#//Also much love for the folks that give him age lines & make him look mid-thirties ish:; yeah

[intcrastra]

Ppl who do those Nasty Dog meme edits for Boothill, I hope their pillows are always nice and fresh and fluffy and their good fortune always plentiful

[trulymadlysydney]

Somewhere In Time: One

“Time is the most undefinable yet paradoxical of things; the past is gone, the future is not come, and the present becomes the past even while we attempt to define it, and, like the flash of lightning, at once exists and expires.”

-- Charles Caleb Colton.

**Please do not repost without permission***

4:37pm, December 31st, 1999

“Thank you so much for coming in, and happy new year!” 

The bells above the door of the book shop jingle as the last of the day’s customers exit, simultaneously allowing a gust of cold wind to fill the front of the small building.  Twenty-six year old Roni Elliot smiles cheerfully until the customer has disappeared out of sight, at which point she lets out a long, labored sigh.  “That’s the last of ‘em, Eileen.”

An older woman appears from around the corner of a row of bookshelves, carrying a stack of books in her arms that she had been in the process of returning to their rightful spots.  “Finally. Thought they’d never leave. It’s New Years Eve, for heaven’s sake, what are they doing here?” The look on her face makes Roni giggle, but Eileen means every word that comes out of her mouth.  

Roni knows the closing routine well, and immediately goes to lock up the shop without even being asked.  “We could ask ourselves the same question, you know.”

Eileen scoffs, scanning the title of the top book in her arms and placing it on a shelf.  She doesn’t say anything, but the smile on her face informs Roni that she’s not as grumpy as she seems. She never is really, and at this point, Roni is used to her moods.  

Roni adores Eileen.  Her bark is worse than her bite, and Roni has become well acquainted with said bark.  But Eileen loves Roni just as much, and although she struggles to express it, Roni knows Eileen would do anything for her.

The quiet doesn’t last long, as Roni knew it wouldn’t. Eileen is immediately launching into a story about her younger sister and how careless she is.  Roni offers what little advice she can give on the situation while she sits and sorts through the box of used book donations, piling them all into different categories so they’ll be easier to place on the shelves.  

“I’ve told her several times, ‘you can’t keep putting this off, Debby’ but she never listens to me.  And I said to her, ‘Debby,’ I said,  ‘what are you going to do when Richard passes?’  But she insists she’s too young to think about that just yet.”  Eileen laughs.  “I’m sixty-nine years old but at least I’ve got this store to my name.  And what does Debby have?”

“You’re sixty-nine?” Roni teases.  “Eileen, why didn’t you tell me? You don’t look a day over thirty.”

“Oh stop that. I’m being genuine, Veronica.”

Roni loves working in the bookshop. She finds comfort among the used books; the smell of old pages strangely familiar and welcoming.  She’s been at this job since 1995, and she can’t seem to pull herself away from it all these years later.  She’s grown too attached to Eileen, to the old books with the ripped spines and the dog-eared pages.   It’s a family owned shop, opened in 1920 by Eileen’s grandmother, Louise.  Eileen had grown up in this shop, eventually taking it over when her own mother passed, and in a way Roni feels as though she also grew up here.

Yellowing photographs cover the walls, some dating all the way back to the shop’s opening. Pictures of Louise with early patrons, pictures of past employees, and even a few family pictures that have nothing to do with the shop are all lined along the walls, yellowing with age and curling at the corners.  Louise was a beautiful woman, and some of her photos look eerily like young photos of Eileen.  Roni often finds herself scanning the pictures on the walls, asking Eileen to tell her about some of the people photographed.  But Roni’s favorite picture is one that hangs in the back corner of the shop.  

The photo is dated 1965, and features a freckle-faced little twelve year old girl with pigtails, standing beside her bicycle--the basket of said bicycle filled to the brim with science books.   The little girl was none other than Roni’s own mother, Tanya, and Roni gets a pang of both joy and sadness every time she looks at it.  According to Eileen, who was thirty-five at the time of the photograph,  Tanya used to ride her bike to the shop every Friday-- because Friday was when she got her weekly allowance-- and purchase as many books as she could carry.  It’s a story Roni’s heard thousands of times, but one she never gets tired of hearing. 

“And of course her children will never come in here to see me.”  Roni is only half-heartedly listening to Eileen, who is still ranting about Debby.  “I helped her raise those kids when Richard was away and, and for what? They’re all grown now and all they care about are those darn computers.”

Eileen had never had children of her own, but she’d grown fond of Tanya and her frequent visits.  She was one of the first to hear about Tanya’s pregnancy with Roni, and one of the first to offer up help when Roni’s father left without a word. When Tanya had passed, Roni had gone to live with her own grandmother, but she’d always considered Eileen a grandmother as well.  It was an unspoken bond between the two of them; one that even Roni sometimes struggled finding the words to explain. 

“It’s a shame,” Eileen’s voice brings Roni out of her own head once again, and she feels bad for zoning out. “Nowadays the young folks just don’t appreciate books like they used to.”

Roni sighs, feeling an almost pang of guilt at Eileen’s words.  It’s a conversation they’ve had multiple times, and no matter what, Roni is never quite sure how to respond.  She speaks up, placing a donated book into the “romance” pile.  “There are still kids out there who love books.”   

“Have you seen one person in here under the age of 30 today, Veronica?”

Eileen makes a point, but Roni is nothing if she isn’t positive. “They’re just busy preparing for their New Years Eve parties tonight.”

“And then after the parties, where will they be?”

Roni smirks, thumbing mindlessly through an autobiography before throwing it into its own pile. “Hungover.”

Eileen shakes her head, but Roni’s words coax a smile onto her face.  “I don’t know, honey.  It just doesn’t seem promising.”

Roni halts her movements, glancing over to where Eileen sits.  Eiileen looks sad, and it weighs heavy on Roni’s heart.  So roni sighs, offering a warm smile.  “Heyyy,” she says softly.  “You’ll see.  2000 is going to be a good year.  I’ll make sure of it.  I have plans for this place!”

“I’ve had plans for this place since I was six years old!. But everything keeps changing, and kids don’t care.”

“You’ve got to work on being more positive, girl.” Roni rises to her feet and gathers the pile of romance books.  “Maybe this Y2K nonsense will only wipe out all the kids obsessed with technology.  And then the only people left will be all the young people with old souls like you and me.”  

Eileen laughs again.  “Ohh stop that,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand.  “Speaking of all that, shouldn’t you be home getting ready?  I’m sure you’ve got some exciting plans tonight.”

Roni raises her voice to be heard better,  now speaking from the back corner of the shop where the romance section is located.  “Oliver and I are having a party.  Couple of friends. Nothing special.”

“Oliver,” Eileen repeats, as if trying to jog her memory as to who Oliver is.  “That boyfriend of yours still treating you well?”

Roni has been with Oliver since she was sixteen years old, ten years ago, and in the entire five years she’s worked here, Eileen has asked that same question at least once a week.  “Yeah, he’s totally great.  We’re still like, really happy.”

“Well, good.  You make sure he puts a ring on your finger before any funny business though.  You don’t want any babies you aren’t ready for.”

Roni snorts quietly to herself.  “Don’t worry, Eileen. There won’t be any of that any time soon.”

“See to it that there isn’t.”

It’s quiet for the next few moments, with Eileen closing down the cash register and Roni placing books back on their shelves.  She glances up at the pictures that she’s grown so familiar with on the walls.  Sometimes she likes to make up stories for each, imagining their entire family line, what they do for work, where they’re from.  

There’s the larger woman in the picture dated 1987, smiling and laughing with her eyes closed beside a man with a thick gray mustache.  There’s the picture of the boy in the newsboy cap, dated 1924, standing beside a stack of books that’s taller than him, grinning at the camera with a dimpled smirk.  And then there’s a picture of Roni and Eileen, dated 1996- just one year after Roni started working here.  Eileen is giving Roni a stern yet amused look, with a hint of a smile tugging on her cheeks, while Roni is giving the camera a goofy, mid-laugh smile.   It’s one of Roni’s favorite pictures ever, and one of these days she swears she’ll get a copy of her own to frame.

“Veronica, dear.”  Roni doesn’t know how much time has passed when Eileen catches her attention once more.  “Why don’t you go on ahead and get out of here?  I can finish this up.”

“What?  No, I’m not gonna leave you--”

“Oh, honey.  You know I can handle this on my own.  You go on home, get your party all set up for tonight.  Don’t worry about me.”

Roni appears from around the shelves, subconsciously playing with the rings on her fingers.  “But don’t you need to get out of here, too?  You’ve gotta have some party plans tonight.”

Eileen laughs  “The only plans I’ve got for tonight are to go home, cook myself some dinner, go to bed, and wake up in a brand new millennium.”

“If we make it that long!” Roni teases, eyes widening in a jokingly scared face. “You know Y2K is gonna take us all out.”

“Oh Veronica,” Eileen scoffs, “stop with that nonsense.”  She swats at Roni’s behind as she passes, and Roni giggles.  “You and I both know we’re going to wake up tomorrow and everything is going to be completely normal.  We’re going to get one day to relax and then it’s back to work.  Within a week no one will even remember any of this.”

Roni glances down at the mood ring on her finger, chewing absentmindedly at her chapped lips.  She knows Eileen is probably right, but there’s a part of her that hopes she isn’t.

Still, this is not the time or the place to get into all of that.  So she brushes it aside with a giggle.  “How can you be so sure?”

“I’ve been around sixty-nine years, dear.  They’ve predicted this more times than I can count on all my fingers and toes. If the world is going to end, I just hope she gets on with it. I’m tired.”

This time Roni laughs out loud.  “Word,” she replies, beginning her final go-round of the little shop, making sure each aisle is neat and tidy.  “But really, you sure you’re gonna be okay alone here?”

Roni hardly hears Eileen’s answer when she stops in the sci-fi section.  She scans the book titles briefly before finding exactly what she’s looking for; the over-used copy of Black Holes and Time Warps: Einstein’s Outrageous Legacy by Kip S. Thorne.

