Angus walked slowly along the lonely dirt road, shifting a metal detector slowly back and forth, a pair of large-cupped headphones over his ears.
The setting sun reflected off his glasses.
Back and forth he moved the detector, his expression flat.
Mae was approaching behind him at a pace just slightly faster than his own. She walked with an awkward gait, her face hidden.
The setting sun reflected off the knife as she raised it.
She crossed some invisible threshold and abruptly shifted forward with a frightening speed and-
"Okay cut!"
Mae lowered the knife and, when he didn't stop, tapped Angus on the shoulder. He turned around and took off the headphones. "How was that?" he asked.
"Great! Man, those really are noise canceling," Lori replied as she walked towards the two of them.
"I like them a lot," Angus replied.
"I bet Gregg is like, super loud sometimes," Mae said.
Angus chuckled. "Yeah."
"Okay, Angus, uh, if you could just lay down and put your right hand out. Basically I'm going to film it and I just need you to twitch it…"
"This is pretty cool," Bea murmured.
"Hell yes," Trent agreed. He looked back down at his laptop, frowning.
"You still obsessing?" she asked.
"I'm not obsessing," he replied. Bea let the silence play out. He sighed. "Fine, yes. What about you?"
Now she sighed. "A little. I'm nervous. And tired."
"Are you actually off tonight? For sure?" he asked.
"For sure," she replied firmly.
Trent finished what he was doing, decided Bea was right, he'd obsessed enough and needed a break, and shutdown and closed his laptop. He and Bea were sitting in the back of his jeep, the back door propped up, watching Lori film her latest scene. He secured the laptop up in the front seat, between the two seats, and then rejoined Bea.
It had been two weeks since they'd watched Mae's first let's play.
As smoothly as those two weeks had passed, it also felt like a lot had happened.
Almost as if by some unspoken agreement, everyone had basically put their noses to the grindstones and gotten to work on the things that were important to them.
Mae had been hard at work on her YouTube channel, and he was honestly impressed. He'd never seen her work so hard on something in the time that he had known her. It was amazing and inspiring to watch, and it filled him with a tremendous happiness. He remembered all the times Mae had looked at him with a kind of lonely, pleading desperation, and he had gotten a glimpse into the abyss of pain that she sometimes dwelt in, often against her own will. He had wanted to help her feel better almost since he had first met her.
And she clearly was feeling better. Her problems weren't fixed, he had actually just yesterday finally pulled the trigger on setting up a doctor's appointment out in Briddle with a general practitioner who had more of a grasp of psychological problems and mental health...he hoped. It was hard to tell. But it was a step in the right direction and he knew that Mae was never going to do it herself, she hated doctors, even if she agreed that this needed to happen. Unfortunately the appointment couldn't happen for another two weeks, but that was probably for the best.
Mae had been unhappy when he'd told her about it, but she'd ultimately submitted, agreeing that it was just a thing she'd have to do.
He'd been watching her let's plays. She'd blasted through both Suffering games, including all three endings for each, Cold Fear, both Doom games, (he'd tracked down a copy of Resurrection of Evil on Amazon after learning she intended to tackle it), and was presently working her way through Wolfenstein: Operation Resurrection.
And her channel was growing. Not exactly by leaps and bounds, but clearly she had hit some kind of subcultural nerve. She was approaching three hundred subscribers now, and her videos were averaging about five to seven hundred views apiece, with her first video catching a lot of attention recently and having just broken two thousand views yesterday. Most of the comments she was getting were positive.
It was clear that nostalgia was a hell of a drug.
Although it seemed that right now the highest form of throwback nostalgia was the eighties, and there was a massive reservoir of love for the nineties, there was very clearly a component of the gamer populace that yearned to relive the heady halcyon days of early two thousand gaming. It wasn't quite the wild west of the nineties, but it was certainly a silver age, and it was Trent's favorite place. And there was clearly a charm in the fact that Mae was not just experiencing most of these games for the first time, but 'doing it legit', as a lot of them said.
Actually playing DOOM 3 on an old Xbox console in glorious 480p was, for some reason, intensely nostalgic, even though you could play far, far superior versions of the game on computers nowadays.
