In the small, idyllic town of Hammerwick, a blemish was born. That blemish is none other than me, Lavette La Tella. Now, I don’t liken myself to a mistake by any means - it just fits the narrative better - but I digress…

…Lavette La Tella is the youngest of four daughters. Growing up, he was told many stories as a child: Bedtime fables, boogeyman scares, exaggerated personal accounts. There was one story that struck his interest. It was a cautionary tale with a moral. It was a family secret. It was him.

In another version of the story, their fourth daughter was born human, before God replaced the baby with a near-identical devil. The devil was then raised part of the family, only to bring disaster to the family upon growing up.

Lavette La Tella, a thunderstruck child, did not know which version of the story he fancied more.

“Lavette, would you like to read the next section aloud?”

Reading wasn’t his forté. Reading in front of an entire class? Out of the question. He could easily trip over a word, mispronounce it, and everyone would know.

“I would not, thank you for asking.”

Despite his polite response, the teacher sent him out into the hall to reflect on his ‘misbehavior’. Between you and me, the teacher should have worded her request better! How was I supposed to know she didn’t care for my opinion?

Lavette La Tella watched as the adults in his life lost faith in him. If he studied through oil-lit nights with nothing to show, he was deemed a slacker. If he asked for evidence, explanation, more information, he was deemed disrespectful. His frequent misconduct complaints from the school brewed frustration at home with his parents. His sisters were sympathetic but silent.

He isn’t stupid. In a game where the only outcome is to lose, why play at all?

Or to do himself one better, why play it according to the rules set by those who didn’t believe in him? Yes, I know playing by my own rules is still considered ‘playing the game’, by which I wasn’t technically freeing myself from the ‘system’ and all, but can you blame 16-year-old me? If I dropped out of school, those buffoons that call themselves teachers would sit in their offices and pretend they predicted the inevitable. It was more satisfying to make them eat their words! Oh- spoiler warning! Moving along…

His grand plan was simple, but effective: A student-run business for test-taking assistance. Named Classmates Help Everyone Ace Tests, this business would go on to locate test answers from previous years, and invent a code to share answers during class. Merchandise followed: pencils with hidden compartments, invisible ink, bracelets…

While he didn’t do all of the work to put his business into motion, he was able to find joy in the coordination of the venture.

He also watched his grades rise, much to the confusion of his educators. The feeling they evoked was closer to dismay, but in order to keep this a non-biased source for the future, I’ve decided to soften the wording.

The moral of this story? There is always more than one route to success.

Luck is a funny thing. Hammerwick was a lucky town that saw no storm for a century. But the scales needed to be balanced, and this little town of Hammerwick witnessed karma’s retribution during the graduation ceremony for the class of XXXX.

The overcast skies spelled no warning to the unknowing residents. The principal, at center stage, droned out names of upcoming graduates. Behind him, teachers sat as still as statues.

“Lavette La Tella.”

As rehearsed, Lavette approached the principal.

His steps were firm, certain, enough to shake the trees. The skies rumbled to the creak of his feet against the stage floor.

As if the entire world held its breath to witness the impossible, the last few seconds were filled with deafening silence. Lavette La Tella, a young adult, stared at his principal. And his principal, holding his golden ticket to freedom, looked at him.

Through this wordless exchange, the principal handed him his diploma.

Thunder cracked. Rain poured. The storm finally hit the blessed town, and it hit relentlessly. Trees were uprooted and toppled into homes. Parents scrambled to find their children, as residents scattered.

Lavette La Tella stood frozen, as the rain buffeted his face, arms, and neck - and washed the makeup that hid away his scars. Hammerwick was now able to witness the consequences of stowing away a thunderstruck child, and-

-A firm grip tightened around his wrist, pulling him off the stage. The principal, despite his certain distaste towards the graduating student, deposited said student into the arms of his parents.

His mind blanked as he was carried into the sole shelter in town.

The young adult, during the chaos of storm and people, felt like a child again.

The effects of the storm were devastating. As if Hammerwick was placed in standstill, the town’s only priority was to rebuild from the ground. There was no time for holidays, for birthdays, for the graduation ceremony left incomplete.

Lavette La Tella used that opportunity to pack the little he was left with.

Who knew what kind of witch hunt this town would start once the wind settled? Hammerwick would not welcome him, now that his secret was public.

And so, in the dead of night, our lovely protagonist took the train away from the place he could no longer call home. Like the storm, he left nothing behind.

Which version of the story ultimately rang true? Perhaps it was a little bit of both. His parents, who furiously loved him with all their heart, still felt shame for his very existence. And the child, not a monster, still brought disaster to their small haven home. By leaving, all i’s were dotted - all t’s crossed. The things that needed to be repaid were paid.