With slow fingers, Roni gently slides the book from the shelf and runs her hand over the cover.  She’s borrowed this book countless times, read it cover to cover so many times she could potentially recite it, and filled at least a hundred pages in her journal with notes not only from this novel, but several others as well.   Some part of her mind tells her that it’s pointless to borrow this book yet again, as if she’s going to find something she hasn’t already seen.  But the other part of her mind, the much louder and more prominent part, tells her to read it just one more time.  

Just in case. 

Roni takes a deep breath and walks up to where Eileen still stands closing the register. “Hey, Eileen?”

“Hm?”  Eileen hardly even glances up at Roni from over her glasses.

“Would it be okay if I borrowed this book?”

This time, Eileen does look up, squinting over her glasses to read the title of the book before shooting Roni an incredulous look.  “Again?”

“It’s my favorite!”  It’s only partly a lie.  “I just find it like, super fascinating, you know?”

“What exactly are you expecting to get from reading it hundreds of times?”

Roni bites her tongue, not daring to allow herself to tell Eileen what she really wants.  “I’m not… expecting anything,” she lies.  “I just think it’s dope.”

“Dope,” Eileen mocks, shaking her head with a laugh.  She eyes Roni carefully, then lets out a sigh.  “Alright, love, of course you can take it.”

Roni beams, surprisingly relieved although she’d known the entire time that Eileen would say yes. Eileen continues speaking as Roni heads towards the back room.  “And stop using those slang words on me, Veronica, you know I don’t understand them.” Despite her words, she smiles, nodding her head towards the ‘Employees Only’ door.  “Go on and get out of here, now. You’ve got a party to set up.”

“Eileen, you’re the bomb.”  Now Roni’s just teasing her, and she blows Eileen a kiss that has her giggling.

It’s about ten minutes later when Roni is waving her final goodbye to Eileen and slipping out the door.  It is windier than usual outside, and she pulls her jacket tightly around her shoulders, not at all looking forward to walking home in this cold.  She glances up at the cloudy sky, which looks like it could snow at any moment, and lets out a sigh.  As much as she loves her friends, she really hopes they don’t all get snowed in at her and Oliver’s house tonight.

Roni is so distracted by the sky and her own thoughts that she shrieks when she feels herself bump straight into another person.  She blinks as she regains her balance, trying to make out the person in front of her.

It’s an old man she’s seen before on this street. Roni has never been sure if he’s homeless or crazy, but he’s always out here holding his signs and shouting about ‘the inevitable doom that will come if you don’t repent!”  His current sign reads “Y2K: The End Is Near”  in dripping red paint made to look-- very inaccurately-- like blood.

Roni lets out a sigh once her initial shock wears off.  “I’m sorry,  I didn’t--”

“The end is near!” The man shouts in Roni’s face, getting so close she can practically smell his breath.  “We have hours to go, do you have a plan?”

Roni grimaces before sliding past the man to continue on her walk home. “Sorry, dude.  My plan is to get shitfaced and fall asleep with my friends.  Good luck with the protesting though.”

Although he makes no effort to chase after her, he continues yelling; the further Roni gets away the louder he becomes.  “You’ll be sorry!  When the world comes to complete and utter chaos and you’ve got nowhere to go, see if I help you!! The end is nearer than you think, and you will suffer the consequences, do you hear me?”

He continues yelling for what feels like an eternity, and when Roni is finally out of earshot she rolls her eyes.  “Fuckin’ weirdo,” she mutters under her breath.  With that, she walks a little bit faster, tucking her house key between her pointer and middle finger in order to feel a bit more safe.

----------

9:31pm, December 31st, 1924

“Styles! Get over here.”

Twenty-five year old Harry Styles groans, wiping his hands on the rag hanging from the back of his pants.  He brushes his sweaty brow with the back of his wrist as he walks towards his supervisor, Frank Milton.  “Sir?”

“What is this?”  Frank shoves a leather shoe into Harry’s chest, and Harry has to take a moment to readjust himself so as to not fall over.  

He glances down at the shoe, trying his hardest to find a problem with it.  He sees his own reflection, a bit distorted in the shiny leather of the shoe.  He flips it around to look at the sole-- perfectly in tact, and finally gives up, shrugging.  “It’s a shoe.”

Frank scoffs in disbelief, shaking his head.  “You’re joking.  You’re absolutely joking.”

Harry glances around the factory.  A few of his friends are keeping an eye on the situation, but for the most part, no one is paying much attention to him.  He clears his throat.  “It’s proper to my eyes, sir.”

“Proper.”  Frank scoffs again, suddenly yanking the shoe from Harry’s hand and shoving it in his face.  “Does this seem proper to you, Styles?”

The shoe almost hits Harry’s nose, and he can smell the fresh leather from how close Frank is holding it to his face.  Harry squints, tilting his head back a bit so he can try and get a better idea as to what Frank could possibly be referring to.  He scans the shoe once more, shaking his head slowly when he once again comes up short handed.  “I don’t--”

“The throat line!” Frank throws the shoe with all of his might this time, and it lands harshly against Harry’s chest before plopping to the ground with a dull “plap” noise.  Harry wants to reach up and rub at the spot on his chest that the shoe impacted, but now Frank has nearly everyone’s attention, and Harry doesn’t so much as dare to move.   Frank takes a step closer to Harry, shoving his finger against the center of his chest. He’s so close now that Harry can feel his spit when he talks. “How many times have I told you to watch what you’re doing, Styles?  Hm? How many?”

Harry can’t think of a proper answer, and he’s not sure whether or not this is a rhetorical question.  More than anything, he wants to shove Frank’s finger off of his chest and show him exactly what he thinks of him.  He could tell Frank off right here and now, in front of everyone, once and for all.  Too many times has Frank gotten in Harry’s face over the most minuscule and trivial things.  Too many times has Frank gotten too big for his britches and abused the power he had over these men in this factory.  It drives Harry to near insanity, especially knowing that he could easily flip Frank over his shoulder and send him crashing to the ground (likely knocking him unconscious considering the concrete floor), without so much as breaking a sweat.

But Harry is one late bill away from having the power in his apartment completely shut off.  Harry is one blanket short of being completely warm in his bed at night, especially come this time of year.  And Harry only has about one meal left in his fridge to get him through till next payday.  Which means he can’t afford to give Frank a piece of his mind.

So Harry clears his throat and gives him an answer.  “Several.”

“Several times, Styles, and for what?  For the throat line of our shoes to look like this?!”  Frank gestures angrily at the shoe, now lying abandoned on the floor.  “What the fuck is wrong with you?  Huh?  How do we get it through your skull to watch what the fuck you’re doing?”

Harry won’t meet Frank’s eyes, and he’s certain that if he did he’d lose all control.  The fact that every pair of eyes in the factory is on him has become painfully obvious, and Harry can feel the tips of his ears turning red.  With every ounce of courage Harry can muster, he swallows his pride and bends down to retrieve the shoe.  “I’m sorry, sir.  If you’ll just give me another chance--”

Frank cuts him off with a jab of his knee into Harry’s side, successfully knocking off Harry’s balance and sending him to the ground.   “Does the integrity of this brand mean nothing to you?  Do deadlines just not matter in your world?”

On the one hand, Harry wants one of his mates to stand up for him.  But on the other, he hates that they’re all there watching this happen.  “Mr. Milton, I--”

“I have given you more than enough chances, Styles.  And this?” He kicks the shoe towards Harry.  “This is the way you repay me?”

“Mr. Milton--”

“I’ve had it, Styles.  You’re finished here.”

The entire factory seems to fall silent at Frank’s words, and Harry lets out all of his breath in disbelief.  The silence feels stuffy and hot, and Harry scans the entire room before glancing back up at Frank. Everything moves in slow motion, and not a single person in the room knows how to react.

Finally, Harry scoffs, shaking his head, and a bitter smile teases at the corners of his lips.  Harry isn’t one to beg, especially not when he’s down on the ground like this, and as desperate as he is for money, there’s a small part of him that’s relieved.  Harry closes his mouth, opens it again, glances around the room once more, and then smile’s a tongue-in-cheek smile up at Frank.  “I don’t… know what to say, sir.”

“Get your things.  I have nothing more to say to you.”

All eyes are on Harry when he lets out a long nasally sigh. He nods his head slowly before rising to his feet, taking the previously discarded shoe in his hand.  Frank turns to walk away, but stops dead in his tracks when he hears Harry’s voice. 

“I’m sure you don’t, Frank.”

Harry doesn’t move.  He soaks up every ounce of the thickness in the room and uses it to fuel himself even more.  When Frank finally does turn around on his heels, the look on his beet red face is almost enough to send Harry into a fit of laughter.

Almost, but not quite.

Frank takes a step towards Harry, intended to make him back down.  Instead he only grins, causing Frank to raise his eyebrows.  “I beg your pardon?”

“Well,” Harry says, nonchalantly turning the shoe in his hands, “Frank.  It’s unfortunate you feel that way.”  He glances up from under his lashes, completely unable to contain the smirk on his face.  “Because I’ve got an awful lot to say to you.”

Harry steps forward, shoving the shoe right back into Frank’s chest  before walking completely past him.  He walks further into the factory, gesturing vaguely with his hands.  “You think I’m going to lose any sleep over quitting this fuckin’ dump?”

“You watch your mouth, Styles.”

“The way you watch yours?”  Harry raises his eyebrows challengingly, continuing his walk around the room.  “The way you treat me--the way you’ve treated every single one of us for the last two years warrants no amount of respect from me, sir.”

Harry arrives at the machine of a coworker and pats him on the back.  “Eddie, how long have you been here?”

Eddie hesitates, eyes darting nervously between Frank and Harry.  “Uh,” he stammers.  “Three… three years…”

Harry gasps, feigning shock. “Three years, huh?  And in the amount of time that ol’ Frank has been in charge of this place, have you been acknowledged for your efforts and your devotion to this company?  Even once?”

