“Are you sure this is it?” Syracuse mumbled, unable to hide a grimace. Tipton’s four door glided through the urban wastes, grass jutting up through cracks in the asphalt and colonizing the sidewalk. They were passing a barred fence that sealed off some kinda parking lot with nothing inside of it, similarly overgrown where no plants should have been in the first place.
All four corners of the intersection were like this, fenced off properties with no-name buildings inside. They were all covered in graffiti, tags so esoterically stylized that they might as well have not been the Latin alphabet. There was more paint than brickwork on most of these surfaces.
Casting her gaze around, there wasn’t a human in sight. It might as well have been the fucking apocalypse again.
“Not quite yet, love. Kaycee said stay on 18th and then north on Brooklyn,” Tipton sounded quite unbothered by the detritus pressing in.
The car swerved dutifully to instructions left in a text message the night before. They passed upwards into the city, down through the numbered streets. Under 70 highway, past 14, 13, 12, finally to 11th Street.
“It’s around the corner here,” Tipton said as she hung a left onto the one way. Syracuse gripped the armrest, doubt plain on her face as if the vehicle was already being broken into. By God did she hate the city.
Not that this was the city proper. All the taller buildings were more northwest of them at this point (she struggled in vain to make it seem like she wasn’t looking for another glimpse of those skyscrapers). These were a perverse fusion of urban planning and suburban buildings, squat strip malls and high-rises mashed together.
It wasn’t anywhere near as desolate as she had led herself to believe all this time, especially considering the last year. As they moved further towards some condominiums a smattering of people were even walking around, patronizing one run down business or another. A citizenry did in fact live here, somehow.
There were of course the boarded up places, houses that leaned in on themselves without any occupants to keep them satisfied.
“Does she have a sign up or somethin’?”
“Yes, in fact. It’s called ‘The Shack.’ Should make you feel right at home, huh?” Tipton grinned.
Syracuse didn’t find it funny, and went back to looking out the spotless windows at a strip mall, half of which was shuttered. This was going to be their new home, and the sulking briefly magnified into doom.
A few minutes of looking down 11th brought them to the place in question. The larger building lacked decor or advertisement, making the sign the only indication that anything other than an empty building was located here. Despite that responsibility, the sign was modest: blue paint crying out “THE SHACK” at passersby was flaking so badly that the E was almost gone. Halogen lights that probably hadn’t been replaced in years shone through the grimy yellow of aged plastic.
Tipton parked her car in the lot, which was thankfully better maintained than some of the others they had passed by earlier. Some of the paint lines were even visible.
“Alright, let’s go say hi,” she chirped. “We’re guests, Sofia. Let’s act like it.”
“You don’t gotta give me the third degree.” Syracuse tried quirking her lips into a smile and just couldn’t do it. Came out as a rictus grin that made Tipton’s own smile falter, so she put it away.
Before they even managed to open the door, the woman known to them only as Perry opened it and stepped outside. Untransformed, she was dressed in an apron over a comfortable t-shirt with the same logo as the sign, and enormous baggy jeans. She put on an act as if she had no idea the pair were there before exiting, giving an excited cry and holding both her arms up like they had snuck up on her.
“You must be the country gals!” she beamed at them. “C’mon in, no sense in sweatin’ yo freshling titties off, ha ha ha!” She cackled at the top of her lungs, holding open the door just so they would have to squeeze past Perry’s voluminous frame. After some bodily negotiation they both managed to pop through into the dark interior of the joint, which was approximately ten degrees hotter than outside.
The first thing they noticed was that their shoes slipped weirdly on the tilework, an odd half-slide with every step. They realized it was grease, the smell of which was so pervasive that no doubt it had deposited onto the ground straight from the air. A dull voice issued from somewhere, the sonorous and steady gait of a news broadcaster, though they could not identify the source. Their eyes slowly adjusted to the inadequate fluorescent lighting, revealing to them an entire wooden picnic table that had to have been plucked straight from a playground or a park nearby. There was no other seating in the restaurant.
This seemed to be just the way Perry liked it, as she gestured broadly around her. “Take a seat, rest yo legs, ha ha ha.” She ambled through an opening in the counter half her size and into the kitchen. Shouted back: “I’ll getcha somethin’ square to eat, jus’ a sec’.” A few minutes passed as they awkwardly took their place at the picnic table, carefully examining graffiti carved into its surface which only reinforced their assumptions about its pilfered status.
