Inkstuck

Your name is Kanaya Maryam and working on your latest dress design has really drained you. You just need a model (or a break), and Rose is too busy staring at her laptop screen as if it holds the answers to the universe.

Knowing how smart and successful your brilliant wife is, she probably would find the answers to life itself on a blank piece of paper.

Currently you’re taking a little break. A walk through the bustling streets of New York City should really help inspire you, right?

Half-melted slurry sloshes from underneath your high-heeled feet. A few stray snowflakes flutter down and land on your dark hair.

Maybe you’ll even find a model out here in the snowy streets of New York City? I mean, this is the city where dreams are made of, right?

You’re not really sure, having grown up in China and all. But Rose has shown you some aspects of American ‘culture’, just as you have shown her aspects of Chinese culture.

That’s how the two of you met actually—at a cultural conference thing. She was there with her mother and you were there with your older sister, Porrim. You hit it off at that conference and exchanged contact details.

Soon, you became best friends and then flatmates, then lovers and then a happily married couple!

You huddle up into your scarf, trying to hide your flushed face in its perfumed scent.

You always get really excited and happy whenever you think about Rose. You can’t help it, you just really love your wife.

To distract yourself from thinking of your relationship (because you will get very flustered and not think of anything else) you decide to observe the people passing you by.

You can tell a lot about people by what they wear—it’s kind of a fashion designer thing.

A bright, happy looking girl skips past you. You can that she’s a rather kind, polite person because of the obnoxiously bright sundress she’s wearing (even though it’s the middle of autumn and pretty cold out).

Your theory is confirmed when she shoots you a happy smile and a cheery wave.

You pass her by and head up the steps to the shops.

You pass by a grumpy middle aged man wearing a clean suit. You can tell he’s in a rush to get to work because he pushes you aside as though you are nothing.

You shoot him the finger however, and it makes you feel a little bit better.

Whereas the city streets were empty, the vast, shiny halls of the mall were packed.

You could see all kinds of different people milling about, all with terrible fashion sense.

You even see someone wearing pants and a skirt—at the same time. It’s disgusting and you won’t stand for it. But you must, because this is a public space and you don’t want to cause trouble.

You’re just here for inspiration.

Most of the styles here are urban, with denim and backwards caps and brightly coloured sneakers. Perhaps you should try to make an urban range? You’ve never really designed urban clothes before—it might be fun!

You pass a boy sitting alone on a bench. He’s wearing clothes reminiscent to the style of an old girlfriend of yours. Dark jeans, green plaid shirt covered by a blue jacket. He's clutching a heavy satchel close to his chest But, unlike your ex-girlfriend, this boy is covered in fading bruises and healing scars.

The way he holds himself…he’s nervous, scared. Blue eyes are shifting side-to-side as if he’s worried about something.

Your mother instincts are screaming at you to help this child.

Before you can even make a step towards him to see if he’s ok, he’s noticed you staring. He gives you a cheery wave and goes back to waiting.

But he looks so lonely sitting there on the bench. Your motherly instincts are screaming at you to do something about it.

So you do.

You march over and sit beside him. He looks a little surprised, and smiles at you wearily.

“Young man, are you alright?” You ask him, giving him your most concerned motherly stare.

“What!? Yeah I’m fine. How are you today miss?” He replies, shuffling dirty and worn sneakers against the tiled floor.

You ignore his awkward question and continue to prod. “Where are your parents? Are you waiting for them?”

“No. My dad is dead and Mother is…gone.” He says and there’s a sense of finality in his eyes. You don’t question him on that any further.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I saw you sitting there alone and got a little worried about you.”

“Oh, it’s fine. Dad died when I was pretty little, so I only really knew mother. And I’m not sitting here alone, because I guess you’re sitting here with me.”

You smile at how sweet this poor child is. Your motherly instincts are telling you to bundle this child up in blankets and protect him from the evils of the world. Unfortunately, hugging a complete stranger out of the blue would probably get you arrested.

“Well then, my name is Kanaya. Kanaya Maryam. What is yours?”

At the mention of your name, the boys blue eyes widen underneath thick black glasses.

“Woah really!? Oops, uh I mean, my names John. John Egbert.” He holds his hand out for you to shake.

You take it warmly. His hand is quite pudgy, and you can feel several scars on the pads of his hands.

“So John, what are you doing here?” You ask, drawing your hand away and placing it on your lap.

“Oh!” His face lights up. “Me and my best friend Dave are going out to lunch! It’s gonna be great, I already picked out a restaurant and everything—apparently it’s really good! I can’t wait. But I have to, because he needs to go pee.”

“So, it’s like a date?” You smirk coyly.

He blushes and hides in his hood, drawing the strings so that his face is hidden.

“N-No! It’s not! We’re just two friends eating lunch after a long week and a half’s driving! This will hopefully be really good, I’ve been really hungry lately…” He trails off, staring at the floor with a look of regret on his face.