Eddie glances back at Frank, completely frozen and unsure of how to go about this situation.  “Harry--”

Frank takes a step forward. “Mr. Styles, I will ask you one last time--”

“And you!” Harry walks over to another coworker, James, and nods his head at him.  “Mr. Harrison, is your wife not, what, eight months pregnant?”

James clears his throat.  “Nine.”

“Nine!  Nine months pregnant! Well, congrats, old man.  And over the last nine months, how many times has Frank allowed you to go home and be with your wife as she’s about to pop?”

“Styles, that is enough!” Frank’s voice is raised now, and Harry swears he sees steam rising from the old man’s bald head.

“It isn’t enough!” Harry shouts back.  “It will never be enough, Frank, until you understand that what you’re doing is wrong.  It’s slave labor, and its cruel.  Have you offered Bill over there any compensation for the time he nearly sliced his finger clean off?”

“Harry--”

“Do you know why that happened? It’s because you had him here at four in the morning after you’d worked him till eleven at night the night before.  It’s because you see your employees as money makers, not as people.  It’s because Mr. Frank fucking Milton doesn’t have a single bone of compassion in his old, tired body.  And everyone here knows I’m right.”

Frank now stands a few mere inches in front of Harry, but Harry doesn’t budge. He only grins.  “And if you think that I’m not going to the proper authorities to report your sorry ass now that I don’t work for you anymore, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Frank lunges for Harry then, wrapping his arms around his torso and sending both of them toppling to the ground.  He swings punches left and right with no proper aim, and although he does get a few good jabs in, Harry is stronger. 

Harry grunts, rolling over so that Frank is the one on the ground.  Frank is quick, however, blocking a few of Harry’s punches to his face.  He’s spewing curse words that Harry’s not even sure he’s heard before, and the blind rage inside of Harry takes over his body completely.  A year of being treated this poorly has done him in, he thinks, and he swears he could kill Frank if given the chance.

Harry hardly notices the complete chaos taking place around them as he and Frank rise to their feet to continue their brawl.  Some of the men are cheering, others are trying to pull the men apart.  Harry receives a solid sock to the eye that has him stumbling backwards, which he retaliates with a swift knee to Frank’s stomach.  Frank groans, hunching over briefly, and Harry swears he’s got him now.  He lunges forward, sending them both to the ground once again, and just begins swinging.

Harry feels he’s just getting warmed up, when he feels two pairs of arms grab him from behind to pull him away.  

Harry tastes blood, and he reaches up to wipe at his now swollen eye, that he’s sure is going to be black and blue come morning.  His absolute rage still hasn’t died down yet, although he’s fighting a losing battle now  He kicks and wiggles, but his captors are stronger than him, dragging him towards the exit doors.

The last thing Harry sees before reaching the doors are a few of the men helping Frank stand upright.  “Fuck you!” Harry spits.  “And fuck this place! You’ll all be sorry, this place is going to crash and burn and I’ll be laughing while it happens!  You’ll be begging me to come back, and--”

He’s cut off when he’s practically thrown out the front door.  The two men responsible shake their heads with disapproving glares.  “Good luck with that attitude in the real world, Styles,” one of them laughs before slamming the door.

But Harry isn’t finished.  “Yeah, fuck you, too actually!  I quit!”

Harry is met only with the sound of the wind, which feels surprisingly good against his hot body.  He reaches up to wipe at mouth, cursing when he sees the amount of blood on his hands.  He glances around him at the almost empty streets of New York, admittedly thankful that of the small handful of people around, not one really seems to acknowledge him.

“Bloody New York,” he mumbles under his breath before rising to his feet.

He lets out a somewhat injured sniff, wiping at his throbbing nose.  His head hurts, and more than anything all he wants right now is to crawl into his bed and sleep for the next three days.  He knows he can’t, however, because the bills are going to need to get paid one way or another.  And he’s got to start job hunting the moment his eyes open in the morning.

However, he figures he’s allowed to feel a bit sorry for himself for the time being.

Harry wraps his coat further around himself, shivering when another gust of wind comes his way.  Damn this cold.  Damn winter.  Damn the bills. Damn New York. 

Up ahead, Harry makes out a figure.  He assumes it’s a woman or a child, because the figure is much smaller than he is, but it’s stumbling around as if it’s had far too much to drink.  Harry squints against the dim light, trying to make out what’s going on.

The figure seems to be walking in his direction, and Harry slows his steps ever so slightly until he can figure out the appropriate course of action. Most likely it’s a drunk-- this area is swimming with them, especially around this time of night-- and he hopes he’ll be able to pass by without any sort of hassle.  Sometimes drunk men try to heckle him, or drunk women twice his age try to seduce him.  He always politely declines, but it’s awkward nonetheless.

But when Harry gets a bit closer, he realizes that the figure is neither of those things.

It’s a young woman, yes, and she is stumbling, but it isn’t the stumble of a drunkard.  It’s the stumble of someone who’s lost, dazed, or even perhaps sick.    Harry stops in his tracks.

“Miss, are you alright?”  

Harry’s voice seems to fall on deaf ears.  Although very few people are around, no one acknowledges the girl, and she stumbles again, nearly slamming herself into the brick building.  

Why is no one helping her?  Harry takes a step forward, then stops himself again when she glances around, as if she can hardly see two feet in front of her.  

“Miss?” He calls again, softer, as if afraid to startle her. 

This time she does acknowledge him, taking a shaky step towards him and nearly toppling over once again.  Harry wastes no time in rushing over to her, slightly annoyed that he’s the only one who seems to even realize this is going on.  She stumbles towards him and he lengthens his strides so as to close the distance between them as quickly as possible. 

He reaches her just in time, and the moment he’s close enough to get a decent look at her face, she collapses in his arms.  “Miss!”

She blinks sleepily up at him with furrowed brow and open mouth.  Her breathing is heavy, and Harry struggles to keep her somewhat upright as he watches her.  

“Are you alright?”  He asks, breathless.  He shakes her a bit, trying to get her to come to.  “Hey, look at me.  What’s going on?  Are you alright?”

The girl in his arms struggles to keep her eyes opened, but she gulps in a breath of air and reaches up for Harrys’ face with a shaky hand.   She runs a weak finger across his cheekbone, down his cheek, and to his jaw, as if she’s trying to recognize him.   Harry doesn’t understand, but something tells him he needs to hold still in this moment.  So he holds his breath as she traces his features.

“Miss,” he says slowly,  “what happened to you?”

Finally dropping her hand, she continues to blink sleepily up at him, confusion never once leaving her face. She looks like she’s struggling to speak, and Harry shakes her again ever so slightly to keep her conscious.  

Her mouth opens and closes a few times, and Harry waits with bated breath for her to be able to get a clear thought out.  But when she does, it takes him completely by surprise.

“Mom?”

Harry scoffs.  He doesn’t mean to, but it comes out the second she says it.  “Well, how do you like that,” he says to himself.  “Save a damsel in distress and she thinks you’re her damn mother.”

But Harry doesn’t get the snarky response he’s expecting.  When he glances back down at her, her eyes are almost fully fluttered closed, and her head finally lulls to the side in complete relaxation.  She's passed out in his arms now, and he has absolutely no idea what to do in this situation. 

“Shit,” he says quietly, shaking her a bit more in an attempt to wake her.  “Please wake up, I didn’t mean it.”

She’s completely unresponsive now, and Harry is not fully convinced she’s even alive anymore.  He reaches up to run a hand through his sweaty hair, contemplating how on earth he’s supposed to go about dealing with this.  Should he call the police?  Should he take her to a hospital?  What happens if they blame him?  The black eye certainly isn’t going to bode well for him.

 He uses his hand to fan her face, even going so far to blow a little as if that’s going to do any good.  The panic is setting in, and it’s almost far too much for him to take when she stirs ever so slightly.

“Yes! Yes, wake up, there’s a good girl…”  Harry brushes a bit of her hair off of her forehead, shifting her a bit more so that she’s propped up.   When she opens her eyes, he beams, even though she looks just as confused as before-- if not more.

“Hello!” Harry says quickly,  “Good evening!  Yes, hi, I think you may have just passed away in my arms and then risen from the dead,  and I want to help you but I’m genuinely not even sure where to begin so please stay awake and tell me what happened to you because--

“Wait,” she says slowly, lifting her head a bit to look around.  As confused as she still seems, this is the most cognizant she’s been this entire time. Harry waits impatiently for her to say something, slowly becoming aware of the fact that he’s still holding her in his arms.

Finally, she looks up at him with an unreadable expression.  She’s not particularly concerned, not scared and not excited-- but something tells Harry that the question she asks is urgent.

“What year is it?”

[rpctts]

MADS did it, and i’m nothing if not a little bitch who wants plots, so i wrote up my own connections list for my kiddos over at nex. WHICH HAS been around for five years and is still going strong, baby ! anyways, i play five bitches over there right now, and you’ll find my blog in the source link. anyways, WITHOUT FUTHER ADO !

if any of this appeals to you, or you want to join but not with any of my connections and you still want to plot ? feel free to hit me up on DISCORD : 𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖓#1978. or shoot me a dm !

general trigger warnings : abuse, death, alcoholism, rape, murder.

CAROLINE SARAH CRANE. nurse, thirty - two.

the lowdown :  she’s too sweet for her own good, and she’s often letting people walk all over her. she had a SHITTY ex - fiance who was abusive, so she’s taking her time getting back into the dating game      ————      there’s this guy, though, but she keeps trying to SELF - SABOTAGE to keep them apart since she thinks she’s the reason people leave. her parents died when she was pretty young and she and her sister moved to fort elms to live with their aunt. she was brought up like a traditional southern gal, born and raised in mississippi until she moved to with her sister claire.

