Hot Guy Summer. Except it's not summer. And I'm not hot. Or a guy.

Of course, she promises to be careful but seems to wave away my warning. She thinks she's invincible- and who am I to say she isn't? The girl is more than capable of doing anything she wants, especially going out on a date. I'm not her keeper, I just want her to be safe- I shake my head to clear my thoughts. Bodies will be fine, and worrying about her safety any more isn't going to help her or me. I've now got the ability to get around, so I can struggle to cook the rest of the house some dinner. There should be ten people, and Noir is little and likely fussy. Is he eating real food now, or is it still baby food? I don't know what age that should be. Never had much association with little kids, and I definitely haven't been paying attention to the milestones of the few that I do see occasionally. I guess I can just make it for him and hope he can eat it, and if not I guess it can be leftovers for lunch tomorrow? I'm trying to think of a recipe I can make, but I'm drawing a total blank. The only thing I can think of to make is roast chicken, but I don't have a chicken, plus I'm not one hundred percent sure I trust the crappy old oven in this house, and I don't want to risk giving us all food poisoning. There might be an old recipe book in the kitchen? I guess I could always just google something, but it just feels cooler to find a physical recipe for the aesthetic of it all. Heading for the stairs and making my way down gingerly, I make my way to the kitchen kind of slowly. Awkwardly grabbing a chair from the dining room, I drag it into the kitchen, thinking it'll make cooking easier. But now I have a problem- I can't reach the cabinet that I think has cookbooks in it. At least, when I last lived here they did. I don't see why it would be any different, given all the other stuff that used to be here is still here, admittedly the worse for wear after all the time it's been. So I can try and stand on the chair to get the recipe books, or climb on the bench, but that doesn't seem like a good idea. And then a thought strikes me. Quickly grabbing one of the crutches, I carefully use it to shove open the door to the cabinet and drag out one of the books, which falls open on the bench to a recipe on nachos. It seems like a sign that the ghost of Julian has chosen this for me. Not that there is really a ghost- probably. I'd rather be safe than sorry, so I mutter a thank you to the intangible Julian and run my finger down the ingredients list, scanning it. I've got beef and tomatoey sauce, but I don't have the beans I need for it or corn chips. And walking to the supermarket is definitely a no, as is driving, so think I should ask for help from one of the many others in this house. I open discord and scroll my servers, finding the murder server and asking who is available to do some grocery shopping.

{it wasn't me sent a message: I need black beans and corn chips for dinner, also salsa too, mild. Can someone go and get it? Leg still too awkward to do it myself.}

{i_make_bodies_not_friends sent a message: Can't, I've got something to do rn.}

{Assault-has-many-definitions sent a message: I can but don't want to. I will if nobody else can but like. I don't wanna get up.}

{EXPLOSIVE_enthusiast sent a message: Yeah yeah, I'll do it. Anything else we need, or is it just that?}

{it wasn't me sent a message: Uhhh, cheese, I think, plus maybe just like a bottle of milk and some bread for tomorrow. That's all I can think of.}

{EXPLOSIVE_enthusiast sent a message: 👍}

I guess that's that conversation over. How kind of him. Not much of a conversationalist, he is. I begin grabbing ingredients, trying to prepare as best I can while I wait for ingredients to arrive. Before I can even make it to the cupboard, he's already walking past the kitchen on his way out the front door, with an empty gym bag slung over his shoulder. I assume it's for groceries- I sure hope it's clean. I wrinkle my nose at the thought, slowly moving about the kitchen on crutches, grabbing stuff from cupboards and placing it all in a stack on the bench, building it into a little tower of food. I do unstack it- my parents have been telling me ever since I was little that if something I built fell down, it might hurt someone. They're right, it's just fun to build something out of cans, y'know? It is for me, at least. I'm done grabbing everything, so I sit on my chair and scroll through instagram for a little while, just wasting time. While i wait, I notice Bodies leaving for her date, and in my head I silently wish her luck that it goes well. I don't have long to wait before Explosive is back, with everything I asked for, plus- aww. A bouquet of flowers.

"Who are these for?" I ask, gently touching one of the blue hydrangeas, which are mixed in with peach roses. I know flowers have a secret language- I read a book about it when I was young, but now I can't remember what anything means. It's still extremely cute though.

"They're for you, as a thank you for cooking." He says with a smile. Some people would think he's flirting, but I'm pretty sure he's straight and just wanted to genuinely appreciate me. It's really kind of him.

"Thank you so much" I say, beaming at him. "Could you grab a vase? They're up too high for me" I say, pointing to a cabinet above the bench, definitely out of my reach when on crutches.

He grabs a crystal vase, and I fill it with water and cut the stems of the flowers, placing them in the vase and admiring them.

"They're beautiful, thanks!" I say again, pleasantly surprised by the gift. "Could I ask a small favour?" I say to him, grabbing the food and putting the stuff I'm not using in the cupboard or fridge.

"Sure, what's up?"

"I usually listen to music when I'm cooking, but I left my speaker upstairs and don't want to have to go all the way up there to grab it. Would you mind?"

"No problem, where is it?"

"Just sitting on my bedside table, I think. Thanks!"

