In another dimension, during the last few minutes of lunch, a boy named Stefano sits next to his younger twin brother, Alan, who's on the ground and leaning on a pillar, frustrated. “Why can’t they all shut up! I’ve been re-reading this one page because it’s so loud!” Alan whines. Stefano opens his own book, smiling at his brother’s pouting, “Let’s just read–” Suddenly, there’s a large crash, and there was a pool of water with a small amount of what looked like mist emanating from it, all on the other side of the hallway. Concerned, the pair, as well as a few other friends, rush to the two conjoined lunch tables next to it, hoping for an explanation, only to see vice-principal Cobb scolding Phineas and confiscating… an ice box? Who, in their right mind, brings an ice box to school? Actually, no, that’s totally something Phineas would do. “It was Phin,” Liam explains, “he put dry ice into a filled plastic water bottle and dropped it. Nothing of the bottle, nor the grapes inside were found…” “Death by dry ice,” Renesmé says hauntingly, a shadow draped across her face. Everyone laughs. “If I had a nickel for every time something exploded in this school for as long as I’ve been here, I’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird it happened twice,” Alexa chuckles darkly. Stefano runs his tan hand through his reddish brown hair, using his other hand to adjust his round, yellow glasses, smiling. He glances at Alan, going into one of his mental rants. A little bit of context, they are somewhat similar in appearance, and that’s it. Stefano is known for his reddish-brown hair, light tan (despite rarely going out!), obnoxiously thick glasses (yes, he has bad eyesight!!!), cobalt eyes, and freckles, while Alan's appearance goes more like this: cerulean eye color; dark dirty blond hair; skin that glows like the sun. Not only that but Stefano is more shy and nerdy/smart while Alan is a social butterfly who barely passes his classes and only reads when it’s assigned. “Honestly,” Stefano speaks up, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he turns out to be a toxicologist at Calling.” “No, no one wouldn’t be surprised if he got detention!” Alan notes, blinking slowly, despite the fervor in his voice and on his face; the boy has always been horrible at hiding his emotions. Another notable difference in the two Goodwinnes, one can put on a monotone voice and face on command, the other can’t even process his emotions without help and a few minutes of very rare deep concentration. DDDDDDRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGG!!! The bell chimes, the sound ringing in everyone’s ears. Most everyone hates the new bell system, so loud and in-your-face. “I swear on the multiverse!” someone in the background exclaims, “I haven't finished my lunch yet!” ✵ ✵ ✵ In a not-so-cosy, damp, but secluded cave by Silvershadow Stream, a rather large river that runs through the large and friendly city of Dublin, lives a girl named Layli. It’s the morning after that dry ice incident that had happened in the earlier half of the chapter. The river is calm today, Layli sighs in relief, tidying up. After a quick shower in the river, she slips into some clothes she got from Goodwill - which she washed beforehand - a fading Gravity Falls tee, tattered corduroy pants, and an oversized sweater. She runs a comb through her damp hair, drying it with a towel she had also washed and laid out to dry a few hours ago. After tying her hair into a ponytail, she brushed her teeth. She puts on a “borrowed” bucket hat, using it to cover most of her face. She “borrowed” the bucket hat and “borrowed” the toiletries. Don’t ask where she “borrowed” them. “All right. Let’s do this!” Layli smiles at the idea of a productive day. She takes out a piece of paper from under a rock. necessary items - run(ning) out of new school books (need to keep sharp) hat (to hide identity) more toiletries (running out!!!) money??? “Urg! How do I get money,” Layli groans, not liking the fact that her now-honed skill of pickpocketing would be necessary. Sighing, she adjusts the hat on her head so it conceals her face better. Tiptoeing out of the cave, she walks to town. “Market will be best,” Layli whispers to herself, “busy, crowded, and noisy.” And hella distracting, with the smells and noise. What can you do though? Necessity is cruel motivation, especially for a hungry teen who does what she needs to survive. The girl finally reaches the overly colorful bazaar, the scents of ripe fruits, grilling meat, and freshly baked bread hitting her lungs. She, however, contemplates getting a job. Despite being quite lanky and thin, is good with brute force, due to her… unprecedented heritage. Shuffling past, she quickly swipes off an expensive looking pair of sunglasses that were perched on a woman’s head without the lady noticing before slipping it on and speeding off, weaving through the crowd.