WANTED CONNECTIONS :

sister. they have a relatively close relationship, but her sister was always liked a little - bit - more than caroline was, solely based on the fact that she was more outspoken. which is surprising, since they were raised in the south in mississippi. their parents died when caroline was fourteen, and they moved in with their aunt in washington, which is where they both live now (: requirements : mid - to - late thirties. 1/4 black and louisiana creole, unless adopted    ————      however, preferably still a poc. would have a connection with brandon ( played by mads ), who is her ex - husband’s brother.

coworkers. as you’ll see later, i play two nurses. i’m like, 90% of the hospital staff right now, and i’d love to see more people who work there ! be it doctors, nurses, techs, whatever. i’d love for her to have a mentor or someone to look up to. requirements : none, besides being able to work in a hospital. would also be connected to nat ( played by alex ), and probably malachai ( played by me <3 ).

friends. everyone needs friends, and caroline’s no exception. right now she’s kind of limited on being friends with the guy she’s kind of dating and her sister’s ex’s brother. requirements : in their thirties. would possibly be connected to jack ( played by tasha ) or brandon ( still played by mads ), who’re the aforementioned characters.

CHELSEA ELISE CZERNY. college junior, music store clerk, twenty - one.

the lowdown : she has her own love life issues, and is a store clerk at camelot’s music. the shop across is where her best guy friend and long - time crush julian works, and she’s stupid and in love with him. recently she found out one of her best friends hooked up with him at a party, and that’s really put a damper on their friendship. :zany: anywho, chelsea didn’t have a great life. she was born in louisiana, but her folks moved to washington when she was four. she’s the youngest of five girls, and her parents wanted a boy, so she was chucked to the side unless she was being her dad’s punching bag. her mom was an alcoholic like her dad, and while her mom never laid a hand on her, she didn’t do anything to stop her dad and so of course chelsea resents her. her sisters tried their best to shield her, but she’s five years younger than the next sister, and thus they weren’t always around. she had a stint in a mental hospital, but then cps let her go home to the family because they’re big dumb. she also had an awful experience at a party her freshman year of college, where she was drugged and date - raped, so she’s very selective with who she allows physical contact from. she’s my saddest and most damaged character and honestly she deserves better !

WANTED CONNECTIONS :

sister. she already has one around, but there’s three more to go, baby ! i feel like the czerny girls very much have a relationship like the march girls, with chelsea being very much like amy outside of being a little shit ( love you amy ). they’ve always been very close, and while she’s not closest with the oldest, who’s in her late thirties, she has a very good relationship with the other three. requirements : mid - twenties to late - thirties. the youngest would be twenty - six, and the oldest can be whatever, just under fourty. should be blonde, which makes it pretty easy. would also be connected to christina ( played by mary ), who’s the second oldest, and julian ( played by mads ), who’s been chelsea’s best friend since he moved to fort elms, and is also their neighbor.

potential love interest. chelsea’s bisexual, even if she’s not fully aware of it yet. she’s spent the last five years of her life hung up on her best friend      ————      very much a betty and archie situation, and now she’s crushed that he not only slept with her bff, but also that he probably doesn’t return her feelings. so she really needs someone to come in and swoop her off her feet. requirements : in their twenties. could be connected to kevin ( played by mads ) and pippa ( played by meredith ).

coworkers. chelsea works at camelot’s, which is the record store in fort elms’ mall. right now, she’s the sole employee     ————      which is dangerous considering she’s a klutz and has already fallen off a chair once ! so please give her people to keep her company at work. requirements : none.

STEVEN MICHAEL KINNEY. chemistry teacher, twenty - six.

the lowdown : middle child, perpetual grump. his parents died when he was sixteen, and his baby sister was the only survivor. steven was left with a lot of anger that he didn’t know how to control or get rid of, so in college he joined the boxing team and eventually joined an underground fight club type of thing. he was good at it, and ended up being a crowd favorite and pretty popular with the crowd too. that changed when he hit a guy so hard he passed out, and the guy ended up dying in the hospital. steven wasn’t left without injuries, but his guilt is what’s really done him in. he’s pretty much ruining his relationship with his sisters because he’s punishing himself for the guy’s death by pretty much throwing himself into fights recklessly, hoping to get beat up and d*e. pretty dark and DEPRESSING, if you ask me !

WANTED CONNECTIONS :

cousin(s). after their parents died, the kinney trio were adopted by their uncle and moved in with him. well, steven and sawyer did. sienna had already yeeted herself away. steven would’ve been relatively close to any cousins his age, and they probably would’ve pranked sawyer and any younger siblings. probably would’ve grown apart when steven moved out for college and started withdrawing. requirements : it’d be nice for someone around his age, though maybe a little younger, so early - to - mid twenties. we never specified in canon whether it’s their mom or dad that was japanese, so it would be up to you on whether it’s the side of the family that their uncle’s on ! would also be connected to sienna ( formerly played by meredith, now dead in a ditch somwhere ), who’s the oldest, and sawyer ( played by mads ), who’s the baby.

ex - boyfriend. COLLEGE. a time for learning yourself, and reinvention. steven’s pansexual and he had a secret boyfriend in college. i say secret because it’s the 80s and sawyer is uber - religious. they dated their sophomore year into their junior year, and ultimately the other boy broke things off because, unfortunately, the guy that steven accidentally killed was in fact his best friend. and now that steven’s on the road to love, it’d be fun if someone came in and fucked with that a little bit. requirements : twenty - six / twenty - seven, to be in line with steven’s age. preferably a poc, but not a necessity.

coworkers. give me more TEACHERS ! who will teach the children math in the apocalypse ? it could be you ! requirements : if they’re a teacher, they gotta have a teaching degree sorry babie ! no fifteen year olds allowed.

MALACHAI COLSON KNOX. nurse, thirty - four.

the lowdown : he’s also a nurse, and he ALSO has romance troubles     ————       that appears to be a common trend. he’s in love with his best friend of over twenty years who’s daughter he also raised. they have a complicated history, it’s fine. grew up in chino, they moved to washington after ava was born, and they’ve been living there since. everyone calls kai a simp, which i GUESS he technically is, because he’d do anything for odette. BUT THAT’S BECAUSE HE LOVES HER. gross. there was a time in his mid - twenties where they weren’t living together ( he was living with his ex - girlfriend, who wasn’t an ex at the time ), but THAT was a whole mess. homegirl was emotionally manipulative and a fucking bitch, which wasn’t great. he eventually got out of the situation and moved back in with odette, who he’s now dating     ————      even though no one knows. honestly, he doesn’t even know, because odette’s scared of labels. they make her cry.

WANTED CONNECTIONS :

ex - girlfriend. she's crazy, and a bitch. she manipulated kai throughout their entire relationship, and it really fucked with his mind and is part of the reason he was so hesitant on things with odette. there was probably a lot of gaslighting in that relationship. he did love her, however, and if she showed back up in fort elms that would certainly make things difficult for him ! so of course i love it. requirements : mid - thirties, looks like a bitch. would also be connected to odette ( played by mads ), who she probably hates.

friends. kai needs some buds. mads has a wanted connection for a childhood friendof theirs, which would be great, but i’d also just love some new friends as well. people he can go grab drinks with, or do other friend things with ! requirements : in their thirties, probably, but no specifics. 

coworkers. see above, in caroline’s wanted connection. requirements : should be old enough to work in a hospital.

NOAH HASTUR WRIGHT. contractor, twenty - four.

the lowdown : former football star and resident player. UNFORTUNATELY. for me, anyways. he had lots of relationships in high school, but his most frequent was sawyer, with whom he was very on - again - off - again with. at the end of the football season in his senior year, he tore his acl, which ruined any shot of a football scholarship to a big university. so instead he went to trade school, joined his cousin julian’s band, and now he also deals pot to the town of fort elms. it’s very opposite of who he was in high school, though he’s still a big player. has a shitty relationship with his dad, because who doesn’t ? and also doesn’t believe in LOVE. though he’s pretty sure he might be in love with sawyer, so that’s real rough on him.

WANTED CONNECTIONS :

ex - girlfriend(s). like i said, in high school he was a player. he was also attractive and popular, so he was a good target for flirtaionships. if he wasn’t dating SAWYER, he was hooking up or dating some other girl, and i’m sure he probably strung some girls along. give him some evil exes that someone has to fight, or girls still really hung up on him. requirements : twenties, between 20 - 28, i guess, since he definitely would’ve dated older girls as a freshman / sophomore. would also be connected to julian ( still played by mads ), who’s his cousin.

friends. a clear trend with my characters is that they need more casual friends / acquaintances. he’s buds with the boys in the band, but he really needs people outside of it to hang out with too. requirements : in their twenties.

buyer(s). he’s a pot dealer, and i’m sure that lots of people in fort elms buy ! it’d be cool to have a relationship that’s like a i’ll text my dealer, he’s cool kind of deal. he’d definitely come by and play video games, maybe even give you a discount on prices if you kicked his ass. requirements : none.

hookup. he’s pansexual and very sexually active. like said, he’s a player, so he’d definitely still be sleeping around with people, but it’d be nice to have a consistent person he can turn to. the kind of person he can call at 3am and they meet in a parking lot, or something. the kind he can count on. requirements : no minors.

his mom. he has a great mom    ————     she’d rival juli’s, if i were strong enough to go against mads. but i don’t. she is a great mom, though, and she raised both noah and his teen sister to the best of her abilities. she’s been a single parent since his sister was born, and she’s now fourteen, so their mom’s had a little bit of learning to do. she forced her kids to learn polish, even though she’s not as in touch with her heritage as her sister is, but it’s there    ————     paczki every saturday morning with breakfast. she’s not very overbearing, but she is a little nosy, and she gives noah grief for dealing out of her house, but he pays rent so she lets it slide. requirements : early forties, can be any white lady, though preferably jewish. would be connected to julian ( yep, still played by mads ) as his maternal aunt.  

[iffeelscouldkill]

Any day breathing

“Captain Tripathi. You’re alive!”

He presents it as a joke, to mask the very real fear that lies underneath those words. The fear that someday, she won’t come back to him safe and whole.

–

A/N: I wrote another thing :3

To the folks in the Starship Iris Discord: I finished it! This started out as a little ficlet idea that I had a while back: a Sana/Campbell concept based on Campbell’s stock greeting of “Captain Tripathi. You’re alive!” I wrote half of it down (I got sidetracked partway through) and then let it sit in my Starship Iris ideas notes file (god, you do not want to see the length of that thing) for ages.