It was adorned by the typical sophomoric art: hearts with initials inside of them, phone numbers claiming to offer a “good time,” and countless scribbles which were supposed to be swastikas where maybe one in ten were drawn correctly. One message scratched with black ink said simply, “Fuck Bob,” to which someone had later appended “in his sweet ass.” “Ass” was crossed out at an even later time by a permanent marker which properly adjusted it to “pussy.”
Somewhere in the back of her mind Syracuse wondered who Bob was and why anyone wanted to fuck him so bad, but her thoughts were interrupted by slapping footfalls. Perry returned with two heaping plates piled high with juicy brisket, steaming baked beans, some white sandwich bread, and sweetcorn. Despite her malaise she found that her mouth had immediately started watering at the sight of it. Looking at her friend, Tipton was similarly affected: her eyes had grown as large as the plates themselves, and her arms had gone slack.
It smelled fucking delicious, and the plates were hardly set in front of them before they started tearing into the tender meal, almost forgetting to use the plasticware Perry offered them.
“Ha ha ha, yeah, ‘das right, ‘das right.” Perry belted laughter as she sat down next to Syracuse. “Glad you like it, ha ha ha.” She watched them eat in a kind of matronly way. A little creepy for someone who was essentially a stranger, but there was clearly no malice in it. Couldn’t focus on that, this was easily two and a half meals’ worth of food but both of them ended up clearing their plates with gusto.
There was a kind of satisfaction with it that Syracuse hadn’t felt in a meal since becoming a magical girl. She leaned back as much as she could on the bench seat and worked just to breathe. Holy fuck.
“Amazing you white girls put all dat away so easy. Not bad, huh?” Perry was grinning at them both, arms crossed across her prodigious chest proudly.
It took her a couple minutes for the food to settle in her stomach properly. “Thank you,” she coughed. “Haven’t had a meal that nice in a long time.”
“Pleasure’s all mine, ha ha ha.” Perry leaned forward and rested her wobbling arms on the table, signaling to all that the Business was starting. “Now, Kaycee tells me you guys got chased outta your place. Government steppin’ in and all that?” They nodded, not sure if they still had room to speak properly around all the food clogging their bodies. “Lotta that goin’ round, sounds like. Ain’t permanent, but Kaycee and I got somethin’ arranged. There’s a couple cots in the back for ya. Flat as a board and about as comfy, but y’all won’t be on the streets. Why’ntcha put your stuff up and relax, then we can chat a bit?”
They acquiesced, groaning at the weight in their bellies. Their host guided them back through the kitchen, which had a huge fridge repurposed with heating shelves. Upon these shelves rested dozens of little plastic baggies and tin foil. More meat, they couldn’t help thinking as their stomachs gurgled.
In the back past the stoves and a janky water heater was a door, particle board designed to look like oak. Opening it revealed a dorm room, or like a hostel, with several unmade bunk beds. Only three seemed to be fitted with sheets, presumably two were for them. The walls were bare with peeling beige paint, except for a solitary portrait of White Jesus splitting the room in twain. He looked down upon them with beneficence, saying don’t look at me, I didn’t decorate this fucking place.
“Liberty stays here sometimes,” Perry shouted at them from the front, “so y’all better be careful not to fuck when she comes around, ha ha ha. Just kiddin’, no fuckin’ in The Shack or we gonna have a problem.”
Opting to do a more thorough job unpacking later, a few minutes found them back at the picnic table while Perry swept dust out the door, Syracuse doing her best to hide her beet red face.
“That better?” Perry asked, staring directly at her blazing cheeks as she sat down at the table. “Good. Now I get why y’all both here… wait a minute.” She hauled her girth up and back behind the counter. The gentle male voice suddenly came to a stop with a pronounced click. “NPR,” Perry explained, situating herself at the table which protested loudly. “Gotta stay in the know, y’know. Now, tell me a li’l about yourselves.”
It was an age old discussion, one that every magical girl who lasted more than a month was fated to have several times. Syracuse was not overly fond of this cultural obligation, so she gestured for Tipton to start.
“Well,” the pink one began, “To be brief, my parents are hoarders. They’re otherwise rather successful, but no matter the size of our house they always managed to fill it with more and more junk,” she licked her lips. “I always despised it. They would constantly buy whatever they laid their eyes on and piled it wherever they could. The kitchen was unusable, the living room was jam-packed, they even started putting stuff in my room. Eventually all that stuff starts to get gross: food goes bad, clothes get dirty, unused possessions gather dust.”
