A/N – Totally my bad for not updating in, like, forever. It's sort of funny that the last time I updated it was a different season and Amanda Bynes' dignity was still intact.
For most of the summer, I was in the backwoods of Quebec. Fun story, this town has one club that everyone went to. So one night I got dressed up in my little black dress. You know how you feel when you know you're rocking an outfit, and feel on top of the world? That was me. So I'm at the club, dancing away, when I go the bathroom. I return to the dance floor, and after about five minutes, I start to feel kind of weird. That's when I notice that everybody is staring at me. I turn around, and notice that the hem of my skirt was caught in my underwear, so that me entire ass was showing.
For the rest of the trip I was known as "That Ass Girl".
Reviewer of the Week:
Awesome Guest P: My sister shoved a screwdriver into my other sister's nose the other day, then said "An apple a day keeps the doctor away, if well aimed" and walked away.
Comment of the Week:
A friend: That awkward moment when you try and adopt your father's phrase "Bye for now," because it sounds sweet and sincere. Then you leave a voice message and say "Bye" as per usual, then after a long pause add "for now" and it takes on a new, much creepier meaning. Sorry secretary, I'm sure you're a nice lady.
Huh, it feels like it's been a while since writing my last blog post. Wonder why.
Anyways, you've probably filled your brain with all of the important stuff of the past while, including: the miracle that science has given us in the form of deep-friend ice cream, why the gods who created Supernatural are killing us all, and how Fang manages to keep his hair so lusciously smooth without using conditioner.
But there's other important stuff going on.
Last time we checked in, there was some serious negative mumbo-jumbo going on. Namely, during a rather conveniently-timed earthquake in the nuclear facility, I had been kidnapped (by random strangers) while the Flock had disappeared (probably by random strangers). And I would be totally down for being kidnapped if I at least knew why. This guy Cupid, who seems to be masterminding this whole shebang, is all about re-building the world and watering the fields with our capitalist blood, yada yada yada.
But it doesn't explain his specific interest in me.
I get it, I'm a cool guy. Nobody makes lasagna better than me, and I've been known to bust out some slick rhymes from time to time. But is that really kidnap-worthy? I think not.
And there's one more thing.
I thought I heard Ella's laugh in the hallway. It must have been her laugh – I'd heard it millions of times in front of the TV and sitting on the couch beside her. But why was she miles away from home, in a nuclear facility? If another person is about to betray me, shit will be flipped.
So here we are now.
Let's set the scene: there's a man (over six feet, overweight, has keys dangling from his belt), a woman (shorter than the man, trim, and knives stuffed up her sleeve) and me (a kid who is really hungry and would eat a literal horse if it were near us). The room was tiny, judging from the lack of echoes.
"You said you would feed me," I said, stretching my shackled hands out onto the table. My legs were also shackled to the table and chair, so apparently we were going to be chilling there for a while. "My favorite time of the day is food."
I didn't expect a thump on the table, followed by something sliding over to me. "It's a sandwich," the woman said. "You can eat it."
Villains who actually do what they say they will? Praise the Lord. Let me tell you, eating a tuna sandwich - it was a little heavy on the mayo, but I'll take it – with my hands attached was super awkward, but I managed it. One of my many secret talents is eating anything anywhere. Yum yum.
"Okay, so," I said, my mouth full of non-squirrel and non-mystery meat, "can you give me the low-down on why I'm here? And you said you would tell me where my friends are."
"Your friends are fine. They're in the building," the man said. Let's name him Sven. I have no idea what his real name is, but I've only ever known evil Svens. Both he and the woman were sitting down opposite me - their chairs scraped against the floor whenever they moved. Sven tapped his foot against the floor in a steady rhythm. It was in time with the soft clicks of the woman's watch.
"Okay, that tells me nothing." I swallowed both my tuna and more sarcastic comments.
"We wanted to talk to you alone. Make you an offer."
"That I can't refuse?" I snorted.
"In a way." The chair screeched as the woman stood up. She walked slowly around the table to stand right behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up; I could feel her right behind me, but she didn't touch me at all. No, she was just there. "What do you know about the Apocalypse?"
According to Max the Apocalypse happened every time I went to the bathroom after eating Taco Bell, but I doubt that was the answer she was looking for. "Um, fire and brimstone? Horsies? Smoke and dark and clouds?"
The woman shifted slightly so that I knew her face was beside mine. The ghost of air currents made me shiver. I could feel her hot breath envelop the air. "Close enough."
