Work Text:
You’re really skinny, dude. I mean, real skinny. Sorry if that’s rude. Everyone’s always saying Mallory, don’t comment on something that people can’t change in five minutes, but first of all, people can’t stop being stupid in five minutes but they can stop doing whatever dumbshit behavior got them called out for it, so I will call them out as a public service, and second, it’s not like I’m saying it because I’d think you’d be hotter if you gained weight or anything. You’re way too old for me; don’t get ideas. I’m concerned about your health. Besides, in five minutes you could totally get to a Dunks and start stuffing your mouthhole with the most ubiquitous arterycloggers known to Boston. Notice I didn’t say best. I could recommend you way better local donut shops. But you gave me five minutes to work with here, and there’s a state law that there has to be a Dunks within five minutes of you at all times. Look it up.
Anyway, yeah, I saw the whole thing. Well, not the whole thing. But I was there for the beginning and the end and some of the bits in the middle, so I think that counts. You’re not gonna get the whole story from anyone else. Sorry Dimitri and Nica walked right past you. Dimitri’s always scatterbrained as fuck, even when his brother didn’t just smash his way off this mortal coil, and Nica… ex-boss lady’s not what I’d call considerate of other people’s feelings when she’s having a tough time. She’s working on it, I know, but I’m still gonna call it like I see it. So maybe it’s less about saying things that can be fixed in five minutes and more pointing out shit that you can decide to start fixing in five minutes, you feel me?
It all started at Wonderland. Did you see that story about the chick who wouldn’t get off the coaster?
I WAS THERE. BUT I DID NOT GET WHAT I NEEDED.
Sorry if you wanted to ride the Whirlodon, but they shut that shit down right away, like it was the coaster’s fault Leon couldn’t hack it. Like the coaster held a gun to his head and told him to choke. Still kind of mad about that. Getting fired is on my record, you know? Guess nobody’s gonna call references since the park went under. If you want, I could let you ride the nacho cheese flume, but it’s not the same.
MY COMPANION MIGHT ENJOY THAT.
SQUEAK.
Oh, what a cute little guy! What’s his name?
SQUEAK.
Sorry, didn’t catch that. He’s real skinny too. Look, if you’re going for starvation chic that’s none of my business, besides that you’re part of the problem setting unrealistic body standards for young women like myself, but you gotta take care of your pets. Otherwise someone should take them away from you. It’s for their own good.
IT WOULD BE INTERESTING TO SEE SOMEONE TRY.
Man, I don’t care who you are, I will call animal welfare on your ass.
HE IS MEANT TO BE THIS WAY.
Like a breed trait? That’s ok, then. Sorry for getting aggro, I just get riled up when I see animals being mistreated. They’re little guys in a big scary world, you know? They’re relying on us.
IF A THING IS OURS, THEN WE MUST CARE.
Fucking cosigned. Where was I? Wonderland. If you were there, you know this part of the story already. But before Leon can get his Type A ass to spreadsheet heaven, bam! Gemma drops the ball. Literally. Before he died Leon agreed to a ten-year posthumous employment contract, so as soon as Gemma decides to hire him, he’s locked in. Do not pass Go, do not collect eternal salvation.
IS THIS THIRD SIGHT MEDIA A DIRECT COMPETITOR OF MINE?
I don’t know, are you Cat Fancy?
I FANCY CATS A GREAT DEAL.
You don’t look like a magazine magnate; no offense. Doesn’t matter now anyway. They went belly up when the publisher fucked off to be the man behind the dairy-drenched robot curtain for Red Line’s literal fucking political machine. Notice a pattern yet? Almost like Leon’s ball was a roly-poly bad luck charm, but how could an office tchotchke trapping a guy’s immortal soul not have bad vibes? That’s the ball I was talking about, by the way.
A SNOW GLOBE?
No, a crystal ball. Why?
I HAVE HAD BAD EXPERIENCES WITH SNOW GLOBES.
Fucking A. I hate those things. Tackiest souvenir option by a mile. At least you can rip up T-shirts and make rags out of them. I go through a lot of rags. Hazards of pet ownership.
So Leon gets stuck in the ball and the ball gets hot potato’d around the Greater Boston area, which is ironic since I don’t think that many people wanted a piece of this guy when he was alive. Isn’t that how it goes? You die and the professional mourners pop out of the woodwork talking about how goddamn great you were, just like people talk about you being a good neighbor once you snap and turn into a serial killer.
But Leon is not feeling it. Some people would take the win if they found out there was a life after death, even if that afterlife is clocking into a shitty workplace trinket, but not Leon. Instead he starts plotting how to die for real. Morbid, I know. But technically the guy killed himself once already? Pop culture frames ghosts moving on like a public service, but that’s just ectophobic now that I think about it. I didn’t think about it before because Leon’s the first ghost I’ve ever met, but he was cool. Not like the psychic vampire ghost alien who has sex with your grandma.
I AM NOT FAMILIAR WITH THAT ENTITY.
