It's almost seven o'clock. I'd waited until last minute to put the suit on because A) I don't want my mom to know and B) no one shows up to parties early. Being 'fashionably late' is still a thing, right?
The suit isn't anything fancy: the pants, jacket, and tie are black and the dress shirt, white. I also didn't style my hair differently, just a fresh combing and spiking. In the reflection on my powered off TV, I give myself a once over. Not bad, Cunningham. Not bad at all.
The only problem is that I need to bring the scarf. I can't wander into the enemy's domain without my best weapon! For a final touch, I casually drape the scarf on my shoulders so that the ends hang in front and button the jacket over it. Of course the scarf is still visible, but now it looks like a fashion accessory. I'm pretty sure I saw this on the internet somewhere.
I peak around my bedroom door. "Hey mom?"
"Yes honey?" I can tell she's in the living room.
"Can I go over to Howard's?" I call confidently. She almost always says yes.
"Sure, but be careful though, it's dark out," she calls back.
"Thanks mom!" I cross the dining room to the sliding glass door.
"Have fun!"
Ah yes. I will have loads of fun scoping out the most popular man in town, who also coincidentally freed a destructive half-demon, while also chilling with a cute girl from school. If only I could do the later without the former.
Heidi had picked up our bikes on the way back from Mac's, but McFist Industries is way too far to cycle to. Not to mention I'd probably be sweaty by the time I got there. No, tonight I'm going to have to be creative.
Being that it's later in the year, the sun has already set. Perfect for a late night flight.
It starts out as a jog, but soon I'm running as fast as I can down the center of the road. Thank cheese for quiet suburbs. Wings materializing, I jump and by instinct I am flying high above the sleepy neighborhood. This may ruin my hair, but I don't care.
I feel like I'm in a constant state of freefall, just like the first drop on a rollercoaster. But against all logic I don't become a Randy pancake on the cement. The wind is my friend and it guides me. The sensation of flight is too hard to describe without sounding like some philosophical old guy, so I stop trying to put words to it. It just is and it feels right.
In the center of Norrisville, I can see the tallest building lit up like a lighthouse. In a way, McFist Industries being in the middle of town is symbolic. Our entire lives revolve around it. We either work for McFist or buy his products; we can't escape it. Not like I'm trying to. His clothing lines and electronics are just so the cheese? Bad guy or not, I'm not giving those things up.
Once I reach the end of the suburbs, the commercial buildings rise from the darkness to meet my feet. Stopping for a break on one of them, I assess my next move. I could continue to fly, but it'd be tiring.
Compared to the suburbs, the city is alive as ever. In the streets below, the steady flow of traffic gives me an idea. I didn't want to use the scarf so soon because it will definitely mess up my carefully ironed suit, but it can't be helped if I don't want my face plastered on the front of Norrisville Daily.
I land on the first passing bus I find as the Ninja. Does this count as hitch hiking? Because I've always wanted to do that. Always keeping the destination in sight, I switch from bus to semi to bus again until I'm at the base of McFist Industries. Returning the scarf to my outfit and my wings to tattoos, I watch the guests enter the building.
There's a robo-ape dressed in a tux checking people off on his digital checklist. I need to find a way to sneak in; maybe I can stand next to a couple and try to pass off as their child. I join the line next to a man and women in their early thirties and try to correct my wayward hair. Worst comes to worst, I can cause a distraction and slip in.
The line seems to take ages to move. Unfortunately, I let my mind wander and before I know it, I'm at the front and the couple is nowhere in sight.
"Name?"
"Randy Cunningham." The bot scans the list. "I'm with Theresa Fowler," I add on a whim.
"Go ahead."
I can't believe that worked!
A red carpet leads to the elevator in the main lobby. This time an actual human greets us and gives us a bracelet, saying the event is on the top floor. The elevator is nearly packed by the time I get in, thankfully I'll be the first out when the doors open.
I don't pay much attention to the other riders; all are well-dressed and most likely very wealthy. I spot this one lady's diamond ring that's worth more than my house I bet. Suddenly, the elevator slows and opens, a human-like robot steps in, dressed like a waiter. It's officially too crowded and I jump out before the doors close. The stairs will work just fine.
