Yaaayy more Blank Mastermind backstory bits. ❤

-cough- those of you unfamiliar with Blank Mastermind, it’s a story about a villain with amnesia. But both of these stories are too fluffy and happy to apply to that concept. So just sit back and enjoy the fluffy ships for this time, even if you don’t know their context.

Last backstory time can be found right here: Backstory Time #1

So, this week it’s first meetings between a few of the couples within the story world. 

Liza and her to-be fiancé, Eli. And Wolfgang’s Mom and Dad. 

Ignoring the fact that now almost all these people here are dead. Shhh don’t ruin the happy.

 

First up, Liza’s POV.

Eli + Liza = Eliza

 

I’d determined from the moment that I got to America that I wasn’t going back.

 

I’d make it just fine on my own. And, on the off chance that I failed, my family would be the last people to know about it.

 

It was a world of possibility, I had a full pocket and the confidence to take on anything. Leaving home was the best thing I could have ever done.

 

But months later, I was still aimlessly driving across America looking for my golden opportunity. My pockets were empty. No one wanted to hire the rebellious young lady with an accent, a foul mouth and colored hair. My bloody “off chance” had turned into my reality.

 

I’d gotten a small, turquoise Jeep when I first got landed here. Now mud smeared the tire rims and the dirt on the outside covered it like an extra coat of paint. All the clothes in my backpack were grungy and starting to wear holes.

 

And I hated my hair.

 

I scowled in the rearview mirror long enough to get another look at the purple dye that only colored the bottom half of my choppy hair now. The dishwater blonde color of my hair had grown down, leaving an uneven line between the dye and my natural, dull hair.

 

I looked back down at the road, tucking my flyaway hair behind one ear and adjusting sweaty palms down on the steering wheel. If I could just get to this next town I’d find something to do. There was a mechanic shop. I could get a job. And if that fell through, I’d siphon someone’s gas and head to the next town.

 

I just couldn’t fail.

 

The hot summer wind rippled through the car, the only sound apart from the whir of the tires on the pavement. The empty horizon and the dry mountains filling the view made me feel even more alone than usual. I wasn’t usually one to mind that. I never had a lot of friends. But . . . it had just been so long all on my own.

 

I’ll have co-workers soon enough. Hopefully.

 

I can deal with being alone. If nobody wants me around, fine then. I don’t want them around. 

 

I shrugged the thoughts away, straightening in my seat. I glanced down at the indicator to see how much gas I had left.

 

The tiny, red arrow was below E now.

 

I bit my lip and rubbed my hand reassuringly over the dashboard. “You can make it, old girl. We’ve been this far, ay? Just a bit more.”

 

But the words had barely left my mouth when the engine sputtered. My heart jumped into my throat. I gripped the wheel and adjusted my foot on the gas pedal.

 

“No, no . . . come on, just a little bit more. We can make it . . .”

 

But the deadly coughing of the engine continued for another few seconds, then cut out completely. Dead.

 

The Jeep coasted along for a little bit longer, the wind dying as speed diminished. Tires crunched into the red gravel by the side of the road and all forward motion stopped.

 

I couldn’t even see the town from here. It was still tens of miles away and the sun scorched down from high in the sky.

 

I had no gas, no food and only one warm bottle of water in the back. There was no one I could call in this whole bloody country. I was completely alone and stranded in the rocky desert.

 

If it was any other problem . . . if the car had any problem but this I could have fixed it.

 

Nothing I could do.

 

“No such thing as an unsolvable problem for her. Liz’ll always find a way.” Luke’s words echoed in my ears. But instead of the warmth that the memory of my brother’s voice usually brought, it felt like a stab to the gut.

 

Luke was across the ocean. And he was wrong.

 

Here I was, the supposed “unconquerable Allister”. Powerless, penniless and purple haired . . . flat on my *** in the southwestern desert of the US.

 

There was nothing I could do.

 

I just lost it. I smacked the steering wheel. I swore and cried until I could barely get a breath, then I dropped my head against the steering wheel and just cried some more.

 

Desert silence, except for a few vultures screeching overhead.

