The day unfolded in a rhythmic dance of productivity. Time lost its distinct edges as I methodically filled trolleys with an array of long-lasting provisions—canned goods, essential packages—all stacking up in a meticulous choreography. Baked beans, an unrelenting cascade, provided an amusing, albeit cringe-worthy, familial undertone that clung persistently.
As each tin of baked beans fell into the trolley, I couldn't help but wince. The sheer volume reminded me of an undeniable truth: the baked bean influence was ingrained, an inescapable legacy of my family. It wasn't just about sustenance; it was a marker of the eccentricities that had bound us together. Regardless of how much I had tried to distance myself from them, and the church’s influence, I had to admit that it would always be a part of me.
“Although I guess not all of that is bad,” a chuckle escaped my lips, a playful gesture over my crotch accompanied by a self-warning, invoking a cascade of playful memories. The storage room bore witness to more than the mere stacking of supplies. The echoes of past indulgences lingered, a mischievous smile lingering on my lips.
Hunger, a persistent force, gnawed at my stomach. A stroke of luck led me to leftover lasagne in the fridge, a serendipitous feast shared with Karen and Jerome.
Seated in the dust near the Portal, the aroma of leftover lasagne wafted through the air, creating a brief oasis of comfort amid the challenges of the day.
"Mum may be protective of her leftovers," I teased, a mischievous grin playing on my lips as I observed the communal act of indulgence. "But at least there's always leftovers to be protective over."
Jerome, always ready to take advantage of a good opportunity, added with a conspiratorial glint in his eye, "Quick, let's finish it before Mum develops some sort of leftover radar. Doesn't matter where we are; she'll find a way to protect her food."
Playful banter ensued as we exchanged boasts of our stealthy manoeuvres, relishing the lasagne without falling victim to Mum's scolding. Laughter mingled with the warm aroma, creating a momentary escape from the demands of the day. Karen, the perceptive outsider to our familial dynamics, observed the interaction with a mix of amusement and bemusement.
As we revelled in the small victory of successfully savouring the lasagne, Karen's gaze shifted. Her eyes caught sight of mum near the Drop Zone. The realisation sparked a sense of urgency in our banter—
"Better eat quickly," I suggested with a wink, acknowledging Karen's observation. “Mum's on the move. We wouldn't want her to discover the missing lasagne before we've had our fill.”
“She’d surely take it from us, no doubt convinced in grand delusion that the small portion of food could miraculously feed everyone in the camp,” Jerome added, shoving the food into his mouth like it was going to be his final meal.
The banter took on an added edge of haste, transforming our impromptu feast into a race against time, all under the watchful eyes of our ever-vigilant mother.
With the hunger abated, the act of adding more tins of tuna to the burgeoning collection brought about a profound sense of satisfaction. Each can placed in the trolley seemed to embody a small victory, contributing to the growing cache that would sustain the settlers for months. However, an unspoken caveat lingered in the background, a subtle murmur contemplating the pace at which the settlement could continue to expand. The utopian vision of forging a new civilisation revealed itself to be a more complex reality than my initial optimism had envisioned.
Amidst this contemplation, the day's seamless productivity was abruptly disrupted.
"Beatrix, close your damn Portal," I cursed, my fist shaking at the vacant wall that stubbornly resisted its usual vibrant illumination. The unexpected halt, a stark contrast to the rhythmic progress of the day, jolted me from the steady flow of activities. A sudden obstacle disrupted the comforting routine, introducing an air of boredom into the previously well-orchestrated sequence of events.
Emerging into the dazzling Clivilius sunshine, I felt the warmth bathe my face, a stark contrast to the irritation boiling inside me. The light, almost too bright after the dim confines of my parent’s storage room I’d just left, cast sharp shadows on the ground, exaggerating every detail of the scene before me. Beatrix, oblivious to my presence at first, was entirely engrossed with an exorbitant pile of cash that seemed to glow under the sun's scrutiny. The vibrant sunlight, unforgiving and relentless, seemed to mock the absurdity of the situation, highlighting the ludicrousness of the moment.
