Author Games Compilation [Cycle 2]

Task 1: Nothing Ventured [HE]

The day is two years and six months prior to our present day, and by "our," I mean the day shared by Hayes and I. He dives into this memory often, reflecting on things that he maybe could've done better, or said differently, or not done or said at all. There's doubt and trepidation connected with this memory, for him (he fidgets when it comes up, see) and I can tell what he's thinking even without deep-diving into the inner-workings of his mind or subconscious: That day, two years and six months ago, Hayes Emory should've stayed on that shuttle bus until it turned around and took him right back to L'Ulls harbor. He should've turned back and gone home.

This idiot never listens to his gut, though. If I didn't have to put up with him, I wouldn't. Alas, we're cosmically bonded. I'm completely and irrevocably stuck and forced to watch him live a life he's got no idea I'm part of, and by extension, I have to watch him make piss poor decisions. Damn The Raven and all that They stand for. Damn the boy, too.

The bus rattles down the route from the ferry to SHADR, picking up rocks and spitting them back out. Noon's white sun beats down, heating up the island, heating up the bus's interior, providing a display of illumination for the planner bouncing in Hayes' lap. His hands press down on the pages, but it doesn't help much, for his whole weight is practically being thrown into the air at every mild bump and turn. Looking at the words is useless. He's already muttering the to-do list to himself, memorized top to bottom. It's been pounding through his skull all day and I ought to know that it has, because it's been pounding through mine, too.

"Take the ferry to the island, done, take the bus, ongoing, ask the front desk for Nafisa- no, no, Dr. Etienam. Professionalism. 'Nafisa' happens three years from now when I'm an established employee and need to kiss my boss's ass with an air of comfortable informality. Uhh, do interview, pending. Don't fuck it up, pending. Take bus back to ferry, take ferry, go to hotel, proceed to cry. Google food words in Spanish and get dinner at La Finestra while pretending to know the language. Fool them all or reaffirm that you are yet another uncultured American. Decide later."

His fingers run over the colorful ink on the page, eyes glazing over as he tucks his lip under his teeth. It's not a lot, but the interview is - he has to somehow "wow" the most intelligent woman in this dimension and convince her that he's worth it, that he's worth the time and trouble to train and provide for and have to deal with on a day-to-day basis. But that begs forth the question of is he really worth the trouble?

His knee begins to bob and the pages of the planner wobble with it. A hand runs over his cheek; he starts the process again. "Take the bus, ask the front desk for Etienam, go to the interview. Bring notes. Don't fuck it up-"

He catches someone in his peripheral, the person in the opposing seat, and his tongue tucks itself away for once as he turns to her. Whoever she is, she's got this strange expression on her face, all twisted up in some sort of mild discomfort or irritation or something. Warmth flushes through his face, and he does a completely unnatural natural wave, as if to affirm that he is not some weirdo. Adds this painful smile to the whole deal, too. But she doesn't look away or brush it off as expected, and with a brief nod and a quiet "o-kay", he slings a bag on his shoulder and moves up a few seats.

Hayes plops down in the frontmost seat, the woman forgotten. There's someone new to focus on now, a new opportunity diagonal to him. He grabs onto the pole attached to the divider and leans forward, as close as he can get to the driver without crossing the yellow "Do Not Cross" line. Frankly, though, I think speaking to the man already crosses that line. Hayes isn't very good with boundaries, y'see.

"Pssst," he goes. Not very good with decent conversation, either.

The driver glances back once, but then quickly flicks his gaze back to the road. "Yes?"