So far, his prediction was bearing out: not a lot of people were showing up, relatively speaking, but those that were seemed to be enjoying themselves greatly.
And Mae certainly had a persona that was...essentially just herself, dialed up a little bit in some areas, dialed back in others.
She had also set up a nice little corner of the internet for herself, everything tied together with the aesthetic of her drawings. Usually it was characters from the games she was playing, or herself, or even him, or some of the monsters she fought. Her art style was simple yet charming, and also accurate. You could tell there was skill there.
Ann had been just as busy. By now, she had been building up a reputation on the editing websites and even gotten herself her own site that looked slick, thanks to Bea, who really knew what she was doing when it came to websites. Even after just barely two months in the game, Ann had managed to raise her prices a bit, and she was a bit of a machine herself. Like Bea, when she worked, she worked. She buckled down and got jobs done. And from the glowing reviews she was getting and consistent customer base she was building, she clearly was good at it.
She seemed very happy, and it was also wonderful to see.
Bea was not as happy. Her primary project, besides collaborating on a new song with Ann, (that he wasn't allowed to hear until it was done), was prepping her dad for running the Pickaxe again. It seemed that as confident as he had initially been when he'd told her she could move on with her life, he was a bit overwhelmed. Although she still had two weeks until she officially quit, it had become obvious to her that the reduced hours and days were a thing of fantasy. He needed her, as much as he didn't want to fully admit it.
And so she had been spending a lot more time than she'd initially anticipated back at the Pickaxe. She had described it as more tolerable now, because there was an end goal in sight, a close one, one that she was not allowing to move, no matter what happened. Plus, a lot of the work she was doing wasn't just day-to-day stuff, it was a lot more getting the store in order so that her dad could manage it, and reminding him of what needed to be done.
It was a frustrating experience for both of them, but somehow they were getting through it.
Trent felt bad for her, and during the few times that he'd gotten to see her over the past two weeks, had set everything aside and spent time with her, usually giving her a massage, making her a meal, watching a movie or cartoon she wanted to watch, or just doing his best to satisfy her sexually. Which apparently he was really good at. He never thought he'd seriously be actually great in bed with a woman as full-on attractive as Bea was, but apparently they were just incredibly sexually compatible. And it was so fucking good.
But finally, the frenzy at the Pickaxe seemed to be dying down. Her dad was getting back in the swing of things, and she had today, tomorrow, and the day after off.
And then there was Trent.
He had felt guilty about not being finished with his work by now, so he'd really put his head down and got to it, pouring hours out of every single day over the past two weeks into getting his stuff prepped and ready for publication.
And he was finally done.
His website was live.
His social media was live.
His collection of shorts had officially been up and self-published for a few days now, and his two novels were launching tomorrow, since he saw no real reason to wait after getting the cover art designed, created, and finalized. It had cost a pretty penny to get it all done. He was really just rechecking stuff to make sure it was perfect, or as perfect as it could be since nothing could be perfect, and yeah, he was obsessing.
Right now, his biggest problem was that he hadn't actually settled on a new project. Everything he was putting out now was old stuff, and he certainly had new ideas, several of them actually. The problem was, he was frozen in indecision, and while he fretted over which new novel to work on, he would inevitably turn to the project that he was presently in love with: the Demontower series. Because it was a series by now.
Book Two was almost finished, and the series was actually getting a weird amount of traction.
He was simultaneously posting updates to the three biggest fan fiction sites on the internet, and now had a section for it on his website. Mae had even drawn some cover art for both of them, and it was much more detailed than her normal drawings. He had to admit he was so fucking into this. He was writing a fan fiction for a cool video game, for his girlfriend, who was reading it and fangirling over it, and also drawing the cover art for it, as well as the occasional drawing of a particularly interesting or cool scene.
Having looked into the history of the game, Trent was surprised and impressed.
The production company behind it was really just a one-woman show. Although she occasionally had help in terms of music, programming, art, or promotional stuff, she otherwise did everything. She was her own publisher. She did everything indie. She was about a decade older than Trent, but had clearly been more focused on her passion for longer. She had released a handful of short indie titles throughout the nineties, ranging from no to mild success, but had finally hit a break when releasing the first Demontower in the mid two thousands.