Then, a conversation in the TSCOSI Discord about Campbell, pining, and Campbell’s probable reaction to the Rumor reports being uploaded to the public net (which I had totally forgotten about asfdfgsgsdgsg) inspired me to pick it back up.

It was meant to be a short, whimsical, feels-filled ficlet about Sana and Campbell’s conversations through the years. It turned into something… much longer than that.

Enjoyyyyy~

–

“Captain Tripathi. You’re alive.”

The first time he says it, the surprise is genuine. It’s hard not to be surprised to hear from this woman again – someone whose name had been only a rumour to him until very recently. He’d heard about her from contacts of contacts, mentioned here and there, always with a reverent tone. She had some kind of revolutionary past, he’d heard: was jailed as a dissenter, or had taken part in an uprising. One version of that story said that she’d led an entire planet in an uprising. He also heard that she’d hijacked a high-level Regime starship – possibly in mid-flight.

Whatever he was expecting when they finally met face-to-face, the slender, wiry woman in the brightly-coloured shalwar kameez with a streak of engine grease near her hairline and elaborate floral tattoos adorning muscular arms is not it. Sana Tripathi walks straight into his base of operations – a network of winding corridors and tucked-away cubbyholes in what’s meant to be a confidential location – flanked by a younger woman with a murderous expression and more visible weapons than he can take in with one glance, and demands two full sets of new identification, impeccable and untraceable, to get the IGR off their tail.

“I heard you were the best,” she tells him, a challenge.

Campbell holds out for a full fifteen minutes, but by the end of it he’s agreed to everything she asks for and feels distinctly like he’s gone ten rounds in the sparring ring they used to blow off steam back in the military, verbally speaking. She agrees to pay half up-front, with the promise of the rest once they safely reach their destination.

It’s an hour-long job, and he doesn’t know where the two of them go to lie low while he’s working, but exactly an hour later the glowering, heavily-armed woman is back to pick up their documentation. He’s a little disappointed that it’s not the Captain who came to collect.

The other woman – who tells him shortly that her name is Patel; the name on the papers he’s made for her is Kay Grisham – pays and leaves. He later hears that the IGR is conducting randomised searches at every checkpoint, detaining anyone whose background doesn’t quite check out neatly enough, or whose personal or ship ID papers look a little too new.

Campbell is completely confident in the quality of his work, but he’s not sure that Tripathi could pass a visual check, if she’s been on an IGR watchlist – and that friend of hers didn’t really seem like the subtle type. After thirty-six hours with no word, he figures the rest of the money is lost, but chalks it up as an interesting story to tell.

Two hours later, he gets a call from an unknown number. After running the standard traces on it (the IGR aren’t as good at disguising themselves as they like to think), he accepts the call.

“Is this Ignatius Campbell?” asks the voice on the other end – brisk, but with the hint of warmth and humour lurking underneath.

“Captain Tripathi,” he says in surprise. “You’re alive.”

“Of course,” the Captain replies blithely. “We delayed our departure slightly in order to catch the shift changeover for the randomised checks. The outgoing agents are always tired and less likely to bother with a full database check, and the incoming agents have never been briefed properly. Then we had to make sure that we weren’t being tailed.”

“Of course,” Campbell echoes. This woman is no amateur, and he realises that he’d managed to underestimate her even after everything that she’d managed by tracking him down, coming to him and persuading him to work with her. He makes a mental note not to do that again.

“So, I assume this call is about payment,” he adds, when Captain Tripathi doesn’t volunteer anything further.

“How very astute of you,” the Captain replies, too good-humoured to be mocking, and then proceeds to brazenly haggle him down a further twenty-five percent.

Campbell doesn’t believe in love at first sight, and he never will. But he does believe that there are people whom, when you meet them, the universe demands you sit up and pay attention to.

–

“Captain Tripathi – you’re alive.”

Even after resolving not to underestimate Sana Tripathi, Campbell is still surprised when he hears from her again. It’s been eight months, and during that time, his best-placed informants hadn’t picked up a single trace of Captain Tripathi or her companion. Not under the names he’d created for them, and not under the names they’d given him when they met.

It’s unheard of for him to be unable to track an alias he’s created (he wouldn’t be able to stay ahead of any potential threats unless he had that advantage), but he knows that the Regime has ways of making people vanish completely. It’s a cold, unpleasant realisation, and he experiences an unusually strong pang of regret considering that he barely knows this woman. But he’s sure that somehow, they must have slipped up and got caught.

So when Captain Tripathi contacts him again like nothing has happened, he realises he might just have to get used to unexpected developments.

He’s somehow not even surprised to hear that since they last spoke, she’s picked up a Dwarnian and some kind of renegade translator who has a history with the mafia. “He’s an academic, so he won’t be seeing any action, but he needs to have papers that will hold up if the ship is inspected while we’re docked,” the Captain explains casually.

“…Naturally,” says Campbell. “And speaking of your ship – I suppose you have a full work-up of papers for that, too? You know they’ve tightened the regs on those a lot recently.”

He tells himself he’s only saying it so that he can squeeze an extra job out of a contact he’s fairly confident will be good for the money. Not because he’s concerned.

“Are you suggesting that my ship’s paperwork is less than completely impeccable?” Captain Tripathi asks him with mock indignation.

Campbell suppresses a smile as he replies, “Given that it was made by someone other than myself, I’m surprised it’s held up this long.”

Their conversation concludes with him agreeing to redo the ship’s paperwork – somehow at a much lower price than he would usually charge for a second-time client.

–

“Captain Tripathi. You’re alive!”

It’s already become a joke between them by this point, the fact that Campbell answers Sana’s calls this way, and he waits in anticipation of the sarcastic response that he knows will follow. They’ve been in relatively regular contact since Campbell started playing middleman for some of their cargo, using his network of contacts to move it on and taking a cut. He’s stopped bothering to deny to himself how much he looks forward to their conversations.

But this time, the voice that comes down the line is not Sana Tripathi’s, but Arkady Patel’s. “It’s First Mate Patel, actually,” she says brusquely, and Campbell sits up slowly. “I know you guys traditionally open with like, twenty minutes of banter, but we don’t have time for that right now. We’re in a bind.”

Campbell has a cast-iron policy of not offering any favours, offering help to contacts, or otherwise sticking his neck out any further than he needs to. He keeps his relationships strictly about business and nothing more. Much like his ability to track an alias, it’s what’s kept him off the IGR’s radar for so long.

There are one or two folks whom he goes way back with – like Theodore “Red” Gregor, who was in his unit and a fellow dishonourable discharge. Campbell helped him set up his business on Elion. There aren’t many who could manage to stay in business while avoiding both the mob and the Regime, but if anyone could, it was Red.

But they’re rare exceptions to a very strict rule. Anyone else is on their own, or had better be prepared to owe him for a long, long time.

Campbell thinks about all this before he says, “What do you need?”

–

Campbell is ashamed of how long it takes him to realise that Sana is a fellow Telemachian. He’s usually good at identifying fellow homeworlders, even ones who have lived elsewhere. Telemachians have this spark, this spirit, a distinctive culture that even the Regime couldn’t stamp out of them.

They’re diverse, sure, and numerous, but you can always spot a fellow Telemachian if you know what to look for. They’re the unruly planet on the edge of a solar system, a little too far away from any established IGR base to monitor closely; a little too big to be brought to heel. There’s a reason that most protest songs originate from Telemachus – and that there’s been periodic unrest every few years since the coup.

They’re making small talk at the end of a call (something Campbell indulges in far more than he should), and Campbell is talking about evading the IGR’s latest clampdown and how hard it’s becoming to operate underground. “It’s enough to make me want to give it all up and become a vegetable farmer somewhere.”

“Wouldn’t you get bored?” Sana asks, playfully but with a hint of curiosity lurking underneath.

“Yeah. Probably.” Campbell’s not sure. Maybe if he had the company of the right person, it wouldn’t be so bad. “Just, all this running in place… it feels so futile.” It comes out sounding more tired than he means it to.

“Well, you know what they say,” says Sana, seriously. “When their foot is on your throat-”

“-any day breathing is a victory,” Campbell finishes. “I didn’t know you were a homeworlder.”

There’s a pause, and he thinks that Sana is weighing up what to say next. She hadn’t meant to give so much away, he realises – for all that he’s got to know a fair bit about the smuggling business that she runs, and the odd detail about life on board the Rumor, Sana is very cautious about revealing anything about her own past, or that of her crew, beyond what is strictly required to do business. Campbell has never minded that – he can respect a person’s boundaries. He doesn’t need to pry into Sana’s past to be sure that she won’t screw him over.

“I’ve moved around a bit,” she says, finally. “I spent a few years off-planet in the late 70s. Since then I’ve been… transient. Well, you knew that.”

Campbell inclines his head, though he knows that Sana can’t see it. He’s still considering what to say when she carries on,

“I don’t go back to the homeworld much these days. Actually, when we first approached you to work with us-” Campbell gives a wry smile at how much of an understatement that is, “-it was the first time that I’d been back to Telemachus in years.”

“It’s still home, though, isn’t it?” he says, thinking of the time that he’d spent in deployment; the years that he was on the run, unable to get word to his sister or his nephews. “After everything.”

“Yeah, it is.”

–

Campbell doesn’t really think twice the first time he invites the crew of the Rumor to have dinner with him.

It’s late in the evening, and the crew has just touched down on Telemachus a full twelve hours later than they’d originally planned. First there’d been some unprecedented solar flare activity en route, forcing them to take a detour, and then they’d been boarded by Regime agents in a “random” check on entry to Telemachus. Krejjh had been quickly hidden away in one of the ship’s many nooks and crannies, and the paperwork had all checked out (of course), but the agents had been both suspicious and thorough. All in all, the crew is obviously exhausted and a little fractious by the time Campbell meets them to pick up the cargo. Sana is doing her best to keep things businesslike, but she wilts visibly and rubs her hand over her eyes when she thinks he isn’t looking.