Her smile began to falter, a rare display that made Syracuse’s heart swell painfully. The true extent of it had gone unsaid: she had seen that house, and it had been a supplication to filth. Pests of every sort had made the squalor their home more than Tipton’s. “Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore. When Kyubey asked what I wanted, all I could think was ‘to be clean.’”
“Aw, honey.” Perry scooched in and offered her a motherly hug, which Tipton accepted quite gratefully. It seemed warm and inviting.
Somehow it made Syracuse feel uncomfortable. She hoped she would not be offered one. Maybe if Tipton offered. Still, it was her turn to fess up. Better make this quick.
“My parents are deadbeats,” she said flatly, quickly. “I never wanted anything to do with ‘em. I asked for a space for myself and got a couple acres outside the next town over. A little patch on the east side of some richy-rich dairy farmer,” she rapped her knuckles quickly on the wooden picnic table. Agitation was already threatening to rear its head, wrap it up. “I had to put a lot of work into it, and I lived there for two years. I’m sure you’ve heard the rest.”
Perry grunted. “Yeah, I got filled in. It’s jus’ not right.” She stood back up, heaving her bulky frame into the air. Syracuse half-recoiled, afraid she was going to squeeze her, but the woman wandered around the countertop into the kitchen. She shouted at them from somewhere in the back. “It’s not like this job ain’t hard enough already, y’know? Don’t see why we bother if the one thing we get for it can just be taken away.” Felt pretty similar to the shit the Homesteader had been saying last night honestly. Something came loose in her chest a bit, breathing easier for being understood.
The mountainous woman came back with another platter heaped high with food, her own dinner presumably. “Everyone’s stories are so sad, man. I always feel like I’m gonna regret askin’.” She plopped the paper plate and its offerings on the table, shaking it as she maneuvered her legs into the space underneath. “I thank the Lord every day for how lucky I was.”
“Oh?” Tipton knew how to play the game, it was time for the host to return the favor. “What was your wish then?”
“This,” the woman pointed down at her food, overflowing with all manner of sizzling beef and pork. “My dad always loved grillin’. We couldn’t have it too much cuz we was poor ‘n all that, but every time my birthday rolled aroun’, he smoked me a li’l brisket he got from his butcher friend. I loved it to death,” she smiled, smacking her gully chops. “It was my favorite meal every year. So when Kyubey came ‘round, I asked if I could have barbeque whenever I wanted.”
Syracuse raised her eyebrows a smidge. “You… create food?”
“Hell yeah, sis!” Perry popped a beef burnt end into her mouth, dramatically savoring the taste of her own magical cooking.
“Does it help you hunt at all?” Tipton inquired politely, though clearly puzzled.
“Nah, fuck that.” Perry forked a couple more burnt ends, chomping noisily. “I was always shit at fighting.”
“… So what did you do? You still need cubes, surely.”
“Well,” Perry licked unctuous sauce off her fingers, “true enough, but think of it this way. Do you grow your own food?”
“I did,” Syracuse rebutted.
“Okay, got me there. Did you make the house you lived in?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you don’t count.” Perry speared a round bit of ruddy bratwurst and inhaled that next. “Most people don’t do that kinda shit anymore, they doin’ different stuff to fill a need. Not everyone makes food, not everyone builds houses. Not everyone fights in the army.”
“So,” Tipton filled in the rest, “you specialized, basically.”
“That’s the word,” Perry nodded rhythmically. “I turned my power into a business .” She pronounced it bid-ness . “I had a li’l truck I sold out of for a while, and without the same overhead costs, I ended up making a lot of money. Don’t hurt none that it tastes good, too, ha ha ha.” Another piece of sausage disappeared into her gullet. “I ended straight up buyin’ cubes from other girls. Don’t work if they can make their own cash but most of ‘em can’t. Kaycee found me back in like… I wanna say ’01? Nah, the year before, and—”
“What the fuck?” Syracuse boggled at her. “The year 2000?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Perry waved a meaty hand lazily. “I know. I been around a while.”
“How old are you?”
“They never teach you that’s a rude thing to ask?” Perry chided, though she smirked as she did it. “Thirty-one this year.”
This strained credibility. Neither of them had ever known a magical girl who made it past their early 20s.
“Yeah, I get that a lot,” the rotund woman shrugged. “You’d think it wouldn’t be that surprising. Tons of women live to be plenty old.”
