Author's Note:
I don't know why, but it's easy for me to write long chapters when it comes to this story.
XXX
Story Arc: Out-of-Town Visitors
Episode 2: Weekend with Surprises (II)
Chapter 6: Spider Work, Dog Work
Plot: In New York City, a couple of people are getting ready to go to Nightfall City. At the same time, Welt has a full day and has to take care of several commitments.
XXX
POV Narrator
In New York City, at the beating heart of the Daily Bugle, the air inside the office of Editor-in-Chief J. Jonah Jameson is thick with tension. Amid unstable piles of folders, cigar butts now extinguished in the ashtray, and the frantic clicking of keys echoing from nearby rooms, a decidedly interesting meeting is taking shape.
Jameson, sitting behind his massive wooden desk, is in the middle of one of his historic fits of rage, but this time his fury has a legitimate reason: two of his employees are unforgivably late for a crucial meeting.
The office door bursts open and Peter Parker walks in. The boy is twenty-three years old, slightly short of breath, his hair disheveled, and he has that perpetually exhausted look typical of someone who leads a far too complicated life marked by an industrial dose of bad luck.
"Parker, you're late!" Jameson shouted loudly, projecting his voice with such force that it almost made the frosted glass of the windows vibrate.
"Mr. Jameson, I can explain," Peter said, stopping halfway across the room and raising his hands in a defensive gesture. In his head, he is already assembling an acrobatic excuse worthy of an Academy Award; after all, he certainly cannot confess that the delay is due to the time spent chasing down and stopping a gang of bank robbers.
"I don't want to hear your excuses," Jameson declared, cutting him short, while with a sharp and authoritative wave of his hand, he motioned for Peter to sit down.
He's worse than usual, Peter thought, sliding into the chair with his shoulders slumped. At that exact moment, he realizes he must definitively bury any remaining hope of asking for a raise to his miserable salary.
"Look at this," Jameson said, reaching out a muscular arm to abruptly turn the computer screen toward the boy. On the bright display, the close-up image of a famous journalist from Nightfall City appears: Charlotte Gagnepetit.
"A young woman in a cute costume?" Peter said, narrowing his eyes to examine the photo, having no idea who that girl is.
"She is Charlotte Gagnepetit. She is an independent investigative journalist, she runs her own Steambird channel, and she is one of the few young people today who is seriously committed to the world of journalism," Jameson explained, the expression on his face softening just a bit, losing for a moment that typical flushed shade of anger.
Jameson is speaking highly of someone else? What... did I end up in a parallel earth? Peter thought, tensing in his chair as a shiver of genuine worry runs down his spine.
"If you want to give her a job at the Daily Bugle, why did you call me? I'm just a photographer," Peter said, throwing his arms out, convinced that scouting new editorial talent is not at all within his duties or his contract.
"I've already hired new blood, even though she is late... because all of my young employees are latecomers," Jameson commented, clenching his fists on the table and raising his eyes to the ceiling, as if to emphasize the fact that only the worst collaborators always end up under his wing.
At that exact moment, the door opens again with a slight flutter. A young woman of twenty-three walks in running, about 160 centimeters tall. She has a slender, visibly athletic and agile build, a fair complexion, and a pair of lively brown eyes scanning the room. Her dark brown hair is cut short into a modern, cheeky pixie cut. She wears a loose green jacket with a conspicuous dark yellow lining, a blue shirt peeking out from underneath, tight black pants, and a pair of comfortable sneakers on her feet—perfect footwear for dashing off and chasing down some journalistic investigation. This woman's name is Laura Lane, daughter of Lucy Lane and William Jeong.
"Sorry, Mr. Jameson, I'm still not used to the streets of New York," Laura said, putting a hand to her chest as she catches her breath, her breathlessness clearly visible after the frantic run she made to reach the building.
"Lane, no excuses, take a seat," Jameson said with his usual authoritative voice, pointing his index finger at the remaining free chair.
Laura quickly slides into the room and sits to Peter's right, adjusting her jacket.
"Lane... like the famous Lois Lane?" Peter asked, turning his head partially toward her. That last name immediately sparked his memories: he knew well the fame of the legendary journalist who had signed countless articles on Superman, the Justice League, the Avengers, the Fantastic Four, and the X-Men. However, he noted to himself, she had never published anything about Spider-Man or other less famous street-level heroes.
"Yes, she is my aunt," Laura said, brushing it off with a half-smile and a shrug, as if it were nothing special to be related to one of the most titanic and influential figures in modern journalism.
"You can get to know each other better on the road," Jameson commented, crossing his arms over his chest, visibly fed up with the chatter and distractions of his young subordinates.
"Which road?" Peter and Laura asked in unison, turning simultaneously toward the editor-in-chief with an identical confused expression stamped on their faces.
"Silence, or I'll pass the job to someone else and won't pay you anything!" Jameson threatened loudly, rising halfway from his chair and slamming a thundering fist against the surface of the desk, making the pens jump in the pen holder.
Faced with that reaction, Peter and Laura made the only sensible choice possible: they remained perfectly silent, frozen.
"Charlotte Gagnepetit broke a story that caused a sensation last night in Nightfall City. Captain Cold and Heat Wave tried to steal the diamond necklace that belonged to Marie Antoinette, which was on display at the museum," Jameson said. With a sharp click of his mouse, he started a short video of the incident on the screen, taken directly from the Steambird blog, showing the two of them the flashes of ice and fire illuminating the museum rooms.
"Nightfall City? I've never heard of this city," Peter said, frowning and shaking his head slightly, totally unaware of the existence of that place.
"If I remember correctly, my aunt went there once to interview a multi-award-winning Olympic champion who lived there," Laura commented, drawing from family stories, though she knew little to nothing else about Nightfall City.
"Those two criminals were stopped by the local police and a local vigilante, Black Warlock!" Jameson exclaimed, puffing out his chest and significantly raising the tone of his voice as he articulated the mysterious hero's name.
"Black Warlock?" Peter and Laura asked at the exact same moment. Right after, they turned toward each other, exchanging a surprised look for having spoken those words in perfect synchronicity.
"Yes. Apparently, six months ago, Nightfall City earned itself a bizarre costumed threat. He has become infamous throughout the city and a strange topic of discussion in Massachusetts," Jameson explained. With his free hand, he began scrolling through a series of articles published by Charlotte Gagnepetit over the last six months. They were excellent reports, clean and impactful work for a young woman who had gone independent without institutional funding or the support of major newspapers.
The only thing that really made Jameson turn up his nose was the fact that Charlotte spoke far too highly of that masked threat. Furthermore, that guy dressed ridiculously; but that last detail could even be ignored, given that modern fashion was becoming more absurd by the day.
"But now this freak has become famous even outside of Massachusetts. Charlotte filmed the moment Captain Cold swears vengeance against Black Warlock and the police captain who captured him," Jameson said, pointing at the frantic images of the video which, during those hours, was climbing the ranks of the most-watched content across the entire East Coast of the United States.
"What does this have to do with us? We're a bit far from Massachusetts, and it seems someone else has already gotten the exclusive before us," Peter said, raising a logical objection. After all, he knew well that the Daily Bugle focused on reporting New York City news, though it did grant a few short columns to what happened in Metropolis to the north or Gotham City to the south.
"They have the exclusive for now!" Jameson exclaimed, slamming his fist on the desk again, his eyes wide and his jaw clenched, ready to do battle... figuratively speaking.
I have a bad feeling, Peter thought, feeling a familiar pit in his stomach, a harbinger of yet another thankless and dangerous job on the way.
I have a good feeling, Laura thought instead, straightening her back in her chair, her eyes shining with energy at the thought that the opportunity she had been waiting for all her life was finally within reach.
