#“The Touch” is a very interesting sculpture indeed

[kimmiessimmies]

Winter 08: Dateless - Pt.2 (35/64)

We first saw a sculpture called "The Touch". To me, it just looked like two giant hands, but Klaus-Ove notices things I wouldn't have seen if it hadn't been for him.

He pointed out how the fingers of the left hand seem to really want to touch the right one but are scared to, while the right hand is ready to give the left one anything it needs but is also scared and doesn't want to move too fast. He said to him this piece carried a lot of emotion and love. I couldn't help but think the way he described this sounded somewhat familiar... Maybe something I read...?

We then moved on to the paintings, and Klaus-Ove spoke of expression through colours and composition. I liked how passionate he is about art.

We had a drink in the museum cafe, and Klaus-Ove told me a lot about his family. Particularly his identical twin brother, Bo-Espen.

He had many hilarious stories of how he and his brother used to prank people by switching places, which made me laugh out loud. He assured me they didn't switch this time, though. Outside, it was snowing heavily, and Klaus-Ove rather spontaneously suggested building a snowman together.

Klaus-Ove created by @sircesimblr

[aerhouseofgifts]

Unique Customer Gift Items to Strengthen Business Relations

Building strong relations with customers is one of the most important factors for success in business in the long term. One such undertaking in this regard could be sending out tokens of appreciation and building rapport. In fact, unique customer gift items leave behind long-lasting impressions and increase brand loyalty and trust. Building Business Gift Ideas to Nurture Relationships At Art House Of Gifts, we pride ourselves on providing a whole menu of very special one-of-a-kind gifts—from the iconic End of Trail statue to luxury home spa gift baskets—all making you able to express your appreciation. Following are a few such innovative gifts to share with your business relationships.

1. End of Trail Statue: A Gesture of Appreciation

The End of Trail statue speaks to the spirit of the American West. The striking piece of sculpture—portraying a weary cowboy, head down, on his horse—will certainly go down as a timely gift in the minds of well-appreciative clients of good art and culture. Intricately crafted and symbol-rich, it stands as a beautiful testament to milestone anniversaries or a simple expression of thanks for a key partnership.

A customer gift with this End of Trail statue not only adds class to their décor but tells them how important your relationship is. It is a nod to show appreciation—to explain that you are there and considerate of the journey you two are on in this business.

2. Home Spa Gift Baskets: Pampering with a Personal Touch

Self-care matters more than ever in today's fast-paced world. A home spa gift basket is a wonderful way to express your concern about your clients' well-being and your desire for them to indulge in relaxation. Filled with luxurious bath products, comforting candles, and pampering accessories, these gift baskets offer a nice retreat from the stresses of everyday life.

When creating a gift basket for your home spa client, think about including luxurious items such as scented oils, bath bombs, and plush towels. Adding an extra touch of thoughtfulness with a handwritten note or specific scents from a recipient's favorites is something that goes a long way to show you've put some thought into the gift. That helps not only to promote relaxation for your client but also to tighten up bonding.

3. Custom Customer Gift Items

Besides the End of Trail statue and home spa gift basket, this list of unique customer gift items can help you customize gift items for your valued customers. Customization speaks that you truly get it as it demonstrates you understand your client's tastes and interests. Engraved pens and branded merch, individually drawn gift baskets—that just take a special moment in time to make a difference.

For example, a custom-fit business gift can serve as a daily reminder of the relationship that stands between you and your client. On the other hand, this very attention to detail in choices of gifts catering to their interests makes you go the really extra mile in satisfying them.

4. Building Lasting Relationships Through Thoughtful Gifting

It's not just a transaction; it's about appreciation and cultivation of business relationships. Indeed, it is such unique customer gift items as the End of Trail statue and the home spa gift baskets that you will only be able to create memories recipients will be proud to recall. It is a show that you really care and that you take precious time to invest in the relationship.

Always be reminded that it aims for the clients to feel appreciated and impart value to them. A gift, sent on their special day — be it on their anniversary or during a holiday — will make your link stronger still, keeping your brand on top of their minds.

