livable. This chapter is dedicated to Wolf, Newt, and Ihlni for their invaluable support and kind words – to my hubby Cold for letting me ugly-cry on him without complaint and never failing to remind me that life has to go on – to my ma-in-law for teasing me about earning a nasty hangover instead of acknowledging that I looked like death-on-the-rocks and was obviously crying before I answered the door – to my mother for being a bloody SAINT and to my father for intentionally being an asshole when someone to fight with was just what I needed – to Wanda Farmer on AO3 and vbt22220 on FFnet for their encouragement in reviews, the folks on Tumblr who offered kind words when I needed them most, and to all you wonderful people who've stuck by me, read my stories, and are still reading after all this time. Above all, though, this chapter is dedicated to the memory of Granny Chance and Uncle Bob – may they ever rest in peace.
Suggested Listening:
RUSH "Open Secrets," Blind Faith "Can't Find My Way Home," The Church "Under the Milky Way"
4: Loss and the Lost
Sonja Merlo learned many years ago that the world wasn't all it seemed. After all, she grew up in Branson, Missouri, home to the worst-kept secrets in all the Ozarks—heck, she employed four of those secrets at her customs shop! Still, only a few years back she pulled into the parking lot of a remote fast food joint and found herself face-to-face with a man not of this world, and the realization floored her. Her world was already shaken to bits by the loss of her Uncle Jack; now she had proof that aliens existed and one was living in Michigan. After the shock of the blue-skinned stranger's nonhumanity wore off, though, she noticed something much more concerning: he was lost.
She could tell from the moment she first saw him in that grimy parking lot—he was struggling just as she was struggling, perhaps even more than she was. Sure, he wasn't driving up to Detroit to pitch a vintage leopard skin-upholstered white elephant at an auto convention while reeling from the too-recent suicide of a loved one but he was struggling just the same. Given enough time, Sonja's grief would fade and she'd be able to reminisce on the good times with Jack rather than his death; this man would always be trapped in a world he didn't choose. That night, she didn't ask what demons he fought—she just offered the crying shoulder and listening ear she always refused to partake of herself. He didn't ask her story, either, or even her name—he took what she offered and gave back something she never expected.
After dropping him off in the warehouse district Sonja spent another half-hour idly cruising the quiet roads along the docks, lost in thought without a map. By the time she made it back to Killer, her assistant Alice, and the cramped RV they called home for these trips, she felt certain of one thing: she was still lost, but perhaps she helped that stranger find his way home. Now? Now she knew the truth, disappointing though it was. The stranger—this "Megamind" character—never found his way after all. At one of the lowest times in her life, she reached out to help someone else…and it accomplished nothing. The realization was bitter, if it was anything.
All the while Sonja ruminated on the futility of her rare attempt at helping someone else on purpose, Megamind waited. Breath catching in his lungs, feet shuffling in the sand and leaf-litter on the garage floor, he waited for the words sure to bring his hopes crashing down around him. They always came, after all, no matter how long they were delayed. You're trouble—you're a criminal—you're disgusting—you're not welcome here! Sure, the accusations varied from mouth to mouth but the theme remained the same: this wasn't his world, he was an unwelcome, unaccepted other who would never amount to anything. He'd hoped this far from home he might not meet the same reactions—the same distrust and disgust—but the longer Sonja remained silent, the more those hopes dwindled.
Now that he thought about it, he found it hard to believe he didn't recognize her from the start—she'd barely changed at all! Her hair was still windblown and brightly highlighted, her grin still somewhere between playful and smug, and her eyes still uncommonly blue. Despite his best intentions, his eyes darted down to the black ink sprawling down her left leg, then immediately skittered away again. Even if everything else seemed the same, that tattoo was new to him. From the first glance he was intrigued by the design and impressed by the intricate ink-work. Now that he knew the extent of the scarring it hid, he felt like an absolute cad. It took a couple years but it eventually sank in; his disgusted gawking at her scars the night they met was no better than the horrified stares he got for his abnormalities.
Tearing his eyes away from the floor, he looked to Sonja—she still stared right through his left shoulder. He shifted on his feet, looked back, retreated again, then repeated the process several times more. The only sound in the garage was the panting of that huge slobbering mutt she called Killer. The tension in the room wasn't improving any with this awkward silence…enough. Someone had to do something and clearly she wasn't able or willing to step up. He dug his fingertips into the tension headache building right between his eyebrows, the other hand gripping his elbow. "Just say something already," he prompted, "before this you wouldn't shut up." Sonja blinked rapidly as though startled from her own thoughts. After a moment of taking in the sight of him—no, he thought bitterly, you're not hallucinating—she huffed a frustrated sigh.