"Parker, Lane, I want you to go to Nightfall. Stay there until you get a sensational article on how a quiet city became the victim of yet another vigilante. Who is this Black Warlock, what does he want to do, and where did he come from?" Jameson said, pushing a notepad and printouts toward them, officially handing the mission over to his two employees.
The last time Jameson sent me out of New York City to take photos, I ended up in the middle of hunters, Sasquatches, and Wolverine, Peter thought, feeling a pang of anxiety at the memory of that disastrous and painful adventure in the freezing Canadian forests.
"Mr. Jameson, you can count on us. If necessary, I will throw myself off a building just to get an interview with this Black Warlock," Laura said with intensity, rising slightly from her chair and fully showing the same indomitable and reckless temperament of her Aunt Lois.
At those words, Jameson's serious and threatening expression froze. The redness of anger vanished instantly from his face, replaced by a grimace of sincere and deep concern.
"Laura, I want you to commit to this job, not do something reckless. We are not at the Daily Planet, where we allow our employees to throw themselves out of windows, trespass on private property, or commit whatever other madness your aunt has ever done," Jameson said, pointing his index finger at her. He had no intention of scraping his employees off the pavement with a spoon, nor did he want the Daily Bugle to be dragged into court for who knows what legal violations.
Jameson was firmly convinced that Lois Lane would have been eaten alive by civil lawsuits for damages and defamation, if it weren't for the fact that she always brought criminals' darkest secrets to light and was constantly protected by Superman, the Daily Planet's legal team, a general father in the army, and sometimes even Bruce Wayne's billions.
"Sorry, chief, I let my mouth run without thinking. I will do everything in my power to do a good job, but... well, I won't throw myself off roofs," Laura said, sitting back down abruptly with her cheeks slightly flushed and a visibly embarrassed expression, realizing she had let herself be influenced a bit too much by her aunt's incredible stories.
"Jameson, is this Nightfall and Warlock thing really that important to the Daily Bugle? Can't we just write about Spider-Man? And why do I have to go with the new girl? No offense, Laura seems like a nice person, but I really don't feel like leaving New York," Peter said, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture and casting a quick glance at the girl, genuinely intending not to insult or belittle her.
"I understand, not everyone likes business trips," Laura intervened, nodding understandingly; her expression was relaxed, a sign that she had perfectly grasped the photographer's point of view and hesitation without taking it personally.
"Parker, you disappoint me... and I am dangerously close to firing you on the spot!" Jameson snapped. His neck tensed visibly and his face quickly turned a worrying shade of purple-red.
"The Daily Bugle cannot stay on top of the wave if we keep repeating the exact same news forever! Spider-Man, Superman, Batman, the Avengers, the Justice League... they are on everyone's lips, every single day! People are getting bored of them! We desperately need fresh news, and this Black Warlock is the novelty of the moment," Jameson explained, gesturing emphatically to emphasize his editorial point of view.
Then, the editor-in-chief's gaze fell on Peter again, softening just a bit in a rare moment of seriousness. "Parker, despite you being a chronic and hopeless latecomer, you are a damn good photographer. You've worked at the Daily Bugle since you were a high school kid and you're a good man, even with a thousand flaws. I know I can trust you to guide and protect Lane on this assignment."
Peter widened his eyes, almost unable to believe his own ears. Those were, in all likelihood, the closest words to a compliment that J. Jonah Jameson had ever paid him in his entire life.
"If I'm such a valuable employee, how about giving me a raise?" Peter ventured, seizing the opportunity and straightening his back. "I would really like to move into an apartment that isn't covered in mold, otherwise I'll be forced to move back in with my Aunt May," he added with a grimace, thinking with a shudder of the disastrous conditions of his studio apartment and the perpetually late rent.
"Parker, if you bring me a good story, I'll double your pay," Jameson decreed, pointing a finger at him defiantly. "But if you fail, you will have to pay for every single expense of this trip out of your own pocket. Clear? And to recover the costs, I will withhold a portion of your salary for months!"
The gauntlet was thrown. The freelance photographer snapped up from his chair, gritting his teeth, and extended his open hand across the desk, straight toward his boss.
"Deal, Jameson. But... where exactly is Nightfall City?" Peter asked, betraying his total geographical ignorance at the last second.
"About two hours from Salem. You'll have to take the train or the bus," Jameson replied, grabbing Peter's hand and squeezing it with a steel grip to seal the agreement.
"And how far is Salem from New York?" Peter continued to ask, scratching the back of his neck with his other hand. After all, he had always been a genius in chemistry and science, but geography had never been his strong suit.
"I think six hours, more or less," Laura answered promptly from his side, sporting a proud smile, backed by the straight A in geography on her old high school report card.
"Six plus two makes eight... we have to travel for eight hours? That's practically a third of the day!" Peter commented, letting his arms drop to his sides at the thought of the long and exhausting business trip that awaited him.
"If you two are done wasting time and doing math, go pack your bags! I want to see you out of New York in three hours!" Jameson exclaimed, his voice returning to thunder powerfully within the office walls.
Catching the hint, Peter and Laura dashed in unison toward the exit, eager to leave the office before the editor-in-chief could change his mind or throw an ashtray at them.
As the door closed behind them, Jameson's hot-tempered voice continued to echo through the newsroom corridor: "And someone bring me August! He needs to go to the zoo right now to write an article on the mysterious disappearance of the lemurs and the otter, or I'm firing him!"
XXX
Just outside the borders of Nightfall City stretch the lands of Sweet Apple Acres, a historic and lush farm founded by the Apple Clan seventy years earlier, when three members of the family left Texas for personal reasons. This place is renowned throughout the region for its juicy apples and derived products, although in recent months it has gained a bizarre regional celebrity: it is the only farm in the world to host a colony of Bat-Ponies and colorful bats that magically glow in the dark.
Near the large red barn, Welt Blight wears a dark blue jumpsuit, smeared with grease and oil, making him look like an authentic small-town mechanic rather than the owner of a successful bookstore. The handyman is hunched over the engine compartment of Old Betsy, the ancient and ramshackle tractor of the Apple family; putting that wreck back together is an activity that, lately, has been repeating itself with the precision of a Swiss watch once a week.
Watching his every move, with her back leaning against a wooden fence, is Applejack Apple, the eldest daughter of the dynasty. She is a seventeen-year-old girl, 172 centimeters tall, endowed with an athletic, toned physique with harmonious curves (B91/W58/H89), sculpted by long hours of hard work in the fields. Her skin is golden from the Massachusetts sun, her large green eyes shine with a proud liveliness, and three cute freckles dot each of her cheeks. Her hair, of a warm sandy blond shade, cascades long past her hips, gathered in a low ponytail and held in check by a simple red elastic band.
Her outfit is a modern and catchy reimagining of country style: she wears a short-sleeved shirt with a classic red and white tartan plaid pattern, left unbuttoned at the front and tied tightly under her bust—a choice that highlights her flat, toned abdomen. Underneath, she sports a high-waisted blue denim miniskirt, whose bottom edge is finished with an original two-tone ruffled ruffle that blends western flavor with a decidedly pop touch. On her feet, she wears a pair of dark brown leather cowboy boots that come up just below her knee, equipped with a heel and embellished with elaborate shaped stitching on the upper shaft. Crowning it all is the most iconic element of her appearance: the inevitable light brown Stetson cowboy hat, proudly worn on her head.
"Mr. Blight, will you be able to do your usual magic? Will Old Betsy be healthy again?" Applejack asked, adjusting the brim of her hat and looking at the agricultural vehicle with the hope that that engine, which had plowed the farm's fields for four generations, still had a shred of life left in it.
"Applejack, you are an honest and hardworking girl, and I like to consider myself an honest and reliable man. So I will repeat it to you: Old Betsy belongs in a scrapyard," Welt said without looking up. With a fluid move, he reached out his hand to grab a wrench from his toolbox: an imposing and professional container where every wrench, plier, or screwdriver was perfectly organized and cataloged with precise labels, looking in every way like a surgeon's operating table.