Conclusion

Uniquely pertinent customer gift items can be a wonderful tool to further bond in a business relationship and show appreciation. If it is the End of Trail statue that stands out for you, an icon from the West, a luxurious home spa gift basket, or any other thoughtful gifts, it will doff the hat to your clients. Art House Of Gifts has a very exhaustive range of gift items that can satisfy the tastes and preferences of any client at any time. Hence you can have that perfect item that would enhance your business relationships. Visit us today at Art House Of Gifts and experience the delight of proper gifting

[dominantslasherking]

Hi Hiii Can I get some Vincent Sinclair x Male Reader maybe smut?

Vincent Sinclair With Dominant Male S/o

My Stories are meant for the much more mature audience, 18+.

It wasn't fun watching your so-called friends get made into wax, the killer who's named you learned to be Vincent and took an interest in you, much to Bo his brother's dismay.

But here you were, all buddied up to the person who made all your friends into sculptures, you were currently helping him try on his new wax-made mask, you weren't afraid or disgusted by his face, your fingers gently brushed again the side of his disfigured face, as he leaned into your soft touch.

Slowly you grabbed the mask and put it on him, you knew the mask made him feel protected and secured. Vincent was much bolder with his mask on towards you, he liked to hold your hand a lot, and try to keep touching you whenever he had the chance.

Grabbing Vincent's hand you let him touch your own face, his hands slightly shaking as he stared at you through his mask, he tried to draw back but you drew closer.

"Stop playing coy, you want this." Your voice commanded gripping onto his hair, as his breaths got deeper, his own hand placed on your chest. Vincent melted under your touch, earning for more, he has wanted this, the first time his eyes landed on your, this lust was insatiable

His hand pried at your shirt, as Vincent flung himself onto you, his mask face first with your face, looking into your eyes, as his hands pried and roamed your body as if you were the finest sculpture to be created.

Vincent allowed you to strip him of clothes, as he bashfully made his way towards your pants, wanting to eagerly take a look at what you had going on.

Your cock sprung free, allowing Vincent to grasp his shaking hands on it, he traced your large cock delicately. Once he finished giving your cock a few strokes, he drew away and went looking for something, he didn't care that he made his room a mess when he found what as was looking for...Which was lube, he made his way back over.

Slattering the lube all over his hands, he grabbed your cock lubing it up. He slightly looked at you for commands as if he really didn't have any idea what he was doing.

"Turn around, I need to prep you.." You blatantly spoke to Vincent refusing to turn around, "You don't want me to prep you?" You spoke confused knowing that if it was indeed his first time he would be in pain.

Vincent nodded, as you grimaced in surprise, but shrugged it off, he was a killer maybe...he wanted it rough? You brought Vincent's body which was facing you closer, Suddenly you roughly turned him around, with his ass parched and high up for you to see.

Your hard cock slid in between his ass cheeks, causing lube to spread everywhere. Slowly you slid into his enclosed and very tight hole, it was hard for you to push in with how tight he was, Vincent was shaking from the pain letting out a few grunts but didn't make any movements that signaled for you to stop.

You continued to dig your cock into his warm hole until you were finally settled all the way in, his walls clenching and teasing your cock, you could tell his hole was adjusting to your size.

Rolling your hips, you didn't waste any more time for Vincent to recollect himself, his back was arched and leaning against a wall as you dug into him.

Prying your cock in and out, you were practically splitting Vincent open, soon groans of pleasure and pain were eeping out of his mouth.

"So, tight..." You murmured loud enough for the killer to hear, you hummed out a moan, picking up your pace of thrusts, your hands clamping onto the nearest thing which was Vincent's ass cheeks, you squeezed them while thrusting your cock inside his warm entrance.

Vincent clearly enjoyed both the pain and pleasure you were causing him with your cock caving in and out with harsh and rough thrusts.

Both of your hard cocks were already weeping in pleasure, Vincent's moans getting a bit louder Your hand reached around while continuing your thursts, and you tugged at his cock, rubbing it a few times until he splattered everywhere.