"Ya know," she muttered idly disheveling her already messy hair, "when I suggested comin' down here for a new start, I was hopin' ya'd know not to bring trouble with ya." Finally the silence was broken, but the awkwardness was only increasing.
"I…I never planned to…to stay," he admitted as his hands fell to his sides, useless. "My…friend and I are headed for the bored-err~…I was only passing through." He chanced meeting her eyes again but found them cold—no, not just cold, disappointed—and returned to staring at the floor."You didn't know me," he tried to explain,"but you were—you treated me—" He trailed off, frustrated by his inability to put into words just what her kindness and compassion had meant to him—what it still meant to him years later. "You saw all…this," he mumbled with a vague gesture to himself. "I wasn't in dis-guys—I was cold, hungry, dee-spondent…"~ He reluctantly lifted his eyes to hers again, this time finding them almost entirely closed off. "Did you even see that I'm…different?"
"Did I see?" Sonja drawled crossing her arms with a huff. "My brother's colorblind—I'M NOT. I saw yer skin, I just didn't care. Ya live in this city long enough ya see some seriously weird shit—weirder'n you by far."~ Megamind tried not to focus on the 'shit' attached to 'weird' since she described him as weird, too; his ego had already taken enough of a beating. "Should'a known better,"~ she grumbled as she shooed Killer out of Calamity's Child's sidecar and yanked the tarp back over it. "Tryin'a help folks always jus' blows up in my face,"~ she ranted under her breath, oblivious to her inhuman guest's cringing and squirming. "Look what happened with Heckerman—diff'rent day, same bullshit—anytime I try to help some'un it jus' blows up in my face an' I git stuck cleanin' up the mess…"~
Just when Megamind began to wonder if she even realized he was there, Sonja froze mid-pace facing the still-drying DeLorean in the painting booth. Her right hand swept up, fingers spearing through her messy hair; a harsh, frustrated sigh hissed out between her teeth and she dropped her arm to scowl at the inside of her wrist. What she saw there, Megamind knew not. From where he was, it looked like nothing more than an oddly-shaped patch of freckles,but whatever it was, it seemed to steady her and strengthen her resolve. "This…changes things," she admitted clenching her fist then shoving it deep in her pocket. "With a secret like that, no way can I keep ya safe on my own."
For just one moment, Megamind hoped he'd found safety—a port in the storm, if not an ally to lend a hand. Funny how the smallest of hopes could hurt the most when dashed to pieces. Though he left Metro City behind several states ago it really wasn't that long ago. He fancied he could still smell the acrid smoke from the industrial park, the fishy wind from the harbor and the cherry and apple blossoms in the park. In the eyes closing off from his, he could almost see flashing lights; in her voice, he heard sirens and static on the police scanners. There was no help in Metro City…there would be no help here.
Shoulders tense, he turned leave but paused just at the edge of the dimming sunlight puddling in the open doorway. "Thank you." The sudden sentiment pulled Sonja from her thoughts and for a moment, all she could do was stare at him, lost and bewildered.
"For what?" she snorted. "Threatenin' ya? Lockin' ya in the cellar? Poisoning ya with garlic? Cussin' at ya?"
"Thanks for seeing me," he corrected with a wry smile, "and for being cull-ER-bly-end."~ Sonja opened her mouth to protest—her brother Jason was colorblind but she saw just fine! Then she realized what he really meant; her eyes flew open wide and her teeth snapped back together with an audible clack. Well-played, Blue-boy. Well-played.
In the time it took Megamind to work up his courage to leave, Sonja made up her mind to do what she should have done years ago. She yanked off one battered sneaker…and chucked it at him full-force. The alien sprang up in the air with a pained yelp and lurched about to face her with both hands protectively clasped over his stinging backside. "You threw a shoe at me!" he accused shrilly.
"Damn right I threw a shoe at'cha!"~ Sonja fired back. "Ya done runnin' yet?!"
"Not if you're throwing things at me!" Sonja's shoulders slumped in defeat; she shook her head.
"Forget the shoe, dumbass," she grumbled. "The shoe's not what matters, it's why I took it off."