“Hey. Listen, we can go over all this tomorrow,” Campbell says, as gently as he can. “You guys’ve had a rough journey – what d’you say we grab a bite to eat instead?”

Arkady’s frown deepens, of course – it’s her job to be suspicious, and Campbell doesn’t take it personally. More to the point, he knows that it’s just her way of trying to look out for the crew. Arkady Patel is a lot more caring than she tries to let on. She might show it with jibes in the background of calls, or with threats and occasional bodily harm in the direction of anyone who threatens her friends’ safety, but she shows it.

For her part, Sana looks extremely relieved at the idea of being able to put business off until the morning.

“That’s really kind of you, Campbell,” she says. “It’d be great to take a bit of a breather, but we don’t want to impose…”

“It’s no imposition,” says Campbell, shrugging. “I was planning to go out to eat tonight anyway – I’ve been cooped up indoors too much lately. There’s a great hole-in-the-wall two blocks away from here – it doesn’t look like much, but the food is something else. Krejjh can come, too – they get all kinds in there.”

Sana tells him they’ll consult Brian and Krejjh before coming to a decision, but Campbell has a feeling that the answer will be yes, despite Arkady’s clear misgivings. Sure enough, Sana is back minutes later with a mild-mannered translator and an excitable Dwarnian (disguised with a large pair of novelty sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat) in tow.

Over the months – almost a year, now – that Campbell has been doing business with the Rumor crew, he has a sense of how they work together as a group: Krejjh piloting the ship and executing daring last-minute escapes; Brian joking and mediating and cooking slightly disastrous food; Arkady watching Sana’s back and intimidating obstacles into submission; and Sana alternately leading and mothering, driving ruthless bargains for the benefit of her crew.

But it doesn’t compare to the experience of eating at the same table, drinking the Rumor’s lethal home-brewed moonshine, listening to outrageous tales and laughing until his sides hurt.

The next day, Campbell is unsurprised when he doesn’t hear a word from the Rumor crew until nearly two o’clock in the afternoon. He himself only crawled out of bed at noon, and has since been avoiding light sources and slowly regaining his humanity over strong black coffee.

“Incoming call from Sana Tripathi.”

“Captain Tripathi,” Campbell says as he answers his comm. “You’re alive?”

“The jury’s definitely still out on that one,” Sana replies, her voice low and rough. Campbell chuckles, and then hopes the sound wasn’t too loud. “We’re at various stages of recuperation, but at a minimum, Arkady and I will be able to meet you with the cargo at our rendezvous point by three.”

“Make it four,” Campbell says, in deference to how utterly wrung-out she sounds. To cover this up, he adds, “I only joined the land of the living about half an hour ago myself. I’m going to need at least three more cups of coffee before I’m functional.”

“Four it is,” says Sana, businesslike, but with a clear undertone of relief. “We’ll see you there.”

“See you both soon. And, Sana –”

Campbell stops, wondering if he’s overstepping. Last night had been so easy, so fun – by the end of it, the Rumor crew felt like old friends. But it’s harder to recapture that feeling in the light of day, sober. What can he say – ‘Thanks for a great night’? ‘We should do this again sometime’?

(‘You have a beautiful laugh’?)

He clears his throat. “Don’t let Brian forget about that drink he owes me. And uh, you and the rest of the crew are always welcome to make a stop. To refuel, or…” He clears his throat again. “Or for whatever reason.”

“Thanks, Campbell,” says Sana, warm and genuine. “We’ll see you soon.”

–

Things start to get a lot tougher over the months that follow – on Telemachus and on every other planet that Campbell has contacts. Forgers and traders he’s worked with for years go silent, or are rarely heard from; he gets wind of abrupt crackdowns, the Regime imprisoning people who show the slightest bit of dissent, petty criminals being sent down with lengthy sentences.

Telemachus starts to stir. He hears murmurs on the streets. A leaflet is shoved into his hand by a hooded young person who is gone before he can blink. Campbell skims enough of it to know that he would probably be arrested if he were found with it on his person. He burns it, but he knows it’s only a matter of time before the protests start.

On his next call with the Captain to arrange a routine cargo drop-off, he can’t stop himself from urging her to be careful. Sounding amused, she promises him that she will.

“Are we still on for drinks at that bar you promised to take us to?”

“I don’t know what their house policy is on home-brewed moonshine,” Campbell warns her. “But of course we are.”

“Great. We’ll see you in a week, Campbell. Sana Tripathi out.”

He’s not expecting to get another call from her just three days later. Campbell is tense as he accepts the call, sure that something must be wrong.

“Captain Tripathi.” He hesitates over the second half of the greeting, and Sana speaks before he can say anything else.

“Campbell, hi.” She sounds well, but Campbell doesn’t relax, sensing bad news in her tone. “Listen, there’s no good way to say this, but… we’re going to have to miss our drop-off.”

“Oh.” Of all the things that Campbell might have thought were coming next, that wasn’t one of them. He knows he should be angry over being left in the lurch by a business partner, about how badly this will put him out, but instead he’s just… disappointed. And concerned. “What’s happening?”

“It’s – hard to go into too much detail right now, but… we’ve got to make an unexpected stop. Something’s come up, and… there’s no way we’re going to be in range of Telemachus for a while. I’m sorry.”

So, not just missing a drop-off, but possibly not making any stops for some time. Campbell is silent for a few moments, absorbing this.

“I know this will put you out in a major way, and I promise that we’ll make it up to you,” Sana says. “You’re our best customer, and we would never bail on you unless it was urgent.”

That’s what concerns me, Campbell thinks. “I… understand,” he says finally. “I’m not going to pretend I like it, but sometimes, that’s just how things are. I can find another supplier for the Scotch. They won’t be you, but…”

“Sorry, again, Campbell. We were… really looking forward to seeing you. Listen, we’ll give you half price on your next shipment. As an apology.”

Somehow, bartering isn’t as fun when Sana is just offering him a lower price – and when she’s doing it as an apology. “We’ll work something out,” he says. “I know you’ve got to keep Krejjh in hot sauce and Arkady in those elaborate hair products she denies using.”

Sana laughs. “Yeah, we might have to ration the hot sauce for a bit, but we’ll survive.” There’s a pause, and then she adds, “I’ll call as soon as I’m able. Let you know when we might be in the area again.”

“Do that. Good luck with… whatever it is that you have to do.”

“Thanks.” For a moment, Sana seems like she’s about to say something else, but then she closes with, “Speak to you soon. Sana Tripathi out.”

–

Campbell doesn’t hear from the Rumor crew for another three weeks after Sana’s call. All told, it’s been nearly four months since they last stopped by on Telemachus. Once upon a time, he would go much longer without seeing or hearing from the crew and not even think about it. But he’s got used to more regular contact – drop-offs every couple of months, and regular calls, sometimes not even about business. He enjoys finding out what the group has been up to, listening to the way that they joke together, the way Sana alternately cajoles and corrals them. How fond she sounds when talking to her crew, her found family.

He’s sure, sometimes, that he hears the same fondness in her voice directed at him. She’s never hesitated to match his banter, and he looks forward to the calls where they haggle over prices, exchanging insults that sound more affectionate than anything. Campbell would hate to cross a line too soon – he doesn’t want to ruin what is also a great business relationship and friendship. But on his calls with Sana, his catch-ups with the crew, their now-regular drinking escapades with ill-advised amounts of moonshine and ridiculous stories… he’s sure that there’s something more there.

He finds himself thinking about Sana at odd moments during the day: dwelling on her voice, her laugh; picturing her smile, her arms, her tattoos. He hopes that she’s safe, that whatever mystery errand took her away from Telemachus wasn’t dangerous. More than once, he’s tempted to put a call through and make sure she’s okay, but he stops himself. Sana said she would call as soon as she was able, and she’s always been a woman of her word.

He brightens when, in the middle of a slow evening, his terminal lights up and his computer intones, “Incoming call from… Sana Tripathi. Incoming call from…”

“Captain Tripathi,” he greets her cheerfully. “You’re alive!”

–

Then, Elion. A body turns up by the landfill. Sana’s accusation.

“In what universe would I turn on you for them?!”

Then they don’t speak for some time.

–

There’s a massive protest happening in the centre of Nestor, the district of Telemachus where Campbell is based. It’s loud enough and vehement enough that Campbell can hear it, just faintly, from where he sits in his cramped office, distractedly going through some accounts.

Normally, the Regime would have deployed riot police by now, violently suppressing the protest and arresting the instigators. But in contrast to how jumpy the IGR had been before, the machinery of the Regime has been oddly absent in recent weeks. As if all its resources are being focused elsewhere. This is the third protest in about ten days – and the largest. He also heard that there’s been some kind of major incident at a Regime lab in New Jupiter – a fire or an explosion or something. He’s willing to bet that it’s just the tip of the iceberg. Something big is going down.

Giving the accounts up as a bad job for now, Campbell dismisses the holographic screen with a wave of his hand and stands up. He needs some air.

Once he’s out of the house, it’s almost impossible to avoid the protest – it seems to be everywhere. Out of sheer morbid curiosity, Campbell walks towards the crowds, his coat collar turned up to obscure the bottom half of his face. Soon he’s close enough to hear some of what they’re shouting.

“THE RUMOR CREW DID NOTHING WRONG!” yells a man nearby, and Campbell’s heart almost stops. “JUSTICE FOR THASIA!” 

“JUSTICE FOR EMILY CRADDOCK!” another voice yells back.

Someone stuffs a leaflet into Campbell’s hand. He looks down at it. It’s a cheap, quickly-printed thing, just black text on off-white paper, and it reads:

WE THE PEOPLE DEMAND A FULL AND TRANSPARENT STATEMENT FROM THE INTERGALACTIC REPUBLIC ABOUT THE DISCLOSURES IN THE RUMOR RECORDINGS OF THE WIDESPREAD USE OF SPY TECHNOLOGY IN PEACETIME ASSASSINATION, ABDUCTION, AND THE INSTIGATION OF AN INTER-SPECIES WAR THE RUMOR CREW DID NOTHING WRONG!

