Chapter 10: Discoveries

Teri

Despite the nauseating knowledge that my sister not only possesses Pusheen the Cat pajama bottoms, but was wearing them, I woke well-rested at a reasonable time Friday morning.

And looking forward to the day. Which felt weird. I mean, since getting together with Mike and Dana, I’ve almost gotten used to sometimes being actually happy—to life not just being something to snarl through in a simmering pissed-off haze. But here I was, a thousand kilometers from my sweeties (ugh, I was actually calling them that!) and ready to get the day started.

With first on the agenda (aside from, yanno, pee and a quick shower) being to go nextdoor and collaborate with Zoe—in person. Sam still hadn’t woken by the time I dressed, which was all the better.

Zoe was up, of course, what with still adjusting to life five hours behind home. And huggy—did I know she was a huggy person? “Morning, luv.”

“Feeling better, I hear.”

Which got me a questioning look. “Because everyone’s talking about me?”

“Your accent,” I said as I set up my laptop beside hers on the little table. “When you’re tired, it gets, uh, thicker.”

She laughed. “Back ta me ruts as a Liverpuddlian. When I’m awake, I try to sound more educated.” The difference between her two sentences was striking—she calls the second accent Received Midlands. (I think that’s a joke I don’t get.)

We blazed through Cal’s drafts of social media posts, both teasers for tomorrow’s reveal of Raina Bronson’s identities and the online reveal itself—some for our channels and a couple guest spots. Cal was still tied up in exams, or we’d’ve conferenced her. The posts were all good—Cal’s got a deft hand for promo. We reviewed our next couple rounds of ads—tweaked one, but the current set was doing well enough, we didn’t want to mess with things.

Zoe shook her head. “Honestly, most of the time I don’t want to muck around that stuff. So hard to keep track of all the content variations, what works and what doesn’t.”

I nodded. “Marketing gurus need math—who knew?”

She cocked her head. “What about your little numbers guru—you think she’d be interested in helping out?”

I almost said no out of reflex. But I knew better now. Dana was interested in my writing. The way she supported it, it should have been obvious, but I—again—had ignored that and thought only about what hurt me. “Yanno, she’d love that kind of stuff. Did I mention she wrote an app for tracking my weightlifting training? And another for Mike’s race training?”

Zoe blinked. “So she’s a computer nerd as well as a math swot?”

I corrected her. “Not a nerd, not a swot—just really bright. And enthusiastic about numbers. Anyway, I’ll ask her. And forget about this. Let’s get cracking.”

As in writing together—taking turns in the same Google Doc, writing the same scene and jumping over each other. Much laughter when we stomped each other’s sentences. It started with Devin (my character) and Kylie (Zoe’s) searching a docking bay for arms smugglers, trying to be professional while dripping with sexual tension, given their past histories—and once they’d confirmed all clear, the flirting shaded into one last hook-up for old-time’s sake. The sex scene was, actually, pretty hot. Definitely material we could use. It’s exhilarating when writing clicks like this—double so, when collaborating does too.

The way Zoe and I looked at each other over our screens, it sometimes felt like Zoe was as much into me as Kylie was into Devin. And I was surely horny for my honeys.

We were pretty close to wrapping it up when Sam stuck her head through the connecting door. “Hey, can we get some food already?”

My stomach echoed her with a grumble. Okay, surely horny and hungry for breakfast. Well, given the time, brunch.

“You haven’t snuck down for a bite yet?” Zoe asked Sam.

Sam shook her head. “Was waiting for you—I don’t know what’s up for the day.”

Zoe closed her laptop and popped up from her seat. “Well, let’s sort things out. Is that what you’re planning to wear? Might want something a little more professional.” They disappeared together into the other room. Well, whatever.

As Zoe dealt with Sam, I texted my honeys: three days till i get to kiss your sweet pussy and hard dick again

Dana replied first, as I shut down my laptop: Going dark for the workshop, talk later??

Which, okay, hurt a little but, yeah, her training workshop was just about to start—she needed to get her pro face on.

Mike followed up with, D: Good luck workshopping, followed by, T: Good luck frustrating

I chuckled—I do like his smartass sense of humor. And not having him here, yeah, just a wee bit frustrating. Time to play along, even though the con hadn’t even started: some of these cosplayers? lots of fantasy fodder. Especially late at night, I’d heard, after the little kids went home.

Any science fiction fodder?

Not yet—though, wait. I still had the con website open on a couple tabs, one of which had a cosplayer of a young Han Solo. Tap tap tap, and I sent it to him. Never mind it wasn’t my pic.

Mike gave it a That counts

I would have added more, but Sam was acceptably dressed (per Zoe’s standards) and we were ready for food.

Brunch with Zoe and Sam was kinda weird. Especially the way Sam was acting almost civilized. Polite. That it was Zoe who was looping her in, rather than me, may have had something to do with it.