He nods and heads upstairs, returning with my speaker. I quickly grab it and thank him, giving him a quick hug and then getting to the cooking part. Speaker on, I connect it to my iPad using bluetooth, given I still have absolutely no idea where my phone is. Music blasts at top volume, making me wince and turn it down a good bit, so that I don't destroy my eardrums. Soon I'm listening to one of my favourite artists right now- Saint Motel.

Loving every minute of it, I sing along. Starting quietly, because hey, randomly singing on your own in a house with some people you don't know makes me (and I hope other people) self-conscious, not that I want others to be self-conscious, I just don't want to be the only person like that, y'know?

Food is cooking, I'm singing, and my leg doesn't hurt that bad- sometimes life doesn't suck as much as it could. I notice Assault wandering past the door, probably looking to see what I'm making. Nosy bastard, I think affectionately. Half an hour later, I've made nachos. I start serving it all up, but it's still too early for dinner. I shouldn't have started cooking so early, I just wasn't sure how long it would take because I have to deal with crutches. I shove the dishes into the oven to keep them warm, careful to make sure it's turned off so I don't burn it, and then start doing dishes, still singing along to 'My Type' by, of course, Saint Motel. My obsession with them is like vaguely concerning, but their music is just so good and I'm going through a phase where I'm addicted to it.

Putting my hands in the warm soapy water makes all the little cuts on my hands very apparent, stinging a bit. It's no big deal, just an annoyance, but I wish they would heal soon because it is really irritating. I quietly sigh to myself, wishing I were in some fictional universe where everything could be magically healed. Sadly, no dice, I'm still in the same universe I was when I woke up this morning and still stuck on crutches and covered in cuts and bruises. I don't know how the hell it happened but even the underside of my jaw hurts, ridiculously so. I mean, how the hell do you injure the underside of your jaw? I don't know, but it's sore somehow. It's now only about four o'clock, so I have to kill at least an hour and a half before it's dinner, but I just have no idea what I should do. I could draw, or try and figure out who in the fuck is trying to kill us- evidence does point to everyone's favourite billionaire and sociopath, Thomas Tyler Whinery, but I can't exactly blame xem without at least trying to investigate a little bit further. Xe are clearly an awful person though, and I feel at least a little bit vindicated in plotting xeir eventual death and downfall. It feels like so long ago when Kara broke into our little clubhouse, stopping me from finishing investigating xem. In fact- I guess I could finally finish doing that. Maybe it'll help us a little bit! I can always try and then if it doesn't turn up anything useful, well, not like I have something better to do with my time.

Speaker tucked safely under my arm, I head slowly and carefully up the stairs to my room, and as soon as I make it in I jump onto my bed and flip open my laptop. Time for another little glimpse into the darker sides of the web- through a new portal this time though. This time, I learned how to get in through an old friend on Discord. She's a dodgy little shit, but I still really love her, and I can't deny it's very helpful. Especially right now. Although- she is a mess, and I guess not a very good example to lead from, and neither am I. But I find myself perfectly okay with not being a good example for impressionable children if I can at least remove some of the even worse examples from the world, Thomas being an excellent representation of them. There's people out there that are good examples, and I just hope that those people are doing okay. Murder is bad, kids. Sometimes necessary though, for truly vile people. Which brings me back to Thomas Tyler Whinery and xeir soon-to-be-downfall. What do we know so far? Xe have some sort of database, which is in xeir panic room in xeir nigh-impregnable apartment. It looks like it's time to do one of the things I do best- play the damsel in distress. Or whatever the masculine form of damsel in distress is- I can't remember it right now. I'm allowed to be scatterbrained though! It's all part of being the damsel. It's so easy to manipulate nearly all men, just by getting them to 'rescue' you. They fall for it every time, I'm always relying on it to save my ass all the time, basically. And I get extra pity points for the crutches too! I think I might just try to break into xeir apartment on my own. This is clearly one of the absolute worst ideas I've ever had, it's obvious to me as well, don't worry. However- in order to play the part, I need a costume. So, time to head to my room and get dressed- wait, shit, dinner. Uhhh… now what do I do? Oh wait wait, I write a quick note saying there's food in the oven, it'll probably need heating once they finally get to it. And now I can go prepare myself for the performance of my life- if only I were more dramatic outside of my own head. I awkwardly get myself up the stairs, crutches clicking away. Once I'm in my room, I sit on the end of my bed for a second- walking around on crutches is bloody hard work, especially going upstairs, as I'm beginning to realise. I put on some kinda loose, comfy jeans, and a grey hoodie, with a rainbow pride flag pinned to it. I carefully apply mascara, and then immediately very carefully ruin it by dripping water down my face, making it look like I've been crying. All part of my master plan to manipulate my way into getting my sticky paws on the database. I have my doubts about whether it will ever work, but I can most certainly take my best shot at it, especially given I'm just a sitting duck if I stay at home forever. I put my hood up, grab a relatively ugly brownish tote bag, and throw my wallet in there as well as my phone and my keys. It still feels depressingly empty though, so I fill a water bottle at the sink in my ensuite and place that in my bag, as well as a book, 'Heartstopper' by Alice Oseman. And now, I think I'm ready to leave, ready to go. I think. Ah well, fuck it. Might as well try it.