"Don't say that, Mr. Blight! You've been saying Old Betsy belongs in the trash for almost six months now, but you always manage to get her back on her feet," Applejack countered, crossing her arms over her chest and flashing a sly smile, by now accustomed to that weekly theater.
"I take a walk outside of town to clear my head, I see a cowgirl and an elderly woman having car trouble, I help them, they offer me lunch, I accept... then, when I want to leave, the tractor breaks down, I fix it, and I end up becoming your handyman," Welt muttered between his teeth. He continued to tinker among the pistons, summarizing with bitter irony the chain of events that had led him to sell out his engineering talents to the Apple family.
"Thank you once again for your help back then and for your help today. When something breaks down here and we can't fix it ourselves, it costs us an arm and a leg, but you only ask for fifty dollars or a basket of Sweet Apple Acres' best produce," Applejack said. For a moment she lowered her eyes, feeling a pang of sincere embarrassment for asking so much of Welt while offering him such a meager wage in return. Sincerely, with all the money the farm was saving thanks to those miraculous repairs, Applejack could have easily bought a car of her own... maybe second-hand, but running.
"You're just lucky that I prefer your produce over your money," Welt shot back, unrolling a strip of tape with a sharp rip before grabbing some wire and a pair of thin pliers.
The handyman remained focused on the work for another ten minutes. He put every tool back in its place with millimeter precision, lowered the tractor's heavy metal hood with a dull thud, and finally pulled a spark plug and a box of matches from his jumpsuit pockets.
I find this luck-bringing ritual strange, but if it works, it works... I've accepted far weirder things in my friendship with Twilight and Pinkie, the cowgirl thought to herself, recalling the antics of a mad scientist in full training and a hyperactive girl who seemed to have more sugar than blood in her veins.
Once the candle was placed on the hood and lit with a flickering flame, Welt nimbly climbed into the driver's seat, grabbed the worn steering wheel, and turned the key in the ignition. Applejack, instinctively, crossed her fingers behind her back, holding her breath.
VROOOM!
The engine coughed, spat a cloud of grayish smoke from the exhaust, and then started with a vigorous roar, vibrating right through the sheet metal.
"Old Betsy is back in action!" Applejack exclaimed with a gasp of joy, pulling down the brim of her Stetson to hide the glint of excitement in her eyes.
"Next time maybe I'll come dressed as a Tech-priest from Warhammer 40k, celebrate an Adeptus Mechanicus ritual, and pray to the Omnissiah for a miracle," Welt commented sourly, turning off the engine before jumping down from the seat.
"I don't understand your love for complicated board games, but you can work miracles as a mechanic, Mr. Blight," Applejack said, walking over and giving him a friendly, vigorous pat on the shoulder covered by the blue jumpsuit.
"Don't be so happy, Applejack. This isn't a terminally ill patient; it's a dead man walking, and I don't know how much longer I can keep this Frankenstein's monster of agriculture moving," Welt replied, pulling off his work gloves and taking a rag to clean his carbon-blackened fingers.
"Old Betsy is old, but she'll hold out for a long time yet," the girl insisted, caressing the faded bodywork as if it were the most precious family treasure, a sacred heirloom to be passed down from generation to generation.
"Chronic fluid leaks, massive play in the steering, almost non-existent brakes, a completely fried electrical system, and impossible starts," Welt listed, counting the flaws on his grease-stained fingers, omitting none of the vehicle's structural plagues.
"Minor breakdowns that happen to any vehicle," Applejack downplayed, shrugging with feigned nonchalance.
"I've become a regular weekly service. And two weeks ago I had to come here three times in six days just to keep her running," Welt reminded her, mentioning the most frustrating and hectic period of his time as a handyman.
"That was an isolated case! The Bat-Ponies had damaged Old Betsy during their adjustment period," Applejack justified herself, telling the truth, even though she deliberately left out some of the more chaotic details of the affair.
"Applejack, I keep coming here for only two reasons: the good food and, above all, the challenge. I like to test my skill as a mechanic. Every time I bring this heap of iron back to life, I truly feel like a Tech-priest," Welt explained, finally revealing the real motivations behind that bizarre part-time job.
"Then, if you're having fun, can't we just keep this relationship going indefinitely?" the young woman proposed, eager not to alter an economic and practical balance that was so advantageous for the farm.
"But I don't want to do that. I accept the challenge, fine, but if we reach the point where I am called four days a week just to patch up this old iron, I quit. I have significantly better things to do," Welt cut her short, standing firm on his positions. He had no intention of wasting time and energy on a lost cause, especially when those precious hours could be invested in Black Warlock's far more crucial activities.
"You can't do that, Old Betsy is part of the Apple family," she shot back, running a hand over the rough, rusty frame, as if wanting to protect her.
"Applejack, you are a smart girl and you will legally be an adult shortly. Use your head and not your heart. This tractor is becoming a concrete danger to anyone who drives it, and it is more of a curse than an asset for managing the farm," Welt sentenced, trying to make the cowgirl grasp a logical concept he had been trying to explain to her for months.
"Do you think there's another mechanic in the area who would want to accept this challenge?" Applejack asked, turning her head the other way and pretending she hadn't heard the handyman's opinion.
"You won't find one. That tractor has lasted this long only because I used unique methods to repair her, in addition to introducing entirely unusual modifications and structural parts created by myself with a 3D printer," Welt explained. He carefully avoided mentioning the use of small magical tricks to force the mechanical components, since simple physics had surpassed its limits on that vehicle quite a while ago.
"You used a 3D printer to make spare parts for Old Betsy?" Applejack asked, turning around sharply, genuinely surprised. She had never noticed those details; after all, the complex engineering of engines was far beyond her practical skills as a country girl.
"Not spare parts, but entirely new pieces designed from scratch to keep the whole thing cohesive. In practice, I inserted about ten pacemakers into the patient's chest to keep him from dying on the spot, but the entire system is reaching its maximum threshold of endurance," Welt concluded, and the tone of his voice made it clear that he was not joking at all about the vehicle's grim diagnosis.
"Are you completely sure of your words?" Applejack asked, her expression suddenly turning a bit gloomy as she cast a worried glance at the heat-exhaling hood.
"I strongly advise you to keep a fire extinguisher close at hand if you decide to climb onto that crate. If this heatwave continues, she seriously risks catching fire," Welt warned her with absolute seriousness, snapping the sturdy metal latches of his toolbox shut with two sharp clicks.
"Granny Smith will be so sad..." Applejack commented in a low voice, shrugging her shoulders. She knew well that her grandmother loved that old piece of iron more than anything else in the world.
"If you want, I can talk to that stubborn old woman myself and tell her clearly to stop with this decidedly unhealthy attachment," Welt offered, crossing his arms. He had no problem taking charge of bad news.
"Hey, you could speak a bit better of my grandmother," Applejack shot back. Her tone was not angry, but rather resigned: she knew perfectly well that the elderly lady of the house was as stubborn as a mule, a genetic trait that ran powerful in the blood of the whole family.
"Applejack, we both know very well that your grandmother is the only one who categorically refuses to buy a new tractor, along with a bunch of other things. I mean, you still have a black-and-white television in the living room," Welt added, openly criticizing the woman's stubborn refusal to keep up with the times.
"Granny Smith doesn't like to throw away things that work. And anyway, we have a color TV in the kitchen," the girl defended herself, trying to downplay the obvious anachronism of their home.
"I know the story by heart. Granny Smith was ten years old when she left Texas along with her parents, they ended up here in Nightfall City and built this farm out of nothing. Granny Smith was sitting on her father's lap while he drove this very tractor, and all the rest..." Welt recited in a flat tone, having already had to listen to those endless nostalgic narratives every time he set foot on the property.