 

Then a noise. Another motor.

 

Probably going to pass right by me. No one cares.

 

I didn’t look up.

 

But the car got closer, then I heard it stop right in back of me.

 

Footsteps.

 

And then a voice.

 

“You in trouble, miss?”
 

I knew I was a mess. I hadn’t showered in a week and now all my makeup was running all over my face. But I was beyond caring at this point.

 

I looked up to see a tall, thin, young man, propping his elbow up against the side of my car and looking in with concern. His flannel button-up shirt was rolled up at the sleeves and unbuttoned to show the tank top underneath. A hat was crammed down on top of his curly, blonde hair.

 

If it were any other time and place, I would have said he was kind of nice looking.

 

My hopes rose just a little.

 

Then I noticed a mechanic company name was printed on his baseball hat.

 

I looked back to see what car he was driving. A tow truck.

 

Of course. I was probably the easiest business he’d seen all day. And, bloody idiot I was, I thought he’d stopped out of the goodness of his heart.

 

I slumped back in my seat and combed my fingers through my tangled hair. “I don’t have any money,” I said flatly.

 

But he didn’t leave. He looked over towards the hood of the car, then back at me. “Guessing you don’t have any gas either, huh?”

 

“D*** straight.” I eyed him warily, unsure if I should go for the knife in my pocket at this point.

 

The guy nodded, pushing back his hat on his head a little and sticking his tongue in his cheek. He met my eyes and raised his eyebrows. “Well, I’d sure hate to leave anybody out here so . . . um . . .”

 

It was quiet for a bit and he bit back a smile.

 

I raised my eyebrows back.

 

He nodded towards his truck. “I propose a trade. I’ll tow you to town and get you some gas, for the price of . . . your phone number?” He smiled mischievously.

 

I smiled. I even had to bite back a laugh.

 

Who knew? Someone with a sense of humor in this country. It wasn’t like there was anyone else I was talking to on my phone.

 

And really, what other option did I have at this point?

 

I shrugged and sat up straighter, popping my door. “Deal. If I can have your name along with that.”

 

“Another trade,” he stuck out his hand as I stepped out. “I’m Eli. And you?”

 

I shook his hand. “Liza.”

 

His grin widened. “I like your accent, Liza. And your hair.”

 

These flirting skills were about grade-school level, but he delivered them so charmingly and I was so starved for friendship I couldn’t help but grin back.

 

“And I like your tow truck, Eli.”

 

I helped him hook my car up, then we drove the rest of the way to the town.

 

And for once I was happy to have someone else drive.

 

---

Yaaay ❤

 

And now, second up.

Rachel + William = Rachwill

 

Everyone always got so worked up on school picture day. And it was so much worse in highschool. The stress, especially among the girls who were so big on getting their hair just perfect, was so thick I could almost spread it on toast.

 

I honestly didn’t even get it.

 

Your picture was supposed to show who you were, not give everyone an unrealistic, made-up version of your face with a fake smile. Picture day was always the day I tried to look the most like just me. Do my favorite hairdo, wear my favorite shirt and put on my favorite pink lipstick.

 

So I was actually comfortable and happy, unlike all the “cool” girls. Bubbleheads who never even ate peanut butter because they were scared of getting zits on their perfect skin.

 

I stood there in the hall, leaning against the lockers. My Walkman earpiece nestled into my ear, quietly playing the best music in the universe to me and me alone. “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik.”

 

I swayed my head to the tune, letting my hair tickle the skin on my neck and ignoring the weird looks I was getting. I always got those. I actually kind of made a game of seeing how many I could get in a day.

 

I started conducting with one of my fingers by my side.

 

A sharp voice from down the hall broke into my music bubble and I stopped, frowning. That was one of the teachers’ voices.

 

I pushed off the locker, weaving my way through the crowd and towards the noise. Since I was shorter than a lot of the people there, I had to reach a pretty clear spot before I could see what was going on.

 

Oh boy, this was quite a showdown.

 

In one corner, Mr. Smidgens: neat freak extraordinaire and known as one of the grumpiest teachers in the school.