"Finally! What the fuck have you been doing, Beatrix?" The words erupted from me before I could temper them, laced with a cocktail of frustration and confusion.
"Sorry, Luke," she replied, her actions betraying a sense of urgency as she continued adding more money to the growing stack. "But this was super important."
My eyes narrowed, taking in the scene – the mound of money, a colourful aberration against the pristine clarity of the Clivilius sky. It was almost too much, too vivid, too surreal. Without thinking, my confusion vocalised itself, "What could possibly be that important that you had to keep your Portal active for almost an hour!"
"It wasn't my Portal that was active," Beatrix explained, nodding towards a familiar face I couldn't quite place. It was Jarod’s Portal!
"We have another Guardian?" The words tumbled out, my voice a mix of incredulity and surprise. My mind raced, trying to piece together the implications of her words, the significance of Jarod's involvement.
"We are going to be the envy of all other Guardians!" Jarod's enthusiasm was palpable, his actions bordering on the theatrical as he joyfully showered himself with a handful of notes. It was a display of triumph, of victory, albeit in a manner most peculiar and flamboyant.
"What the heck?" The thought echoed in my head, a silent plea for some semblance of logic amidst the chaos. The situation unfurled like a scene from a dream, the elements too disparate to weave into a coherent narrative. My brain struggled to connect the dots, the absurdity of cash showers and an unexpected Guardian in the bright Clivilius sunshine painting a picture that defied logic, yet here we were, standing at the precipice of something extraordinary, something utterly bewildering.
As Jarod made his way toward the Portal, his steps confident and unhesitant, the air vibrated with a tension that was palpable. "Jarod, wait!" Beatrix's voice pierced the heavy atmosphere, a touch of practicality lacing her tone, grounding us momentarily in the midst of our fantastical dilemma. She held herself with a poise that suggested careful consideration, a contrast to the whirlwind of chaos that seemed to follow us. “I think we’re better off storing the money here in Clivilius, rather than your safe.” There was a pause, heavy with contemplation, before she added with a tinge of hesitancy, “That isn’t so safe,” her words tinged with a hint of doubt that seemed to hang in the air between us.
My fingertips rubbed at my brow, an automatic gesture born of deep-seated confusion and weariness. The sunlight, relentless in its intensity, seemed to mock my attempt to find clarity, its brilliance almost too much to bear.
“We should only take the money when we actually need it,” Beatrix reasoned with Jarod, her voice a beacon of sanity in the madness that enveloped us. Her attempt to instil a semblance of order was admirable, yet seemed almost quaint in the face of our surreal circumstances.
“I’m sure I need this much already,” Jarod retorted, his cheeky grin cutting through the tension. His nonchalance, so characteristic yet infuriating, added layers to the absurdity of our situation. With that, he departed, leaving a trail of bewilderment in his wake.
"Beatrix!" My exclamation was a desperate attempt to anchor myself to some semblance of reality, my voice a cocktail of frustration and disbelief. The situation was slipping through my fingers like sand, the more I tried to grasp it, the less I seemed to understand. “What the fuck was that all about?”
“Come on, Luke,” Beatrix's response was tinged with resignation, a weary acceptance of the mayhem that seemed to be our constant companion. “You know Jarod. He works to his own agenda. You can’t be too surprised.”
"I'm not surprised with Jarod's behaviour in the slightest," I found myself retorting, the frustration bubbling inside me like a tempest. "But I am gobsmacked that you've chosen to make him part of our Guardian crew!"
Beatrix sighed, a sound heavy with unspoken words and shared burdens. "Look," she said, a hint of defiance in her gesture as she tossed handfuls of cash into the air. The bills scattered like confetti, dancing in the vibrant sunlight, a moment of surreal beauty. "It's not all that bad."
My eyes rolled involuntarily, a silent testament to my exasperation. "It could be worse, I suppose," I muttered, though the very nature of our situation, surreal and beyond comprehension, made it hard to imagine how. The scattering cash, shimmering in the sunlight, seemed to underscore the absurdity of our lives, a vivid reminder of the fine line we tread between order and insanity.