"You come here so often that by now you've learned all her stories about Old Betsy," Applejack admitted with a hint of regret in her voice, aware of how wearing her grandmother could be when she started remembering the old days.
"I even know that your father was conceived on the hood of this tractor," Welt added with total phlegm, raising a finger to point at a precise spot where the frame showed a conspicuous dent in the sheet metal.
"Okay, that is definitely a story I have absolutely no desire to hear!" Applejack cut him off, her cheeks instantly turning crimson from deep embarrassment as she looked away.
"In any case, the core of the matter is this: Granny Smith is an eighty-year-old woman who lives anchored in the past. You are a seventeen-year-old girl who lives in the present and has a whole future ahead. Do the right thing, bypass your grandmother's authority, and finally take the reins of the farm. Before senility makes her do something foolish, like selling the entire property for fifty dollars convinced she's getting a deal. I don't mean to be ruthless, but I'm telling you this only for your own good," Welt concluded, dispensing a necessary dose of raw and pragmatic reality.
"Mr. Blight, if I were still a ten-year-old girl, I would have already punched you in the face, shouting that Granny Smith is amazing," Applejack replied reluctantly, sighing deeply. "But I'm almost an adult and unfortunately, I have to agree with you. I love my grandmother, but in recent years I certainly can't say I agree with all her decisions."
The girl spoke with a note of sadness. Lately, she had noticed too many worrying signs: the farm's profits steadily dropping, the hard work becoming too much for an exclusively family-run operation, and, even more painfully, Granny Smith's health and memory starting to falter. Shaking off those gloomy thoughts, she preferred to focus on the present.
"If there's nothing else to fix, I would gladly leave with my loot. And remember: keep a fire extinguisher nearby and don't leave the vehicle under the scorching sun for too long," the handyman recommended, delivering his final technical warning.
"You can go pack up your gear, Apple Bloom should be here with your basket shortly," Applejack reassured him, having sent her little sister to gather the products of the earth that constituted the man's compensation.
Welt headed toward his gravel bike. It was an exceptionally versatile vehicle, a splendid fusion of the responsiveness of a road bike and the rugged armor of a mountain bike, equipped with a light but solid frame, perfect for attacking the asphalt before veering without hesitation onto beaten trails and dirt roads. Attached to the rear of his "steed" was a covered two-wheeled trailer, which housed his shoulder bag, a backpack with an emergency change of clothes, and a completely empty wicker basket.
With quick, practiced movements, Welt slipped off his blue work jumpsuit, revealing the clothes underneath: a white t-shirt with a stylized print of a Dungeons & Dragons Artificer and a pair of comfortable gray sweatpants. He folded the grease-stained jumpsuit into a plastic bag, then fished a red hoodie with a design inspired by Iron Man's armor out of the trailer and put it on.
Right at that moment, Applejack was joined by Apple Bloom, who was moving forward with effort while carrying a large, heavy basket overflowing with delicacies. The cowgirl's younger sister was a twelve-year-old girl, 140 centimeters tall, with a slightly golden complexion and two very lively eyes of a reddish-orange shade. Her long, bright red hair was partially gathered behind her head by a giant, eccentric shocking pink bow.
Apple Bloom's outfit was a perfect and adorable example of country-pop style: she wore short denim overalls in dark blue, featuring balloon-cut shorts finished on the bottom edge with a light ruffled ruffle. A thick brown leather belt, embellished with a conspicuous square golden buckle, cinched the overalls at her waist. Beneath the denim cloth peeked a short-sleeved pastel yellow t-shirt with a simple crew-neck collar, while a pink shield-shaped pin with a white heart in the center stood out on the left strap of the overalls. On her feet, she wore high brown leather boots with a low heel and an ocher-colored sole. Finally, on her left wrist, she showed a bright pink beaded bracelet that perfectly matched the large bow in her hair.
"Hi, Welt!" Apple Bloom exclaimed cheerfully, using much less formality than her older sister.
"Hi, Bloom. And I already know exactly what you're about to ask me: the next volume of The Adventures of Black Warlock is almost finished, but it will only be printed and available for sale in the bookstore starting next Friday," Welt anticipated her with a half-smile, knowing well how much the little Apple girl was an avid reader of his publications, as well as an enthusiast of occultism and urban legends.
"But how do you always know what I want to ask you?" Apple Bloom muttered, blushing visibly from embarrassment and shrugging her shoulders.
"Because I know you, Bloom. Either you come here to the farm to pester me while I work, or you show up at my shop in town along with your friends," Welt shot back with an amused tone.
To overcome her embarrassment, the young girl held out the heavy basket with his pay. The handyman grabbed it firmly with one hand and, at the same time, handed her the empty container he had brought with him.
Welt cast a quick glance inside to inventory the cargo: two two-liter bottles of fresh cow's milk, two still-warm loaves of homemade bread, about twenty fresh eggs nestled in the carton, a wheel of aged cheese, mixed vegetables including ripe tomatoes, heads of lettuce, and earthy carrots, half a kilo of tart green apples, half a kilo of juicy red apples, and finally, a delicious single-portion apple tart with a heavenly scent. Satisfied, he settled the basket into the bicycle trailer and got onto the saddle.
"Don't forget, Applejack, that on Monday I'll stop by to pick up my usual crate of apples and the supply of sweets," the man mentioned, reminding her of his role as a regular customer of Sweet Apple Acres, as well as their unofficial mechanic.
"Everything will be ready, as always," Applejack replied promptly.
"Sister, I have to meet my friends downtown shortly to do our summer homework," Apple Bloom interjected, lighting up. "Why don't we give Welt a ride in our truck? That way he doesn't have to pedal his bike all the way to town under this sun!"
"Hey, that's not a bad idea at all. We'll kill two birds with one stone and repay Mr. Blight a bit for resurrecting Old Betsy," Applejack approved, casting a knowing glance at the man.
"I never refuse a free ride, it allows me to save precious energy," Welt accepted, sliding down from his gravel bike's saddle and preparing to load the vehicle into the back of the truck.
XXX
Half an hour later, Applejack's old and dented pickup truck—a glorious and rusty family heirloom that had belonged to her father—came to a halt with a jolt and a screech of brakes at the back of the Owl House, right in the loading and unloading area for goods. The engine died with one last, tired shudder, leaving room for the silence of the alley.
"Is that a golf cart?" Apple Bloom asked, leaning out of the passenger window and pointing her finger at a bizarre electric vehicle unusually parked close to the bookstore's back entrance.
I have a strong feeling that Mordecai and Rigby have messed up again in one of their usual ways, Welt thought to himself. He shook his head slightly as he moved to the back of the pickup to carefully unload his gravel bike and its two-wheeled trailer.
"So this is the famous Owl House I've heard so much about from Apple Bloom, Rarity, and Twilight," Applejack commented, stepping out of the cab and resting her hands on her hips while squaring up the building's singular architecture.
"If you want, you can pop inside, maybe you'll find something interesting to read," Welt proposed, setting his bike's kickstand. His door was virtually always open to welcome a potential new customer.
"Thank you, but I don't have much time for books in my life," Applejack replied with a tight smile, proving to be her usual pragmatic, all-action self.
"I, on the other hand, would really love to pop in! I ordered that book, 101 Legends and Myths of Native American Tribes," an enthusiastic Apple Bloom interjected, her orange eyes shining at the thought of exploring the other fascinating half of the Old West's history.
"Alright then, we'll make a quick five-minute stop so you can pick up your book. If you settle down to read, you'll certainly have less time to get into trouble out there," Applejack yielded, caressing her little sister's large pink bow and gladly encouraging her sudden passion for reading.
