|| LANDING || ABOUT || STORY HUB ||
“You’re late.”
“Oh, don’t give me that look! You should’ve told me to come into town before Midnight if you wanted me on time, I spent the majority of my time here in total blindness. You seriously didn’t expect some kind of countermeasure from... What’re they called, the Plastics?”
“‘Plastics’... Thank you. You did as I asked, but what took you?”
“The scrawny-ish guy. I couldn’t tell if he was a footsoldier or not--”
“Glasses?”
“--What? Yeah, and a wimpy lil’ ponytail.”
“His name’s Tofflemire. He’s a Colonel.”
“Taw-fel-may-er? What a weird name. Guy tried to take me down with him.”
“Fascinating what he can do, isn’t it?”
“It was! How’d he do it? How’d he survive?”
“Reality bender.”
“Is that an answer to both, or are you doing the thing where you don’t tell me anything and I gotta figure it out myself one way or another?”
“The former. Be patient. I’m willing to bet it’s the town working its magic on the latter... Yet still..”
“...Well, you know more than I do.”
“I’m still mulling over my options. Welcome to Sloth’s Pit, How’re you liking it?”
“Y’kno, you can give me shit for bein’ late, but I still did what you asked. So I couldn’t even enjoy the town!”
“Trust me, you’ll be warming up to it soon. Lots more to do and see coming up.”
“Hmph. How was my intro?”
“Absolutely stellar. And I don’t need to ask about your health?”
“I’m a big girl, no need to worry ‘bout me.”
“Excellent."
“You wanna test your odds for tomorrow? I got a coin. Heads, you go, Tails, I go.”
“Wow. That was sloppy, I’m glad your fear factor resides in your brutality. Didn’t think I’d know what today was?”
“Man, fuck you.”
Dr. Keith Partridge was in charge of Site-87’s Parabotany Department. And somehow, in spite of the fact that he wore the standard uniform of a brown apron, thick gloves, the typical Foundation Researcher lab coat that was emblazoned in white, people instead always recognized him as a parabotanist through the laurels on his head embedded into his scalp and wrapping around his hair like it was soil.
Partridge supposed it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. At best he looked pretentious, at worst, people accurately predicted the fact that on unlucky days he kept turning back into a pear tree.
Dr. Partridge’s job was primarily centered upon the natural fauna of Sloth’s Pit that seemed to swallow the perimeter of the Nexus with bark and thickets, and at worst come face to face with yet another reason why the Parabotany department of the Foundation had so many fatalities, localized entirely within the town he called home. Yet, on work hours, he found himself traveling into town.
Beneath his well-fitted lab coat he wore brown suspenders that gave the slightest hick aftertaste to his look, well worn from years of using the same pair. Beneath his suspenders, however, was the kind of white polo and green-blue tie combo that one would expect from a businessman meeting friends at a restaurant he held reservations for. Partridge was not the most formal-looking man, despite his qualifications, but he wanted to look good for his special assignment today. Even if the added cleanup was less of a direction and more so a creative decision. Though his shoes didn’t matter, he was wearing clean brown slacks as well.
The only reason he still had the rugged suspenders on was because the person of interest took a clear liking to the way he looked in them. He noticed himself doing that for a lot of things regarding her tastes. He let the laurels grow out more, because she complimented them when he’d neglected to trim them one month. He grew his hair out and tied it in a ponytail, because she liked long hair. He used a new brand of shampoo despite how much significantly pricier it was, because she liked the way it smelled. He stayed clean-shaven, because she liked it. Told her slightly confidential work stories, because she liked them.
Partridge was not interested in romance, nor was he currently pursuing it. He was both a man of praise and good work ethic.
A gift sat in his hands; a small tree sprouting with flowers in a pot made from mineral wood that had been imported from a friend in Yumegemu, a Nexus halfway across the world in Japan. They were quite popular in the residential area for their natural soft yellow glow of the flowers that turned a warm orange at night, flickering with red in the night like a fireplace. The layers of petals spun ever so gently, regardless of the presence of breeze. Everything about the tree’s structure, from the slightly darkened wood to the brilliance of its florescence, was incredibly similar to plum blossoms.
He had a couple more in his office, they’d been sent to him months ago with the intent of receiving a second opinion and an additional report, especially whether or not they could be classified as variants and if their seemingly year-long blooming period was specific to their Nexus or not.
Whenever Partridge’s fingers traced the petals, they made a low, MIDI-like hum, warming his hands. He understood why they were popular in their home city-- the ambient lighting they made in the darkness was like no other flower he’d seen in a good while. He found himself studying them exclusively at night because of it.
Irori ume, he was pretty sure they were nicknamed. They seemed like a perfect gift for her.
Within the midwestern cold of Northern Wisconsin was a tropical heaven: a building painted a blue like the nicest skies at the peak of summer where it was comfortably hot out, a leafed awning covering the front of the building, and a bunch of other Hawaiian paraphernalia, like the artisan-level tiki masks that hung undamaged on the walls, engravings into the wooden pillars in the shapes of stylized faces that kept the awning sturdy and upright, and a supernatural sweet yet distantly salty scent wafting into his nose as he got closer and closer.