“Yeah, but…”
“Let me let you in on a secret,” Perry leaned in, resting her elbows on the warped wood. “It ain’t that hard, if you play your cards right. You get all these girls out here, somethin’ wrong with ‘em. Chip on their shoulder, think they hot shit, whatever. They don’t make it very long cuz they’re young and don’t know any better. They’re still human, but most humans don’t have the same ability to invite destruction on themselves.
“Now, I’m willin’ to bet there’s plenty of us older magical girls hangin’ around. You jus’ don’t hear about ‘em because they ain’t in your face, startin’ shit. ‘The meek shall inherit the Earth’ ‘n all that. Only reason I’m here is cuz I worked out a deal with the community here. Kaycee—not our Kaycee, the one a couple Kaycees ago—agreed to keep me safe, gets me cubes when I need ‘em, and I’ve kept ‘em flush with whatever cash I don’t need to support my kids. It’s what they call reciprocal, and it’s worked enough that they keep the deal goin’.”
“Still,” Syracuse said doubtfully, “That seems… unusual.”
“Hell, that’s how humans have done for thousands of years now.”
“No, I mean… even the most successful girls get taken by the Cycles eventually.”
Perry shrugged again, leaning back. “Can’t be too sure, but I think plenty of girls… they don’t know what makes ‘em happy, not really. Not my fault everyone else is too dumb to figure it out, ha ha ha.” She scraped a little pulled pork off the plate and lifted it into her eager mouth. Happiness manifest, apparently. “And keep all that to yourself, ya hear? The girlies over in Kansas didn’t even know I exist until last year. I don’t want no freaks hearin’ about me and tryin’ to fuck all this up.”
“Rest assured,” Tipton smiled, “that’s the last thing we want.”
“Smart girl,” she pointed her fork at pinky. “I bet you make it a few years at least. Not like that shithead on the other side of the state line,” she sneered. “Not sure if either of you heard yet, this chick from Overland Park. She’s tryin’ her best to find out she can’t just beat the shit out of everything. Sooner or later, she gon’ run into somethin’ that just won’t take it.”
Sooner, I would think.
Syracuse hissed angrily through her teeth, a sound she wasn’t used to making. It made her feel silly, turning red again.
“Ohh, there you are, ha ha ha. Been a while since I heard from you,” Perry got up and propped the front door open to reveal the Incubator. He stood there on the cracked pavement like any other stray might, hunting for scraps. “Figured you’d gotten bored o’ little ol’ me.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“Beats the hell outta me. I make it a point not to get involved in his shenanigans,” Perry stepped back over behind the counter.
I could say that your non-interference is a refreshing trait, if you wished.
“Damn, I get two wishes? Bet you’ve never offered that before.”
You might be surprised.
This banter was baffling. Syracuse was almost too confused to want to kill the thing anymore, so she put away the desire to summon her mattock. “You came through just to hang out? Is that it?”
Miss Harding’s assessment is not without merit. Kyubey did not move from in front of the door, licking a dainty paw. Her humility aside, there have been very few magical girls who have made it quite so long. I would put her above ninety-nine point nine nine six percent of all humans who have signed a contract.
“You sure there ain’t a few more nines in there?”
Reciting the exact figures would almost certainly bore you.
“Yeah, you probably right. You mentioned Overland Park, though. Got any hot gossip for us?”
Not as such. She destroys my body whenever I try to talk with her directly , Kyubey deigned to step inside the Shack finally, the gritty fluorescent lights reflecting off his ruby eyes. I did feel it prudent to warn you: her movements have become increasingly erratic.
“The hell’s that mean?”
Miss Aaron has always had a predisposition towards extreme violence but was largely content with guarding her own allotted territory. Three weeks and five days ago that pattern changed, and I am unsure as to the exact cause. He flicked an ear, making that stupid little squeaking noise . Chances are significant that the Magic Force is involved; over the course of this calendar year, I have started receiving more numerous complaints about them from girls around the country. It’s more difficult to tell here because she began executing magical girls she previously worked alongside with, or at least tolerated. This culminated in the slaughter of the appointed leader of the region two nights ago.
“Yeah, Kaycee ‘n her friend mentioned somethin’ about that,” Perry mused openly. “Nasty piece of work.”
To get to the point of my visit, I urge you all caution. Without being able to speak to her I can offer nothing specific, but you must consider the possibility that she will cross the state line into Missouri and attack all of you as well.
“How thoughtful of you.”