The ground beneath our feet betrayed us without warning, a sudden shudder that rippled through the serene chaos of Clivilius. Beatrix's screech, "Earthquake!" sliced through the air, a sharp contrast to the previously muted sounds of our surroundings. Her reaction, swift and instinctive, saw her dropping to the ground in what could only be described as an armadillo-like posture. Despite the severity of the situation, I couldn't suppress a chuckle at the sight, her form curled protectively, a beacon of humour in the unexpected tumult.
The quake itself was mercifully brief, a fleeting yet forceful reminder of the unpredictability of our world. As the tremors subsided, a disorienting silence enveloped us, the kind that follows a storm, filled with the echo of what just transpired. It was in this silence that a new spectacle unfolded before us—a giant Portal screen, materialising out of thin air. Its emergence, grand and imposing, seemed to dwarf everything in its vicinity. An irrational thought flickered through my mind, a trivial concern in the grand scheme of things: Her Portal is bigger than mine!
“Well, that was unexpected,” Beatrix's voice cut through the silence, her tone laced with a nonchalance that belied the extraordinary nature of the event. Her ability to remain unfazed, or at least appear so, in the face of such anomalies was something I both admired and envied.
“You don’t say,” I retorted, my words dripping with a sarcasm born out of confusion and intrigue. The lack of forewarning, the sheer suddenness of the quake and the Portal's appearance, left a myriad of questions swirling in my head. “Do you think this is normal?” The question escaped me almost without thought, a genuine curiosity pushing past the initial shock.
Beatrix's shrug, a simple gesture, mirrored the uncertainty that clouded my own thoughts. “No idea.” Her response, succinct, somehow encapsulated the unpredictability of our existence in Clivilius.
The gears in my mind whirred to life, a lightbulb moment that seemed almost too perfect. “Prepare your Portal Key, Beatrix. There’s testing to be done!” My voice carried a mixture of excitement and determination, the prospect of experimentation a welcome distraction from the oddity of our situation. The surreal had become our playground, and it was time to explore its boundaries.
In Jarod's conspicuous absence, the pieces of the puzzle began to align with a clarity that was previously elusive. Beatrix and I deduced the ownership of the Portals – the first being exclusively mine, a solitary gateway that I had grown accustomed to, and the newly emerged giant, a shared conduit between Beatrix and Jarod. Annoyance pricked at me, a thorn of realisation that, despite the grandeur of our discoveries, we were still rationing resources among the Guardians. My Portal, though uniquely mine, paled in comparison to the colossal newcomer. This realisation was a double-edged sword; while the sting of having the smaller Portal was undeniable, the solace in not having to share provided a balm to my bruised ego.
“Unless you are sharing with Jarod,” Beatrix's voice snapped me back to reality, her words laced with humour yet cutting through my contemplations like a knife. Her teasing, though playful, unearthed a scenario I hadn't fully considered, one that didn't sit well with me.
"For your sake, Beatrix, you'd better be hoping that I'm not sharing a Portal with Jarod," I retorted, my words carrying a weight of warning, my gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that was meant to convey the seriousness of my statement. The air between us crackled with the unspoken implications of what sharing a Portal with Jarod could entail, a prospect I certainly didn’t find particularly appealing.
Then, as if struck by lightning, a realisation dawned on me – Charles! The thought hit me with the force of a freight train, a crucial piece of our intricate familial puzzle that had momentarily slipped my mind in the whirlwind of recent discoveries.
"Jarod's your responsibility now, Beatrix," I declared with finality, a hint of desperation perhaps colouring my tone as I turned my attention to my Portal. I left her standing amidst her piles of cash, a visual reminder of the madness that had become our norm.
Stepping through the Portal and arriving in the familiar confines of the Smith house, a sense of stupidity washed over me. How could I have overlooked Charles? The comfort of the study, with its walls lined with books and the faint smell of aged paper, did little to ease the gnawing feeling in my gut. Beatrix, with her new shared Portal and her piles of cash, suddenly seemed miles away. A silent plea hung in the air, unspoken yet fervent – Beatrix had better save me some of that cash!