In the bustling city of Highgate, a young woman struggled to enter society. The young woman is none other than me, Lavette La Tella. For the record, I didn’t struggle that hard - it just fits the whole ‘pull yourself up by your own bootstraps’ story I’m going for - but I digress…

Highgate City: The land of opportunity! Praised for its economic mobility, it allowed people with nothing to start anew. In short, it was the place to be for the fresh-out-of-secondary-school Lavette.

Admittingly, he did not hate the ordinary life - not in the beginning. The job he landed involved sales and support. While it was still work, it did not feel like the work they demanded at school, and that was all he could ask for.

Discontent grew gradually throughout his two years of working. It was the overtime that crept into frequency. It was the feedback that he didn’t do enough, despite putting in his all. It was the raises that couldn’t keep up with his living costs. He felt like he was pouring his soul into a machine for a measly slice of bread.

On a particularly dissatisfying day, Lavette La Tella stumbled upon a flickering sign: Lingli’s Quality Career Consulting.

The sign was in disrepair, and pointed towards a door situated within a dark alleyway. Through the door was a set of cracked, concrete stairs. It was suspicious - so naturally, Lavette walked through the door, up the stairs, and into the office.

The office was no better than its exterior. A dark, mahogany desk stood before small windows covered by stained blinds. To the side, instant coffee brewed next to a tank with a frog. Papers carpeted the floorboards. Cardboard boxes, half open and full of instant ramen, were pushed to the farthest corner of the room.

Sitting at the desk, with its feet propped up, was the person he was looking for. It picked at its teeth with a toothpick, before tossing the toothpick behind it.

“What do you need. Job help? Advice?”

“Well…” He had no way of explaining. You tell me how I was supposed to tell someone I was here because their business was so ridiculous that I had to witness it with my own two eyes? “I guess my current job is working me to the bone.”

“But you don’t feel properly compensated compared to your boss.”

“It’s not about how I feel, it’s simply the truth.”

“Yeah. Because you’re working for a shitty boss.” Lavette watched as the consultant snatched a blank piece of paper from the floor. After a few scribbles, it folded the paper and handed it. “Prescription. That’ll be ₲100.”

“How about ₲50?”

“₲90.”

“₲80.”

“Deal.”

He exited the office with ‘prescription’ in hand. Outside, a gentle snowfall began its descent. He was in no hurry, and so his cold fingers unwrapped the ₲80 paper:

In the dead of night, Lavette La Tella found himself wracked with hilarity. How could he forget the kind of person he was? The note served as a reminder, the snow as the sting, and the laughter in his lungs threw the weight off his chest.

In a game where the only outcome is to lose, why play at all?

“I did as you advised,” Lavette La Tella reported his happiness, as he entered through the still-suspicious office.

“What’d I advise.”

“I quit my job. I wonder… what will your next bit of career advice be?”

“Find a job.” It followed by holding its palm out. Money.

Despite the obvious scam, he paid the ₲80. “Lovely. I’ll come back tomorrow to begin my work here.”

Compared to his old workplace, his new job was… acceptable.

The office space was cramped and cluttered: A depressing space to work, and an even more depressing space to live. The latter pointedly emphasized, because his employer did, in fact, live there.

The pay was low - to be expected, for an employer that could not even afford a proper bed.

By all material means, this new job was a downgrade next to his steady career path earlier. So why did he feel content?

It was because he was enough. His mishaps were brushed off as an accident, his failures were shared. He enjoyed picking at his employer’s brain and settling disputes against unhappy customers. Most of all, he enjoyed the freedom his independent employer granted.

Their partnership lasted for about three years.

Their relationship began and ended with an unhelpful note. Left behind in an abandoned office, the note sat on the dark, mahogany desk. It was a hint: Intentional, yet cryptic. Intentional because all unnecessary papers were scattered on the floor. Cryptic because… well- Quite frankly, it was useless.

Lavette La Tella remembered the night before. On his way home, he caught a glimpse of a familiar silhouette, and thought it weird: Did his employer not live in the office?

Lavette La Tella remembered the evening before. As he completed the last of his documents, his employer looked him in the eye, and shook their head.

“Libercester’s job market looks bad. Worse than here. Good thing we don’t live there.”

With the power of making connections, our heroine pieced together that his employer had run off to Libercester. A poor job market meant more fools to trick!

The decision was back in his court. Stay or leave? He held no particular hate nor love for the city that homed him for five years.

After a night of deliberation, Lavette La Tella packed his bags for Libercester.

Now you may be wondering… Was our protagonist that loyal to this employer of his? The answer is no! Although they had become a formative figure in his life, when the time came to say goodbye, it was time to say goodbye. For me, Lavette - the protagonist - it was about the change of pace. A little spice in life, if you will.

And spoilers: I never did find my former employer in Libercester. The city is huge! Ah, but maybe that means it never went to Libercester… But since winners write history, we will say it was because of the former.