The grief cube collection in this region has been drastically affected already. I am pleased with the continued operation of Kansas City in light of recent circumstances. In most other cases like this I might not worry, but Miss Aaron’s strength is quite formidable. I suggest you avoid provoking her at any cost.
“Of course. All in the name of your precious cubes,” Syracuse snorted. “With how worried you are about collecting as many as you can, I’d have figured my home would be worth protecting.”
He turned his alien head, a miniscule movement that brought the full weight of his lustrous gaze to bear. She suddenly felt uncomfortable locking eyes with him.
It was not.
“Hey now,” the pit master reached out with a prodigious hand, urging peace. “You’re both guests, let’s settle down. Kyubey, you did this girl dirty, leaving her to the wolves.”
I see no issue with my involvement. She knew, rationally, that he was not being smug about it, but Syracuse could not help hearing a little smugness in there anyway. Her wish was granted as requested. The property was never an inviolable space, it was acquired through legal means and your government has exercised… dubiously legal means to restrict it. I am sympathetic to the fact that her home is now inaccessible, but said fact comes about through no fault of mine.
“I bet if God Himself came down an’ told you what's what, you’d still find a way to twist His arm over it.”
I have tried. My goals and God’s do not quite align.
“UH uh,” Perry leaped up and waggled a sausage finger viciously. “None o’ that Muh-doh-kuh shit, you hear me? If I said it once I said it a hundred times, the good Lord don’t wear no dress. If you want to keep eating anything under this roof, cubes or otherwise, you’ll show some respect in my house.”
I do not "eat" grief cubes, Mrs. Harding, Kyubey protested. Their nature is actually quite complicated, harnessing their thermodynamic properties is an extensive process–
"Man, shut the hell up. You want somethin’ or nah?"
My species has not been required to eat food for a long time, he protested. It is seen as a crude way to obtain energy for our physical forms.
… but if you’re offering in sincerity, then I will hardly say no. It would be senseless to waste it.
“Ha ha ha, easy.” Perry tossed some pork chitterlings at him, landing wetly on the greasy floor. The Incubator, for all of its pretense, quickly descended on the slivers of intestine. “Never much cared for that stuff myself,” she sighed, turning back to her actual guests. “See, me and Kyubey got an understanding, or as close to one as you can get with ‘em.”
“Do tell,” Syracuse grumbled darkly.
“Ehh. It gets easier when you’ve spent enough time dealing with his shit. He don’t like it when you start readin’ between the lines, but if you’re smart , you can get away with it.” She leaned back against nothing, relaxing on the wooden bench. “He don’t think on the same level as us time wise.” She leaned in again conspiratorially, and the two younger girls found themselves leaning in too. “Most girls know he’s been around a long time, but they don’t really get it,” Perry breathed out slowly, gustily. “Kyubey’s idea of long-term planning ain’t years. It’s hundreds or thousands of years. To him, we’re here one second and gone the next.”
Syracuse and Tipton looked at each other uneasily, until the latter cleared her throat. “That makes it feel like there’s no point in trying to work against him, like he’s already got everything figured out.”
I do have everything figured out, Miss Reed, the Incubator said between messy bites. Most of you are not very good at listening or are simply unreasonable.
“Ah, ignore ‘em,” Perry said. “In a way he does have it all worked out, but his plans are kinda like the insides of a nice clock.” She was gesturing with her hands, miming inconclusively. “Shit works, it does its job well, but all them individual parts are delicate. Damage one piece, the rest stops working too.”
I find that comparison lacking .
“Shut up ‘n eat yo food,” she barked without looking. “Often, he’s too stuck on plans he made years or decades ago and can’t deal with stuff that catches him off guard.”
“It can’t be that easy,” Syracuse said with a pinch of anger. “Feels like most girls wind up dead before they can really act on that, or else we wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place.”
“Well, he doesn’t care for it when people start gettin’ too close.” Perry frowned, looking back out at the white cat. “You’ve almost got me a few times over the years, but you’ll have to get up pretty early to catch me in bed anymore, boy.”
I am older than your entire species, Kyubey replied as he licked at his paws gingerly. I don’t need to try, I can simply wait.
“Hey,” she pointed at him, a spatula manifesting in her hand. “I been nice enough to you, now go on. See if I don’t put some rat poison in it next time.”
Without another word, Kyubey stretched and leaped away, back out into the twilight.
