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A Convention 9Arthur stared curiously at his friend, seemingly transfixed by his beverage. He decided to break the awkward morning silence. "So d'you know what we're doing when we get down to the convention today?" he asked.
Alfred jumped. "Oh right. Um " he started. "How 'bout we just look around and see what's going on?"
"Really? Is there nothing remotely special happening?" Arthur sighed.
"There probably is, I just don't know what." Again with the staring into the coffee.
"Check the book."
"Okay." He didn't move, though.
Arthur sighed. He downed the remainder of his tea in a single gulp and stood up. Alfred didn't move. Arthur took the mug out of Alfred's hands and whacked him across the face.
"OW!" Alfred put a hand on his abused cheek. "What was that for?"
"Wake up, idiot," Arthur hissed. "Quit moping abo
A Convention 10Arthur suddenly recalled a scene from a movie he and Alfred had watched together at some point. There had been a guy staring into a gaping hole and saying "I've got a bad feeling about this " and that's just what Arthur felt like saying at the moment. "Glomping," he said, feeling the word roll awkwardly off his tongue.
Alfred snickered. "I'm sure you'll love it," he said. They kept walking around the building until they got to a parking lot full of cosplayers and empty of cars. "Allow me to demonstrate." He looked around at the mob of people, seemingly searching for someone.
Arthur knew the exact moment when Alfred had found them. His blue eyes brightened as they locked on to something. Arthur turned around to see who or what it was. He followed the American's gaze to a rather short person (Arthur couldn't tell if it was a guy or a girl) dressed completely in green. Alfred
A Convention 3"You loved that, didn't you?" Alfred said, teasing.
The duo had returned inside the building after the song was done. Alfred suggested going to the dealer's room. Arthur, completely clueless about conventions, agreed.
"What do we find in this room?" he said.
"It's where all the dealers sell their stuff, obviously," Alfred replied, giving him a funny look.
"So I see." Arthur felt stupid.
There was quite a crowd heading into the room. The security guys at the front of the crowd were asking people to flip their tags over.
Arthur was starting to get impatient. Is everything here going to be crowded? He wondered to himself.
Eventually they got in. The space was - to their surprise - not very crowded. Most people were huddled around tables full of boxes of manga and anime, shelves of pillows and dolls, and racks of every kind of random trinket of every single anime fandom imagina
A Convention 8Alfred woke up first. He looked at his watch 7:00. He groaned, wondering how he could be awake so early on a Saturday.
After the brief 10 seconds of early-morning haze, it all came rushing back to him. Right, right, the convention... He refreshed his memory of what happened. He recalled first that it had been an amazing day for him. He had envisioned the con to be so much, what with the thousands of people just like him that would be there and the stuff they would all be doing. It had delivered beyond what he had expected, without even having to meet new people, just by having Arthur by his side.
Alfred sighed contently, thinking about his best friend, and buried his face into his pillow. It was soaking wet. The wetness got on his face and his chest.
That was weird...
He turned his head to the side, but Arthur wasn't there. To the other sid
A Convention 15The name of the place was Ginko Japanese. When the pair of them had walked close enough to actually see it clearly, they noticed a bit of a line of con-goers outside the door.
Arthur groaned. "More waiting " he commented.
"We can deal with it," Alfred said.
"Normally our stances on this matter would be reversed," Arthur said, stomach growling again.
"It's a con, dude. Everything is reversed." He said this as if Arthur should have known it.
"And what do you mean by that?"
Alfred giggled. "Well, for one, normally you'd be doin' all the explaining instead of me "
"Fair point "
"And on any other day this year, if a guy walked into that Starbucks-" he pointed to a Starbucks across the street "-with pink hair and fairy wings, he'd get stared at as if he were the strangest thing in the world. Now, this weekend, if a guy walked in with a suit and a briefcase, well, unless they were Sven fro
A Convention 7Arthur lay on the bed with his arms folded behind his head. He had taken his jacket and tie off, it really wasn't the greatest thing to be wearing in the summer. Hearing the shower turn on, he stood up. He crouched down beside Alfred's suitcase, pulled out his laptop and plugged it into the wall, turning it on. Alfred wouldn't mind, they practically shared everything they had anyways.
The screen flickered on, asking for Alfred's password. Arthur typed in "Hero-certified-burgers" and the tinkly welcome music played. He smirked. Good thing Alfred used the same password for everything.
He sat back on the bed, clicking on the internet icon and setting out to do what he had turned the computer on for in the first place. Grateful for the American's wireless access, he went to Google images. He typed in "Hetalia America and England", wanting to see if his suspicions were correct base
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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