Her Being Millennial, maybe this obviously haunted strip-mall was just a church?

[scientistxSaturday]

Part two:

15 minutes

They skinned themself, scruffing all the elements of their clothing, up and down to see if their innards were accessible at a tug, their loosest Princess-worthy attire is wedding-wear after all, switching a bra for a soft binder when they realized they could get to their upper arm by twisting their button-down to the side like a thrall inviting a bite. They imagined her hands and almost brought their standing body to the floor in the flush that brought on.

***Disclaimer and content warnings in the comments***

They find the inside of their closet door, pride of place: their most effervescent and Professional blazer, it was prehistorically muggy out but they had a feeling they were going somewhere cold, that there are not enough layers in the world for them to feel covered up beneath her eyes. They knew it didn't exactly follow the rules, but that was why they thought they needed it, they can hold it, serviette style like a more dignified Linus.

"She better take me somewhere I can wear my bow tie soon, because Boy, is this outfit itching for a bit more clown"

Instinctually, their fingers brought red lipstick to their nosetip and Swiped a mustache on, hoping the touch of comedy would bring her a giggle. They chose cologne, the stuff that makes her girlfriend swoon and retroactively romanticize her lockerroom youth.
"Oh! and that serendipitous handkerchief from Halloween! You genius!"

10 minutes

Brushing their teeth again, they retread the possibility of a kiss and the true meaning of the Halloween Berlin Incident. '"You tried to stop her, she was drunk, and that's not how we play. You tried over and over, but she was certain, and it's not like there was any space in the crowd to walk away from her. Sardines. Just loud and sweaty and hot and-"'
The ac, their minty mouth made them nauseous, the sterile unclearity of it all.
They wished they were just back in the club, where there was still a chance at getting answers, where time hadn't made things unfathomable. This was an answer, whatever this meeting was, /she/ was pulling the strings, so Saturn was going to know how she wanted them to treat her by the end of the night.
Could the Princess of Subtly really be that merciful?

5 minutes, a picture of the car, a meme that reassured them she was still the silly girl they remembered despite their chronic absence, likely inflaming the patience of someone with the world on a string.

They glanced in the mirror, combing and re-pleating their fur down and neat, even though it was what was specifically asked of them, they felt the need to hide the evidence of such a carnal act from such a sanitized individual.

They shuffled down the stairs like a first-time dealer on [redacted], pulse too uneven to properly time the steps, gripping the unwieldy rail like an oar.

"She took those shots, playing a drinking game alone (something she hardly did even in college) with you while out-of-character, she let the party get away from her, the weed-acolytes disgusted by the normally esteemed guests odd choice for such a sinful intoxicant, she let you drink water, only asking for clarification once about your choice, only putting a gentle pressure on everyone else in the room who she, unlike with you, knew, but she wanted you drunk, she said as much, staring at you all clever with each downed. *That* /was/ her message. she's just a weird frat bro, wordless "I'm game if you are", she's like a downlow guy secretly itching for a dirty little secret to demonize as the source of her corruption, probably ***y you weren't more of a creep, the answers no until it's yes and she doesn't get to change your rules. there's no way she could muster the courage."

"Her record is squeaky, she's inexperienced, she's only ever tested the waters, respectful talking stages before she learns it's freezing. She's not a bro, she's just like a girl writing a fanfic, we've all been a little too pushy because we thought we were in a story, she's being brave now, she's asked about you, she's /been/ brave"

They sent the gif of the hacker
"I'm in"
To indicate their status
They crept through the third and fourth row of seats, even sneaking a peak at the trunk for her. This is not necessarily out-of-character, but one would imagine she'd pull out the stops as she normally does to ease the anxious minds of her coconspirators, she also isn't one to wait during her brief bouts of freedom to "start" whatever it is she's initiated.

Giving a "hello" to the driver and received a curt-but-polite "Helloooo thank you" seeing the headphones, the earpiece, the Japanese windshield mounted giant-calculator-esque-gps directions clued them into the fact that they were taking this ride conversationally alone.

The drive was spent chasing the neon heat-liquified sunset, cicadas and the fickle wind, inspersed between gentle breeze thick as a cloud and a viscous roiling sulfuric acid storm, the company, their only companions to relay this puzzle to until the stars started to peak out.

They could only presume *Kenji (he/him)* was in possession of a great Relic: the offline gps, as it didn't so much as stutter when the wind alone tried her hardest to push this Great Beast of an Automobile into the now-ravenous Indian River Lagoon.

The twinkles, swerve out of view right as they entered the strip mall? sudden blackness seemed to consume the parking lot, cradled by burly gnarled oaks cast in silhouette, and a seemingly entirely empty sky scraping resort and condominium set on either side.

"Hello Sir, thank you, where are we?" They tried to decode the Kanji, but alas, this map was not satellite.
"Thank you" another curt reply. He certainly meant well, but service was far too spotty for even translation to bridge the gap. They might as well be lost in space, they wish they'd studied more.

'"I told you it was practical to learn Japanese! But do you practice diligently?"'

