Disclaimer: The Loud House and associated characters belong to Nickelodeon and Chris Savino
wallyworld: Well, it may be 92, but she's ten, which means she was born in 82.
Guest: LMFAO! That's more than spitballing. You freaking threw up.
The Destiny Stone
By Lola Presents
Chapter 3
For Lincoln, Marge was a breath of fresh air. While he thought she was cute, she wasn't model material like his sister Lola. At least by media's standards. His thoughts on the matter differed significantly. She also didn't seem hung up on fashion, though that might be out of choice. Either way, she seemed comfortable, save for her social status.
For Marge, "Albert" represented a final escape from her dreary existence. Appearing out of nowhere, claiming to be from the future, he embodied her hopes and dreams. Someone who could say, "you can do this," and mean it. Though he was only three years older than her, he was from a different time and seemed wise beyond his years.
The two kids entered the shop and began browsing the various magazines, comics, and other periodicals. "Hey, Marge?" asked Lincoln as he picked up a comic book he'd never seen before about a stern-looking Aardvark. "What's this?"
The girl wandered over to where he stood with the latest issue of Marvel's Infinity war limited series in her hand and took a peek. "Oh!" she cried excitedly. "That's Cerebus! It's a pretty gritty book. The author has some strange ideas about things."
"I've never seen it before," he mumbled. "I guess it ended or got canceled," he added a moment later, putting it back. Then, noticing the book in Marge's hand. "What's that you got?"
"Oh, this?" she said, holding the comic up. "It's just the latest in the new Infinity War series."
"Oh yeah," sighed Lincoln. "I saw that in the movies," he continued, not thinking.
"Huh?" mumbled Marge, having gotten so comfortable around the boy that she'd forgotten when he came from. "Oh, right. So, they made a movie about it? That's amazing, but please, don't spoil it for me."
"Oh, don't worry," chirped Lincoln, waving his hand in defense. "I won't. I hate spoilers!"
"And later," suggested Marge, smiling goofily at him. "You can tell me all about the future."
"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Lincoln said, rubbing his head. "After all, the timeline and all..."
"Well, well, well," chimed an annoying voice behind them. "What do we have here, boys? It looks like the insect has a boyfriend."
"Go away, Ethan!" spat Marge, spinning on her heels, staring at the local bully and his two cohorts, Aiden and Wyatt. "Leave him alone!"
"Ooh!" sang Ethan, mocking the girl. "What are you going to do, little bug? Bite us with your little pincers?" he asked, holding two fingers to his mouth, mirroring her buck teeth.
"No," stated Lincoln calmly. "But I might. What's wrong with you, anyway? Bugs are cool as shit. Have you ever seen a praying mantis bite the head off its enemy? Oh! Wait..." Lincoln said, holding his hand up to stop the conversation, recalling stuff he'd heard in movies. "I get it. Your parents don't give you enough attention or mistreat you, and since you can't do anything at home, you take it out on other kids. Sound about right?"
"Fuck you, loser," Aiden exclaimed, pushing Lincoln in the chest.
"Albert, please..." begged Marge. "You don't have to do this."
Lincoln puffed his chest and stood between Marge and the three ten-year-old boys. "I'm not much of a fighter," he told them, looking down at them. "And you might be able to overpower me, three to one, but the minutes you throw the first punch, you've already lost, regardless of who gets beat up."
"What the fuck are you talking about, nerd?" asked Wyatt, pounding one of his fists into his other hand.
"Come on!" pleaded the girl, tugging at Lincoln's arm. "Let's just go."
"No," replied Lincoln quietly, looking over his shoulder. "It's alright. I've got this."
He then turned back toward the young trouble-makers.
"Listen, we don't have to do this," Lincoln said, trying civility first. "We can always sit down and-"
Lincoln never finished his offer as the three boys jumped him, knocking him to the ground from their combined weight, and while two held him down, the third pounded on his face. Finally, they stood and spit on him as they threw insults his way. Marge rushed to his side, doting on him like a mother would a child.
"Oh, my, God, Albert!" she cried. "Are you alright? Why did you do that? We could've just walked away," she said, dabbing at his nose with a cute handkerchief she'd pulled from somewhere. "Geez, they really messed you up."