If I can find them that is. The hallways twist and turn, doors leading to who knows where appearing every forty feet or so. Strangely, I encounter no one. I am beginning to worry that I'll never find my way out- or at least not anytime soon- when I feel something.
It's like something is gently pulling me forward, like an excited, small child. But no one is there. Alarmed, I try walking in the other direction. The gentle pull switches to a full gravity reversal. That is, if gravity went sideways instead of down. Forward is my only option, there might as well be a wall behind me.
I'm led through the winding corridors to, of all places, the stairs! The flowing tune of classical music and chatter of the attendees waft down from above. I'm so close! Then the guiding hand directs me in the other direction yet again- down. I struggle. That's not where the party is!
As I descend, unwillingly, I wonder who is doing this. I arrive at a horrible, yet obvious, conclusion. The Sorcerer! He is allied with McFist and has proven through Julian that he's out to get me. Perhaps he lives in the lower levels and is calling me to him to finish me once and for all.
I can hear the machines working away on the other side of the wall. Having mostly robotic workers means production is around the clock. The city had complained that it took away from jobs for the citizens, but how else was he going to make high profits? Robots don't have to get paid.
At some point I arrive at a door with 'authorized personal only' stamped on it. The pull is so great, that when I open the door I fall in, landing on my knees. Then the mysterious force leaves and I'm on my own. Should I head back? Even if it would let me, I'm too curious to leave. After all, wasn't the whole point of coming here to learn more about the Sorcerer?
The room was filled with odd gadgets locked in glass cases. McFist products that were never released to the public, secret weapons, illegal experiments, who knows. One in particular catches my eye. On a pedestal in the center of the room was an object pulsing with red light. I inch forward; it looks like a book. Strange.
"What the juice?"
It is black with red rings and something green might have been in the center once. The cover and edges are marred- deep gouges ruin whatever ancient beauty it once had. I wince sympathetically. And I thought my math textbook had it bad. What does McFist want with a book?
Running my hand along the cover, the red light glows brighter. It's so familiar… where have I seen that light before? On an impulse, I open it to a random page and everything turns black.
I'm falling…
Falling…
Down a bottomless pit.
At first I can see nothing, but then I'm greeted by an old friend.
"Where have you been?"
The multicolored doodles dance in the darkness. Their glow reveals a giant dragon floating in the background.
"Whoa."
I hit the ground, landing ungracefully for the second time. A single beam of light falls on a man curled in the fetal position in the middle of the… dojo? The walls are in disrepair and the paint is peeling, but it's definitely a dojo.
"Um… are you okay?" The guy looked just as bad as the book cover, maybe worse. Scratches, black eye, dried blood, and I think his arm is broken. Despite this, he stood up in one swift motion. He wears a long black cloak which makes his startling red hair stand out even more.
Leave.
He had opened his mouth, but no sound came. The doodles formed the words he mouthed in its place.
"I just got here! Who are you?" Very original question, I know.
Frivolous details do not benefit you if you do not get us out of this place. He will come and show no mercy.
"Who is coming? McFist? The Sorcerer? You were the one who dragged me here right?"
Your questions are valid, but you must go. The knowledge in these pages is too dangerous to fall into the wrong hands.
The book must be Ninja related, but is he implying that I'm physically in the book? If only he'd give me a straight answer.
Our connection was broken. Now that you have found me I can help once again. I will answer all your inquiries when it is safe.
"But!"
Go.
My journey reversed and I was back in the room under McFist Industries. "How…?" A friendly purple arrow pointed at the book and shifted into the word 'Nomicon'. "Great. That explains so much," I complain. The book- Nomicon- glowed peevishly. Don't ask me how I know, I can tell it's annoyed. "Alright I'm going. Sheesh." No doubt about it, the Nomicon and the tattoos (those still haven't returned) are connected: same personality. Tucking it under my arm, it disappears like the Ninja weapons do when I'm done with them.