While his walls were tightening up, you took this opportunity to rapidly plunge yourself deep into him multiple times roughly, until you coated his walls with your semen, claiming him.

After a few more sloppy thrusts, you rested yourself in Vincent's hole.

[husbandohunter]

Moments of Despair #2 [Genshin Impact/Albedo x Reader]

Synopsis: "The alchemist who relished in his gifts only to fall from grace."

(A series of works where the boys deal with the passing of their beloved).

Diluc’s despair

Warnings: angst, tragedy, major character death and psychological horror (correct me if otherwise)

(A/n): I decided to take a slightly different approach this time. Regardless, it’s still killing my heart TwT.

---------------------------------------------------

Out of the many wonders of Teyvat, one thing Albedo loved most was how you were so different from him. 

Difference ties to the unknown, one that must be discovered. He was drawn to you the first time he had laid his eyes upon your form standing at the heights of Mondstadt's cathedral. The Sisters scolded you from below, but all you did was reply with a wink amidst their chaos before soaring into the skies and letting the wind carry your glider. Reckless they said. For him, your recklessness was intriguing. 

As the sun's light blinded his vision, everything he saw seemed like a glass barrier. For the ground was where he thrived and chalk was his core, it became the basis of Albedo's very existence. Even the geo Archon granted him a Vision of the same element to affirm his identity. The earth will forever be attached to his feet as he will keep on his stride until every last truth of Teyvat have all been realized. You, on the other hand, hailed from a place where he couldn't quite reach. What lies beyond this glass ceiling? Albedo found himself gradually holding onto a string of curiosities, a string he could touch but was not able to feel. 

'Interesting,' he thought quietly, while the breeze slip between the fingers of his outstretched hand. 

He was a character of logic, possessing sharp eyes that could pierce through the depths of the most complex formulas and a mind to predict their outcomes-  as long as alchemy was still related. All impossibilities thrown in his way only paved a path for him to become the well known genius he was now. Whether it was alchemy or  investigations with the Knights of Favonius, Albedo never failed to deliver the answers. But despite it all, he always found himself endlessly contemplating over things that were considered intangible. He wonders why you smile when there was nothing to laugh about. How could you tell between the complexities of the human heart? Albedo can't seem to put a finger on it. 

'Why? What drives you? What are you thinking?' 

The Chief Alchemist couldn't resist being fascinated by your unpredictability. It reels him in similar to a fish being baited out of the waters. However, unlike those creatures, Albedo only tightened his grip on the strings as if they were a lifeline, determined to find out what they truly felt like to the touch. 

"I can't really say it's much of an answer," you hummed, clasping both hands behind your back before declaring with a grin, "To put it simply, you just gotta follow your heart."

'Follow your heart...' What does it mean to follow your heart? 

"I'm afraid I still don't understand," he replied in a thoughtful manner. The statement never really resonated with him and it certainly weren't the words his Master taught when he was in the early stages of being created, "But it does suit you very much." 

"Really? But still bring your head with you," a playful laugh escapes and you add while pointing a finger, "At least, it's what everyone tells me these days." 

"Hm," Albedo then affirms with a nod, "I can definitely see why they would tell you that." 

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" 

The days go by and his repetitious march towards the truth remains the same. However, there was never a dull moment when you were at his side. Perhaps that was the reason why Albedo became so attracted to your aura. The way you'd follow around his experiments, eyes so full of enthusiasm at every step of the activity. Sometimes the events can get a little too out of hand in which he needs to step in and save you from getting stuck in slime condensates...constantly. Albedo grew fond of your childlike excitement even when you weren't entirely sure what was going on. He normally distanced himself from socializing as it never sparked his interest. Frankly, he was too much of a genius for mundane conversations. Your presence was rather refreshing in this case. You were an oddball, just like him, and for once the alchemist felt like he didn't need to place that glass barrier between the two worlds. 

"You seem to be in a very good mood today Mister Albedo." 