"I'll give you a fifty percent discount off the cover price for this first purchase of yours," Welt promised with a nod to the young girl, before heading toward the corner of the building to walk around and enter directly through the main door.
XXX
Once crossing the threshold of the Owl House, Welt found the usual snapshot of his business: Nia, Mordecai, Rigby, Lars, and Sadie were already at their respective workstations, intent on carrying out their morning duties. However, since it was barely eight in the morning, the general atmosphere was still wrapped in a pleasant, sleepy quiet.
"Hi, Welt-chan! I see you've been visiting the apple farm," Nia greeted him with a sly smile from behind the register, knowing all too well the unusual and informal working relationship that bound her boss to the Apple Clan.
"This place is really nice... and it's definitely bigger and more stylish than a regular bookstore," Applejack commented, stepping through the front door and looking around with sincere admiration, followed closely by her younger sister.
"Thank you, I put all my heart into building this place," Welt replied with a hint of pride in his voice, as he walked across the room heading toward the nerd-bar counter.
"Good morning, Mr. Blight!" Sadie exclaimed, welcoming him with her usual radiant courtesy.
"Hey, boss..." Lars muttered instead, leaning his elbows on the wooden counter, still visibly half-asleep.
"Lars, it's time to earn your pay," Welt woke him up, placing the heavy grocery basket on the counter with a sharp thud, right in front of a surprised Sadie. "Go to the square. Buy thirty slices of ham, a whole salami, a jar of mayonnaise, and a pack of lemon tea-flavored fruit juices," he ordered, as he pulled his wallet from his gray pants pocket to extract and hand him two hundred-dollar bills.
Why does it always have to be me doing these cheap errands? Lars thought to himself, twisting his mouth into an annoyed grimace; he would have much preferred to stay in the cool air behind the counter doing the bare minimum, rather than dragging himself outside.
"And don't forget: I want the receipt for every single purchase and all the change back. Otherwise, one-third of your salary will be withheld to cover the shortfalls," Welt added with a firm tone, a stern but absolutely necessary warning for less motivated employees.
"I get it, I get it," Lars replied in a low voice, grabbing the two hundred dollars before listlessly dragging himself toward the exit to handle the errand.
"Should I go with him to make sure he buys everything the right way?" Sadie asked, raising a hand, eager to be useful to both her colleague and her boss.
"Sadie, you are a wonderful girl, but Lars is old enough to handle a small errand on his own. I still appreciate your excellent team spirit, so here is a reward for you," Welt said. With a fluid gesture, he fished a magnificent, shiny, and inviting red apple out of the basket and handed it to the girl.
Meanwhile, Applejack had already stepped away, drawn to a side shelf. She had begun to browse with curiosity through some adventure books set in the Old West; after all, with her Stetson hat and her boots, she was almost a living stereotype of an authentic Texan woman. Not far away, Apple Bloom was handing some bills to Nia, receiving in exchange, with her eyes shining, the volume she had been waiting for so long: 101 Legends and Myths of Native American Tribes, determined to explore the other fascinating half of the cowboy world.
On the other side of the room, Mordecai and Rigby were arranging the new arrivals on the shelves. Or rather, Mordecai was lifting the heavy volumes and cataloging them with millimeter precision, while Rigby confined himself to chatting open-endedly, passing him a book from the cardboard box every five minutes.
At that exact moment, the door of the Owl House burst open with a crash, and Lola storm into the bookstore like a cyclone, clutching two conspicuous paper bags from a high-fashion clothing boutique.
"Teddy bear! Today I have the whole day completely free, and I managed to come here early! I bought you a ton of presents!" the girl exclaimed loudly, making her high-pitched voice echo throughout the entire place.
"And here starts the usual Lola madness again..." Nia commented under her breath, rolling her eyes but keeping an amused expression at the customer's latest eccentricity.
"One of the main reasons I come to town so often is precisely to enjoy this wonderful comedy," Apple Bloom confessed in a low voice, clutching the book to her chest and finding it absolutely hilarious to see Lola in action.
Applejack was the only one who didn't pay the slightest attention to that stormy entrance. She had already reached the fifth page of her book, completely captivated by the story of a female sheriff from days gone by. Just as every monster has its weak spot, every person has a literary genre capable of stealing their mind and heart in a matter of seconds.
"Teddy bear, I missed you so much!" Lola exclaimed again. Without holding back for a single instant, she lunged forward with open arms, wrapping Welt in an overwhelming and incredibly vigorous embrace.
"We saw each other less than fifteen hours ago..." Welt managed to murmur, his scientific mind unable to help calculating the exact time.
"So you count the hours that separate us since we last saw each other too?!" Lola shrieked with pure joy. Out of enthusiasm, she tightened her grip with such force that Welt's feet completely lost contact with the floor, lifting him several centimeters off the ground.
The feeling of Lola's breasts pressed against my chest is undoubtedly pleasant, but I would like to avoid being crushed to death, Welt thought, feeling a slight flush of redness rise to his cheeks as he tried to breathe. "Did... did you buy something for me?" he asked then, trying to deflect the girl's attention with a tone as calm as possible.
"Oh, I almost forgot!" she replied. She suddenly loosened her steel grip, finally allowing Welt to touch the ground with his sneakers again. "I bought you a brand-new kimono for tomorrow's Judo lesson! I'll come pick you up at your house at seven o'clock sharp in the morning!" she announced proudly. In reality, she would have liked to show up even earlier, but she knew that they both still needed at least a minimal amount of sleep.
"I highly doubt that two bags that large contain only sports gear," Welt observed, squaring up the bags filled to the brim.
"You are always such a perceptive man, Teddy bear, I absolutely love this side of you... along with so many other things!" Lola said, closing the distance and leaning forward mischievously.
Welt instinctively took a step back, ending up with his back pressed against the wooden edge of the nerd-bar.
"I also bought matching swimsuits, so after the Judo lesson we can have a nice, relaxing swim in my private pool!" Lola continued. With a theatrical move, she fished a skimpy yellow bikini out of the bag for herself and a pair of swim trunks in the same shade for him.
Lucky bastard... Rigby thought from the top of his ladder, clutching a book in his hands with an expression of deep envy.
Congratulations, Welt. If only I had that kind of luck with Margaret, Mordecai thought instead, decidedly more worried about his own personal and intricate affairs of the heart.
Now that is a spontaneous and absolutely overwhelming woman, Sadie thought from her corner, her cheeks flushed from the embarrassment of witnessing that intense courtship from the front row, secretly wishing she possessed a shred of Lola's confidence.
"I... I don't know how to swim," Welt admitted, a bit uncomfortable. Even though as Black Warlock he was capable of mastering several complex spells related to fluid manipulation, in real life, deep water remained an issue.
"No problem! First I'll teach you Judo, then I'll teach you how to swim... and who knows, maybe afterward I can teach you something else?" Lola proposed with a seductive smile and a wink as she put the swimsuits back.
"What else do you have hidden in those bags?" Welt quickly asked, trying to change the subject to escape that dangerous ground.
"I got you a designer, high-tailored shirt and pants, so you'll look incredibly elegant when you come to lunch at my place and meet my father and mother," she replied naturally, showing off a thousand-dollar candy-pink shirt and a pair of vanilla-colored pants of the same value.
"Have you planned anything else without my knowledge for tomorrow?" the man asked, on the verge of suspecting that Lola had meticulously organized every single minute of his next twenty-four hours.
"I bought you a matching golf outfit and a professional bag with tempered steel clubs! That way we can do something extremely relaxing in the late afternoon," she explained, pulling the equipment out of the second bag. "And finally, toward evening, we can have dinner at my place and watch a nice movie together. Oh, and to make sure everything goes perfectly, I got this beautiful trinket! A centenarian elderly woman sold it to me from a truck decorated in perfect Halloween style," Lola concluded. With a big smile, she showed off her latest purchase: an ancient wooden and feather dreamcatcher that looked like it had been hand-carved by Native Americans centuries ago, during the era of the first settlers.
