Here’s what’s happening on Patreon! 1/50 in 2019. As it’s just the first week, I’m sharing my excitement with you! In the future, there will be a gap of a full week between when the issue is posted and when it is available to the public.
According to Wikipedia, there are about 1 million bubbles in a champagne flute – which is pretty impressive, even for a drink I am used to calling ‘angry Sprite’.
My flight back home from Heathrow was cancelled and after a teary call to my mother, an angry scream into my neck pillow, and an hour-long bus ride back into my city, it would seem I would spend the wintry evening alone. I was rolling my suitcase back into my flat when I heard a warm, Oxbridge-accented voice shout down to me,
“Florence! What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be halfway across the Atlantic by now.” I looked up to see Clark, the friendly computer genius who lived in the flat above mine. He had fixed my computer when I accidentally gotten a virus trying to download The Vampire Diaries bloopers – and let me just say, when I could hand my computer (including un-deleted browser history) over to the man I knew I trusted him. The fact I had a major crush on him didn’t hurt, either.
“My flight was cancelled,” I sniffled. He ducked out of the window and the next thing I knew, he was pulling my suitcase up the stairs, cursing loudly and enthusiastically about airline incompetence. He reached out a hand for my keys and, baffled, I handed them to him as he continued to complain and ramble on, interjecting his own stream of thoughts with increasingly funny anecdotes about his own fear of flying.
“Alright,” he said. “It’s Thanksgiving Eve in America, isn’t it? God, that must be awful, not to be with your family.”
“Um. Well I mean, it’s the day before Thanksgiving. We don’t really call it Thanksgiving Eve.”
“Well,” he sighed, “I don’t have turkey. As a matter of fact, I think I only have frozen toaster strudel and a bottle of champagne but – “
“What? Clark, what are you talking about?”
“We’re celebrating, of course,” he said, miffed. “I can’t leave you like this.”
“Clark, that’s very sweet of you, but you really don’t have to do that. Besides, weren’t you saving that bottle of champagne for a special day?”
“Today’s as special as any.” he said. “And there’s no one I’d rather drink it with, quite honestly.” He smiled.
“Clark McCleod, are you trying to rescue me?” I asked. He laughed and his ears turned pink.
“Definitely not. I’m just a simple man, standing in front of a woman, asking her if she’d like to get tipsy and eat some junk food.”
I bit my lower lip to keep from grinning too broadly, and saw his eyes flick to my mouth, then back up to my eyes.
“What flavor is the toaster strudel?” I asked.
“Ah, raspberry I think,” he said, running a hand through his hair – “Is that a maybe?”
“It’s a definitely.” I said, my smile widening. “And for the record, your intention may not have been to rescue me, but that’s what it feels like is happening.” He laughed.
“No way,” he said. “When I recovered the files on your computer, that was saving. This is just a date.” As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he froze, then stuttered out: “Unless you don’t want it to be a date – then it’ll just be the two of us hanging out like we usually do.” he ran his hand through his hair again.
“Hey.” I said, smiling and sidling up to him. “It’s a date. Although with your computer skills, I’m wondering if you had anything to do with my international flight being cancelled…”
“No way,” he said solemnly. “I only use my hacking skills to steal from billionaires, banks, and bigots. Besides, if I’d planned this, I would’ve bought a turkey.”
I laughed and followed him up the stairs to his flat, where he poured me a drink.
“Cheers to Thanksgiving Eve and hackers everywhere,” I said, clinking my glass to his and then snuggling in next to him on the couch.
“And cheers to The Vampire Diaries, free of charge thanks to a generous donation from The Koch Brothers.” he said, flicking on the TV.
Kira DeSomma 