I couldn't stand it; she was way into popping my bubble of personal space. I swung my arms into her chest; they barely connected before she grabbed my head and pushed it to the table. On second thought, that wasn't one of my cleverer ideas. "You're like a cornered cat," Sven drawled from across the table.
"Meow," I spat.
The woman kept one hand on my head, pinning me. The table was metal, cold, and so not comfy. I tasted something like copper, and it took me a few seconds to realize that it was my own blood. I must have bit my tongue so hard that it broke the skin. (Do tongues have skin? You know what I mean.)
"So here's the thing, Iggy," the woman said. "I want to tell you a story. Will you listen?"
"Sure thing, sugar." It wasn't like I had anything else to do. I could feel my neck cramping up from the weird angle. Damn, I would need one of Nudge's patented massages to sort out the knots I was going to have. And then, wait for it –
THE WOMAN STARTED TO PET MY HAIR.
IS THIS OKAY?
SURVEY SAYS NO.
Her fingers twisted into my hair and caressed each lock. Her nails lightly scraped into my head, massaging in light circles. Moving back and forth, she played with my hair as she spoke. "You were on the right path when you said 'horsies' when I asked you about the Apocalypse. You were thinking of the Horsemen, right? It's the typical image of the Apocalypse. The four: Conquest, War, Famine, and Death."
On the last word, she had both hands wrapped around my neck.
She kept speaking. "Our boss has heard about you. About your Flock. How could he not? You publish on a public blog – it's easy to know where you are." Wait a second – had my writing my blog led to this whole disaster? I thought no one read it. "We were planning on using the six of you as figures. As ideals. Symbols are very powerful."
Her hands drifted upwards as she started to massage my head again. She went deeper, and the sensation bordered on pain. "Well, we were actually only going to use four of you. We had it all planned out. Max as Conquest. Nudge as War. You as Famine. Fang as Death." Of course Fang was Death, but hell, I could have told you that. "The others were not necessary."
Her nails scraped along the side of my face. "We would have had you flying over cities, spreading our message, letting the world know about the end of its troubles. It would have been beautiful."
They would have killed Gazzy and Angel? And hell to the no about the whole "let's spread the end of the world message". But something wasn't right – she was speaking in the past tense. Something had changed. I spoke up. "So why me?"
The woman hummed softly. "Because you're our superstar."
Um, okay yeah no.
Her hands withdrew from my head (finally) and rustled in her pockets. She pulled out something metallic, and kneeled down. With a few deft movements she had unchained me from the table, but my feet were still attached. I could walk, but not fast. "We're going to go on a fieldtrip, Iggy. Isn't this exciting?"
"No." I stood up, flinching. My hands had fallen asleep; they felt like TV static.
The duo flanked me as they marched me into the hallway. We walked for maybe ten minutes. We took multiple flights of stairs in damp stairwells, and doubled back on ourselves so many times that I wondered if we were lost. The alarms had all fallen silent. Finally, we arrived at our destination: another room. Dramatic, right? We could have at least gone to a volcano or underwater layer or secret dungeon. But a room somewhere it southwestern America? They needed class.
When the door slid opened, it was like being hit by a tsunami of noise.
People were shouting over each other: "Can I have another camera over here?" "I don't think the lighting is good in here." "Where's our sound guy?" "Is there a script? Hey, I said, do we have a script?" It was hot, too – I judged that the room was fairly large, but crammed packed with busy people. It sounded like a photo shoot – but photo shoots don't happen in nuclear power plants. I know Vogue and Cosmopolitan have some really weird pictures sometimes, but last time I checked radioactive material isn't really in style.
Someone seemed to be speaking to my handlers. Another excited female voice said, "We'll be ready shortly." A pause, and I could feel her gaze rest on me. "You must be Iggy! And you must be so excited. After so many years, you finally get your-"
"-your dream of helping the world," Sven interrupted, his hand tightening on my arm. There were a few moments when none of them spoke; they were probably having a whole conversation with just their eyes. They were hiding something, and they weren't even trying to be subtle about it. "So you're doing the surgery now?"
Surgery? Now that is something I hate, even more than people who loudly crunch potato chips or who talk when I'm trying to listen to the latest episode of Welcome to Night Vale.
"Yeah, we'll take him from here." There was a flurry of movement – someone grabbed me and hauled me into the ocean of sound. People bustled all around us, brushing up against my back. It totally gave me the heeby-bajeeby feeling. A brush wiped hurriedly at my face; I sneezed.