Your motherly instincts scream as warning alarms go off in your head.

“Oops, forget I said anything…” He mutters, looking at you with a sad smile.

“Is everything ok? You should really tell someone if it’s not.”

“No! Everything is perfect! Everything has been so amazing, I can’t believe it’s happening!” He smiles at you, as if his skin isn’t patterned with fading bruises and he isn’t jumping at every little noise.

You open your mouth to stay something, but John has spotted something.

He excuses himself and hurries up to another boy.

The boy is tall and muscly. His hair and skin are as pale as snow. He’s wearing…oh sweet virgin mother, what is he wearing?

You don’t even have the words to describe it, it’s so disgusting.

But John hugs the boy as if the boy is a long-time friend, so you can put aside the boys horrible dress sense. John leads the boy over to you, hand in hand.

“Hi Kanaya! This is Dave, my best bro.”

Dave gives you a nod in greeting.

“Dave, this is Kanaya, an um….total stranger I met today.” A bit of scuffling around their feet, with a weird game of footsies. You choose to ignore it.

“So, Dave, I really like your outfit. Just wondering where you got it?” You can’t help but snark your new acquaintance.

“Oh, I inherited it from my dead parents. Y’know, last living memory of them and all.”

Another orphan!

Really? This whole place is filled with orphans!

It is unacceptable.

John clutches Dave in a big hug and looks over at you.

“Sorry, he gets upset about it sometimes. But I think we all would.”

You frown a little.

“Children…if you’re both orphans, where are you staying?”

“John’s shitty car.” Came the monotonous reply.

Unacceptable

Your name is Rose Lalonde and writers block absolutely sucks.

You are currently trying to write the third and final book in your fantastical wizard series. It’s been quite popular with the select few that religiously follow your work.

You’re nearly done, but unfortunately you’ve been struck down with a terrible case of writers block.

This scene is supposed to be an epic, final showdown between the protagonist and antagonist. But no matter what you do, you can’t make it epic or final enough!

Jaspers isn’t helping either.

He’s sitting on your desk and meowing loudly at you as you struggle to write your story.

Occasionally, he’ll place his paws down on your lap—but quickly retract them when you give him a stern look. Unfortunately, with Jaspers being a cat and all, he doesn’t listen for very long.

Soon he’s got his butt in your face and claws digging into your skin. He manoeuvres his way around your lap (leaving quite a few scratch marks on your thighs) and finally settles down to curl up.

Well, you guess no more writing for tonight.

Because you are very well read up on the laws of cat ownership, you know that once a cat settles down on you, you can’t disturb them.

But you really need to get up.

Kanaya should be back soon and you need to greet her like the doting housewife you totally are.

Luckily for you, the chair you’re currently sitting on is one of the wheely office chairs. You can just roll your way out to greet her, like an eccentric spy villain. With you stroking Jaspers ominously and all.

Speak of the devil! You think you can hear her now. But…you can hear someone else as well.

Kanaya is conversing with another person. You have never heard their voice before, but it sounds like it belongs to a happy and cheerful person.

But then…someone else speaks out.

They sound so much like…

Disregarding the rules of cat-ownership, you push Jaspers off your lap and hurry out your study door.

Once you step out of your study, you’re greeted with the sight of your lovely wife with two boys. One, you have never seen before. The other, looks, sounds and is currently acting just like your dead brother.

You shoot Kanaya a confused look.

“Oh. Hi Rose. Umm, meet John and Dave. I umm…well. You know how you always say to help people in need and—“ Kanaya avoids your gaze, choosing instead to stare at the ceiling.

“Kanaya, what did you do?”

“Well, you see. I saw these children, and they’re homeless and orphans so I—“

“So your mothering instincts took over and you offered them a place to stay?”

She avoids your gaze further, this time at the various paintings on the walls of your house.

“Well, I guess we do have room for guests. We’ll be happy to accommodate the two of you for as long as you need.” You give them a warm, genuine smile.

But you have ulterior motives.

Something is telling you that these boys are hiding something and you don’t doubt that for one second.

The taller of the two (Dave) is as pale as your twin brother was, with the shades to match. He looks so much like your brother, it’s really creepy.

But he’s not.

This Dave has too many muscles, too many scars to be your brother.

This Dave is wearing something that your brother might wear—if he was forced too, and even then, it was for ‘the ironies’.

This Dave is holding himself in such a way that he looks like a proud and mighty warrior, like a fighter.

This Dave is more a mockery, a fake of your brother—just like the character in the stupid Inkstuck book you wrote when you were fifteen because he begged you to write him so that he's a hero--at least once.

You hate it. It’s like this kid is cosplaying him, mocking you in the same passive-aggressive manner your mother did.

But why would a homeless orphan cosplay someone from a book they’ve never read?

The shorter of the two (John) is less curious then his friend, but that’s probably your biased opinion.

