As Borislav received study materials from Edfone throughout the following week, his entire worldview was turned upside down. The online teaching resources of the 'Crackerjack' were a fascinating discovery, providing many tutorials on how to stop being a social impotent and date women, who no doubt are 100% all the same in thoughts, personality, and desires. At work, the Janitor would always come to share his latest discovery and progress on the "Mission New Haven" a codename for the project on seducing Mary. He was quite sure of himself, boasting about his progress, despite the said lady having only struck a two-sentence-long discussion with him. He would ask how Borislav was progressing with Sarla, to which he'd always be told that no "progress" was made.
Borislav couldn't bring himself to use the White Night method, despite the copious amounts of masculinist brain formatting he had consumed. He would think of ways to be mean but he never could tell if they were too overboard or too soft. At some point, infuriated by his colleague's lack of decisiveness, Edfone gave him this advice: "Stop thinking, start doing." An excellent piece of advice, of course. Thus our protagonist started to push away his avoidance of social interactions; during breaks, he would find occasions to talk to other people than Edfone, and one day he stumbled onto Sarla as she getting a water bottle by the vending machine.
It was the moment of truth, the first real encounter between the shimga-oriented dishwasher and his 'training target'. He remembered in his head the catch-phrases he had gotten from "RoadToPhala" 's videos on the internet. Now he had to pick one of them. But which? Time was scarce, he needed to decide. In the end, he just walked at a fast pace to fake being in queue for the vending machine and said "Hey-", still on the fence about what strategic sentence he should employ. The target replied "Hi", as she turned to inspect Borislav's name tag, a mere piece of paper. "So." continued he, prompting a "So?" in response. He cleared his head as he saw her smile, he had found it; the perfect pick-up phrase!
"Why are you getting water?" he asked, exhibiting a confident expression for the first time in a decade. "Because I'm thirsty?" she replied, not seizing yet the *exceptional* nature of Borislav's inquiry! "Oh yeah- me too...", he said, still building up the courage for the grande finale. "Nice" she shrugged, still not ready to be hit by the masterpiece about to come. "I wasn't- when I- I first came in but...then I saw you and I was like..." Borislav, trying not to remain static given the importance of body language in seduction's art, moved his hand to his belly, gesturing a circle. "I was like 'hmm. I'm thirsty now' ". he uttered, already regretting it.
A silence invaded the staff lounge, an heavy, soul-breaking, silence. Sarla's eyes were emptied of all life and dreams, her iris became icebergs melting encircled by orange flames. She then broke the silence with her soothing voice; "Ah. Ah-Ah, very funny." But her laughter was irregular, and her tone more monotonous than a flat line. Borislav looked at her as she hurried to get a bottle from the vending machine. He had fucked up. This was the worse pick-up line in the history of pick-up lines, no doubt. She left soon, and Borislav found himself alone near the vending machine, not even taking anything from it.
The day went on, as the drive-out's only personnel felt a ship blocking his throat. His confidence had been shattered, "This is what happens when I talk" he thought and kept the words exchanged with the customers to a bare minimum. 6 pm struck again, and it was finally time for Borislav to head home. As he left by the front door, he saw Mary and Sarla hanging out as usual, except this time it was Sarla that had a cigarette stuck between her lips. Had his abject failure made Sarla want to burn her insides for consolation? It was the first time he saw her smoking, and he looked embarrassed. Mary pulled out her lighter and put it in front of the cigarette. But nothing rose from it. "Hey Borislav!" she called to the weirdo staring at both of them by the exit door. She asked, "Do you have fire?". Of course, he had fire, he was a mandragon after all, but he knew she was asking about a lighter.
He shook his head as a "no", walking away slowly yet still looking at them. Mary shrugged, trying the lighter one more time, it could generate fire with a miracle after all. A miracle that Borislav was destined to realize. He was to realize it that as a man of the shadows, taking no recognition from the downtrodden beings he would help. Taking a deep breath and concentrating his powers by waving his fingers below his waist, he intended to light a sparkle on the cigarette's end. Igniting it with a snap, he closed his eyes and had planned to walk mysteriously towards home from then on. However, atrocious screams made him turn his head around; noticing a whole cigarette turning to ashes on the ground, Mary's sleeve set on fire, and Sarla screaming behind her hand that she had placed over her upper lip. Borislav didn't ignite a sparkle, but a forest fire.