"I'm okay," sighed Lincoln as he sat up and took the cloth from Marge. "If you keep running, they'll keep chasing you. But they eventually learn to respect you if you stand your ground. At least, that's what my mom used to say."
"Well," groaned Marge. "She sounds like a total fool if you ask me. What happens next time?"
"That was only a peace offering," Lincoln told her, looking her in the eye. "Something my sister, Lynn, taught me, right before she taught me how to fight back."
"I don't understand," moaned Marge, concerned about the boy's injuries.
"You give them one chance at peace," he told her. "If they don't take it, let them have their way, once, to give them a false sense of superiority. That way, they have farther to fall when you stand up for yourself the next time."
"Are you saying you didn't fight back on purpose?" inquired Marge, completely confused.
"Yup," muttered Lincoln, dabbing his upper lip as the shop owner finally came over. "I'm older than them and a lot stronger."
"Are you alright, son?" said the overweight, balding man as he helped Lincoln stand. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. I was in the back and didn't see what was happening."
"No problem, sir," acknowledged Lincoln as he looked at some ruined comics lying on the floor. "I only wish I had the money to pay for the damage to your stock."
"Don't you worry about that, young man," nodded the owner, ushering them toward the door. "You two run home now and get yourselves fixed up. Your next comic is on me," he said before clarifying his offer. "From the regular shelves, of course."
A while later, Lincoln rested on the floor of the little treehouse, staring at his female counterpart, unable to figure her out. "What are you thinking about?"
Marge blinked while hugging her legs. "I'm trying to figure you out," she told him, mimicking his thoughts. "You don't belong here and have to get home somehow. You can't do that if you're dead. I can't believe you stood up to them like that. You could've gotten seriously hurt, you know. But..." she sighed, looking at her knees, blushing. "I'm glad you're alright."
"I have to admit, I didn't expect any of them to take a swing," Lincoln admitted. "Things are more manageable now. I mean, in my time. We still get bullies, but it's mostly verbal assault. Not physical. Though, that happens too on occasion. Only, our parents are more aware of it, and stricter punishments against it."
"Let me see..." cooed Marge, scooting toward Lincoln, who pulled the cloth away from his face. "Well, the bleeding seems to have stopped, but you look terrible. Want me to go get some ice?"
"Yeah, that'd be great," he winced as his stomach growled. "Maybe something to eat too. If you don't mind."
"I'll be back in a flash!" Marge chirped, heading for the ladder.
It took Marge nearly two and half hours to return. When she did, she came bearing several brown paper bags full of supplies, including sandwiches, chips, a full thermos, a spare toothbrush, some toothpaste, and a bar of soap. Other assorted goods included a pillow, a blanket, a washcloth, and a towel, in case he needed to freshen up on the nearby creek. Finally, there was a zip lock bag filled with ice.
"Thanks," he chirped as he unwrapped one of the sandwiches and eagerly took a bite, surprised at its content. "Is this..."
"Peanut butter and sauerkraut. Sorry," apologized Marge. "We were out of jelly, so I used sauerkraut instead. I know not everyone likes it, but it's my favorite because dad says mom used to like it."
"No, it's not that," Lincoln said in surprise. "It's just that it's my favorite too."
"Really?" chirped Marge, feeling less embarrassed. "So, how exactly did you end up here, anyway?"
"I'm not entirely sure," began Lincoln as he devoured the sandwich. "I was out shopping for my mom's birthday and found a shop my sister swears doesn't exist. I got this necklace for her called a destiny stone. It was supposed to fulfill her dreams or something. But, it seems like all it did was turn mine into a nightmare."
"Well, you're certainly brave, facing it as you have," replied Marge enthusiastically. "And the way you stood up to those bullies..."
"Nah, it's alright," he sighed, thinking mainly of Chandler and his goons. "When you have ten sisters and bullies of your own, you kind of take things as they come."
"Your sisters are lucky to have you," sighed Marge, thinking about the day she'd wake up to find "Albert" missing. "I bet they look up to you."
"Hah!" laughed Lincoln, almost choking on a chip. "Nah. They love me, sure. But mostly, they only use me for whatever trivial thing in the book. I get minimal thanks out of it."
