Plot Bunnies 2nd Anniversary

Happy late birthday, plot bunnies.
As of three days ago this blog existed two years.
Too bad the entire past year it's been dead...

Anyway, P. Meggy here.
Hello again.
And probably goodbye.

P. Meggy can't think

• Apparently.
• So this post is in semi-list form.
• No numbers, just kind of a list.
• Maybe I should put bullet points...(that would be too much work)
• I mentioned yesterday that my head has too much thoughts in it?
• Yeah
• (let it be noted that at this time I finally decided to add bullet points)
• Can you SEE the bullet points?
• .....anyway, well, I keep trying to write two POVs, but I get distracted.
• very easily.
• and I wish I had my card deck...
• I did learn a cardistry cut yesterday. It's very pretty. :)
• Fun stuff.
• Have I mentioned that our twitter feed comes up on the blog?
• Yeah, it's there, on the left of the posts.
• beneath the followers...
• I told Melissa she should read the blog today.
• DO YOU KNOW WHAT HER FIRST REACTION WAS?
• she asked me "has it been updated?"
• YES.
• IT HAS.
• MELISSA.
• I DID IT LAST NIGHT.
• GRRR
• so I'm updating it now, just to prove that I can blog two days in a row.

SHIFT: Prologue

Ross

Orange is just not my color.

Surprisingly, that’s just about all I could think of as I stared at my reflection in the prison issued mirror. That’s another thing about prison, everything is orderly, neat, and systematic. I should love it here. I ran a hand through my hair, wishing they’d have let me keep my comb. They wouldn’t even let me keep my comb, let alone my shoes. Sure, the prison issued pair looked a bit like Vans, but I do love my Chuck Taylor’s.

I sighed. All this wasn’t what I was thinking about, I hardly even cared that much. I was simply trying to distract myself. It was normally Cassidy’s job, and she would probably say about now, “You sound like such a girl! C’mon, man up, Rossie!” One of the many things you had to love about Cassidy.

Cassidy.

No, I wasn’t thinking about how much I hate orange. Which is true, I really do hate orange. It’s such a revolting color. But I wasn’t thinking about that. I was remembering how my own stupidity and cockiness had nearly gotten Cassidy in prison as well. It was just one slip of the tongue. No, I’ll be truthful, for once. I meant to say it, but I really didn’t think they’d be smart enough to catch the hint. My plans were fool-proof, they never went wrong.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an officer’s shoes making those annoying clicking noises against the floor. I thought it was just another patrolling guard, so I chose to ignore it. That is, until the clicking stopped outside the bars of my cell. 

“Mr. Tate, you have a visitor.”

  A visitor? Who? Cassidy?

“Who is it?” I asked, looking over my reflection once more. This would annoy the guard, and I almost smiled. I didn’t like him very much. He was a little on the chubby side, though I’m sure he could take me in a fair fight. But, a fair fight is fictional, and I definitely wouldn’t fight one. He had this odd handlebar mustache that only made his face look fatter, and his breath smelt absolutely horrid. Yes, annoying this guard was pleasurable, and if I was stuck in this place for who knows how long, I had to find enjoyment somewhere.

“A rich-looking man in a business suit.” The guard jerked the back of the orange prison jumpsuit, and I stood. “Is he an...associate of yours?”

“A rich-looking man?” I echoed, momentarily bewildered. Of course it wasn’t Cassidy, she wouldn’t be stupid enough to come visit me so soon. But if it wasn’t her, then who was it? I hoped he didn’t have prison tattoos, because I was a dead man. I thought the mobsters had lost my trail long ago, but I could have very easily been mistaken.... “Maybe he’s my lawyer. How do you come by the assumption that he’s rich, Sherlock?”

“His suit’s Italian.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. It is.” The guard said, and the sense of finality hung in the air. So, I walked alongside him in silence, because he was certainly not going to keep the conversation going. Maybe he realized I was taunting him. Maybe. Probably not.