"You took it off to throw it at me!" he retorted with a glare. "I fail to see the rel-LA-vence!"~
"I ain't kickin' ya out, ya idjit,"~ she snapped instead of correcting his pronunciation. "I told ya if ya came down here, ya'd need'a find the Blue Fire downtown, remember?~ If we're gonna pull this off we'll need a hand, an' there's no one on earth I'd trust more'n~ those folks."~ His dander calming, Megamind reluctantly released his still-stinging backside to rub his scalp in confusion.
"You're…not sending me away," he muttered in disbelief. "Why ah-rent~ you sending me away?" Sonja rolled her eyes at him.
"Guess I'm just a special kind'a stupid," she drawled. "Meantime ya need a shower, ya need sleep, an' I need a drink—maybe several," she added with a cringe. "Tonight, we'll sleep on it; tomorrow I'm takin' ya to meet the masters of hidin' in plain sight. Now gimme my shoe, I got a dog."
Early that morning, the last thing Megamind expected was to find an ally with a half-forgotten face; he couldn't have been more wrong if he'd tried. For the first time since his flight from Metro City he felt clean—instead of a quick dollar-a-minute rinse-off in a truck stop shower-house,* he took a long, relaxing shower with actual hot water. Though the food in his belly tasted terrible going down, it left him free from hunger pains. Sure, he was restricted to hiding in a musty hidden cellar stocked up like a Cold War Doomsday bunker and everything stank of dog, but he could do worse. He had a rollaway cot parked under the furthest set of stairs, enough blankets to stay warm on the coldest nights, a thermos full of fresh hot cocoa, and a battery-operated analog radio. His obnoxious hostess was embarrassed by the Spartan furnishings of his temporary hideaway and promised improvements to come but Megamind was content without them. He wasn't sleeping crunched up in the seat of a car, eating moldy lunchmeat, or counting stomach grumbles instead of sheep. He had the option of using an actual bathroom—with a toilet, sink, shower, and everything!—instead of risking Lot Lizards and poison sumac.**
Best of all…he was safe. 'But for how long?' he wondered as he fiddled with the dials on the tiny radio. Sonja offered him support and kindness when he was a complete stranger, but when they met again, it was like a switch flipped. This made no sense to him. A stranger received kindness but a familiar face was regarded with cold suspicion—it went against everything he'd ever read about human psychology! Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around? He shook his head, carefully extending the antenna to its limits in search of the best signal. Whether or not Sonja's odd behavior made sense, it was only temporary. If he couldn't predict her, he couldn't trust her, and if he couldn't trust her, he couldn't stay.
Human ears would never have picked up the faint music coming from the speakers, but Megamind wasn't human. He heard it perfectly well. A few more moments of jerry-rigging and his task was complete: the communications watch buzzed to life despite the thick stone and concrete surrounding him. Sonja probably never considered that he'd use the radio's antenna to boost the signal of his watch to call for backup.
"Sir! Sir, are you alright? Are you hurt? What—" Megamind cut Minion off before the fish could work himself even more into a tizzy. The picture was pixelated and lagging but from the looks of it, Minion was…
"Are you seriously lazing around on rocks?" he demanded with a cringe. Minion's face contorted into his awkward version of a shrug.
"Coal train," the fish answered. "No one ever checks for stowaways and the speed's worth the discomfort."# The genius dragged one hand down his face with a sigh. Where there was coal, there was coal dust; even without exposure to the elements, the ventilation system on Minion's suit couldn't be in good condition. "So where are you?" the fish continued heedless of the green glare aimed at him over the radio waves. "I'm almost to Arkansas if—"
"The plan has changed," Megamind cut in triggering a HORRIFIED!Minion gasp. "I may have found an al-eye here; if not, we could at least stand a chance to re-SUP-lie and regroup."~ He shoved off the reminder that Sonja was probably only hiding him to save her own skin in case he was caught near her land. "I'm sending you coordinates – Code: turn back and meet me here."
"Sir…you do know the whole purpose of a code is—" A deadpan glower cut Minion off. "Fine," he mumbled around what was left of his self-respect as an evil henchman. "Code: I'll be there as soon as I can."