The second and third had come shortly after, and she'd taken considerably longer to make the fourth, most recent, and apparently final part.
It had quite a fanbase, and they were spreading the word about this fan fiction novelization of the series. A lot of them seemed to feel that he just 'got' Demontower on a level that a lot of people didn't, and they respected his research of the lore. He'd spent awhile investigating the games, and had played through them as he wrote them, trying to make it as authentic as possible. It was getting thousands of regular reads at this point, and on the two sites that had things like charts and rankings, it was ranking pretty high.
He'd dabbled in fan fiction before and never had a response like this.
People were actually talking about it in the Demontower subreddit and the forums of the official website. It was pretty unreal.
Besides that, he'd driven Mae out to various random locations along the outskirts of Possum Springs whenever Lori came calling.
Mae always had time to be Gasmask.
"You nervous about tonight?" Trent asked. He and Bea were watching the others. They seemed to be reviewing the footage. Trent had to admit, he was impressed that Angus had agreed to be involved. He seemed dubious at best about getting in front of a camera, but Mae had convinced him.
"Uh, fuck yeah I'm nervous," Bea replied.
"Don't be. You have the voice of an archangel," Trent replied.
She sighed and blushed, thumping him with her tail. "I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing."
"It's an incredible thing," he replied.
She looked over at him. "You are, like, really into me being a singer, huh?" she asked.
"Oh yeah. So much. So very much. Your voice is just…"
"You aren't BSing me are you?" she asked.
"No. Full stop: no."
"Why?"
He thought about it. "I don't...know, to be honest. I think it's just one of those things that brains do. Music affects a certain percentage of the population on a deeper level. A good rule of thumb apparently is: you are one of these people if you get goosebumps listening to some music. Not all, but some. It's just-you just know. And I am definitely one of those people. And I think, no idea why, probably something to do with evolution, we're hardwired to be attracted to creative people. Maybe because creative people tend to solve more problems because they're, well, creative. Or at least theoretically can solve problems and survive longer. Whatever. Point is: when I heard you singing The Lighthouse, I suddenly understood why all those girls fucking obsess over those rock stars and boy bands. Like, I just got it, because my lord, I was more attracted to you than ever before when I heard you sing like that...I don't know how else to explain it."
"I guess I get it," she replied after a moment. "I mean, I get a little hot and bothered when you're talking about your writing stuff and I can tell you're super into it and...mmm. It's nice. And you clearly also lose your shit over Mae playing bass."
He laughed. "Yeah."
"But now I'm going to actually perform in front of people. New people. Not just you guys. It's kind of nerve-wracking."
"It'll be okay," Trent said.
"I might fuck it up," she replied.
"You might, and if you do, it'll be okay. We've got your back." He put an arm around her. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder.
"I guess you're right," she murmured.
Trent realized the conversation was getting louder, closer, and glanced over as it fell silent. Lori, Angus, and Mae were all walking back over to the Jeep. Angus looked inscrutable as always and Mae was a mystery behind the mask, though she wasn't really that much of a mystery. Lori just looked awkward and uncomfortable.
Trent cleared his throat and took his arm from around Bea, who scooted a little away from him, blushing fiercely.
"How'd it go?" she asked. At this point, Lori had to know something was going on between the two of them. She had decided to just ignore it, which worked for everyone involved.
"Good," she said, "the shots came out great."
"Cool. So, uh, we ready to go then?" Trent asked.
"Eager?" Mae replied, taking off the gasmask.
"Yeah. Last party was actually cool. Plus I really want to hear this new song."
"I wish I could go with you," Lori said.
"Well...maybe there's some way we could-" Mae began.
"No," Bea said flatly. "Not happening. We're not helping a fifteen year old girl go to a party in the woods with booze and weed and God knows what else."
"She's right," Lori said. "I'm also kinda happy I'm not going because I'd probably have some kind of anxiety attack. I think I more like the idea of one of those parties."
"In a few years, you can go if you really want to," Bea said.