I sat down at one of the long tables very much like a picnic table that reminded me far too much of high school. Of course, I didn’t attend school for much longer after entering my freshman year, but still, I hated it. The guard nodded for me to wait, and I nodded in acknowledgement, though it wasn’t like I had much choice, with the cuffs and all.

After many agonizing minutes of wondering how many ways someone could kill me and not leave any forensic evidence, a man in a finely tailored, very Italian dark blue business suit arrived carrying a briefcase. He stuck a hand inside his jacket and pulled out a business card, which he slid to me across the table as he sat down. It was plain white, with black script in the center of the card that read THE ORGANIZATION.

“I take it you’re not my lawyer.”

“No, Mr. Tate. I’m not.”

“Well, let’s get the point. Isn’t that the way with you all?” I asked, waving the white card in the air. “Straightforward. Short, sweet, and to the point?”

The man chose to ignore my comment, and opened his case. Out of habit, I noticed that the latch had some sort of code that had to be put in order before it opened. The Organization Man pulled out some photos, all of either me or Cassidy, in Florida, in Nevada, in California, even that time in Paris. All different cons, all with different objectives and plans. I wasn’t surprised. The Organization liked to keep an eye on their ‘members.’ It wasn’t unlikely that they ‘checked up’ on you once in a while. I took one of the pictures of Cassidy and began folding it into a flower.

“In only the past year,” the man began, “you have been associated with some stolen painting, some lost money, and some shady business deals. It just seems that trouble seems to follow after you wherever you go. Luckily, you just happen to be long gone when everything is figured out.”

I smiled. Of course. That’s how my plans worked, and no one had charged me yet. Well, besides that past incident. “I was never accused with any of that, nor can it be proven. So, in theory, I had nothing to do with it.”

“The Organization isn’t stupid, Mr. Tate.” The man said, his voice hardening momentarily. It was his turn to smile. “And if our information were to get out...”

“Are you planning to blackmail me?” I asked, concentrated on the folding of the flower in my hands, and twirled it around, admiring the art of it.

“Of course not, Mr. Tate, we are just offering you a choice.” He pulled out a file and another photo from his briefcase, and set them on the table before me. “This is Jade Vann, a Shifter like you and I, but she is unaware of her talent. She is yet to have Shifted, but we believe it will happen soon. Jade,” He said, tapping the picture. “is in need of an apprenticeship. Everything you need to know about her is right in this file.

You are facing a terrible charge against you, Mr. Tate. You could be facing a lifetime prison sentence. It is all very...up in the air right now, but...” He let the words hang there, as if he were just daring me to finish his sentence for him. “If you were to take advantage of our offer, of course, we will make all of this disappear. It will be gone in the blink of an eye, like one of your little magic tricks.”

I ignored the slight against my cons, and stared at the girl in the photograph. She had a black hood pulled up over her head, and she was looking at her feet, so I couldn’t much make out her face. Earbuds traveled up and disappeared behind a curtain of black brown hair. I couldn’t see her expression in this photograph, but her shoulders were hunched forward, and she slouched; everything about her generally screamed miserable.

“So, Mr. Tate, what’ll it be? You have an opportunity to stay out of prison. Now you must decide if you will take it or not.”

I took the picture and began to fold it, also, into a different shape. I didn’t answer him immediately, just nodded in acknowledgement. I continued to fold as I looked at the pictures of Cassidy and myself and then to the folder which I knew held every detail about Jade Vann’s life in it.

“I need an answer, Mr. Tate.”

I sighed, and set the newly folded origami on the table next to the flower. It was no longer a picture of the girl, Jade Vann. It had changed into something different, into a crane.

“Well.” I said. “I’m certainly not going to go to prison.”

Tuesday Twenty!! (Another one?!?)