Pikakes, protea flowers and hawaiian hibiscus hung from circular pots strung onto the lower layer of the awning that seemed to bend down towards Dr. Partridge’s like they intended to kiss him on the forehead, coals embedded into the wood beneath him, smooth and sturdy enough that they didn’t impede his
On the side of the building was a painting of a Hawaiian kid throwing a beach ball into the air-- the beachball becoming the period in ‘Volcanic Glacier Smoothie Co.’
Partridge pulled the knob of the wooden door before him, unveiling a sandy landscape totally alien to Sloth’s Pit. Salty water crashed gently onto the beach a safe distance away, providing a gentle ambiance easy on Partridge’s ears. His shoes and socks had abandoned him, and would return to him upon exiting. The cherry on top was that the pocket dimension rolled up his pant legs. Not like anybody had to worry about carrying sand into their shoes or socks upon leaving, it was just a nice courtesy he’d come to appreciate, especially considering he hadn’t seen the same done unto anybody else who entered alongside him.
The sand did not go on forever. The smoothie bar of Volcanic Glacier Smoothie Co. stood before him. It looked like a standard beach bar, with wood paneling on top of concrete foundation and shade for customers at the bar and for the seating area, with some walled up parts beyond where management and the wider kitchen lay.
Fairy lights glimmered in all sorts of different colors, a particularly large tiki mask hung from the ceiling above staring down customers below, different art pieces by local Sloth’s Pit artists hanging from different crevices, and smaller oddities, a collection of Coca Cola glass bottles in a small shelf, bottle caps from different countries, some well-cared for thank you notes and coloring pages, photos that visitors had taken, and a little panel of the US with a small box of red tacks for tourists. He recognized some patterns-- a handful of people from Roadkill County further west, Boring, Eventide, Amityville, Lake Huron peeking from further north in Canada, some sticky notes stating some other places and Nexuses that weren’t in the US, a suspicious amount of pins in both Portland, Oregon and Portland, Maine, and... Daleport, which was horrifying, because the last time anybody from Daleport had been alive was 1997, and Volcanic Glacier popped up 20 years postmortem.
Partridge decided it was Nexology's problem. He was already doing something important.
A distinctive kind of red berry Partridge couldn’t name off the top of his head hung from both the ceiling and the roof, hovering over the map almost like a dragon sitting on a pile of gold.
He recognized some of the people sitting around the smoothie bar. Situated on the far left were two boys from Jackson Sloth Memorial High, likely on their lunch or free period. Partridge could tell they were Memorial High despite their lack of uniforms because of their distinctive dark blue lanyards and badges, sometimes decked out in pins or charms, required so that they didn’t get in trouble for skipping when they weren’t allowed to do so. They spoke amongst each other with smoothies in front of them, avoiding too much eye contact with Partridge who surveyed the area. Upon further reflection it seemed less like they were trying to avoid Patridge and more intent on keeping their eyes on eachother, given their close proximity and hushed tone.
Some other adults hung around the area: he recognized one of the cooks from The Black Garden idly sipping on what looked like a banana smoothie lost in thought, and what looked like one of the regular Library volunteers typing away at her phone while one of the employees behind the bar finished her blueberry order, a dark-skinned girl with short hair in a sleeveless white polo and a patterned pink skirt that matched the flower crown atop her head.
“Ah, Keith! There you are.”
Partridge smiled in the direction of a voice he recognized. “Madame. Good to see you.”
Partridge knew the name of the Madame of Volcanic Glacier Smoothie-- and he was pretty sure the other customers knew as well. It was an unspoken rule etched into their very being to simply not invoke it. It’d be impolite otherwise.
The Madame of Volcanic Glacier was a short and portly woman, with bronze skin and long dark hair with curls that seemed to flare out the further it grew like an untamed river ready to swallow anything in its way. Atop her head was a Kahlo-esque crown of flowers of all types, some with their own leaves still careening out for space. Her face was round and somewhat small, as was her nose. Her eyes were almond-shaped with crow’s feet, her warm black irises home to a special kind of spark Partridge swore he only ever saw in mothers greeting their children. She was wearing a sleeveless white polo, and a short red tie that complimented some of the flowers in her hair. She had a long black skirt that slowly faded into a warm maroon, and soft wooden sandals that made very slight noise as she walked, accompanied by the slight jingle of anklets donned in glossy black stones. She had two pairs of bracelets upon both her wrists to match. She walked towards him with a pep in her step despite her slow pace, her dimples on full display.
“It’s been a hot second, hasn’t it?” The Madame smiled, tapping the employee in pink on the shoulder to ring up something for Partridge, on the house. “You must forgive me, I was on the phone.”
“It has.” Partridge smiled. “I have a gift for you, from overseas.”
He didn’t think her eyes could light up any more than they’d already did, cradling the pot and looking at the flowers shimmering red and orange every couple of seconds. “Oh, these are beautiful. You know me so well, it’s embarrassing.”
Partridge unconsciously clasped his hands together in mild excitement. “I’d be a fool to not know.”