“So on deck for the day, we need to check in and get our badges, find our booth-slash-table, and check in with Stellar Reads. Teri, any idea how far away we’ll be?”

I nodded. “They’re two rows over from author alley, so shouldn’t be far.”

“Excellent.”

Sam looked puzzled. “Why is that good?”

“They’re handling all our paper stock—if-and-when we sell out at our table, we can pick more up from them. Course it’ll be you two who get to carry it, you strapping lasses.” Zoe cocked her head at Sam. “You’re strong like your sister?”

“Not as strong,” she said hesitantly.

“Her rep is she’s the second-strongest girl in our school,” I put in.

Sam stared at me. What? I may be antisocial, but even that kind of word gets back to me.

“Excellent,” Zoe repeated.

At least she didn’t raz us for going back to the buffet for thirds—she knows we’re both athletes.

As we got ready to leave, Zoe gave Sam a cocky smile. “Buck up, girlie. Could be a lot worse—you could be at each other’s throats.”

Huh?

Sam was just as confused. “Who’s at what’s which?”

“You and Teri,” Zoe failed to explain. “The way she talks about you, I was expecting more fireworks.”

Sam and I shared glances—which felt weird, thinking the same thing as her. “No, we don’t actually fight much,” Sam said. Her expression suggested she found the whole idea weird.

“I ignore Sam to the best of my modest abilities,” I explained. “Most of the time, she leaves me alone.”

“Well maybe this weekend, you sisters can get a bit more sisterly.” Zoe stood up. “Come on, let’s find the convention center.”

Ooo-kay, I thought. I was looking to get closer to one of my best friends. Why was she pushing me the other way?

Admission turned out to be easy—there was a separate counter for guests/pros to check in, without a line. The guy didn’t bat an eye at my being underage, and the one waiver signature, when Sam signed it, he didn’t check the paperwork. Okay then.

Even without attendees, the exhibitor hall echoed loudly as vendors set up their booths. (Don’t know why they didn’t call it a dealer’s room—too lowbrow a term for something as fancy-dancy as a Fan Expo?) Some were pretty elaborate. And big. One group was setting up four walls of banners two stories high, with flaming graphics—turned out to be a videogame company. Looked cool anyway.

Author alley, on the other claw, was a double-row of bare white tables tucked behind what looked like a bunch of artist booths. At the end of the aisle, two guys in overalls were tinkering with some remote controlled Star Wars droids. Sam gave them a stink-eye as Zoe and I set up our name tents.

“Don’t worry about that lot, luv,” Zoe told her. “They’re harmless. Where’s the bookstore?”

I waved in the general direction.

The Stellar Reads was still shelving stock, but Delia made the time to talk with us. We ended up with an initial stack of 6 copies each of all 6 volumes, plus a couple piles of store promo materials, in a big box. Guess who got to carry all that?

“Is it as light as Teri makes it look?” Zoe asked Sam conspiratorially.

Sam ... giggled? She can giggle? “Not hardly. She’s that impressive.”

The best answer to that was just haul away.

We set up our book-stacks attractively, including a couple on little folding display units. Our cash-box, hidden inside my laptop case, was small—but it didn’t need to be large, especially since we had a phone-dongle that runs credit cards.

“Sam, fancy being our cashier when we’re at our panel and signings?” Zoe asked sweetly, somehow without gagging.

“I can do that,” Sam said.

“That’d be darling, luv,” Zoe told her.

Sam shrugged. “It’s not like there’s anything else I want to do.”

“Don’t want a look around?”

Sam shook her head with a Why would I want to? expression.

Her loss. Especially if she really did want to catch Chris Hutchins’s signing. Myself, I felt something in my belly I could only describe as excitement. So much geekery on display, and it hadn’t even officially started.

Except, wait, the noise level rose to match my mood as, right at one o’clock, the first attendees stumbled into the exhibitor hall. We were the only author already set up. Yeah, nothing awkward about that. Eventually more arrived, here and there, and set up at nearby tables. Some had banners, others stayed as bare-bones as us.

All were friendly, even to newbies like us. Even the woman who writes all those vampire-unicorn romances, who went around introducing herself.

She was walking away when something caught my eye. “Wait wait wait,” I breathed. I stared down the alley at a full booth being erected. “Is that?”

Zoe looked up, then followed my gaze. A gasp. “Did I know Peter S. Beagle would be here?”

“No more than I did,” I murmured.

“Huh?” Sam said.

“Ah-MAY-zing writer,” Zoe said.

Sam looked at us and the booth. “Does he write sci-fi like you guys?”

I scoffed. “Nobody writes like he does.”

Zoe still watched the booth—there he was, a shortish man with silver hair and goatee, setting out books. “Should we go over, you think?”

“Not till I can act professionally,” I admitted. Instead of a squealing fangirl.

“Good point.”