Every place on Earth had its beauty, whether that beauty was recognized by its inhabitants or not. To Sonja, nights like this one were Branson's beauty. Late summer-bugs sang in the still air—dimming lightnin' bugs drifted from tree to tree in search of a quick lay—off in the distance, a wailing pack of coyotes traded insults with some unseen bird of prey. Amidst it all, the sweet smell of hickory smoke and descending fog hung like a fond memory. Diamond Bear Pale Ale## in hand, dog sprawled out across her numbing legs, Sonja Merlo felt truly blessed. This was the life…and if she understood clearly, it was the kind of life Megamind never had the chance to enjoy.
Her fingers cramped around the sweating glass bottle as she vividly recalled the moment she first saw the alien years before. Alone—he was so alone in that parking lot, and all while in a city full of people. Funny, really—she always got the impression she was the only one capable of feeling lonely while surrounded by more bodies than she cared to count. Branson was ripe with opportunities for socialization but outside work it was just never worth the risk. Friendships meant risk, risk meant danger, and danger…well, the scars littering Killer's ears and muzzle were one thing danger led to. Her eyes softened, her hand straying to chafe the dog's always itchy chin. All across the yard and so-called dog run, tiny pinpoints of acidic yellow light drifted on the wind. Those tiny bioluminescent bugs had many options, she mused bitterly; all those options and, instead, they wasted their morbidly brief lives shining light into darkness.
"Ya always liked lightnin' bugs," she muttered to a person long gone, and again, turned to inspect the inside of her right wrist. Across the pale skin, fine lines and specks of pale brown ink twisted and turned—a year coiled into a hook and two initials rounded into a speck to render it a semicolon.^ GM—Giaccomo Merlo, the beloved uncle who took his own life the month Sonja committed to the Detroit convention. Her fingers clenched around mid-air, her throat around still-painful memories. Once, he was the strongest influence in her life…now he was just a painted reminder. "Lightnin' bugs never live long, Jackie," Sonja mumbled to the unhearing ink.^^ "With glowin' bugs for a role model, it's no surprise we lost ya to yer demons. Why couldn't ya've found a better role model, maybe somethin' 'at don't die so soon?"
Another mournful howl broke the silence—Sonja's grip loosened, her eyes lifting to the sky. By the end of the month, the nights would be too foggy to see the sky, but now, there wasn't a cloud in the way. As far as the eye could see—all the way from the dark south to the ever-present light pollution of Branson's main drag—deceptively tiny pinpoints of light littered a velveteen-black canvas, all for the pleasure of those who cared to look. "Even if ya weren't a lightnin' bug," she murmured to the spirit of her loved one, eyes wide and watery, "we still couldn't'a kept ya, could we? You were a shootin' star if I e'er knew one—ya never lived unless you were givin' it yer all."~
A rather pitiful whimpering broke Sonja from her thoughts; Killer nuzzled her stress-whitened knuckles. How long had she been clenching her fist? How had she failed to notice it until her nails dug trenches in her work-roughened skin? She winced and hissed as she slackened her grip and worked away the stiffness, her abused tendons aching every step of the way. This time she put the hand to better use: petting her beloved mutt.
Sonja spent so long idolizing her uncle Jack's independence and gentle spirit that she never realized they were killing him. Now a few years had passed though the loss was still tender to prodding, and she was faced with a decision to make. Jack would have risked his life to help the stranger—this alien who called himself Megamind—and Jack was dead. Was it Jack's generosity which ruined him? Was his soft heart the cause of its own breaking? Was his sensitivity, kindness, and determination—individually, all good qualities—the source of his undoing? Or…or was it something only he knew, a demon only Jack could name?
Another blinking light flashed in the darkness, this time, a gleaming trail of white far above the winking fireflies. 'A shooting star?' Sonja wondered with bated breath. 'Naw, it's prob'ly nothin'…maybe the Orionids're startin' early this year?'~ She didn't know much about astronomy and outer space beyond what she read in the news but it didn't take an idiot to realize the timing was entirely too convenient. Life didn't work like that. Sure, she wouldn't profess to knowing everything about the world but she was willing to bet her missing someone wasn't enough to affect the environment. Something that might be a falling star could cross the sky when Sonja felt lost, but that wasn't proof that her late uncle's spirit was trying to lead her home!