I get about halfway up the stairs when a Robo-ape finally discovers me.
"What are you doing?" It asks emotionlessly. I hold up the wrist with the bracelet.
"I got a little lost…"
"This way."
I see the party for the first time. The room is made entirely out of windows, the walls slant inward making it trapezoid shaped. Multiple circular tables were off to one side, the other was clear except for a Robo-ape conducted orchestra. Close to me are two long rectangular table. Robotic waiters mill about with silver platters that hold hors d'œuvre and drinks in dainty glasses. Champagne probably. Between one and two hundred people are here if I'm estimating correctly.
I look around for familiar faces. The first I find are McFist himself, his wife, and Bash. Mrs. McFist is fixing her husband's bowtie and Bash is pestering the waiters. Did he just try to trip one? There's no sign of Theresa, but if I see her I'll need a good explanation for why I changed my mind about coming.
No matter, this is a party- albeit a very fancy one- and parties are my thing yo. If I walk around like I know what I'm doing, no one will question me and I can watch McFist to see if he does something suspicious. There is free food to boot- Howard would love this. I sadden, he'd be so mad if he knew I was party crashing without him. Thinking of all the excuses I could give him, only one is the truth: Theresa. I hate to say it, but he makes a terrible wingman.
Hands tucked in my pockets, I stick to the edges of the room. Every time a waiter passes I grab what it's offering, except for the drinks. Would the bots let a minor drink anyway? So far I've had a mini shish kebob, a roll of sushi and crackers with unknown toppings.
The orchestra plays mellow tunes in the background and a few people are dancing. It's that dancing one always sees in movies but not real life. At school dances you jump and wave your arms; here, the couples seem to have every step planned out. While watching the mesmerizing harmony of the dancers, someone taps my shoulder.
"Randy? I thought you weren't coming," Theresa says, her tone implying a question. For a moment I'm stunned. Her normally messy bangs with the light purple highlights are swept to the side and her darker purple hair done in a complicated updo. Her spaghetti strap dress is longer than the one she wears at school: The bottom of the skirt touches the floor and the slit starts at mid-thigh. It's the same shade of yellow though. Small, fake diamonds of varying sizes are scattered on the bodice and… shoot she's still waiting for my answer.
"I wasn't. But then I did, because…" She looks at me expectantly. "Because a distant relative of mine, Cousin George, came." Do I have a cousin named George? I honestly don't know.
"And this cousin of yours, where is he?" Theresa asks suspiciously.
I improvise. "Oh, you know, chatting it up with some old friends. It was really boring so… I left him to it and looked for you."
"Well, you found me… or rather, I found you. Where are you two sitting then?" She said the last sentence in a rush, attempting small talk.
"He didn't tell me," I say, scratching the end of my nose. Howard once told me that I am a terrible liar, I hope it isn't too obvious.
"Really now?" Theresa giggles. "Maybe you could sit with us then? Unless you think Cousin George would get lonely on his own…"
"He- I… really?" Ugh. Howard's right. "That'd be bruce! I mean, yeah, that'd be cool." I just don't want to look too excited.
She hums. "We better get to the table then, it's about eight and McFist is going to give a speech and then we'll eat! C'mon!" Theresa darts through the crowd and I easily follow. Seated at the table she stops at are two couples and a lone man, all talking spiritedly.
"Hey Dad, can my friend sit with us?" She asks. The first two people who look up I assume are her parents. They are middle-aged, both blond though I can tell her mother's hair is dyed. They do not look like Theresa at all; I don't know Theresa's natural hair color, but their facial structures aren't similar.
"Of course Terri," Mr. Fowler gives me a warm smile while the Mrs. eyes me warily. "What's your name son?" He asks as I take a chair next to Theresa who is seated next to her mother.
"Randy Cunningham."
"I knew a Cunningham once," he turns to the man he was previously talking with and I can no longer hear what he is saying.
"How do you know my daughter?" Mrs. Fowler asks with none of the warmth the father had.
"Mooooom, we go to school together! Please?" Theresa says with exasperation, answering for me. Mrs. Fowler huffs and busies herself in her husband's conversation.