His disappearance might not have been totally due to Perry tossing him out. Within a few seconds, a bewildered Kaycee stood in the doorway, her baseball cap askew. “Was that Kyubey I just saw out here?”
“Hey Kaycee. Yeah, he was looking to gloat I guess.”
Kaycee stared out into the evening for a second and blew a bubble that popped with a sharp snap before stepping in. “Well, I see you’re both settling in just fine. Thank you for putting them up Perry, I’m looking into a more permanent arrangement over in Westport.”
“Ah, don’t worry yourself. Me and the girlies were just doing some bonding, ha ha ha.” She actually cackled for a second, her entire body heaving with it. “Nah, they been just fine. They can stay, long as they need.”
“Excellent,” Kaycee clapped her hands together like an excited salesman. “I’d be more hands on, but I’m taking Liberty out tomorrow on a hunt at the Crown Center. I’ll try to introduce you both to everyone over the next few days. I know it’s been stressful, but you can relax for tonight at least, and we’ll figure out where to fit you both eventually. For now, just stay out of Kansas if you know what’s good for you.”
Another hour of idle chatting passed them by, and as the darkness of night swept over them they found themselves in bed. Separate beds, no fuckin’ in the Shack, ha ha ha.
Syracuse stared up at the plain ceiling, faintly visible by the light of a little green LED on a water heater just outside the door. Tipton snored softly from the next bed over. For herself, she felt exhausted to her core and yet sleep did not come. The cot was fine despite the disclaimer, but the sounds were all wrong. There were no insects singing, no trees with their leaves gently rattling. Instead, she was spooked by the odd car passing through on the street outside, or else the far off sirens of a cop car or a fire truck screaming, screaming.
She blinked out a little moisture in her eyes, blurring the already fuzzy green she could see. First night in a new home was always the hardest, she reminded herself.
Aimee hitched in a dream, turning over and away in her sleep. At least she was nearby. That made it all a little bit better, the room felt cleaner for it.
Sofia tried closing her eyes again, hoping some rest would come to her. It did, in fits and spurts, and then all at once. She dreamed of trees bobbing in a soft wind, and a young girl wearing a ragged t-shirt.
Chapter End Notes
"…the single best restaurant in the world is Arthur Bryant's Barbecue at 18th & Brooklyn in Kansas City."
I don't know why a Playboy article was talking about this, but it's not wrong. Don't bother getting the fries though, they're soggy more often than not. Stick to the beef brisket sandwich and get the original BBQ sauce. I don't want to hear any complaints about it being too sour either, all of that tomato and molasses based crap is not the original style for KC BBQ.
Interior of the Arthur Bryant's I eat at all the time:
Picture courtesy of some random dude on TripAdvisor. If it looks dingy on the inside that's because it is, just like God intended. That's a more recent picture, you can tell because of the nice looking menu board. Right up to the pandemic they had the same old menu board that's been up since probably the fucking 1980s. You can't see them properly but on the right hand wall is a myriad of pictures taken of famous guests, including but not limited to like three former presidents (Truman, Carter, Obama), several Hollywood movie stars, Steven Spielberg, yada yada. Fun fact: there's also several newspaper clippings, in the course of writing this story I visited the restaurant and saw one about a man who made the trip to Arthur Bryant's all the way from Sepulveda, aka best Terminatrix. God bless him, hope he's doing okay.
The whole conversation here used to be far longer, but I cut it for pacing reasons. I have a snippet of the original thing left in the extra stuff I posted in chapter 17, the extra tidbits and random stuff.
I also cut out some bad humor (not included in the extra tidbits) about Perry threatening Kyubey with her spatula. I think I had a dream one time or it was a malformed idea from early in the writing process where I wanted assassins from Kansas to show up and threaten Perry's life. I cut the line on the very last edit, but the idea is that someone would ask her disbelievingly "You'd kill [whoever] with a spatula?" and she responds "It's a really sharp spatula, man." I guess I still think that's kinda funny.
The graffiti on the picnic table is a real thing I saw once, except it was on the wall above a urinal. There's a lot of crass nonsense I could have selected from but that one sticks out in my mind for some reason.
Perry is directly based on a rookie pitmaster I used to know when I was in college. I think he might have died when COVID happened because I literally cannot find anything about him anymore, all of the stuff on social media was taken down at some point. His BBQ wasn't that great, burnt ends left a lot to be desired, but I hope he's doing okay.
The name "Perry" is not a geographic location, but a reference to the Father of Kansas City Barbeque, Henry Perry.