Borislav rushed back into the FCP, screaming "Water! Water! Need Water!" as he pushed aside the few customers in the way, and with the speed of a plane, went to the staff lounge to kick the vending machine to shreds, just to bring back six 500ml water bottles. In the meantime, the fire had spread from Mary's sleeve to her collar, no time more was to be wasted. He gave out the bottles to a small assembly that had formed on the scene, all at once they managed opening up those tiny bottles and pour it down. It was fortunately enough to reduce the fire to a mere memory. A mere memory that burned Mary's forearm and stretched almost to her neck. She was screaming more loudly than she was when actually on fire; she felt completely numb. Even more pedestrians, clients, and fellow workers had gathered around the incident's place by the time Shattyk Liwei stepped out of his lair to discover the horrifying scene.
He quickly called an ambulance, while Borislav's conscience became haunted by the realization that he had done that. He had ruined his "target" 's day twice that day. He thought there was no way she could ever fall for him, he wouldn't deserve it anyhow, yet he seized a light in Sarla's eyes as she thanked him briefly for extinguishing the fire. Nevertheless, the guilt was there to stay. The circle dispersed when the ambulance had arrived, transporting Sarla and Mary to some form of medical care.
Borislav sat down on a bench to try and keep his calm. What was he thinking? Using his superpowers fit for a killing machine, which he used to be, on trying to set alight a minuscule cigarette? He hadn't gotten a thorough look at Mary, he didn't want to get one, and had no clue about what would be the long term effects of the incident. Everything had happened so fast that he hadn't yet have an easy time getting over it. In any case there's nothing more he could do. "Fortunately" he thought, as everything he ever did was a fiasco.
Shattyk Liwei closed the whole store until further notice, accelerating the crowd's departure. As he watched them leaving, Borislav recognized the strange mustache wearing guy who had left without his order on his first day. He wasn't walking away normally, it was complicated to decrypt what he was doing. He was facing Borislav and bobbing his head, as he took steps backward that ressembled a dance. Was he looking at Borislav? Nobody could tell through those opaque sunglasses.
Our neighborhood pyromaniac had a strange feeling as he focused on the dancer-stranger. So many questions unraveled about him, who was he? What did he want? It didn't matter at that moment, for when Borislav blinked, the man had dissapeared. Borislav put it aside, and decided to head back to Wallow Street as the sun was already beginning to set. He passed through the place of Blobby's stalking target as usual, and stopped abruptly. If a god there was, would Borislav be able to do anything to redeem himself in his eyes? Would that anything be making an impossible love come true? Borislav tried to be a man of shadow using his superpowers, and was punished for it. Perhaps it that didn't mean he couldn't be a man of the shadow, he just couldn't do it with his superpowers.
Two devils sat on his shoulders, one was claiming that whatever he does, he'll fuck it up, and the other was encouraging him to pursue this path of redemption by action. He was planted there in front of a complete stranger's house, listening passively to two sides of himself. The second devil was the one to win the argument in the end, rhetorically asking "How could we fuck up a love that's already impossible ?". Borislav knew that the second devil was completely right; for god's sake Blobby had a blobfish for an head! In what world could Borislav strategy make B-Man's chances lower than they already were?
The man from the shadows there and then resolved himself to doing his best, using his natural cupidonesque abilities to give Blobby a chance at love. He resumed strolling, re-energized. Once he had gone up the stairs, and greeted Flabby in the apartment, he sat down to try and bring a plan to live in his head. Nothing came. What should a detective do when this happens? he asked himself, coming up with an eureka in a couple of seconds only; "Write the case down to clear one's thoughts!".