He was a man of subtle expressions yet anyone could notice the small gleam in his eyes whenever he saw you walking in the hallway. Sucrose often remarked with a giggle after she noticed her teacher holding his documents upside down. But who could blame him? Joy, fun, laughter. He was able to experience those emotions all because of you; his beloved. You were the colour to his canvas and the meaning to his flower. You were a force of nature. Like a warm breeze gracing upon the terrestrial lands, you move him. 

Thump- thump- thump- 

Strings around his world began to weave one whole picture while they also tugged inside his chest. God had finally blown the breath of life into mankind's body, it was only a matter of time before Albedo came to follow his heart too. 

-------- 

"Alright, just one more detail aaaaand done!" 

You gave a small tap using the tip of your pencil and leaned back to examine your artwork. 

Masterpiece! 

On days when Katheryne had no commissions assigned to the guild, Albedo would accompany you to the Whispering Woods and conduct his sketches there instead. He was aware of the discomfort Dragonspine brought as the temperature wasn't ideal for anyone except for him. You eventually learned that your lover was not only intelligently different from the rest but physically too. Albedo, aside from the Cavalry Captain, was mysterious in his own way. He was hard to read yet never came off as intimidating, no one knew of his origins nor they knew how he came to Mondstadt. You wondered why someone like him would have wanted to get involved with your shenanigans. Rosaria often gave warnings regarding the alchemist's 'hidden intentions' in which you'd roll your eyes in response. The Albedo you knew was far from that. He was a big brother to Klee, a man passionate about his work, he was the one golden star among the many silvers in your sky. He was your lover. 

My Albedo. 

Brushing a hand upon the drawing you made of him, you glided down the lines of his cheek before resting your finger on the mark by his neck. You gazed at it with fondness. Truly a masterpiece indeed. 

"You do realize I'm still here?" 

The paper nearly flies out of your grasp and you snatched it back to your chest, "HUH A-ALBEDO, WHEN DID YOU APPEAR???" 

"I was with you the whole time," he states. The corner of his lip tug upward ever so slightly, "You said you wanted to sketch me." 

"A-Ahahaha, so I did," you reply while scratching your head bashfully. 'I thought I was looking at a sculpture!!'  You rushed to cover your face with the sheet. It wasn't that you forgot he was there, rather, you forgot he was still a living and breathing specimen who just witnessed your little serenade. As Lisa had once said, Albedo was easy on the eyes. His graceful features made him seem almost like an oil painting that could only be found in  halls of the most prestigious households. You made sure to capture everything, every detail, every curve just like he had done with your portraits. Only now you noticed the sun already began its descent below the lakeside, dusting the landscape with hints of bright orange as it marked the day's end. If only time could slow down. But duty calls upon your next journey and there was no telling when you'd return. At the very least, a simple portrait would suffice to fill in the temporary gap of his absence. 

"Can I see it?" 

You glanced his direction while keeping the drawing close to your nose, "Are you sure about that? It might not be up to your expectations." 

"I'm sure," Albedo affirms with a straight countenance, "I can already tell you've put a great amount of effort, otherwise you wouldn't have taken this long." 

"Yeeaahh I kinda lost track of time. I guess it's only fair that you get to see the finished product," you say and shoved the drawing in front of him, "Tada! I present to you, my masterpiece!" 

Albedo takes it out of your grasp and you watched the way his eyes expanded upon sight. 

"Well? Whaddya think?" 

Words could not describe the mixture of emotions that erupted within him. Was it distinguishable or abstract? Albedo spent his time pondering between the two answers as he examined the drawing closely. Despite the lines being slightly jagged and the unevenness in the placement of his eyes, he managed to make the shape of the entire image you were trying to convey. Perhaps it was all thanks to his well trained artistic vision which gave him the ability to do so. Or maybe he was simply biased. But there wasn't a shred of doubt that this was indeed your craftsmanship. 

"You even added flowers in the background," he pointed out with amusement. 

"It's the thing you make when using your elemental burst, I couldn't fit your hand in the picture so I decided to put it somewhere empty," you informed, "Out of everything, that one took me the longest." 

"And the rabbits?" 

"They resemble Klee's bombs!" 

He lets out a chuckle, "I see." 