"Well..." blushed Marge, leaning in and tenderly kissing Lincoln's cheek. "You're my hero, then. Maybe I'll call Bill and see if he'll make a comic for you."
"What?" muttered Lincoln. "Bill who?"
"Bill Buck," clarified Marge. "He's this kid I used to know before we moved here. He's into comics too and draws all the time."
"Wait..." chirped Lincoln, entirely lost in surprise. "You mean THE Bill Buck, creator of..."
"Of what?" inquired the young girl as Lincoln went silent.
"No," muttered Lincoln, withdrawing his excitement. "I can't tell you. It might mess up the timeline."
"Albert!" exclaimed Marge. "If Bill does something in your future, and I don't tell him about it now, then, when you get back, he might never have done it! You must tell me what it is so I can tell him!"
"I don't know..." murmured Lincoln, having read enough material to know the risks of time travel. "Wouldn't that cause a loop or something? Besides, it wouldn't be the same when I get home knowing the Ace Savvy got based on me. He's the hero I aspire to be. That would feel weird..."
"But, don't you see?" Marge exclaimed. "You were meant to tell me. It's what causes the comic to be, and in your hand, make you as brave as you are. Brave enough to face the past and tell me."
Oddly enough, her logic made some sense to Lincoln, and though he didn't entirely understand it, he conceded and told her about Ace Savvy and his adventures. Only, he left out the part about the Full Deck. That came later, and he hadn't mentioned it to his friend yet, and he saw no harm in withholding that tidbit.
Together, the children finished their snacks, then spent the following hour trading stories from their respective times. Of course, each left out specific details that might interfere with the timeline, including only the relative parts. Then, as they lay there on the ground outside the treehouse as night began to fall, Marge went silent.
"Marge?" asked Lincoln. "Are you alright? If you're getting sleepy, it's alright if you head home. I'll be fine."
"No, it's not that," she replied slightly nasally. "I was just wondering..."
"About what?" inquired Lincoln, curious to know what was on the girl's mind.
"What's it like?" she asked sheepishly, staring at the tiny pinpricks of light as they began to pierce the veil of night. "Kissing, I mean. I'm sure you have had plenty of girlfriends by now."
"Uh..." stammered Lincoln, his gaze upon the stars blurring as his lids narrowed. "I've only ever had one girlfriend, and even then, I only kissed her once."
"Liar," Marge accused. "You're thirteen and practically a man. You said it yourself. Do you really expect me to believe you don't have a girlfriend?"
"You can believe what you want," Lincoln sighed, "but it's the truth. For some reason, the girls back home don't seem interested in me."
"Well, they're idiots," Marge stated, folding her arms over her chest. "I'd be happy to have a boyfriend like you, but I don't. Instead, they could but don't. What a waste."
Lincoln propped himself up on his elbows and studied the little girl, and his heart felt for her. Regardless of the time and place, she was as lost and alone as he was, perhaps more so. It was one thing to feel lost when you physically were, but to feel lost in the place you were supposed to be the most comfortable, well, that was something else entirely.
"Marge..." Lincoln cooed, leaning over her slightly. "I could..." he whispered. "If you wanted..."
As large as Marge's eyes seemed through her aviator lenses, they grew even more prominent as she inhaled sharply, her cheeks filling with blood. "Please?" she whispered as she unfolded her arms to receive the descending boy.
As his lips were still sore from the beating he had gotten earlier, he tenderly pressed them against hers and began kissing her, letting her take the lead. It was softer and gentler than the kiss he'd given Ronnie Anne at the buffet, and it spoke of something more intimate. Then Marge parted her lips slowly, and their tongues met, wet, warm, and eager.
Eventually, Lincoln had to pull away as his elbow began to hurt, pressing against the ground, and he stared at the girl by his side. Suddenly, his pain and loneliness didn't seem to feel as bad, almost like he belonged here. And for a moment, he wondered if he would even accept a return home, should a way ever present itself.
"I know this is going to sound completely insane," Marge whispered as she stared at him, looking like a cute little bug. "I mean, we only just met, but I'm in love with you."