1. Yeah, it's a sad day because I never post on time.
2. But this time, it's not only me, Cat didn't, either. :)
3. I guess I'm not supposed to be pleased with myself over that...
4. .......but I finally beat the school rules that kept me from blogging at school.
5. Which may not be a good thing either.
6. I can still blog, you see, I just can't READ it...
7. It means I may do more things on time, you know. :P
8. I'm making NO PROMISES.
9. Because I have too many things in my head.
10. (That's what I have decided, there's too many things in my head for me to actually do them...so they float around and entertain me when I'm bored)
11. For instance, I was listening to Adele the other day, and I thought "Hmmm...I bet I could do a very dramatic, very epic, songfic for 'Set Fire to the Rain.'"
12. I did, actually, think of a very good one. I just have yet to write it down...(I guess that may be due to another of my strange organization habits)
13. The same thing happened to me this morning, while listening to Cartel. "If I Fail" and "Perfect Mistake"
14. I should add that to my list of things to write down sometime...
15. You should get excited for the posting of SHIFT
16. Did you enjoy the sneakity peekity?
17. I'm glad. I did, too. (Well, I wrote it :P)
18. I am also preoccupied by Chemistry homework (as I am no longer at school..) and the thought of learning cardistry....
19. It's great stuff. Not necessarily card TRICKS, you know, just flourishes. Fun things you can do. It involves a lot of flicking cards around and making it look cool. (YouTube it)
20. Yeah, it's kind of Rossicistic
~P. Megz OUT!!!

nifty and snazzy sneakity peekity (v. 2.0) "SHIFT"

Ross

Orange is just not my color.

Surprisingly, that’s just about all I could think of as I stared at my reflection in the prison issued mirror. That’s another thing about prison, everything is orderly, neat, and systematic. I should love it here. I ran a hand through my hair, wishing they’d have let me keep my comb. They wouldn’t even let me keep my comb, let alone my shoes. Sure, the prison issued pair looked a bit like Vans, but I do love my Chuck Taylor’s.

I sighed. All this wasn’t what I was thinking about, I hardly even cared that much. I was simply trying to distract myself. This was normally Cassidy’s job, and she would probably say about now, “You sound like such a girl! C’mon, man up, Rossie!” One of the many things you had to love about Cassidy.

Cassidy.

No, I wasn’t thinking about how much I hate orange. Which is true, I really do hate orange. It’s such a revolting color. But I wasn’t thinking about that. I was remembering how my own stupidity and cockiness had nearly gotten Cassidy in prison as well. It was just one slip of the tongue. No, I’ll be truthful, for once. I meant to say it, but I really didn’t think they’d be smart enough to catch the hint. My plans were fool-proof, they never went wrong.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an officer’s shoes making those annoying clicking noises against the floor. I thought it was just another patrolling guard, so I chose to ignore it. That is, until the clicking stopped outside the bars of my cell. 

“Mr. Tate, you have a visitor.”

  A visitor? Who? Cassidy?

“Who is it?” I asked, looking over my reflection once more. This would annoy the guard, and I almost smiled. I didn’t like him very much. He was a little on the chubby side, though I’m sure he could take me in a fair fight. But, a fair fight is fictional, and I definitely wouldn’t fight one. He had this odd handlebar mustache that only made his face look fatter, and his breath smelt absolutely horrid. Yes, annoying this guard was pleasurable, and if I was stuck in this place for who knows how long, I had to find enjoyment somewhere.

“A rich-looking man in a business suit.” The guard jerked the back of the orange prison jumpsuit, and I stood. “Is he an...associate of yours?”

“A rich-looking man?” I echoed, momentarily bewildered. Of course it wasn’t Cassidy, she wouldn’t be stupid enough to come visit me so soon. But if it wasn’t her, then who was it? I hoped he didn’t have prison tattoos, because I was a dead man. I thought the mobsters had lost my trail long ago, but I could have very easily been mistaken.... “Maybe he’s my lawyer. How do you come by the assumption that he’s rich, Sherlock?”

“His suit’s Italian.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. It is.” The guard said, and the sense of finality hung in the air. So, I walked alongside him in silence, because he was certainly not going to keep the conversation going. Maybe he realized I was taunting him. Maybe. Probably not.