It’ll make good money somewhere, or at least make a good cover, Layli thinks, noting the Cartier logo on the side of the frame. Stopping, the girl notices a mirror shoppe and takes a good look at herself. One that isn’t distorted by the ripples and waves. Medium olive skin, oval face with a pointed chin, almond shaped silver eyes, black hair with white tips. Continuing walking, she zoned out. That’s when she crashed into someone. “Omg! I am so so so so so so sorry!!!” “It’s alright,” the other girl says. She looks somewhat similar to Layli, paler olive complexion, black hair, black eyes, rounder face, and a button nose, but doesn’t look as disheveled. Looks more put together. It’s kinda creepy… “My name is Lilith, yours?” Lilith puts her hand out for a shake. “Layli, and I’m really sorry I bumped into you,” she smiles sheepishly. “You look like you need a job,” Lilith blurts out, “my dad owns a stall, but needs help moving the crates and stuff, but can’t find someone good. It doesn’t pay well though…” Now it was Lilith’s turn to be embarrassed. “Seriously?” Layli probably looks way too excited about getting a job hauling crates for minimum wage at fourteen, thanking whatever gods would listen for her… heritage for the first, and most likely last, time. “I mean… I would need to talk to him about it…” Lilith takes Layli’s hand, dragging her to a stall where a middle aged man, dressed in government clothes, tries to unload boxes way too heavy for him to the ground, most likely attempting to stock. The man, too, looks suspiciously like Layli, but with browner eyes and skin, paired with salt and pepper hair. “My dad is a government worker who sells goods for money whenever they’re low on funds and tax season isn’t due for another monsoon. Whenever he’s off season, which is most of the time, he works in finance,” Lilith explains before shouting to her dad, “Yo, pops! I think I found someone to hire!” The man turns around, and while his face is as slack and unbothered as trained to be, his eyes glint. “Oh really. I’m Vikram. What might your name be, girl?” “Layli…” she squeaks. Fenrir squints his eyes suspiciously at her, “Say. You look an awful lot like my sister Priya and her husband Fenrir.” “… Priya and Fenrir Wolfe?” At this point, the girl is shaking as she pulls out a faded picture of her parents - her Indian mother and Norwegian-Germanic father in a kitchen. Priya was holding an infant Layli and Fenrir was whisking pancake batter. The batter was everywhere but the three of them were smiling, impossibly happy. On the backside, written in blue ink, was ‘Layli’s first pancakes!’ Layli hands the picture over and Vickram’s eyes darken, “Where did you-” “They’re my parents. I think.” ✵ ✵ ✵ “Nice doodle,” Stefano’s tablemate Caudity teases. Something you should know about Caudity Dodd, he’s the perfect mix of Tam Song from Keeper of the Lost Cities and Zane Ro’Meave from Minecraft Diaries. Jagged black bangs - silver tipped, of course - that cover his now blind left eye, which like his right eye, was icy blue. Really pale, with barely noticeable freckles. Only wears black. Kinda hates his younger triplet sisters Casey and Mintys’ guts, but is still extremely overprotective of them, despite the only thing the three have in common is a mother - they have different fathers with their own last names; it’s a rare occurrence called heteropaternal superfecundation. Oh, and you don’t wanna wrong him. He’ll probably set you on fire. “…I was doodling? I never doodle,” Stefano looks down and he was, in fact, doodling moments earlier. He was sketching a family of three, an Indian mother, a Norwegian-Germanic father, and their infant daughter. Confounded, Stefano whispers to no one, “I don’t even know them…”