“Maybe—” I shook my head. “If I knew how to make an origami unicorn, we could give him one.” There had to be instructions out there, like for the one in Blade Runner.

“You guys are weirdos,” Sam muttered.

A few people finally started wandering by, none of whom had ever heard of Downstar Runner. Some were interested, and a couple bought the first volume. Since we weren’t super-busy, Zoe and I decided to take turns wandering the exhibitor hall—get the lay of the land. Okay, and have fun geeking out a bit.

Zoe went first, and came back a half hour later with a small stuffed Totoro. “I mean, yeah, I could get one in England, but with the exchange rates right now it’s cheaper here.”

“That’s cute.” Sam sounded surprised. And ignorant of My Neighbor Totoro.

“We need to eddicate ye, luv, in proper popular culture,” Zoe declared.

For my first turn, I decided to scope out the artists—if I could find a good one, maybe I’d commission a portrait of us three. Both threes, actually: me/Zoe/Cal and me/Dana/Mike. A couple had styles I liked, but nothing clicked just yet.

Despite that, my excitement kept growing. Something about the energy, the people. These were my people.

I mean, let’s face it, rural Colorado is not particularly tolerant of people who are different. I don’t just mean being gay, though honestly Dana and I have gotten less flack for dating each other than for sharing Mike. But geeking out over science fiction, that’s not approved of. Nor is being a large girl. Nor is being a writer, unless you stick to westerns or cowboy romances. Sam’s reaction to the con and fannishness in general is entirely typical. It was seeing Dana’s collection of SF paperbacks that made me fully realize she was a kindred spirit. And my current sorta-butch buzz-cut—that’s about as outlandish as I can get away with, back home. Here, it was barely noticeable.

Especially among these cosplayers—people putting themselves out there for others, and getting compliments left and right. And so many of them! Not just superheroes, either. There was even a Totoro costume with a lotus-leaf hat—I sent a pic of that to my anime-loving honeys. A lot of anime costumes, in fact, beyond ye basic Naruto and Dragonball kids. This one pair of bishonen fantasy swordsmen were particularly drool-worthy. As was a scruffy guy in a Wolverine suit. There was a Hulk in green body paint who actually carried his muscles like they were natural instead of the result of a life as a gym-himbo.

But despite all the nice guy-candy, it was a girl who especially caught my eye—about my age with generous boobs, larger even than Dana’s, and they were really obvious because the costume showed a lot of cleavage. As in a neckline all the way between them down to her belly. Clearly an anime character, but I didn’t recognize the show—likely some dumb shonen thing with a harem, but regardless, it was spectacular in person. It needed acknowledgement, that effort. That hotness.

I stopped before her, raised my hand, and tipped one finger down to point at her. “Smmmmokin’.”

“Thank you,” she said with a smile. “Looking pretty good yourself.”

No shame, as Dana keeps reminding me. I didn’t blush, didn’t even hesitate at the complement. “Not as good as someone in a costume like yours.”

She grinned, and handed me a business card. “We can help you with that—our booth is #246.”

I took it. Creative Costumes. An idea tickled in the back of my brain. “I’ll stop in.”

She looked me up and down. “And I’m sure that, even if you don’t buy anything, we could have fun ... trying things on.”

I was pretty proud of my response. I mean, I’d had exactly one girl make a pass at me before, and I fumbled that pretty badly. (It worked out—Dana’s nothing if not persistent, thank all the heavens.) Not a lot of hands-on experience with this stuff. But I do write these kinds of scenes, which means I roleplay a lot of scenarios in my head. Without missing a beat, I leaned down and said confidentially, “But not too much fun—my girlfriend isn’t here to join in.”

And with that statement, the idea stepped fully formed into the front-brain.

“Awww,” Miss Anime mock-pouted.

“What about me?” said a very grown-up Misty from Pokémon—as in showing quite visible underboobs. I hadn’t even noticed her standing beside us. Which says more about the hotness of Miss Anime than my state of mind. I think.

“You’re pretty cute,” Miss Anime Hotness said, “but Big Beautiful Woman here is hotter.”

I didn’t blush. I’m pretty sure. But my composure did slip a little. I covered by getting directions to #246 through the warren of the exhibitor hall. And getting a pic of Miss Anime’s hotness, of course.

The Creative Costumes booth was run by a couple old enough to be Miss Anime Hotness’s parents. The woman was in full-on steampunk, complete with an adorable tiny top-hat decorated with gears. The man was all in black, including a tapered shirt with slightly bloused sleeves, plus a monocle.

“How can I help you?” he asked. Dennis, according to his badge.

“I’m looking for costumes for myself and my girlfriend. More for play than cosplay.” After a moment, I added, “Something easy to get on and off.”

“Ah, yes.” He smiled—it wasn’t smarmy, but he clearly understood what costumes like that could be used for. “We can certainly accommodate that. Is she...?”