Campbell roughly grabs the shoulder of the man who was shouting nearby. “What are these Rumor recordings?” he demands, brandishing the leaflet.

The man looks alarmed, and Campbell forces his posture to become a bit less “military”. “I’m not one of them,” he says, quickly. “I just want to know what’s happening.”

“They’re all over the public net, man,” says the protestor. The ‘where the hell have you been?’ is strongly implied.

“You should start by listening to Report 1: Violet Liu,” another protestor supplies helpfully.

“Thank you,” says Campbell, and lets go of the man’s shoulder. The man shrugs and rejoins the crowd, chanting,

“JUSTICE FOR ALVY CONNORS! JUSTICE FOR THE CREW OF THE STARSHIP IRIS! YOU CAN’T MAKE A PERSON DISAPPEAR!”

Back at home, Campbell discovers the man was right: the files are all over the net. The IGR is clearly penalising anyone who shares them, and trying to shut down the websites hosting them – his search turns up a lot of dead links and mysteriously deactivated accounts. But there are far too many sources to eradicate them all, short of completely shutting down the public net. Before too long, Campbell has a complete set of the recordings, Reports 1 to 9.

He starts to listen.

The report starts, after the introduction from someone who is clearly an IGR drone, with the panicked voice of a woman who sounds vaguely familiar. Campbell has a good memory for both faces and voices, and he’s sure this woman is the new recruit he’d heard briefly on the call with Sana before the Rumor landed on Elion. It might explain her link to the Rumor crew.

Sure enough, a few minutes later he hears Arkady, using the Kay Grisham alias that he’d made for her, years ago. He recognises the con she’s pulling, a trick that Brian Jeeter grandly refers to as “the Carmen Gambit”. He wonders what was so important about this woman that the Rumor crew went so far out of their way to rescue her. He looks for a timestamp on the recording, but it only shows when the file was uploaded to the public net, which was a few days ago. But Campbell has a feeling this was the reason that the Rumor crew skipped their drop-off in Telemachus.

He wishes that Sana had told him what they were doing. God knows he wouldn’t have been angry about them going to save a person’s life. He wasn’t really angry about it to begin with.

Campbell keeps listening, and learns the real reason for the Rumor crew’s detour: a cryptic message from a friend he thinks Brian might have mentioned once – Alvy Connors, a gifted coder moonlighting as a bartender. Campbell’s sorry to learn about his death. He realises that the protesters had been chanting Alvy’s name – but why would they care so much about this man’s death? Where did these recordings come from?

Two more reports in, and Campbell is starting to put the pieces together to form a horrible picture: how the Regime had known that the Rumor was headed towards Elion. How the crew’s IDs had become compromised. They were listening to every word, he realises. But how?

Sana and Arkady discuss trading with the Fowleys – a particularly low breed of scum that Campbell avoids dealing with if at all possible, but he knows the Rumor crew can’t afford to be that picky – on Elion, and Campbell realises that he must be about to make an appearance in the recordings.

Sure enough, as the group realises that they need new IDs, Sana makes the call. It’s surreal to hear his own voice coming from the computer, and Campbell realises he needs to be very careful from now on. Whatever event caused all these files to be leaked onto the public net, he’s now clearly implicated in it, too. At least the Regime don’t have a visual description, but they have his voice and his location, as well as some details about his contacts. He’ll need to warn Red Gregor.

The exchange between Arkady and Sana in the elevator on Elion makes him cringe. “Did it seem like he was hitting on you?” Ridiculously, he finds himself hoping that Sana will give some indication of how she might feel about that, but instead she expertly turns the conversation around on Arkady. “If we wanna open that door, can I just say that you and—”

“No, that door is shut and locked.”

Campbell thinks about how Arkady talks to Violet Liu, her upbeat mood in response to the other woman’s admiration, and smiles.

Things go downhill quickly after that. Campbell is tense as he listens to the exchange with the guard, the Carmen Gambit once again coming into play. It almost works – until the fatal announcement over the comms that blows the crew’s cover. Campbell reflects that the Regime’s ridiculous, stifling bureaucracy was probably the only thing that kept them from getting caught sooner.

He cringes again as he hears his own call come through, and Sana immediately decline it. He’d been a bit over-eager, calling as soon as he’d got Red Gregor’s message to say that the job had gone off without a hitch – he was really just looking for an excuse to talk to Sana. Clearly, Campbell needs to get a grip.

The recording ends, and Campbell looks at his holo-screen, thinking about what the next recording will surely contain.

“Computer, outside call. Ignatius Campbell to Sana Tripathi.”

“Attempting connection…” the computer intones. “Attempting connection… Attempting connection… Attempting connection… Connection not available.”

He guesses he can’t blame Sana for declining his calls, after everything that he’d said to her before.

Reluctantly, he plays the next recording.

He listens to Violet’s attempts to speak to Arkady, Brian’s theories about the robot nanoswarm, and then Violet and Arkady’s conversation in the kitchen and Arkady’s gift of her mint plant. Campbell feels slightly indignant about the fact that Arkady never let on she was a fellow gardener. They could have exchanged tips!

Finally, he hears Sana accept his call in her room, and the friendly conversation quickly devolve into a tense exchange. He’s replayed that conversation endless times in his head, but it somehow sounds even worse than he remembers. Campbell wasn’t angry at Sana – he wishes he could have explained that somehow. But with everything that had happened, she was in no position to give him the benefit of the doubt. He wishes he could go back in time and…

He doesn’t know.

Then, something unexpected. Another call comes through to Sana’s comm, and she accepts it without waiting to hear the name – but Campbell knows that wasn’t him.

“Campbell, I agree it’s a bad idea for us to talk right now, but I just wanna say that if it was only me, I would probably risk it. The thing is, I can’t, I have to think about my crew, and you—”

Campbell’s heart stutters in his chest. “Computer, outside call,” he says, not bothering to pause the recording. “Ignatius Campbell to Sana Tripathi.”

“Attempting connection… Attempting connection… Attempting connection… Attempting connection… Connection not available.”

Campbell sighs and runs a hand over his face. He’s finally starting to get the picture, and he’s desperate to talk to Sana, to tell her that he understands now. He thinks about the way she’d spoken to ‘him’, the vulnerability in her voice. Damn it, he needs to talk to her. He has to make this right.

A man is speaking on the recording now, and Sana responds to him with anger. Campbell realises that he still has three reports left to go. He’s still far from understanding what has happened and where these recordings came from. The least that he can do is take the time to listen to them and understand what Sana has been going through.

He’s afraid of what the other reports might contain. But he would have known if Sana was hurt or worse – wouldn’t he? Surely Sana would still have come to him for help if she really needed it?

Nothing could have prepared him for the contents of the last three reports: the stunning revelations about Thasia, about why the war began; about the Regime’s use of a sentient swarm of nanobots to spy on dozens of its own people, indiscriminately, in every waking moment. His fists clench, hard enough that his nails dig into the palms of his hands, as he listens to Major General Frederick’s cold declaration that future strains of the nanoswarm will include a ‘kill-switch’. He listens to the sad story of Thasia and their doomed childhood friend, Emily Craddock. He understands now why the crowd had been chanting their names.

The crew’s hours of drunken singalongs and fake ‘confessions’ make him smile, but the smile is quickly wiped from his face as he hears the passage of time at the end of the report. “Two weeks have passed since our last update. As Major General Frederick said, we expect diminishing returns via this swarm of strain H.”

Then, the last few seconds. “Agent McCabe, look out the window!”

“Holy shit—”

Campbell can’t believe the recordings end there. He goes back to the site where he’d downloaded the files, to make sure he hadn’t missed one – but the website has already been taken offline. He scours discussion boards for any scrap of information. All of the commentators agree that there are only nine reports, but they have theories about what might have happened next – linked to the explosion (it definitely was an explosion) on New Jupiter. Odds are, it was the Rumor’s destination. But what happened?

He thinks about the words of the other Violet Liu. “If Plan B fails, not all of you will live long enough for Plan C.” He thinks about Violet coughing, Krejjh coughing, an inexorably deadly swarm of nanobots in the air. The Rumor crew taking one last, defiant, heroic stand because none of them could stand the alternative: to save their own lives at the expense of so many others.

“We have a saying on Telemachus, that when their foot is on your throat, any day breathing is a victory. So, I vote we push our luck.”

Campbell’s breathing is unsteady, and his throat feels tight and painful. He tries to fight down the rising panic in his chest, the voice in his head that fears the worst. Sana is alive. She has to be. He rubs at one eye with the heel of his hand, and it comes away wet.

“Computer,” he chokes out. “Outside call. Ignatius Campbell – to – Sana Tripathi.”

“Attempting connection… Attempting connection… Attempting connection… Attempting connection…”

“Campbell?”

Campbell is so stunned that for several long moments he stares at his computer, at the holo-screen displaying a successful connection, counting up the seconds on their call. “Campbell?” Sana says again. “Is that you?”

“Captain Tripathi,” he manages finally. “You’re…”

“Alive,” finishes Sana, with a smile in her voice.

[medjaichieftain]

Silence Watches The Mummy and The Mummy Returns – Musings, Headcanons, Criticisms, & Observations About Ardeth, Horus, and the Medjai - [Part 2 of 2]

(Continued from here.)

[12.] All the commanders were able to be in one place on short notice? How big is a region, how far apart are these tribes, and how the hell did they get there so fast? Like how did Ardeth get word to them, have them decide to join him, and then have them all travel to that central location at literally a couple days’ notice? That really does not compute, heh. Then, once there, he told them, okay now all of you line up so I can just say who you are, and then you can go back to your tribes again? I mean, if I were them, I would’ve told Ardeth to go to hell, heh. Like thanks a lot asshole, we just traveled here at the speed of light and now you’re waving and smiling to us like okay bye-bye? Jerk. XD

[13.] So lemme get this straight… The Medjai can get to all the locations in the second movie while moving slowly on horseback, but the baddies need a train and a caravan of camels and the good guys need a dirigible? Uhm… let’s talk about distances and travel times, shall we? Haha. This is another aspect of writing these kinds of stories that needs to be paid attention to. Horses do not travel at the same speeds as camels, trains, and dirigibles. Also, if they knew the legend and knew that the big showdown with the Scorpion King would only occur at the last location the bracelet showed, then why did the Medjai travel around to all the locations? Why didn’t Ardeth just wait until they found the last location (which, didn’t they already kindof know it was in Ahm Shere anyway? Ardeth said the freaking legend right in the beginning of the damn movie, heh) and then just have them travel there? Because I doubt it was a linear path. He probably had these poor people trekking all around the frackin’ desert like, “Come on Ardeth, cut to the chase already!”