They smile and surrender all hope at having control over this situation. In turn, they receive one back,

"'What a reward for such a zen coward"'

'"Where is She? She's a knight-in-shining-armor type, not in the car and not out front? This is definitely Part of the Experience"'

A total American Void. Even the asphalt was that new stuff, deep, pure, rich, dark, a bit softer than the type with the pebbles, an absolute glutton for light, almost entirely catching the glare of the equally and oppositely pure halides, Saturn's shadow finishing the remainder of the light-meal.

They picked up their boots and tilted side to side, eyeing the slices of infinite black beneath them suspiciously, catching the bouncy white on their shiny hands.

'"This is normal, sometimes night arrives all at once, and while I don't /remember/ what happened those nights, it doesn't mean it was an omen. No matter how American Gothic this parking lot gets, it really isn't any spookier than anywhere else in this haunted state, this is probably the platonic ideal of a parking lot, If Plato ever did think about parking lots, which I'm sure would cause him to rehaul his entire set of teachings to prevent such an atrocity if he found out. Well, /You/ like this sort of thing anyways."'

All this while scuttling, hunched with a phone-torch, rushing through investigating the local ecosystem of the median. Ants at work on a mysterious,, wide scale project, some common isopods, Snails from the rain! Ooo. A few ambigously brown mushrooms to check out later, and there's no frickin way! Is that a sea g***? Is this place blessed? They snap a photo and check the time before

"I see you, come in" their notification buzzes their hand, the words appearing like a jumpscare in the framed scene before them. Like she has the talent to write on reality itself.

Irked, completely and totally irked, *** turned a chilly, viscous quicksilver.
"How come every angel I meet wants to break their saint-streak by ripping my heart out?"

"Oh ho ho! girls who donate thousands more hours and dollars than you're even capable of giving to charity suddenly develop the psychology of Mona Vanderwaal when they realize they've met Mary's little Lamb."

Their *** side very rarely actually grips the steering wheel, more inclined and reclined to be the world's bossiest backseat driver. No eyes on the road, just, Other Senses. But this time, the driveshaft itself actually resisted, their mercury *** miraculously turned ferromagnetic, their bones gripping with the sensation of 2 like poles.

That occult resistance.

"You are going to die in there" it rumbled when Saturn pressed against the stiffness, which threatened to turn into complete limpness if disobeyed.

"Can't we just believe in the world's most vetted, most chaste maniac for just a few hours? You owe me for stealing my ***, taking me out of commission, and ruining my reputation with the only comedian who can play catch in this city!" Saturn pulsed themselves into actionable warmth, humming, little hacks to turn mercury to hemoglobin.

"If you don't die, it's going to be much worse" It sunk, burbling into the undertow.

"What do I look like now?" They imagined her eyes behind the glossy glossy 1 way mirrors typical of such an establishment. They imagined her scoff as they seemed to try to chicken out, right in front of her, in a hurricane, where it wasn't even as if they had a choice, after Kenji zips home in his military-grade suv, Saturn knew no other vehicle would gamble tire-float for at least another few hours.

They feel the hot, vitriolic rain rasping against their back as the clouds shift, the oasis swallowed, and they attempted their best knight-strut into the only business that seemed marginally less abandoned than those on either side, their skin trying to stay put, floating on air, but their momentum overcomes inertia.

Saturn's precognition kicked on, they saw with meaty, indelible certainty what they've been trying to avoid thinking of since they learned her sacred profession, since she said "nice taste", since the few dozen academic chats they had on the subject, her eyebrows excavating on certain trigger phrases to see if they were really Pavlov's dog, well, they weren't, because some of us can have split cognition if it means getting to indulge in innocent academia without being the Wonderbread guy, since the Incident, since an hour ago, her describing the clothes that are feeling more and more like lingerie, was actually going to happen. They open that door, they ruin a saint.

They know that she's never tainted her work before, the vulnerability, the hope in her voice with that "nice taste" was like she realized that she's not the only monster,

halfheartedly bringing it up before disappearing a few times throughout the night, just wishing Saturn would play Lady Macbeth.

End of Part Two

[scientistxSaturday]

Content warning:
Anxiety, health body horror, unreality, very hardcore kink, dubious consent and other nonsense regarding consent ***s,

Disclaimer: the reason that certain contradictory details remain is that most of everything that happened before the plot of this starts actually transpired, believe people when they say they're ace or aro (which also exist on spectrums, also my being ace makes certain people wayyy more comfortable experimenting with me in a way they simply won't feel free to do with an allo), this person only said she was curious if she was ace and aro (years ago, and not to me). However, based on her actions to me irl (and other context) I feel comfortable writing a story about a person lightly based on her since you all prolly can't guess who she is anyways :p. But this isn't meant to be about erasing anybodies identity, it's just the main character is piecing together all the clues, and when you think someone might like you, them also potentially questioning whether they even like anyone would probably be a piece of information you used to puzzle that out lol. Her irl behavior makes sense regarding the spectrum view of those identities.

Also this story includes lots of talking to oneself indicated by '" (vs speaking out loud which is just ") and slow pacing :p