In the gilded city of Libercester, a young woman had a plan. He lived with a job that landed him perfectly in the middle class. He survived with a job that forced him to scrape by, paycheck to paycheck. In this new city, it was time to enjoy a life of luxury.

This was something he noticed when living alone - No, he began to piece together the puzzle as far back as middle school. First impressions mattered. Impressions mattered.

Dresses, fake luxury bags, pearls and diamonds – Lavette La Tella spent the last of his savings to re-imagine his identity. Libercester would welcome the arrival of a new socialite: Laverne Soros. And during his one year in existence, Laverne Soros served his purpose: Through the guise of wealth, he was able to pursue an opulent lifestyle for free.

“...And this, here, is the V.I.P. lounge.”

Laverne Soros held his smile as he followed the establishment owner through his tour. It was a gambling den, built off the human desire to waste away setbacks in the city of Libercester. Alternatively, it was the place for gatherings to flaunt wealth.

“My favorite place in the city, you must know by now,” Laverne responded, as his hand dipped to pluck a sweet from the decorated plate.

The owner laughed, and ushered him through lavish corridors.

“If you fancy those treats, there are more in my office…”

Bingo!

A soft expression crawled up his lips. “I’m certain that would help me make a decision.”

The pair wandered out of the lounge, the hall, and through the loud, flashy casino. With a click and turn of keys, Laverne charlatan-ed himself into the office of the big-name owner of a growing gambling den and luxury hotel.

He stole a brief glance into the office where - behind the desk, a bush of green hair hid in wide-eyed shock. It was a certain stickler for rules, caught red-handed where she did not belong. His hand immediately fell onto the owner’s shoulder.

“On second thought… the view on the roof sounds more appropriate, yes? Over some wine, on me, of course.”

That lover of law was none other than a faint specter from Hammerwick: Darcius Odyssey Rama. A childhood friend, a girl with great pride in her intelligence. Lavette La Tella long drifted from the girl, when the two disagreed on the definition of success. By fate, coincidence, or karma, the two reunited. In Libercester, the tables were turned.

Lavette La Tella contemplated the unaccounted factor as his hand hovered over the owner’s nose. Breathing, but out cold. Now, about Darcius…

Shawl wrapped over his shoulders, he stepped back inside. Against the office door, he delivered one knock before turning the handle.

“He’ll only be unconscious for the next half hour… so you may want to work a bit faster?”

“My apologies, Lavette La Tella- Clearly you wouldn’t understand the intricacies required when assembling an explosive device-”

His real name rang out of her lips with familiarity, testing the rhythm the two used to dance to. Silly, wild adventures, explosives-

. . .

. . .

Explosives.

Darcius Odyssey Rama, in a moment of clarity to her actions, snatched Lavette’s hand and bolted out of the building.

As it turned out, Darcius Odyssey Rama no longer identified with her full name. Instead, she was Dio, plain and simple. Lavette La Tella didn’t mind. He was wearing the name “Laverne Soros” here.

Laverne Soros was beginning to outstay his welcome. Lavette La Tella knew it - Once a crack appeared, it would continue to grow until the house of cards fell.

Dio’s reappearance into his life temporarily extended his stay. It went something like this: Laverne Soros, alone, could only play the part of something he was not. Dio Rama, on the other hand, had something real to contribute. What was once a solo act became a partner dance. One was the face, the other was the hands.

Their duet became routine, extending beyond Libercester. From town to town, city to city, Lavette La Tella concocted brilliant get-rich-quick-schemes, which Dio Rama then brought to life. Despite Dio’s former love for rules, Lavette’s charisma was just so compelling that she simply had to follow his ideas. The work was ludicrous, and plans were foiled. Often, it meant the two would need to pack their bags and move to a home that knew not of their previous… dealings.

It was a temporary arrangement gone awry. Days became weeks, weeks became months. In the blink of an eye, five years passed. In that time, the pair had run through a myriad of cities, wherein Lavette adopted the next ‘hot’ trend to incorporate in his plans.

Underneath a stone bridge at the edge of Qing Yao Cun, Lavette La Tella grasped a worn scrap of paper. Gale’s End. Seeking New Residents.

The idea tumbled into his head immediately. “...What if we build a tea house?”

“Denied. I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your notice, but as we’re currently residing underneath a bridge, we obviously don’t have the land nor the materials nor base level of funding for such a project- not to mention you can’t even make pot of tea without it tasting like-”

“Okay, but consider the possibility: I just happen to know how to get our hands on some land…for free!”

Dio turned and snatched the scrap paper from his hand to read.

Silence entered their conversation, one that Lavette knew to be the sound of contemplation. The gears in Dio’s head were turning at the possibilities.

“Your tea still tastes like denatonium benzo-” It does, but I must clarify that the taste is intentional.

“Now, who said we would be selling tea? Let’s think a little bigger.”

. . . pending