Albedo kept his attention downward until he was mindlessly staring at the paper in hand. This was a memory made to be carried as you moved on to your next journey and it saddens him that he could not accompany you. If only time slowed down. Albedo wanted to hold onto the memory forever, because he knew once he gave it back, he wouldn't be able to see you for an uncertain amount of time. 

"Do you really have to go?" 

His voice was barely above a whisper. Guilt crept into your heart and you gingerly layed your fingers on his gloved ones, bringing down the paper that blocked his face. A pair of teal orbs held a reflection of your image as the sun's rays casted from the side. You returned it with a reassuring grin, hoping to soothe his worries somehow, "I just need to pay a visit to my father since he's been very sick lately. I'll be fine, so don't worry too much okay?" 

Albedo turns over his palm and gave your hand a squeeze, "How long will it take?" 

"I'm not sure but it will be a while. Snezhnaya is pretty far so..." you trailed off, "But my time in Mondstadt, with Klee and with you, I will never forget! I won't even if I tried." 

When you were met with no answer, a breeze came in to fill the melancholic silence. He too will not forget and he would ensure that it was the same for you. Slowly, Albedo brought your hand up, past the center of his heart all the way to cupping his cheek. He allowed himself to indulge in your warmth, tangling the strands of his hair with your fingers while closing his eyes. Sweet flowers. You always carried the smell of sweet flowers. 

"Albedo?" You gawked, "What's the matter?" 

"...There are certain aspects where drawings can't imitate,"  he says, grip tightening ever so slightly, "How I feel against your skin, the shape of my jaw, your warmth radiating with my own. These are the things I want you to remember." 

Breath leaves your slightly parted mouth. It was unfair how straightforward Albedo could be when showing his affection. Doing as he pleases without anyone's approval to the point it would even catch you off guard since he often absorbed himself in the arts of alchemy. But during times when Albedo did choose to express his feelings, you knew they came from a place of pure genuinity. The thought made it hard for you to tear away from him, "Did you ever find out what the strings felt like then?" 

Albedo returns his gaze, long golden lashes hovering them as he smiles softly, "...I have." 

As he began to reveal his stories, the dusk sky continued to flare across the landscape with colours of passion. Red, it was the thread that had led him to you, the same string that weaved him together as a whole. Albedo lays a kiss atop of your pinky, there was a reason why Mondstadtians called him the Chalk Prince. You didn't know the intention behind his sudden affection but he knew. It was a promise, one to ensure that the thread would also have you return safely back into his arms. 

Oh how he hated the colour red. 

"Al...bedo..." 

With speed he never knew he had, Albedo scoops you into his embrace and held you close. How did everything happen so fast? He curses his mind as it proceeds to scan your injuries, drawing a conclusion where he wished to be wrong for once: 

You were beyond help. 

"Ah..haha..." you managed to laugh through bitter tears, "You don't have to say it. I know." 

His breath hitches, trying to make sense of the feeling that was slowly tearing him apart from the inside. It's not real. Of course it wasn't, it couldn't be. What other possible answer was there to explain the numbness stinging his fingers? The reason for his shaking? Everything felt so cold. Your body hardly registered to his to touch, you were losing so much blood. You were losing. He was going to lose you. 

"No," Albedo shakes his head, "We still have time. I'll go find help." 

Please, hold on. 

He forced himself to think. The ruin hunter ran off shortly after it had ambushed you, by now the Knights would eventually noticed and apprehended it on sight. They couldn't be too far. All he needed was to carry you back to safety and everyone can go home. Albedo darted his eyes all over the place, breaths becoming shallower with each passing second. Where? Where to go? Which route was best to not overexert your wounds? Think. Think. Think. Why couldn't he think? 

"A..." You watched him in your helpless state. Every part of you throbbed with pain but it pains you even more to see the renowned genius who stood atop the pedestal of elegance and grace so utterly, undoubtedly lost. This was not the goodbye you wanted, though death already had you tight in their grasps. Not yet. Using the last particle of your strength, you tried to stay alive as long as possible. Just a little bit more time. 