"Is that makeup?" I asked, trying to swat the brush away. The person easily dodged my attempts and continued to add powder to my face. "Please don't use any blue shades. I'm more of a summer complexion."
The person "hmmed" which is not really a response at all, so I was quite unimpressed. Another thing that was quite unimpressive: I had yet to find out why I was suddenly getting pampered. The last time I had makeup on was when Angel and Nudge threw the tea party of the century. That tea party ended up with me decked out in mascara, lipstick, nail, and plenty of fabulous feather boas. I managed to get lipstick on Fang, and the bruises on my arms lasted for a week.
"So, can you tell me what we're doing here?" I asked. Wait a minute – here I was in a strange location, with strange people, and with cameras?
WAS I GOING TO FILM A PORNO?
"You're totally washed out, man," the person brushing my face said. "When the lights are on you, the camera will pick up everything…we want to make this perfect."
OH MY GOD IT IS A PORNO.
"It's just for your interview," the man continued.
OKAY NOT A PORNO.
But I was on the right track with filming, apparently. Hmm. Curiouser and curiouser! So they had kidnapped me just to that they could have an interview? Hell, I would have done it if they had just asked nicely. Don't parents teach their kids manners these days?
"Ready for showtime, Iggy?" Before I could answer I was thrust backwards, losing my balance. My stomach dropped; but instead of hitting the floor, my ass was squished into a hard chair. The whole moment had felt like the "kick" in Inception, but without Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Without warning, cold handcuffs were locked around my wrists and ankles. Well, shoot. Maybe they were into kinky stuff?
There was a loud serious of clicks, followed by radiant heat on my face – I guessed that bright lights were shining on me. There were more clicks, whirs, and finally shhing sounds as it all became quiet.
Lights, camera, action.
"And here we are with the star of the day, our man Iggy!" an over-enthusiastic voice announced. I instantly recognized the voice. My heart swapped places with my stomach.
"This interview is being broadcast live across America, in prime-time, on ever channel! Gotta love telecommunications." I was frozen. Words were jammed in my brain, in my head. I briefly flashed back to the power outages in Phoenix, and the radio waves being taken over. This group, whoever they were, clearly had the capability to hijack satellites. It only took me a moment to realize that they had kidnapped me to interview me – in front of the country.
"So, unless you're not aware, America, Iggy here is a bit special. Let's show the people why."
Why are you doing this, Ella?
I had the totally weird sensation of someone pulling on the collar of my windbreaker. With scissors, they sliced all the way down to the bottom hem. In my head I could hear Max bitching about how it would take oh-my-God-forever to get another one. The windbreaker was slid off of me. I didn't resist; I was restrained and surrounded. Literally nothing has been this worse since the one time I forgot my towel in my bedroom and Total ended up seeing my junk.
Ella was walking around my chair, dragging her fingers up and down my arm. How had I not seen this coming? Had there been clues along the way?
My wings unfolded themselves on their own accord. Our wings, while similar to birds, have a different bone structure that allows them to be crunched up nice and tight against our bodies when we're doing our incognito mode. The chair had evidently been built with me in mind (how considerate), since my wings could fit through slits in the side.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the United States of America, I present to you the very first angel the world has ever seen."
I couldn't rebuff her. I couldn't say no. I couldn't do anything because it felt like my whole body had been short-circuited. I was beyond confused, beyond betrayed.
"It may be difficult to tell, but our friend Iggy here is blind. We won't be getting into how that happened, but it should be said that Iggy may be blind, but he has the most vision. He can see the beauty in the world." She rested her hand on top of mine. "I would know."
Okay, so Ella had officially inherited the title of Bitch Queen 4 Lyfe.
"But I want to show you something, America. Think of Iggy as…. a metaphor. Naïve, wandering, but above all, blind." She paused for dramatic effect. "Cupid is here to open your eyes."
I did not like where this was going.
I know this might seem like a tangent, but have you ever heard of Schrōdinger's cat? It's basically a paradox that points out that maybe every time a decision is made another universe is created. So basically, there are an infinite number of universes in which you can do an infinite number of things. If that is true, than in one universe, I should be diving into a pool of Corgis. WHERE IS MY CORGI POOL?
And instead, I was stuck in this universe, with a girl who used to be my friend still caressing my hand. Creepy.
And Internet, I'm going to pause here for now. You're never going to believe what happened next, and honestly, I'm still trying to wrap my head around it. I'm sure one of those creepy agents will be able to put this online.
When Max and the rest of the Flock show up, I'm going to whip their collective asses for taking forever to get here, and then we're going to go get victory McDonalds. Count on it.