He’s short, dumpy, and holding himself in a way that suggests he’s been severely hurt—but he’s healing. He looks like a sweet, genuine kid and you can’t help but feel bad for him.

He shifts, a little uncomfortably in your piercing  gaze. You notice him shift the satchel he’s holding. You notice a strange golden shine glint off of the copy of an old book. It’s hidden pretty shoddily, but you would recognise it anywhere.

Inkstuck??

But you burnt all the copies you could find when Dave committed suicide.

You guess some missed your grief-fuelled flames.

But, if John has the book, and Dave isn’t cosplaying, then that must mean—

John holds out his hand for you to shake, awkwardly interrupting your train of thought.

“Umm…thank you Miss! For accommodating us and all. Really, it’s a huge help.”

“No problem.” You shake his hand. “It’s no problem at all.”

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you are trying to pry information from these two children without arousing suspicion.

Which is actually way easier than it sounds.

You mean sure, Kanaya figured out what you were doing pretty early on and is now shooting you glares across the dining table.

You also think Dave has cottoned on to your little scheme—but he just isn’t say anything.

John however, is happily answering your questions—even asking some of his own.

The four of you have just finished dinner—the plates have been cleared and the after-dinner chats have begun.

You finger a piece of paper in your pocket—its purpose will be revealed later, once you have lulled them into a false sense of security.

“So, you travelled all this way, just to meet someone?” You ask, crossing your legs under the table.

“Yep! I mean, we’re not that sure if we’ll even find them. New York City is huge! It’s so different from rainy Washington.” John replies, grinning and waving his hands around.

“Well yes, I suppose New York is quite different from any place on Earth. Much like everything on Earth is so different from everything else…hmmm?” You shoot a glance Dave’s way.

“Yeah. Totally. I grew up on a space colony on the moon. Everything is so different from Earth. Everyone wore great big purple robes and great golden necklaces. People could fly too--like you’d just be walking down the street and you’d just look up and see flying assholes.” Dave says in a flat tone of voice.

“Funny thing that the only thing you mentioned was their long robes and looking up into the sky?”

“Are you implying what I think you are?”

“I’m not implying anything. You were the one who seemed to be saying that you look up the Flyers robes. Do you look up their robes Dave?”

John splutters on his glass of milk and starts giggling loudly. Kanaya covers her mouth in an attempt to hide her own laughter.

Dave looks downright offended at the very thought of looking up the Flyers robes.

“What!? Those stupid snobs? They only care about themselves! They fly around, not giving a shit about anyone! Just because they have fucking flying powers and they’re too stuck up too—“ Dave breaks off with a sharp gasp of pain.

“Wow Dave! That was umm…a great story, huh? Just a story. A totally great, made-up story.” John says nervously, shooting Dave a pointed look.

Perfect.

You’ve been waiting for them to slip up in their story, and now they have.

You see, what Dave calls ‘Flyers’ are what you believe to be Air Elementals.

In Inkstuck, they fly around Derse with their heads in the clouds. They are referred to by the city folk as ‘Flyers’ because that’s all they do. Fly. Often times they ignore everything around them in favour of catching a breeze, or zooming laps around the city. They are actually pretty common on Derse, always fling everywhere in their silly purple robes.

But they are only mentioned once in the book, in a passing statement. No one really knows about them.

You grab the slip of paper from your pocket and feign reading it. You squint your eyes and pretend to have trouble reading it.

Of course you’re actually not—you did write this yourself after all—but they don’t need to know that.

“Oh! Rose, are you alright there?” John asks, taking the bait.

“Oh…not really dear, you see, I misplaced my glasses and I’m having trouble reading this.”

“Well, I can read it for you, if you’d like?”

In your peripheral vision, you can make out Dave elbowing John and faintly hear them whispering to each other. Something about how ‘I’ve got a plan Dave, just trust me.’

What the plan is, you don’t know.

But you’ll find out.

You always do.

You hand the piece of paper to John and he takes it. Nervously, he adjusts his glasses and begins reading.

“The beast is small and dainty. It looks rather feline-like, but its long slender tail breaks off into a fork. It has soft, velvety lilac fur that seemed to be sensitive to my every movement. Its eyes are wide and a deep, absent purple. In the middle of its forehead there is a red gem seemingly fused to the very skull of the beast. It seems to glow with a mystic radiance, a sort of kindness and wonder that people of all ages dream of.”

John finishes reading.

Nothing happened, that’s strange.

You were sure that he’s a—.

A soft, confused mewl interrupts your doubts.

Earlier, Jaspers was sitting on the chair beside you. Now, in Jaspers place, a rather confused pink creature is sitting, staring at the four of you with wide purple eyes.

You turn to John, who’s still holding the piece of paper in trembling hands.

“I believe you have some explaining to do.”

John fiddles with the paper even further, but looks you in the eyes.

“Yes…we do.”