"Do they get really crazy?" she replied as they all started getting into the Jeep.
"Honestly no, not the ones I've gone to. It's nothing like on TV or in movies. It's usually pretty chill. Really just people standing or sitting around, most of them drinking beer, but just talking and chilling and shit. And you don't have to drink or smoke anything at all. Some people might give you shit for it, and you always gotta watch out for yourself," Bea said. Trent started driving once they were all in. Bea was in the front seat and she suddenly turned around and stared at Lori with a fierce intensity. "Okay I'm gonna tell you some rules for going to parties as a young girl, and I want you to really listen and really remember this, okay?"
"Uh...okay," Lori murmured, staring at her almost fearfully. Which was probably Bea's intent. She would remember this.
"Don't go alone, go with at least one other person you really trust. Don't accept a drink, or really anything but especially a drink, of any kind, from anyone that you don't really trust. Just in general, handle your own drinks. Don't get drunk at a party. At most, get tipsy, but if you intend to drink, learn your limits in a safe environment before you go to a party. I shouldn't have to say this but: don't ever drink and drive. Ever. Not even once. And learn how to say no to boys, because a lot of them are there to get laid, which is fine if that's what you're after, but if you aren't comfortable with it, politely but firmly tell them no, and don't let them get you alone somewhere. I know it seems like that kind of thing really only happens in dramas and movies and shit but no, it's real and it happens all the time," Bea said.
"Wow, maybe I just won't go to parties," Lori murmured.
"I'm sorry, I'm not trying to scare you really, I just...don't want to see anything bad happen to you. You're a smart, sweet person, Lori. And honestly, you don't have to go to parties. Some people just don't like them, and that's totally cool. But it's something you should find out for yourself, just...safely. And really, you shouldn't even be worrying about this stuff for another couple of years."
"Lori," Mae said, sounding unusually serious, "I just want you to know, we're all, like, safe. Like if you're ever in a bad situation, any kind of bad situation, and you need a safe place to go, you can call us, and we'll come get you and help you. For real."
"Wow...thanks," she murmured. "I've never had anyone tell me that before. Uh...thanks. I really appreciate it."
"Also...I'm sorry if this is rude and totally off track, but I wanted to ask before I forget, because I'm going to forget, because I've forgotten every single time we've hung out, but...when we first met, you told me your mom was gone. But you've been talking about your mom recently…"
"Oh! My biological mom is gone. Like, she left, three years ago. She went to Europe or something. And my dad met someone new, and she's so awesome and nice, I just call her mom, really," Lori replied.
"Ah, that makes sense. Thanks," Mae said.
"Yeah...oh, there's my house."
"Yep," Trent said, coming to a halt outside, "hope the editing goes well."
"It's gone...mostly good so far. Thanks for the drive home!" Lori replied as she got out, and then she was gone, scurrying off like she always did. Once she was safely inside, they started driving back to town.
"So you and Gregg are down for tonight?" Trent asked.
"Please say yes, I haven't seen you two in forever!" Mae groaned.
"I'm sorry, Mae," Angus replied, "we've just been really busy. Ever since Ann gave me the idea to pick up some editing jobs online, I've found that it's quick and easy money. It's accelerated our plans to get out of Possum Springs. We're going to buy a car soon...I'm sorry, I know you don't want to hear this…"
"Actually, I've made peace with it," she replied.
"Really?"
"Yeah. I mean, you and Gregg are going to do what you're going to do, and you should. You should be happy. But also, we're going to move out to Bright Harbor too, and it'll be like here, but even awesomer! Maybe we can even start a weekly d and d night…"
"That would be really cool," Angus murmured. "Anyway, uh, yes. We will be there tonight. Although it would be really helpful if someone could give us a ride…"
"I can do it," Bea said. "It'll be pretty nostalgic."
"It hasn't been that long."
Bea was silent for a few seconds, looking down at the floor between her feet. "Holy shit, it really has only been like four months. Barely even that. Fuck. It feels like four years."
"Yeah…" Mae murmured.
"A lot happened," Angus said.
"That it has," Trent said, and drove on, back into Possum Springs.