She stilled at the word. Home. The alien in her cellar didn't have a home—whatever his reasons or lack thereof, he left his home behind, possibly somewhere beyond the Milky Way. Despite the proof right before her eyes, the impossibility of Megamind's existence gave her pause. The odds of a sentient life form crash-landing on earth and surviving were pretty low. The odds of her running into said sentient and non-dead alien—not once, but twice, especially with a good thousand miles between the meetings—those odds were even more ridiculous. Still, to steal the immortal words of Geddy Lee (and some pack of self-important geezers) the truths about Megamind were self-evident: he came, he saw, he raided her garden, now he was hiding from the authorities in her cellar. At least she didn't have an Indian in her cupboard. "World," Sonja grumbled kneading the ache from her still-sore knee, "if yer tryin'a get my attention, ya got it, now quit with all the Devil's Tower mash-po-taters bullshit."~
Her internal grousing ground to a halt shortly after her verbal bitching. Strange…when did the fireflies stop dancing? After a moment of fruitless searching for the toxic yellow glow, Sonja relented and turned her eyes again towards the heavens. Once, she felt sure she helped Megamind find his way again; now she knew they were both more lost than ever, but of the two, whose path was more off-track? The cold, uncaring balls of gas in the distance had no answers, and for the moment, she was fine waiting. Sprawled across her lap, chin to the sky and a snaggle-toothed grin splitting his lips, the scarred Dane mix drooled on her paint-spattered cargo shorts, unimpressed by her angsting. The goofy smelly mutt adored her, and all she did was take him in after he was seized from some sicko's dogfighting ring. People really made her sick; if they were more like dogs, surely she'd get along with them more easily.
"Lotta stars up in that there sky, Killer," Sonja sighed absently rubbing his neck. "Out'n all those stars, which'un ya reckon he fell from?"
Notes
* Quick and expensive showers at truck stops – This one's secondhand but should be accurate. Many large truck stops have pay-per-use showers for the use of long-haul truckers, as do some establishments in regions with heavy tourism. In one case, while vacationing in Wyoming many years back, I visited a laundromat offering pay-per-use showers for tourists. For about the price of a load of laundry you could have a five minute shower with luke-warm water, but it's NOT a good idea if you have long hair. My hair was literally ass-length at the time - I ran out of water before all the suds were out and had to finish up at the sink. Not the best part of that trip. ;)
** Lot Lizards / Poison Sumac – "Lot Lizard" is a term referring to sex-workers [read "hookers"] who frequent truck stops intent on catering to long-haul truck drivers. / A recent and controversial "improvement" to some parts of Southern Missouri's highways was demolishing public rest stops. Now if you're on the road you have the option of finding a gas station, store, or restaurant with a public restroom (increasingly uncommon) OR the age-old standby find a bush. In the event that you cannot accomplish the first option, making use of a poison sumac, poison oak, or other unfriendly wild flora is a good way to end up with a rash on your rump.
# Coal trains – Most railways traveling through southern Missouri service coal and salvage companies. Cars containing coal are generally open at the top and thus exposed to the elements, so not something you'd expect people to hitch a ride on. Fun fact: if you live near one of these tracks and your kids/siblings/etc have been little shits, you can usually find small pieces of coal along the tracks. Since the cars are open up top, sometimes weather and unexpected jolts can dislodge pieces of cargo. Worried about legality? Even more fun fact: if the coal companies DID comb their thousands of miles of track for lost chunks, they'd net MAYBE a pound and it'd cost a fortune. No one's coming after that little black window-breaker. Go for it.
## Despite heavy exposure to craft beer varieties I'm not a beer drinker; I have to rely on research and recommendations in these stories. I found an article stating that Diamond Bear Pale Ale is the best-selling beer in Arkansas but I'm not sure of the accuracy there - I've never even heard of most brands noted in the article, and the brand noted as Missouri's best seller was completely unknown to me. Of course, since Sonja's originally from Arkansas, expecting her decisions to make sense to someone from Missouri is a losing game. Yeah. There's a bit of state rivalry there.
In body art trends, the semicolon has become a symbol of hope, recovery, and perseverance in relation to depression, grief, and/or suicide.A common (and highly simplistic) explanation is a semicolon is used when a writer has the option of ending sentence but chooses not to. In this case, Sonja's tattoo is both a monument to her beloved uncle she lost to suicide and a personal reminder to never give up. She's got several tattoos besides the two mentioned so far so her choice in keeping this one minimal and discreet says a lot about her personality. More than that you'll have to wait for!
Lightnin' bugs never live long – In Studio Ghibli's Grave of the Fireflies, Setsuko asked "Why do fireflies have to die so soon?" The symbolism in this movie gave me absolute FITS – it was heartbreakingly beautiful. Watch it. You WILL cry buckets. It WILL be worth it.