"I'm surprised she didn't just buy a pair of wedding rings and a wedding dress directly," Apple Bloom commented in a low voice from the counter, barely holding back a laugh.
"Certain things are better not joked about..." Nia whispered, losing her amused smile from before for a moment. Lola was making some decidedly bold moves.
"Lola, take this. You must surely be exhausted after all these errands," Welt interrupted her. With a lightning-fast move, he reached toward the Sweet Apple Acres basket, grabbed a fresh carrot, and handed it to the girl in front of him to distract her hyperactive energy.
"A carrot! But how did you know I love carrots?!" Lola exclaimed, ecstatic. She immediately set the bags on the floor, grabbed the vegetable, and took a loud bite, starting to crunch on it with gusto.
"Shouldn't you wash it before eating it?" Welt asked, frowning slightly, genuinely concerned about her hygiene.
"It's really sweet that you worry about my health, Teddy bear, but I have a stomach of steel! Once I even swallowed a whole can of Pepsi just to prove to a goat that she wasn't better than me," she boasted proudly, proving to be a girl capable of any madness.
"Returning to the beginning..." Welt resumed, taking advantage of the fact that Lola's mouth was temporarily occupied with chewing. "I accept the gifts and I accept the ride tomorrow morning. The judo lessons, the swimming lessons, and the lunch are welcome. But after lunch, no. You can have me for the whole morning, Lola, but in the afternoon and evening I have my personal commitments to attend to," he clarified once and for all, drawing a sharp boundary regarding his Warlock-related duties.
Lola stopped chewing for an instant, swallowed her bite, and let out a long, disappointed sigh. "Maybe I really did pack too many things into a single day... When do you think we could fit in the golf game and the movie, then?" she asked, showing herself to be surprisingly understanding and flexible for once.
"How about Tuesday afternoon for golf and Thursday evening for the movie?" Welt proposed, evaluating his office shifts and patrols as the city's hero.
"Perfect! Tomorrow we will have an absolutely perfect third of the day, and we'll complete it later on!" Lola exclaimed, straightening her back and raising her half-eaten carrot into the air as if it were a shining sword.
At that sight, Apple Bloom could no longer hold back and burst into a hearty laugh.
"Lola, since you are so full of energy and want to spend time with me, would you help me carry your gifts and my loot into my office?" Welt proposed, firmly grasping the handles of the wicker basket filled with the products of the earth.
"If you need me, you just have to call me and I will fly to you!" Lola exclaimed with intensity. Without being told twice, she grabbed her high-fashion bags filled with clothes and sports equipment, ready to follow him anywhere.
"And afterward, would you help me use part of my loot to make sandwiches for everyone?" Welt asked again, intending to offer a small culinary reward to the kids who were working on Saturday.
"Cooking together?! That was exactly one of the things I dreamed of doing!" Lola shouted, letting out a shiver of pure excitement and almost jumping for joy on the bookstore's wooden floor.
"Look, they're just simple sandwiches, nothing fancy," Welt toned it down, before turning to the counter to give his final instructions. "By the way, Sadie: when Lars comes back with the groceries, send him straight to the employee room."
Sadie nodded promptly with a welcoming smile and returned to focusing on her duties.
Welt headed toward the basement access along with Lola, but before crossing the threshold, he cast a warning glance toward the adventure novels shelf. "Applejack, let me remind you that this place is a bookstore. If you read more than ten pages, you either put the book back or you buy it. Once purchased, you can grab a snack at the bar and go up to the second floor to read in total peace."
"U-Understood..." Applejack stammered, snapping out of her literary trance suddenly. Her cheeks flushed with a bright redness from the embarrassment of being caught red-handed while devouring those pages.
"Nia, remember that Applejack is entitled to a fifty percent discount on her first purchase," Welt reminded his manager, keeping the word he gave at the farm. The girl behind the register nodded her head in agreement.
"Bloom, take this. I'm not crazy about this Indian shaman stuff, but I'm sure you'll like it," Welt finally said. With a quick, precise movement, he pulled the ancient dreamcatcher out of Lola's bags and tossed it in an arc toward little Apple, just a moment before closing the basement door behind him.
"Thank you so much, Welt!" Apple Bloom exclaimed, catching the object on the fly. Her face lit up with a radiant smile, as if Santa Claus had just come down the chimney in the middle of August.
The situation in the room had suddenly become singular: in her left hand, the young girl clutched a book dense with myths, legends, and ancient shamanic rituals; in her right hand, she held a mysterious indigenous artifact, woven by who knows whom and charged with who knows what energy. What could possibly happen by putting those two elements together?
The answer, in all likelihood, would not be long in coming in the near future.
XXX
An hour later, the atmosphere inside the building had decidedly shifted. The two Apple sisters, having finished their purchases, had said goodbye to everyone to tend to their errands in town. Lars had finally returned from the market with his bags full and, in the meantime, Welt and Lola had joined forces in the kitchen, giving life to a literal mountain of stuffed sandwiches.
Now, the employee room hosted a well-deserved lunch break. Around the table were only Nia, Sadie, Mordecai, and Rigby, intent on consuming their free snack, while upstairs Welt and Lola were handling the customers along with the other clerks who hadn't received screen time yet.
"What does Welt have that I don't?!" Rigby suddenly snapped. The raccoon threw the crust of his sandwich onto the table, crossing his arms over his chest and spitting out all the venom and envy he was harboring inside, backed by the unwritten rule that whatever happens in the employee room strictly stays in the employee room.
"A high school diploma? A college degree?" Mordecai listed promptly with a grin, seizing the opportunity to twist the knife into his best friend's disastrous academic past.
"His own business with regularly hired employees?" Sadie ventured, looking up from her meal and trying to answer objectively without being too offensive.
"The ability to understand, write, read, and speak multiple languages fluently," Nia added from behind her glass, with a tone of voice that allowed no replication, well knowing that Rigby struggled to even express himself in proper English.
"Good manners? The desire to work? The actual ability to hold his own in a fight?" Mordecai continued on a roll, having a blast riding that wave.
"And generosity," Sadie concluded, biting into her lunch with satisfaction. "These sandwiches are excellent, they are completely free, and they're certainly nothing new around here. Not to mention the small bonuses Welt grants us every time we do a good job or handle tasks outside of our official duties." The girl shook her head, aware that Rigby would hardly ever lend a dollar to anyone, and not just because money tended to mysteriously vanish from his wallet within a matter of hours.
"He also has about twenty kilograms of extra fat!" Rigby declared with spite, pointing his finger upward to emphasize the only physical difference that tipped in his boss's favor, turning it into a bizarre point of pride.
"If the only thing you can brag about is a trivial weight difference on the scale, well, that says a lot about you, pal," Nia commented, chewing her sandwich with phlegm.
"Hey, body shaming isn't nice at all," Sadie interjected, shrugging her shoulders and showing a certain sensitivity on the topic, having inherited her short stature from her mother and her decidedly robust, massive build from her father.
"I told you, Rigby, you're not good at this kind of challenge at all," Mordecai cut in further, mimicking a big F with his fingers on an imaginary report card of sharp comebacks.
"Come on, Rigby, what do you have to complain about Mr. Blight? He really is an excellent boss," Sadie scolded him, finding the environment at the Owl House extremely pleasant, not to mention the pay, which was decidedly above the local average.
"Welt knows how to be strict when necessary, fine, but he is always fair. The salary he pays us allows us to pay our rent on time and get by without doing acrobatics. Heck, thanks to the fifty percent discount on all merchandise, we even managed to buy a vehicle of our own!" Mordecai chimed in, speaking up for his employer; after all, his only real daily frustrations were related to Benson, the short-tempered manager of the apartment building where he lived.