The Madame nodded, her bracelets clinking every so slightly. “And we’d both be fools to believe that it’s just a little car racing around town that’s all you have to worry about. Bailey sent you again, I’m assuming.”
“I can’t say I’m here purely for business reasons.” Partridge took a seat on one of the padded stools in front of him, facing her. “But it’s the reason as to why Bailey’s letting me catch up with you on company hours.”
“Well, never mind that. You visit me again later tonight, tell me more about this beauty encased in this pot, and tell him we’re even.” Her smile was full of humor. She held up the pot to admire the blossoms once more, with her eyes still trained on its warm glow as she spoke. “The inquiry?”
“Have you had any new customers who fit this description?” Partridge showed her a photo on his thick phone, filled to the brim with all sorts of Foundation tech that he frankly thought was a bit on the impractical side-- the photo itself, a render of the person of interest, clad in a helmet full of patterns, one being a floral brand logo that was slightly visible in Tofflemire’s recording. His finger drifted towards the logo. “They seem to share some things in common with you.”
She laughed heartily. “Haven’t seen her.”
“Her.” Partridge piped up, straightening his posture. “Are you guessing, or are you allowed to tell me that?”
“I knew people like her a long time ago.” The Madame explained. “Well over a century, if I recall correctly. Not native to the area, no, but they were welcome. Their kind and their bretheren would race along the waves at speeds that would take car manufacturers decades to catch up with. And there she is, still outspeeding cars, like her forefathers. Wonderful lot. Nice to see them again, especially considering last time I saw them...” She waved her wrist in a rolling motion. “...they weren’t exactly thriving.”
“Her kind.” Partridge noted again. “She’s not human?”
The Madame barely stifled a chuckle as her employee handed a familiar pawpaw smoothie to her. “Trust me, Keith, none of you are going to get anywhere if that’s what’s keeping your lot in place.”
Partridge shook his head as she handed the pawpaw smoothie to him, his thin and bony hands warmed from the gentle heat of the beach air embracing the shocking chill, and the slight touch of the Madame’s own stubby hands. “I don’t want to risk any more damage, be it proprietary or physical, Madame. She poses a threat to the town, your knowledge aside, I need to ensure that for once the cards are stacked in our favor.”
“I’m afraid I won’t be able to tell you much more beyond what I’ve already said...”
The Madame looked disappointed in him, but her expression seemed cushioned, as if she could tell that she’d immediately get a response in the form of a silent pang of regret, gritting his teeth and averting his eyes downwards as she spoke.
“...I need you to listen to me.”
Keith Partridge always felt like he was speaking to his own mother when it came to her. He gripped his hands into fists and looked . “You have my entire attention, Madame.”
“She is a threat, yes. I do not deny that, and I understand that the stakes are high in your case. But I don’t know why she’s here.”
Partridge blinked. “Are you supposed to?”
“Well, it didn’t take you long to learn why I was here, when I first came. It was to sustain a small business and secure myself a quainter claim to land. I took a risk, and the payoff’s been plentiful. I’ve succeeded. Think of the previous Octobers, Keith. Even when it wasn’t present in the moment, there was clearly some kind of motive for those events. According to what I heard, she could’ve easily pummeled buildings if what she wanted was utter carnage. Yet all she seems to have done is just cause havoc and some paranoia in no direction whatsoever, no indication of who she is or what she’s here for. What does a racer have to do in Sloth’s Pit, whose only profit for her so far would be that the streets may widen for her? For the thrill of something she could easily achieve elsewhere? If she insists on keeping up the chase, why hadn’t you seen her yesterday, providing some incentive to chase her down?”
“It could just be that her absence is a motivator as well. It could very well be a lure.”
“But even then-- Why Sloth’s Pit? She has so many eyes hunting after her, keeping eyes out for her. If she wanted to prey on some poor people why not any other town in Wisconsin or even the wider States? If she wanted Foundation, why not a much more optimally prepared site? Not to mention...” The Madame trailed off, sighing. “If she wanted anomalies, or deities, or gods, why not anywhere else, where she didn’t have to worry about so many obstacles?”
“We may have something in containment that belongs to her.” Partridge piped up. “That’s happened a couple of times before.”
“Then she could just take a hostage and make her life easier.” Her tone was sharper than it’d been prior, cutting him like a warning shot. Her nails clicked the furnished bar-- though she hadn't moved much, what little nosie surrounded the bar quieted down in her wake.
Partridge practically bowed to dodge her verbal strike, leaving the pawpaw smoothie on the bar. “My sincerest apologies, Madame. I didn’t mean to offend you, or question you. I just still don’t quite understand.”
The Madame was charitable, but she was not known for serenity. As friendly as she was, she had quite the short temper, and was still struggling to control it, years upon years later. She pursed her lips and made an up gesture with her fingers, guiding his gaze back to her. The look in her eyes had softened, but her words left their mark.
“I said it once, and I’ll say it again, Keith. It’s not just a little car racing you need to worry about.”
I am more afraid of our own mistakes than of our enemies' designs.