"We hold these truths self-evident" – a quote from the United States' Declaration of Independence which was featured in RUSH's Alien Shore. TBH, the vast majority of RUSH's lyrics were written by Neil Peart so Sonja's actually name-dropping him with the Founding Fathersbut she's focusing on the vocalist instead of the writers.
General rules for altered spelling in accented dialogue
Words ending with 'a – This is an improper contraction using the words to, have, or of. The word the 'a is slapped onto will tell you what it means. Examples: tryin'a – Trying to, should'a – should have, and piece'a / lots'a – piece of / lots of. Improper contractions are a common staple in the dialects of the Midwest – ESPECIALLY those in the Mozarks region. Generally has the first word is pronounced normally with ŭ slapped on the end.
Wordsnoted like this which look like gobbledygook – In the movie, Megamind has a tendency to botch seemingly random pronunciations. Sometimes he switches vowel sounds without realizing it – for instance, Metro Mahn instead of Metro Man – while others he emphasizes the wrong syllable. Here, I've spelled those botched words out as they sound to keep his dialogue quirks intact. Syllables in ALL CAPS indicate emphasis on that syllable, while the entire word should be in italics. Examples: re-SUP-lie – resupply and a toughie, cull-ER-BLY-end – colorblind. FWIW, I'd LOVE to hear the Canon reasoning behind this but suspect it's a combination of insinuated mild dyslexia and subliminal influences from his late folks.
Words cut short and ending with ' – The apostrophe indicates the last syllable or consonant has been omitted and left silent. If this occurs as –in', normally the word ends with –ing. For instance jus' – just and goin' – going.
Words with -'n – These are generally improper contractions. The 'n in these words is most often and or than depending on the preceding word. (consider Rock'n Roll – Rock and Roll, and better'n – better than.) Words formed like this (as least in the Mozarks region) feature a silent stop before the n. More often than not it's barely noticeable but when emphasized it sounds similar to a quiet and slightly nasal grunt which ends in n. These silent stops are a staple of dialects native to the Ozarks and mid-south, are pretty difficult to explain, and are entirely likely to go unnoticed 'nless'n you're actively lookin' for them.
Glossary
~Bored-err – border
~In dis-guys / dee-spondent – In disguise / despondent
Weirder'n you – Weirder than you.
Tryin'a help folks always jus' blows up in my face – Anytime I try to help someone it always goes horribly wrong. coughFORESHADOWINGcough.
Look what happened with Heckerman - Look what happened with Officer Heckerman! Meaning she tried helping Heckerman by fixing his car but now she's paying for it because he's a friggin' egomaniacal psycho who won't take NO for an answer.
Diff'rent day, same bullshit—anytime I try to help some'un it jus' blows up in my face an' I git stuck cleanin' up the mess – "Same [bull]shit, different day" is a moderately common phrase in the southern Missouri/Northern Arkansas region, and it can mean roughly 'nothing ever changes' or indicate that one day was like any other. Anytime I try to help someone it goes horribly wrong and I'm left dealing with the fallout. Some'un is uncommon above the Arkansas border and is pronounced similarly to the more common young'un.
Cull-ER-bly-end – Colorblind. Literally, being colorblind means your eyes can't process colors/certain colors due to imbalances or retinal deformities; figuratively it means Sonja cared less that Megamind was blue and more that he was struggling, and didn't let his blue skin deter her from offering a helping hand.
At'cha – at you, pronounced similarly to catch and ha! Smushed together with the c- cut off. Compare to the more common gotcha. This altered pronunciation is centered on the y- in you rather than the word itself. It's relatively widespread but not entirely common, and frequently occurs in certain large NE cities. Pronunciation: ătchŭ.
Rel-LA-vence – relevance – again, he shifted the emphasis to the wrong syllable.
Idjit – the Ozarks region has a LOT of unique insults but THIS ONE is one of my FAVORITES. I'm honestly not sure why. Idjit is both a unique pronunciation of idiot AND recognized as a word of its own. Pronunciation is deceptively simple – ĭjĭt.
Ya'd need'a find – Literally, you would need to find, emphasis being on the intent to search for the stated subject.