Opening the text editor, he typed frantically;
" DETECTIVE AZURFIN'S 1st CASE: 'BLOBFISHIN IN LOTUS STREET'
Enamored by a widowed woman of his age, B-Man, also known as Blobby, is hiding behind soul-draining poems to talk to her. Conscious of his horrid face, letters are the only way he has to make her fall in love. Detective Azurfin ( Me ) hasn't yet gotten to read any of those poems, but whether they're working or not is beside the point. B-Man is stuck in his insecurity, as he wears a cardboard box on his face and sunglasses in public. He will never show up to Jannet on his own, which leads Detective Azurfin to conclude that even if she falls in love, she will never get to see her mysterious poet. Thus Azurfin's quest is simple: to force a meeting between the two. But how?"
How to make this love come true? All Borislav had was an address and a name. Images of him in a grey overcoat and fedora harboring the streets streamed in his imagination, but none of them contained an answer, except one; that of a telephone booth. Bingo. Detective Azurfin knew how to make the star-crossed lovers bump into one another. All he needed to do was to convince Jannet Sweemey to come back straight after her jogging to meet her unknown admirer. He would need to find out how to call her though, perhaps by looking on Janisbure's online annuary? That's what he did, seemingly caught in a streak of genius deductions. "Jannet Sweemey" he searched, falling quickly onto what he was out to find.
It was already dark outside, but he felt the need to finish everything now. The only thing he needed was a telephone booth and an idea of what he would say to her. For the former, he decided to change his clothes and venture out until falling on one, and for the latter, he just decided to "trust" his "guts". Flabby followed his dark hooded slave outside, which somehow wasn't a good omen for the plan on being discreet.
The streets of Janisbure at night were startlingly quiet. Night-life might as well have been designated as Night-death, given that it consisted primarily of old men playing cards on doorsteps and few people grabbing dinner in the few opened small restaurants. Borislav liked it, it was simultaneously reassuring and worrying, a perfect *vibe* for Detective Azurfin's present case. The telephone booths, however, seemed to be non-existent. He walked for dozens of minutes into the city, and despite being forced to stop at times because of Flabby's dogly activities, he had walked a long distance. He eventually realized Telephone Booths were no longer around. Was it the end of his quest? No. Of course not. There was another detective movie cliché method he could use; phoning from a public place, like a bar or a restaurant.
Borislav went back on his steps to find the only open bar he had noticed. It was a cozy place with a neon sign harboring a star. He stepped inside, unsure of what he would find. Customers sat at the counter sipping their beers, or at tables discussing and arm wrestling would look curiously at the strange hooded youngster who walked in with a Pitbull. "Hey, kid. Didn't you learn how to read? The sign outside clearly says no dogs allowed" spat an old and bald individual, looking straight at Detective Azurfin. "I'm just here to make a phone call. I'll be on my way soon." answered the investigator, keeping his composure.
"Keep the dog outside" a man behind the counter shouted. "I'm just here to make a phone call." Detective Azurfin repeated, in an overly deep voice. "You can do that outside." the barman responded, unamused. They didn't understand. Maybe they didn't hear him properly? Despite his confidence, he might have been speaking too softly. Set on being understood, he shouted; "I NEED TO MAKE A PHONE CALL". "What the fuck is the problem with this kid?" the first man asked, as the whole clientele turned around to give him a look of contempt. The barman sighed, "Listen, get out of here, or I'll have to call the police."
The police? He *WAS* the POLICE! But actually no, he wasn't. He wondered what had gone through his mind, walking in there and acting like a big shot investigator. Even Flabby looked at him strangely, as if he was embarrassed by accompanying him. Borislav obliged and went back to the apartment, completely devastated by a day full of utter embarrassment. What was going on with him? He blamed Edfone's "Stop thinking start doing" advice for his recent abnormal behaviors, but it was clear to him something else was going on. He had buried himself in distractions and illusions, from the moment he quit his home country. All those fantasies about Nomia, becoming a Shimga male, getting the money to pay back his debt, playing the 'man of the shadows', they were all just there to make him forget. It was only at night, alone on the couch, that he had run out of ways to forget. The next morning, the fantasies would start again.