"Sorry," Theresa whispers to me, touching her pinned bangs.
I wave a hand. "It's fine."
We quietly watch the party for a moment. Everyone else seems to have realized that it's time for the main event and those who are not sitting do so when McFist taps a glass with a utensil in the front of the room.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, it pleases me that you were able to attend here tonight. As head of McFist Industries, I would like to thank each and every one of you- the managers, directors, investors, and many more. You have all made the new McGetaway Resort possible through your collective efforts and it couldn't have happened without your support," McFist said, looking into the audience. I sink lower in my seat. "Now, the moment we've all been waiting for, bring out the food!"
Robotic waiters promptly entered, laying a plate of salad in front of each person, including myself.
"The first course is Greek Salad with lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers and olives," Viceroy explains, "The main dish is Filet Mignon- cooked to your preference-, a baked potato, and mixed vegetables. Desert is a self-serving chocolate fountain buffet in the back. Enjoy."
With that the orchestra began to play again and conversations resumed.
"Did you hear that? Chocolate fountains! It almost makes up for how boring this is." She unfolds her napkin, placing it on her lap. I raise an eyebrow.
"I was here an hour by myself! If you would have shown up on time…" Theresa trailed off, picking at the salad.
"It's not my fault!" Should I eat the salad? I don't usually, but flying takes a lot of energy.
"Was it Cousin George's fault then?"
"Who's-" I stop. "Who's hungry? I'm hungry, this salad looks great." I take a bite for emphasis.
Theresa frowned. "I know you're lying. If you don't want to tell me why you came, just say so."
Caught red handed. I don't want her to think badly of me, yet I can't tell her everything. "Actually," I learn closer to her, "I snuck in by myself and got lost."
"Are you serious?" She snorts loudly and covers her lower face, embarrassed.
"Well, not really lost…" I laugh, struggling to not sound completely shooby.
From that point on we hit it off. I learned so much about her- her favorite color (purple), her mouse's name (Coco Puff), some likes and dislikes (She doesn't like steak? Steak is one of the greatest gifts to mankind!) and that the reason she doesn't look like her parents is because she's adopted.
I tell her a bit about myself too- I also like purple, but red is a close second; I have no pets, though I had a dog when I was really little; I love videogames (Do you want to play together sometime?) and that my parents are divorced.
I realize now that she had never really trusted me before this. I can't blame her, I did withhold a lot of truth before. And I still am. No. It's better this way; the whole Ninja/Sorcerer thing and the Julian thing was pretty horrible. I don't want her to know I'm connected to all of it. That she went through that… No. Also, the way she looked at the Ninja, when he- I- lost control and went berserk on that honking robot… it's best left in the past.
"I have one more question," Theresa begins, dipping a wedge of pineapple into the flowing chocolate. "It's kinda personal."
There has to be fifty different foods that can be dipped in the chocolate. My favorite has to be the marshmallows.
"Shoot." This could get awkward in so many ways.
"Do you really have a tattoo?"
"How did you…?" I momentarily panic, did finding the Nomicon bring back those things too?
"I couldn't help it!" Theresa's face reddens. "You weren't wearing a shirt and I thought I noticed something on your back."
I nod. How could I have forgotten about that? Darn ice cream truck distracting me.
"And your mom agreed to it? That's so honking bruce!" When I don't answer, Theresa pokes me with a dipping stick. "Your mom does know you have one right? OMJ she doesn't! Geez Randy, first sneaking in and now a tattoo?"
I shove an entire marshmallow in my mouth.
"Can I see it sometime?"
I choke on said marshmallow.
"Sure." Is this really happening? A girl is asking me to take off my shirt… "Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo?" I ask, reaching for a Rice Crispy treat this time.
"Lots of times. A small design on my ankle or something."
I bump hands with someone else trying to grab a Rice Crispy.
"Cunningham?"
What's Howard doing here?!
a/n this isn't how I planned this chapter going… I swear ill stop avoiding romance. They will kiss by the time its over! Writing is so stressful :/