[14.] Okay, I love Horus. I do. But. There is no way… that a falcon… no matter how well trained… can go back and forth between two groups of people if he doesn’t know where they’re gonna be! I mean really?! Falcons are taught to fly to specific people (and yes, they have favorites) and specific locations. So he’s used to flying to Ardeth and he’s probably been familiarized with one or two other chieftains/commanders at least if not more. Okay. That’s fine. Now… Ardeth is in one place. He gives Horus a message and sends him off. Horus is trained to fly back to the location he last saw the other person! So he would go there and give the message and then fly back to Ardeth in the last place he saw Ardeth! And when he got there, Ardeth wouldn’t be there! XD And even if he managed to find him… the next message he was given to take to the other commanders… where would he bring it? Back to where he saw them last! (facepalm) I mean he can’t anticipate where they’re going to be and you can’t talk to a falcon and tell him where to go, heh. They’re trained specifically to go to certain places and people. There is a chance that he will go back to where he saw them last and circle for a while looking for them, but if they were covering as much ground as the bracelet was showing us in the movie, I doubt Horus would circle that wide looking for these people, heh.

[15.] Ardeth’s first thought when faced with a wall of Imhotep-shaped water that could bring down the dirigible and kill him and everyone else in it was to save Horus by telling him to fly away. FEELS. I mean, I possibly also think he let him fly to show them the best way out of the canyon (because the falcon is more instinctive than humans are), since Rick watched Horus and then told Izzy the way to go based on where he flew, but still… I like to think that Ardeth was kindof telling Horus to save himself. Well I don’t like to think it, I do think it. =)

[16.] Why is Ardeth commanding the entire Medjai army at the end of the second movie? Maybe Ardeth is a regional chieftain, but when all the tribes come together, he should be outranked by the higher commanders. So it is my understanding that there are twelve tribes, each with its own commander, and then regional chieftains within each tribe. The way I write him, I’ve kindof blended chieftain with commander, largely because to me Ardeth seemed to function much more like a commander. So screw it I’m making him one as far as duties are concerned heh. But in his particular religious warrior society, I would guess that three things should be respected above all: experience, age, and religious conviction. He’s got the last one, but he’s only in his late twenties in the first movie and early to mid-thirties in the second. Some of the other chieftains looked to be 40-60 years of age. Ardeth should not be commanding the whole combined army of all the Medjai tribes against the Army of Anubis at the end of the second movie, in my opinion. I mean, he looked amazing doing it so I’m really not going to complain, but... It seems unrealistic to me based on how tribal societies and religious organizations like his should normally be run. Did his actions during the first movie make all the other chieftains/commanders think hey, this guy can really handle his shit, let’s put him in charge even though he’s 10-20 years younger than us? I mean yeah, Imhotep got out, but Ardeth & Co. successfully imprisoned him again. That probably earned him a lot of kudos with the higher Medjai. Also, perhaps because the waking of Anubis’ Army pertained also to another awakening of Imhotep, it fell within the “jurisdiction” of his region, so since he was charged with all things Imhotep, it was his deal to lead all of the Medjai to help destroy him again? But the Army of Anubis had nothing to do with Imhotep, really. It had to do with Anubis and the Scorpion King. It was just that they woke Imhotep up to kill the Scorpion King and take over the Army… which I guess is reason enough. Whose jurisdiction did the locations in the second movie fall under? Were they all in Ardeth’s region? Because… that’s a big ass region, heh. I feel like at least one other chieftain should have been involved? But then also… he introduces the twelve commanders of the tribes of the Medjai like they work for him, heh. And they listen to him! So… I mean… there either has to be something else going on with Ardeth that we just weren’t privy to, or he had a history that was never explained, or they just saw a ton of potential in him and were maybe grooming him to take a higher leadership position? I am exploring all of those options in RPs because I can. XD

[17.] Again, I love Ardeth and he looks amazing when he’s fighting, but… there’s no way he would have survived the first round of battle with Anubis’ army at the end of the second movie. He had not slept at all that night and had fought through most of it. He would be exhausted and dehydrated and probably sore as hell. As a writer, I really focus on things like this because I’ve written full-scale battles just like that, sometimes after the character have been traveling for days or weeks, haven’t slept in a while, are wounded, are sick, are suffering from exposure, etc. As a writer, you need to keep track of all that. Your characters should not be super heroes (unless, you know, they are actual legit super heroes, and then okay but… make some rules and limits on their abilities and be consistent, heh). Ardeth was a normal human being with no magical powers whatsoever. He needs to sleep. And drink water. Think about it… He went from fighting in the jungle of Ahm Shere (including his fight with Lock-Nah), to what… running out of that jungle and through the damn desert to find his people because he didn’t have his horse or camel with him and the dirigible was down and Horus was dead (nope just winged, I swear, he’s okay folks)… and then went right from that into battling Anubis’ army? Soldiers that were godlike and huge and probably really freaking strong? We never saw him sleep or eat or drink any water. I’m sorry but… as cool as Ardeth is, he would have been having some serious exhaustion and dehydration issues which would have definitely affected his ability to fight.

[18.] Why is it that Ardeth ties back his hair in the second movie almost consistently in every situation but when he’s in battle and needs it out of his face? I know why. It’s because he looks a helluva a lot sexier fighting with his hair in his face, heh. But in all seriousness, as a warrior, your life depends on you being able to see clearly and from all angles. Hair in your face could spell death for you. As a supposedly seasoned warrior, Ardeth would have always had his hair tied back when he was in battle, assuming he wasn’t ambushed and had time to think about it. And really, he should want to keep it very short. Long hair is a liability. It can get caught on equipment and weapons. Your enemy can grab hold of it. Again, I’m not gonna argue to hard because his hair is amazing, but it made no sense from a warrior’s point of view to have it down in every single fight he was in.

[19.] Ardeth cries out Horus’ name when he’s shot down and starts to run after him, as if he’s a person who can respond back to the call, and as if Ardeth can reach him. It’s an immediate and emotional response. It speaks to the level of respect he had for the bird, but also to the depth of Ardeth’s love for him. He loved that damn falcon to bits. I firmly believe that. He wasn’t just a pet… or a living, breathing messenger bag, heh… he was Ardeth’s friend. Sad as hell. I hate that scene. [Stay tuned for a one shot shortly on this blog (as soon as I get time to write it) I which I change this and have Horus reunite with Ardeth.]

[20.] Omg Ardeth, you never do a sword flourish on horseback when riding at full speed toward an army of evil god warriors, haha. Wtf happens if you drop it? Great. Now you’re unarmed. Why would you even risk it? You also would not THROW the weapon. There was no guarantee that it would fall perfectly stuck into the sand such that he could retrieve it. In a life or death fight, this is simply too reckless. The stakes were too high for heroics and badassery. He should have been trying to stay alive every bit as much as fighting Anubis’ warriors. Beyond that, these people would have really valued their swords. Metal is expensive and making weapons is not something anybody can do. It is probably very difficult and/or expensive for the Medjai to make their own swords because where are they getting the metal from? They would probably scavenge weapons from the dead or buy them from cities and towns. But there’s no way they would be throwing them like they were a dime a dozen.

[21.] Ardeth is a good leader. Seriously. Like… I can see why he was put in such a position of power at such a young age, if that’s really what happened in the whole Medjai society. Like if it was decided or voted on, I mean. He does not act impulsively, and he does not risk the lives of his men unnecessarily. When Rick lights the dynamite when the Medjai attack the camp at Hamunaptra, Ardeth immediately decides this fight is over. He made his point, and if they stay longer, a lot more lives will be lost for not much more proving of the point. At the end of the second movie, when he orders the Medjai army to fight the Army of Anubis basically to their deaths, the way he does it is to make it not sound much like an order at all. He basically just yells out that he’s fighting to the death and it’s assumed that this is an order but it sounds more like “I’m with you” than “go die,” heh. He takes the time to look at the men standing closest to him. He knows there’s no other choice for them, but he places himself on their level when he looks at them. It’s not a decision made without consideration for the value of their lives. He understands the gravity of the decision and what he’s asking them to do because he’s going to die right alongside them. It’s a small gesture that really boosts morale in the moment, even as grim as their situation was. And the cool thing about Ardeth is that he didn’t even do it for that reason, he did it because he actually cared about the people he was fighting with.

[22.] When Ardeth makes the decision to die fighting Anubis’ army, and thus makes that decision for everyone else standing there with him, what is going on in his head? I mean, there really was only one choice, given the Medjai’s conviction, and even if they had chosen to flee, I doubt they would have actually escaped. There was nowhere to run. But after making that seriously heavy decision, did he feel badly for essentially telling the whole of the Medjai to die right here and now? And what about his own life? I have always headcanoned that Ardeth assumed he would not live to be an old man. It had nothing to do with skill or luck or anything like that, but he had seen countless other Medjai fall before their natural time. Such was the nature of his calling in life. So when he decides that he is going to die fighting Anubis’ army, was he thinking… “geez, I didn’t think I’d have this much time to ponder this?” He probably expected to die young, but I bet he thought it would happen randomly, in a split-second, in the heat of battle. I don’t think he ever planned on having all that time while waiting for the army to reach them to think, “hey… this is it. I’m going to die right now.” And then, when the army is banished, he had to be thanking Allah for that, and I think he might have believed that the courage of the Medjai had been rewarded. Perhaps he or other members of the society would tell the story for years to come of the time their faith and bravery was tested… and they passed the test.