"I have a car, and that's gotta mean something in the adult world!" Rigby barked, desperately trying to deflect the conversation onto ground more favorable to him.
"A golf cart is not technically a car, Rigby," Sadie pointed out, still a bit piqued by his previous remark about body weight.
"Mordecai, please, tell me I'm right!" the raccoon shrieked, turning toward the bird in the hope that his historic partner in misfortune would take his side, since they had bought that electric vehicle by splitting the expenses down the middle.
"No, Sadie is right this time. Our golf cart, according to the Massachusetts highway code, is registered and considered in all respects as a light quadricycle," Mordecai shut him down, having taken the trouble to read the DMV forms.
"The fact remains that the two of us have four wheels and an engine under the seat, while Welt gets around on only two wheels and pure pedal power!" Rigby persisted, hanging on by his teeth and nails to that absurd classification just to win a conversation devoid of meaning or final prizes.
"Yeah, too bad Welt-chan is the owner, makes three times what we do, knows a trick or two more than the devil when it comes to engineering and mechanics, and could easily buy a snappy sports car tomorrow morning if he just felt like it," Nia pointed out, dismantling the guy's last house of cards right from the start.
"In fact, it's much more likely that Welt wakes up one of these days to find Lola in his driveway trying to gift him a supercar complete with a big red bow," Sadie commented with an amused grimace, sparking a chorus of agreement.
"But seriously, how did that guy manage to capture the attention of a girl that beautiful, obscenely rich, and... well, brainless?! It's the equivalent of winning three national lotteries in a row on the exact same day! It's a divine injustice!" Rigby yelled, throwing his arms up toward the ceiling in the face of what he considered the greatest mystery of the universe.
"Nobody knows that. Welt-chan has never told me the details of his first meeting with Lola. I think it happened a few weeks before the renovation work started for the Owl House," Nia replied, throwing her arms out and admitting her ignorance on the matter.
"So, let me get this straight, your dream would be to have a beautiful, rich girlfriend without a shred of a brain?" Mordecai asked, arching an eyebrow and looking at him askance.
"Isn't that the secret dream of everyone on this planet? Have you seen the perfect measurements, the legendary B90-W60-H90?" Rigby replied, blushing slightly, convinced that his superficial desires mirrored those of all humanity.
"Physical beauty is important, Rigby, it's the hook that draws you in and brings you close to a person... but it's certainly not what holds you tight to them in the long run," Nia sentenced, her voice betraying a note of bitterness linked to a series of decidedly failed romantic relationships dating back to her high school days.
"You're generalizing a bit too much, pal. Sure, I'd like to have an attractive girlfriend, and if she were well-off, I wouldn't spit on it," Mordecai admitted with maturity. "But if I didn't have a single topic to discuss with her afterward, or if she had a toxic, negative personality, I wouldn't stay by her side for even a week. Intelligence, character, hobbies, opinions... they matter too."
"You will never find the perfect partner, everyone has structural flaws. Look at Lola: she is an atomic bomb of energy twenty-four hours a day, she drives her vehicle completely recklessly, and those are just the first things I noticed while standing here at the counter," Sadie analyzed, adopting a wise, detached tone. "She would be an incredibly interesting and fun friend to hang out with on a Saturday night, but as a girlfriend... well, staying by her side your whole life would require the millennial patience of a saint."
"Well, at least I didn't get stuck and frozen in the friend zone," Rigby hissed. For once in his life, he struck exactly where it hurt the most.
The skinny, short guy turned first toward his best friend, narrowing his eyes. "Margaret."
"That is a decidedly low blow, pal," Mordecai growled, crossing his arms over his chest and clenching his teeth, visibly hurt.
Without wasting a second, Rigby shifted his lightning gaze to Sadie. "Lars."
"It's... it's a complicated situation!" the girl flared up. Her cheeks caught fire instantly and she lowered her gaze to the table, fidgeting with her fingers just to avoid her colleagues' eyes.
Finally, Rigby completed his victory lap by focusing on Nia. "Welt."
"You'll pay for this, I swear," the manager growled. Her pride had been mortally wounded, especially because the one rubbing that uncomfortable, bitter truth in her face was the least qualified employee in the entire bookstore.
"If I'm wrong, let a sign be given immediately from above!" Rigby exclaimed with theatrical emphasis, raising his hands and looking at the room's ceiling, convinced he had sealed his crushing victory.
At that exact moment, the door to the employee room burst open and Lars made his entrance. A mischievous smile, loaded with a far from reassuring amusement, was stamped on the guy's face.
"Mordecai, Rigby, the police are upstairs in the shop. They are specifically asking for the two of you... Let's hear it, what did you mess up this time?" Lars asked, crossing his arms and fully enjoying the scene.
The color vanished instantly from Rigby's face, and he literally collapsed to his knees on the floor, grabbing his head. "No! I asked for a sign, not immediate punishment!" he screamed in despair.
"I told you so!" Mordecai yelled, jumping up onto his chair as panic took over. "I told you we absolutely shouldn't keep those bizarre homemade fireworks from Muscle Man in our apartment! I had a feeling they were illegal or contraband stuff!"
Lars could no longer hold back and burst into a hearty laugh at the two friends' terror. "Relax, you're barking up the wrong tree. Actually, the officers are only here to take your formal statements regarding the fight that broke out last night. Apparently, that bearded guy is a dangerous criminal wanted by the state."
"Oh, thank goodness... What a relief!" Rigby exclaimed, letting himself fall backward onto the ground, running a hand over his forehead at the escaped thought of ending up in the slammer.
Mordecai, however, did not seem to relax completely and frowned, exchanging a tense look with the raccoon. "Wait a second... that guy was a wanted fugitive? Oh, great. I feel like we just ended up inside another massive mess."
XXX
Five minutes earlier, on the ground floor of the Owl House
Behind the nerd-bar counter, Lars was almost falling asleep on his feet, listlessly playing with a cloth and fighting against the mortal boredom of the morning shift. On the other side of the room, Welt Blight calmly manned the cash register. In front of him, a plate overflowing with freshly made sandwiches acted as an intermediary with Lola, who kept chatting open-endedly, gesturing with enthusiasm and jumping from one topic to another without pause.
Welt, moving with practiced conversational skill, caught every single pause to deflect the flow of the girl's talk toward areas far more strategic for his investigations: "How is your father, the mayor, doing?", "Have you happened to notice anything unusual lately?", "Is everything quiet in the upper-class neighborhoods?", or "Which areas of the city have you been running in these days?".
"The police? What are they doing here?" Welt suddenly asked, breaking off mid-sentence. Through the bookstore's large display window, he saw a patrol car pull up sharply right in front of the Owl House's entrance. At the wheel was an old acquaintance of the city, Sergeant Wu.
"Teddy bear, see you later! Or at the latest tomorrow morning at seven o'clock!" Lola exclaimed in a rush. With a lightning-fast move, she grabbed the entire plate of sandwiches and dashed toward the back exit, vanishing in a whirlwind of energy before Welt could even blink.
When she acts like that, it actually becomes easy for me to accept her expensive gifts... After all, they compensate for the fact that she continuously steals my food and tableware, Welt thought. He maintained a perfectly relaxed and unbothered expression, backed by the certainty that nobody in that department could in any way link his civilian identity to that of Black Warlock.
The front door clicked with a chime and the officer of Asian descent made his entry into the shop, heading with a firm, heavy step toward the main counter.
"Good morning. Are you Welt Blight, the owner of the Owl House?" Sergeant Wu asked. Despite his formal and polite tone, the man looked terrible and had deep bags under his eyes; that very morning, the head of investigators, Motoko Kusanagi, had literally chewed him out for a solid half hour over a leak of valuable information.