 

And in the other corner . . . well, I didn’t exactly know the guy’s name. He was in a few of my classes though. His hair stuck up in the front and he seemed to always be grinning mischievously about something. I subconsciously looked forward to the classes where that sprout of hair showed in the chairs in back of me. He was a troublemaker, sure, but I always had to hide my laughing at his smartalec remarks to the teacher.

 

I always called him “Cowlick” in my head.

 

I might have had a tiny crush on him.

 

Tiny.

 

But I mostly just liked watching him from far away and imitating his funny hand gestures later.

 

Anyway.

 

I think you can probably guess whose side I was taking in the debate.

 

I folded my arms and tilted my head to watch.

 

“This is disgraceful, boy! Everyone down to kindergarten combs their hair for pictures . . . at least tries to look presentable. They put on their best for the year. This, though . . .” Mr. Smidgens sniffed, drawing himself up to his full height, looking down his nose. “Utterly disgraceful.”

 

Cowlick spread his hands defensively. “Look, man . . . I tried, I’m telling you . . .”

 

“You’ll not speak to me in that way.”

 

He sighed. “Siiiir . . .” he drew out the word, putting on a British accent. “Doth thou not know the licks of the bovine species and how difficult that maketh the combing of hair?”

 

I put a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing.

 

Smidgens narrowed his eyes at Cowlick. “Only you didn’t try, young man. And what of that . . . that . . . thing you’re wearing? Are you telling me that was an accident?”

 

All eyes in the area immediately turned to Cowlick’s t-shirt. A beat up, blue, baseball shirt with a pattern of circles and white type across the front reading “Property of Gallifrey.”

 

“I believe, Mr. Dankworth, that is not the best shirt you own,” Mr. Smidgens drawled.

 

Dankworth?

 

Oh jeez. Why do some people get the best last names?

 

Cowlick Dankworth stiffened. “That depends on your definition, professor.”

 

Smidgens shook his head. “There is acceptable and there is unacceptable. The lines are clear enough and you’ve chosen your side.” He stuck a hand in his pocket and before I half realized what he was doing, he’d pulled Cowlick over to him, grabbing his arm. His hand stuck in his pocket and whipped out again with a comb.

 

And, keeping his iron grip, Smidgens stuck that comb right in the middle of that beautiful cowlick, yanking it down and forcing a curse out of his victim.

 

How . . . how . . . dare he?

 

My fists clenched, my courage bolstering even further with a swell of the music in my right ear.

 

I stormed forward and reached up, smacking the comb down so it skittered across the floor.

 

Smidgens stepped back in surprise, blinking at me. I glared up at him, pressing my lips in a tight, pink line.

 

“Sir, his picture is supposed to show who he is not who some teacher bullied him into being. You leave the cowlick alone.” My words snapped out loud, echoing in the now quiet hall.

 

He stepped back.

 

I stepped back and defiantly reached up to ruffle the cowlick back into place.

 

The cheer that erupted from the surrounding students was enough to chase Smidgens back into his stinky old classroom. I hoped he never found his dumb old comb.

 

People started dispersing now that the fight was over.

 

I dusted my hands together, smiling.

 

I felt eyes on me, then a tap on my shoulder. “Hey, um . . .” Cowlick’s voice. The first time I’d really heard him sound hesitant.

 

My heartbeat sped up, but I ignored it as I tucked my hair behind my ear and turned to face him. “Mm hmm?”

 

I was glad I ruffled his hair. It looked better sticking up more.

 

Cowlick ran a hand through his hair and stammered a little, then that smirk that always made me smile too pulled his mouth sideways. He nodded. “Nice shirt.”

 

I looked down admiringly at the words on my front.

 

Rock me, Amadeus 

 

I looked back up and nodded, grinning. “You too, Dankworth.”

 

“Oh, ah . . . it’s Will.” He stuck out his hand. “And what’s your name?”

 

I put my small hand in his. “Rachel.”

 

---

 

Aw, yay. 😀

Hope you guys enjoyed the stories! Which one was your favorite? What other backstory things would you like to see?

I’ll be back later with more stories and cookies for all.

’til then,

~writefury