You’ve never seen Star Trek? That’ll take way more than five minutes to fix, but I’m telling you anyway: work on yourself. I’m not a psychic Star Trek vampire, but I think I could hack it as a ghost. We’re not that far from Capitol Hill, I could haunt the fuck out of those old white guys. But it was Leon’s choice. I support medical aid in dying, and this is almost the same, I guess.
Anyway, a whole bunch of other stuff happened. Enough to fill four seasons of a podcast, if that’s your thing. I assume every weird guy I meet has a podcast.
I HAVE BEEN TOLD I AM OLD-FASHIONED. I HAVE A HOME LIBRARY.
Damn, in the middle of the Boston housing crisis? I’ve been using the RLPL as my main book hookup, and to their credit, they’re trying. It started out as the lost and found car and before you can blink it’s filled halfway to the roof with discarded James Pattersons, because those things breed in liminal spaces, like as soon as you put your airport book down because you just can’t take one more dime store action flick-in-a-brick it starts doing the nasty with an abandoned Michael Crichton doorstopper and there you go, a new Alex Cross adventure enters the world. There were so many books piling up someone installed a little free library, and then a librarian who bought a condo at Park Street Station took it over. Set up a reciprocal borrowing relationship with BPL and everything, you fill out this form saying what your schedule’s like, and a page sprints to the station with your hold to meet your train. Now that’s what I call service.
Of course, business major bozo Bespin keeps banning things, but is that going to stop Red Line’s badass book jockeys? No way no how. When RLPD comes knocking they just dangle the books out the car window on fishing line and haul them back in when the fuzz moves on. That’s how I found out about the library, actually. I saw a train pull into the station with Transport Justice: Designing Fair Transportation Systems hanging out the window like they were trawling for urban planning students. I hopped on to let them know their book was trying to Shawshank its way to freedom and they told me don’t worry Mallory, it’s all part of the plan. They’ve got a decent vet med section too, since CCSCCCC program grads offload their old textbooks. Still, that’s one car for a whole city. You’ve got a library all to your lonesome? I’d like to see that.
YOU WILL.
Forward much? You’re still not my type. You have a good podcast voice though. Reminds me of when I’m crawling through subway maintenance tunnels looking for urban critters, and my voice gets all echoey. Built-in reverb.
I HEAR THAT OFTEN.
I bet. Don’t take that as encouragement to buy a Blue Yeti microphone. That’s the devil talking. Where was I? Lots of podcast-worthy shit happens, we get Leon back, and we send him off with a dance party. The man had moves. I could tell even through those compost-crusted gardening gloves the hippy dippy tuna trafficker passed around. Then I did my job as ride attendant Mallory one last time so Gemma could catch some unreal air lobbing him from the top so he could smash to smithereens. A real full circle moment. Ashes to ashes, glass to sand. Not how the saying usually goes—
BUT IT IS APPROPRIATE.
Why’s that?
ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR THERE IS A DESERT.
Is that what you think?
I KNOW.
Ok dude, I respect your religious convictions, but that’s your road to walk while getting sand up in your crotch. You’re not going to start telling me the end is near, are you?
NO. ALTHOUGH IT WOULD BE APPROPRIATE.
Are you talking about the planet running a five-alarm fever, or another election where we have to pick between fuckwit minor and fuckwit prime, or—guess it’s appropriate no matter what. Way to bring down the mood during a conversation about a dead guy.
I AM HERE FOR WHAT WAS LEFT BEHIND.
Oh, are you the janitor? I thought the park staff all left.
I NEVER LEAVE.
Shit, I’m sorry, I hope you’re still getting paid.
NOT IN MONEY.
Did the Bespins pad everyone’s paychecks with crypto? Wouldn’t put it past them. You don’t have to stand for that. Unions are having a moment, you know.
I AM ARGUABLY A COLLECTIVE. AND I AM HERE TO COLLECT. DID YOU SEE THE FINAL RESTING PLACE OF THE CRYSTAL BALL?
Fuck no. It sailed off the coaster like a majestic crystal dove winging its way out of a convertible train car. Must be all over the park in pieces by now. I’m surprised a guy that uptight went out on a civil misdemeanor, since you can get fined for littering. I would’ve told everyone to pick a different sendoff if I’d known there was still janitorial staff here, nothing but respect for my troops. You could ask Dimitri, if he notices you this time. The guy has a real knack for finding shit.
THANK YOU. YOU HAVE BEEN VERY… INFORMATIVE.
Sure thing. I’m not going to be an asshole at a funeral, that’s just manners.
WHILE I SEARCH, WOULD YOU MIND TERRIBLY ESCORTING MY COMPANION HERE TO THE NACHO CHEESE FLUME? I THINK HE WOULD ENJOY IT. PERSONALLY I PREFER CURRY, BUT WE ALL HAVE OUR WEAKNESSES.
Ride attendant Mallory, reporting for duty. Also, nice mask. It’s still a few months to Halloween but you know what they say, ten-foot skeletons from Home Depot are always in season.