"Yes, I am Welt. Go ahead, officer, what can I do for you?" the bookseller replied. He put on a cordial and entirely naive expression, playing to perfection the role of an ordinary shopkeeper who had nothing to do with the news events.
"I am Sergeant Drew Wu. A violent fight occurred inside this place last night," Wu explained. He slipped his smartphone from his uniform pocket and turned the screen toward Welt, showing the now-viral footage of the brutal clash between the shop owner and a bizarre individual.
"It was pure and simple self-defense..." Welt specified, tense but controlled. In his mind, he was already weighing the idea of resorting to a small mental hypnosis spell if the situation risked escalating.
"Oh, you have nothing to worry about, Mr. Blight. We have officially identified that subject as Garrett Bobby Ferguson, a fugitive wanted for aggravated assault," Sergeant Wu immediately reassured him, consulting his paper notes. "I am simply here to take your formal statements and add the offense of attempted assault to Ferguson's charges."
"I understand perfectly. I will be very happy to release my statement. In fact, two of my employees are right here on the premises and witnessed the entire scene; they were about to be assaulted by that madman, and I stepped in only to protect them," Welt cooperated, showing himself as a relieved and model citizen.
"It would truly be an excellent thing to have more written testimonies on record, and not just a grainy clip bounced around the internet," Wu commented, appreciating that total readiness which would save him quite a bit of paperwork.
Welt turned sharply toward the nerd-bar. "Lars, go downstairs right away and tell Mordecai and Rigby to come up and talk to the officer."
"For once, I will do it with immense pleasure," Lars smirked, straightening his back; the opportunity to scare his two colleagues to death was too good a chance to pass up.
"My shop is entirely covered by closed-circuit cameras. I am certain I have the original footage of what happened yesterday on the servers," Welt continued, solid in his acting.
"It would be fantastic if you could provide us with the original high-definition surveillance clip," Sergeant Wu replied, visibly relieved at the idea of being able to close the case in record time.
XXX
Half an hour later
Sergeant Wu, having obtained the flash drives with the videos and signed all the testimony statements, had finally left the bookstore.
"Boys, you had to face a formal interrogation with the police. I think it's best if you take the rest of the day off and keep your heads down for a few days," Welt suggested, slipping his hand into his back pants pocket and pulling out his leather wallet. He slid out two freshly printed bills. "Here is two hundred dollars. Take a taxi straight back home and order something through food delivery for dinner. I don't want to see you back here before Tuesday morning," he ordered, handing one hundred-dollar bill to Mordecai and the other to Rigby.
"Welt, you truly are the best and most generous boss in the world... Isn't that right, Rigby?" Mordecai commented, his eyes wide with surprise, while simultaneously delivering a warning elbow to his short friend's ribs.
"I officially take back every single negative word I ever said about you, Welt!" Rigby exclaimed, pocketing the bill with a lightning-fast movement and switching sides with an ease that was embarrassing to say the least.
Welt arched a single eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. "And let's hear it, what exactly did you say about me?"
"Just... just that you're a lucky bastard and that women swarm around you one after the other!" Rigby replied in a thin voice. He began to break into a cold sweat under his boss's gaze, having opted to tell the truth, but in an extremely selective way.
Before Welt could look further into the matter, the roaring rumble of a high-performance white motorcycle broke the silence of the alley outside, coming to a halt right in front of the Owl House's display window. The person riding the vehicle was a slender woman wearing a pristine white lab coat over her civilian clothes; her head was entirely concealed by a full-face white helmet, devoid of any decoration.
The woman dismounted nimbly from the vehicle, entered the shop, and slipped off her helmet with a fluid gesture, releasing a cascade of snow-white hair: it was Origami, arriving at the bookstore just a few moments after the police cruiser's departure. The girl, endowed with a magnetic beauty and a sharp gaze, completely ignored the others present and headed straight toward Welt.
"Hi, Origami," Welt greeted her, warmly welcoming one of his best customers, as well as a highly useful and unwitting source of confidential information directly from inside the police forensics department.
"Hi, Welt," she replied in her usual monotone voice. Without any hesitation, she grabbed the man's arm and began inspecting it from top to bottom, moving her fingers with a perfect mix of deep personal care and detached medical professionalism.
"See? A big, goddamn lucky bastard," Rigby whispered in a corner, gritting his teeth, convinced that not even his mother had ever touched him with such gentleness during his entire childhood.
"I saw the video of the fight online. I wanted to come check on your physical condition right away, but I got stuck at the forensics lab. We had to analyze the evidence from the recent cases linked to the activities of Ice Cream Man, Captain Cold, and Heat Wave," Origami explained, her fingers now caressing Welt's hand, squeezing it between her own with unexpected sweetness, despite her expression remaining as impassive as an android's.
"You have a job of great responsibility and it's very fascinating, Origami. You don't have to apologize if you can't stop by here every day," Welt reassured her, maintaining a gentle and extremely protective attitude.
"I'm happy that you are well," the white-haired scientist declared, continuing to hold his hand.
"If they start kissing right here in front of me now, I swear the police will arrest me for..." Rigby was about to let slip yet another impulsive and self-incriminating idiocy, but Mordecai was faster: he slapped a hand over his mouth, lifted him bodily under his arm, and dashed toward the bookstore's exit at full speed.
"Good luck with lunch, Welt!" Mordecai's muffled voice shouted as he vanished past the door, terrified by the idea that a reckless move from his best friend could blow their days off and the precious hundred dollars.
Welt, left alone with the girl, gently withdrew his hand with a textbook cough. "So, Origami... did you stop by just to check on how I'm doing, or do you also need to pick up a pending order?" he asked, putting back on his professional shopkeeper persona.
"I need to pick up a special package for a colleague of mine, get the new issue of my scientific magazine, and... take you away from this place to go to lunch together," Origami stated clearly, directly, and without frills, staring straight into his eyes.
"And where beautiful are you planning to take me?" Welt asked, genuinely intrigued.
"I discovered that you deeply appreciate Italian cuisine. A female colleague of mine from the department highly recommended a small place downtown that makes excellent spaghetti," she replied, revealing that she had planned the outing down to the smallest detail.
"Sounds like a great idea. That way you can tell me the latest news from the department... You know well how much of a fan I am of detective stories and how stimulating I find your field," Welt accepted with a sly smile. At that moment, personal pleasure and investigative duty were weaving together perfectly in his mind.
"Certainly. And afterward we can continue our discussion on mechanical engineering projects; your theoretical advice is proving to be incredibly useful for my personal research," Origami added, visibly attracted and fascinated by the man's extraordinary intellectual capacities.
"It will be a true pleasure. You know, in this whole city, you are the only person with whom I can finally strike up science-nerd discussions... With the other kids in here, I can talk about comic books and role-playing games at most," Welt admitted, chuckling. He then turned to the rest of the staff to give his final instructions: "Guys, I'm heading out for lunch. I'll be back in an hour or two at most."
Origami opened the door and Welt followed her out of the place, leaving the Owl House behind them.
Nia, who had witnessed the entire scene hidden behind the new releases shelf, clenched her fists at her sides. On her face, usually radiant and cheerful, a grimace of deep and intense jealousy formed.
Oh, no. Enough is enough, Nia thought, her eyes shooting sparks as she stared at the silhouette of the motorcycle driving away in traffic. It's time to take this to the next level. I'll fish out that old maid costume from the closet and learn to bake an Italian pizza from scratch right at my house. I have absolutely no intention of letting myself be pushed aside and ending up in last place in this absurd competition for Welt-chan!
XXX
Author's Note:
I hope you liked this chapter! It turned out a bit longer than usual, but I really wanted to close all the civilian and everyday story lines of Welt's day within this block. In the next chapter, the tune will definitely change: we will dive into the darkness and focus entirely on Black Warlock's nightly activities!