Episode Two: Humans of Seattle

 

Ratched always liked the Seattle tournaments.

        The most interesting people turned out to watch. Like the guy sitting a few tables over. Ratched leaned over his own table towards his bored-looking handler who was reading something on his phone. “Specs,” Ratched hissed. “You see that guy over there with the purple hair?”

Specs, a rather large man with dark skin in a red-and-white striped sweater didn’t look up. “Focus, Ratched,” he said, his voice mild. 

“But I’m ninety-percent sure this guy is hiding a bird down his shirt.” 

Specs still didn’t look up. “The list,” he said.  

Ratched frowned and slumped back into his chair, snatching a piece of paper off the table as he did. It was a list of all the players in this weekend’s tournament—his own name was fourth from the top. It would be higher after today. He shook the page. “What exactly do you want with this?” he asked.

“Mark the ones you don’t know,” Specs said, still scrolling. 

“Why?”

Now Specs did look up from his phone. “So I can check them out.” He raised an eyebrow. “What is with you today?” 

“What do you mean?” Ratched asked. His gaze wandered back to the guy with the purple hair who was currently putting a potato chip down his shirt, presumably for the bird he was hiding there. Did birds like potato chips?

Specs waved his hand in front of Ratched’s face. “Hello? Earth to Ratched. What’s wrong with you today?” 

A small beak poked out the top of the man’s shirt and snatched the chip. Ratched grinned. “It is a bird! Shit. I love Seattle.” 

Specs grimaced. “I don’t.” 

“You don’t?” Ratched didn’t know why he was surprised—Specs didn’t seem to like anywhere they went. Which was unfortunate for someone whose job was to travel. 

Specs scrunched up his nose and glared out the window over Ratched’s shoulder. Ratched followed his gaze. There wasn’t much sign of the sun, as per usual. “Seattle makes my skin itch,” Specs said. 

Ratched dropped the list back onto the table. “It makes your skin itch? That’s weird, man.” He smirked. “Is that why you’re wearing that sweater?”

Episode One: A Job Offer

The sound of a crash jolted Nora from sleep.

She sat up, blindly feeling across the bed. From downstairs, she heard a loud swear. Her heart pounding, she climbed out of the bed, slipped on the pair of sweatpants lying in a pile on the floor, and padded out of the room and down the stairs. 

“Jon?” she called, tugging her oversized shirt straight. 

“Damnit. Sorry, love,” her husband called back. He was in the kitchen. 

She blinked her eyes against the blinding sunlight as she arrived downstairs. Nearly all the blinds were open—Jon loved the early morning light in the summer. Nora didn’t understand it. She much preferred the winter mornings when the sun took much longer to show its face. Eyes watering, she followed the sound of his rummaging. She found him halfway in the pantry in just his underwear, bent over with a broom and dustpan, sweeping up rice. Nora stared. “What happened?” she asked. 

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “I was trying to get the new coffee filters,” he said. “The shelf fell.”

Nora bit back a laugh. He sounded so miserable. “Here,” she said, hurrying forward. “I’ll clean this up. You make your coffee.” She took the broom and dustpan from his unresisting fingers. He straightened up, and she leaned in for a kiss. He obliged. 

“Thank you,” he said sheepishly. “I’m sorry I woke you.” 

“It’s okay.”

He snatched the bag of filters off the counter beside the pantry and retreated to the coffee maker on the other side of the sink, leaving Nora to survey the damage. It was extensive. She dropped the dustpan and leaned on the broom with both hands, taking in the fallen top shelf that had collapsed on the one beneath it, dropping everything it held and knocking most of the lower shelf clear as well. The container of rice was not the only thing that had burst open—brownie mixes, packaged napkins, and jars of peanut butter among other things lay on the floor in a pile of pasta and a broken bottle of teriyaki sauce. 

“Jon?”

“Mhm?”

“Make me a cup as well.”

“Will do.”

    With the pantry mostly cleared up—the shelf could wait—and her steaming mug in hand, Nora followed Jon into the living room. They had just sat down on the couch, Jon draping his arm around her shoulders, when there was a knock at the door. They exchanged a look. 

    “It’s six-thirty in the morning,” Jon said, sounding peevish. He still wasn’t wearing a shirt. 

    Nora sighed and set her mug on the end table beside her. She patted Jon’s cheek affectionately. “I’ll get it.” She stood and shuffled over to the front door, stifling a yawn.

    Outside, a familiar figure stood on the front steps. She had blonde curls piled high on her head and wore a long black vest cardigan riddled with pockets, accompanied with jeans and heavy black boots. Her eyes were hidden behind dark tinted sunglasses, though her dark eyebrows arched high above their rims. “Nora,” she said, with a slight upward turn of her lips. 

    Nora’s eyes widened. She became suddenly aware of the state of her own hair, still a tangled nest from sleep. “Hello Marci,” she said, a bit helplessly.  

    At the sound of that name, Jon sprang up from the couch and came to join Nora at the door. The two exchanged another glance. 

Marci pulled off her sunglasses to take in Jon, standing there in only his boxers with a mug in his hand. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’ve gone native,” she accused. 

He looked affronted. “We have not.”

Nora eyed his bare chest sidelong. “We have, a bit.”

Jon frowned, softening only when Nora sidled up and wrapped her arms around him. “What are you here for, Marci?” he asked, draping his arm around Nora’s shoulders. 

Marci grinned, a wild look with too many teeth showing. Her grey eyes were strangely bright. “Apocalypse, baby,” she said, pointing finger guns at the two of them.