"I..." stammered Lincoln as his mind fervently tried to reconcile his feelings. His need to return home competed with the admiration and protectiveness he felt for the young girl. "I love you too."
Then, Marge's eyes flashed again, sitting up in a frenzy. "What time is it?" she gasped, looking at her Timex knock-off. "Oh, my! I have to get home! I'm sorry, Albert. I'll see you in the morning," she told him as she rose and bolted down the path.
"Bye..." sighed Lincoln, thinking only of Marge's warm face pressed against his. "See you tomorrow," he whispered after she vanished. "I hope."
Lincoln remained where he was, lying in the grassy clearing, and looked past the stars above, replaying everything that had happened. Nothing made any logical sense. At the same time, it all felt right. At least, it was beginning to. He thought he had a purpose for the first time in his life. Rather than fumbling along through life, appeasing his sisters, or idly reading comics, he had someone to care for who appreciated him.
Then again, he missed the familiarity of his family, and he longed to see their smiling faces. Then, a thought occurred to him. If the comic shop still existed, maybe the curio shop did too. Suddenly, he began to feel angry, as if the shopkeeper had somehow tricked him. And as Lincoln rose and headed up the study ladder to prepare for bed, he decided. Tomorrow, he intended to find the strange shop and ask the peculiar older man a few questions.
Stumbling into the growing darkness, he made himself a palette against one of the tree house walls and settled in as best he could. And as he lay there, trying to fall asleep, his thoughts returned to his family. How were they coping with his absence? Had they even noticed he was gone or had he gotten erased from their mind?
At this point, he wasn't even sure if time had progressed for them. Maybe, one day, he'd wake up the same day he left, as if nothing had happened. When, and if he did return home, would he even remember what was happening now? Would Marge? And how did all this play into his mother's most essential needs getting filled?
For now, all Lincoln could do was deal with what was in front of him, which wasn't a lot. He had no proper home and nowhere else to go. The little treehouse and Marge were his entire world. If only Clyde were here, perhaps he wouldn't feel as bad or confused. But he wasn't. None of his family and friend were.
And as slumber slowly began to isolate the boy further, subjecting him to as yet untold dreams, he thought of his family. "I'm sorry, mom," he muttered, nearly unconscious upon the frilly pillow. "I love you..." With his last thought, his body gave in to its nightly recuperative phase, and Lincoln drifted away to new adventures.
Marge returned home well after her curfew, and nearly panicking, she shimmed up the porch column and climbed in through her window. Quickly, she prepped herself for bed and had only settled in when her father came to the door.
"There you are," the gentle white-haired man said. "I was looking for you earlier. I guess we crossed paths somewhere," he told her. "Anyway, I just wanted to check on you. Are you doing alright? You seemed a little distant today. Though, I'm glad you got out and about."
"I'm fine, daddy," assured Marge. "Really." Then, concerned for her friend, well, boyfriend, she decided to take a risk. "Hey, dad?" she prompted.
"Yes, baby?" he answered, standing in her doorway, scratching his chin.
"You know I try really hard not to ask you for anything and try my best to stay out of trouble," Marge began. "But, I met this homeless kid who has nowhere to go. Would it be possible to let him stay with us? Please?" she begged.
"I don't know, honey," the man said. "That's a big responsibility. Besides, I'd have to meet him first."
"What if I brought him around tomorrow sometime?" she asked. "Would that be alright?"
"Well, I don't know if I like the idea of you hanging around a homeless person," admitted the man, walking over to her and taking a set on her bedside. "After all, we don't know what his story is. But, I suppose that would be alright."
"Thanks, daddy!" Marge chirped, hugging her father around the neck before settling under her covers. "I love you."
"I love you, too," the man whispered as he stood, turned off the light, and stared at his daughter before closing the door.
Somewhere across time, Rita lay in bed, sleeping fitfully as she unconsciously held on to the glowing stone as it lay on her chest, near her heart. Her eyes darted back and forth, then she furrowed her brows and eventually relaxed.
Whatever she dreamt of was taking its toll on her, emotionally and physically. However, she eventually rolled over and released her grip on the stone, letting its brilliant pulse shine under the blankets as she settled into the rest of her night's sleep.