Ah-rent – aren't
Al-eye / re-SUP-lie – ally / resupply
We still couldn't'a kept ya, could we? – Sometimes when a loved one struggles, you find yourself wondering things that don't really help the grief. In this case, Sonja's mentally Jack to lightning bugs and shooting stars – both have brief lives but in those lives, they bring light and joy to those who see them. Basically she's wondering If you hadn't burned so brightly, would you still be with us?
You were a shootin' star if I e'er knew one—ya never lived unless you were givin' it yer all. – A direct reference to Bad Company's song Shooting Star, which describes another man who lived his life to the fullest far too quickly. Most people are able to take their time in life and survive into old age; others are only satisfied by a fast life and even faster death.
Naw, it's prob'ly nothin'…maybe the Orionids're startin' early this year? – No, it's probably nothing [important or worth noticing.] Maybe the Orionid meteor shower is starting early this year? The Orionid meteor shower is an ongoing annual event associated with Haley's Comet. The yearly display peaks in mid-October. Since this story's beginning is set in EARLY October, witnessing a meteor would be unlikely but not impossible.
If yer tryin'a get my attention, ya got it, now quit with all the Devil's Tower mash-po-taters bullshit. – If you're trying to get my attention you've got it – now stop sending me freaky occurrences to make your point! A direct reference to Close Encounters of the Third Kind.
Lotta stars up in that there sky, Killer. Out'n all those stars, which'un ya reckon he fell from? – Sonja's leaning more toward Arkansas than usual, here. There are so many stars up there. Out of all of them, which star do you think [Megamind] fell from?
Long-ass explanation for the newly included glossary and notes/RE regional dialects.
Skip if you wish, I won't be offended.
In most of my stories, there's some amount of colloquialism, awkwardly-spelled slang, and intentionally-misspelled words; these aren't mistakes, but intentional changes which show the characters' accents and speech tendencies. Contrary to historic usage, this method of writing is not always used as an insult or meant to indicate said characters are stupid, ill-mannered, uncultured, or etc. – that is an obsolete and wholly inaccurate use for the technique, similar to an actor faking a stutter to imply their character is ignorant or low-class. There is no connection between a person's intellect and their stutter, stammer, or accent. I do not write dialog this way to insult or degrade characters, cultures, or peoples – I use this method of writing to accurately portray the speech of characters according to their home turf or canon speech quirks. IF I was altering characters' dialogue to insinuate that the character is an ignorant hick I'd be heaving those unfounded insults at myself more than the characters. Folks who know me IRL and have heard me speak would know I can be even harder to understand than Sonja – I have a very thick Ozarks accent which borders on drawl and people from other regions tend to understand me poorly. If the accent=idjit assumption was correct…well, let's just say I'd never have made the Dean's List in college and a certain international honor society which-shall-not-be-named-because-privacy would have one fewer member. I'm not the exception in this – I'm the norm.
That said, since posting the first chapters of this story I've started including glossaries in fics/chapters with characters who are unusually difficult to understand. (I never intended to write for international readers, but apparently international readers have found my fics AND enjoyed them, so why not make it a little more accessible?) A lot of the words I note in-story are easily understood and rarely noticed when spoken, but write them down phonetically and people think you're speaking Greek. Single instances are translated at the end of their chapter and noted in-story with a ~ at the end. I sometimes include general rules for common examples and note the same. In this story, Sonja will be the most common and frustrating culprit as she has a very thick accent rarely heard outside the eastern-most parts of the Missouri-Arkansas border.
Regionally speaking, generally when someone refers to the Midwest they're referring to a geographical area encompassing between 8-12 states. When I refer to the Midwest in relation to dialect and accent it's depicting a much smaller region. The dialect I use most in my stories, commonly referred to as simply the Midwestern twang or the twang, is generally strongest and most common in an area sometimes referred to as the Mozarks. That means part of southern Missouri and northern Arkansas, centered on the Ozark Mountains. Though it's strongest in that area, different intensities of the twang can be commonly heard as far west as OK/KS/NE and as far north as IA. Generally once you cross the Mississippi river or hit the southern half of Arkansas you start hearing more drawl than twang, and the further you get from the Ozark Mountains, the more the twang will alter, fade, or blend with other regional variations.
If glossary entries include pronunciation (included for shits an' giggles) I've used the key usually used in Webster's dictionaries for convenience. As always, if you get lost, get confused, or just feel like chatting, feel free to hit me up on whatever site this is posted on. I get super geeky about language and regional variations, and especially about the region this story is set in, and I love feedback!