Albedo freezes when a trembling hand extends itself to cup around his cheek. Every single thought he had in mind vanished and was replaced by a loud ring resonating in his ears. Dreadfully, mechanically, he turns his attention to where you lay. 

"Don't cry," you whisper, "I love you, don't cry- okay?" 

Albedo grimaces, shutting his eyes closed as he allows the pent up sadness to flow out of him completely, "I can't," he said in a shaky voice, "Please. Stay." 

"I'm sorry," Your vision blurs and he hugs you even more. Drawing your final breath, you relay your most cherished words through a broken smile, "But no matter w-where I go...I won't for..ge.." 

The moment your hand fell, Albedo finally understood the difference between death and loss. 

It was...suffocating. Having the air trapped in his throat, begging to release yet it hurts to speak. The never ending stabs that pulsed within his veins rushed forth like the scraping  blizzard of Dragonspine until his whole body lost all its senses. The world was shattering. He could no longer feel your weight. He could no longer feel. 

(Y/n). 

Albedo glances at his blood stained fingers where the thread had been severed, wide eyes drowning in sorrow. What a horrible feeling. Was this a warning sent by the gods? For stepping into the boundaries of knowing too much? Ah the curse of knowledge man must bear when eating the temptatious fruit. It was the result of choosing to love you. With life, death is inevitable and with love, it will eventually bring pain. Everything had a price to pay and as an alchemist, Albedo knew that better than anyone. 

"...Meaningless..." 

But he refused to accept it. 

Cradling your corpse, he leans in and places a kiss on your forehead, lips quivering as they lingered for a second too long before gathering the strength to stand back on his feet. Nothing will stop the alchemist from reuniting with you. If the laws wished to take you away from him then he will use everything in his power to fight against those laws. 

"This is not goodbye..." Albedo said to the sleeping girl, "And it will never be." 

When the sun sinks below the plains and the stars lose their light, the sky had been replaced with a palette of darkness. It was time to go home. 

------ 

"Have you all heard about the rumours?" 

A group of knights gather in the corner as they whisper about. Sucrose stops on her tracks and hides behind a wall, clutching the book close to her chest in an attempt to stay hidden. 

"Another criminal disappeared from the dungeons? Crazy..." 

"More like creepy. I was told that place might be haunted by some dead prisoner's ghost. Even the Church is hopping onto this case." 

"Well I hope it doesn't get any worse. So many of us started going on night patrols..." 

Their voices faded out of range as the anemo user backtracks her steps carefully. Several months passed since the news of mysterious kidnappings have been announced to the public. Rumours of their whereabouts swirled around the city and much to her discomfort, Sucrose happened to catch every single one of them. There couldn't possibly be evil spirits lurking in the Favonious Headquarters right? She silently shrieks at the thought, shaking her head furiously to stop her mind from going too deep. No, I have to find him. Without wasting another minute, the anemo user sprinted towards the stairs all the way up to the second floor before stopping directly in front of her teacher's office. Despite the adrenaline that occured at the same time, she made sure to knock. 

No answer. 

"Strange, he told me he would be here today..." Sucrose muttered to herself. But suddenly she heard the sound of objects shifting from the otherside, signaling that there was indeed someone occupying the room. Without realizing, she held her breath out of anticipation. 

"Come in." 

The door creaks as she opens them, giving her enough space to slip between the gap, "Mister Albedo?" 

"You're early today," The Chief Alchemist noted from his desk, "Is there something the matter?" 

"Y-You mean you don't know? There was just another case about a person disappearing from the dungeons," Her tone became more frantic as she rambled to herself, "The kidnapper never leaves a trace and no one knows how they were able to get out. Even when we ask the guards what happened, they can't seem to remember as if...as if someone casted a spell on them!" 

"A spell?" He inquires, "I suppose that could be a possibility." 

"I think so too. I-It's the only explanation that makes sense! I mean...ghosts don't exist after all," Sucrose nervously looks down at her shoes while giving her book a squeeze, "But why? Who could be capable of such advanced techniques? No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to understand their intentions." 

"...Yes. It is a very strange occurrence indeed." 

Noticing her teacher's withdrawn attitude, Sucrose couldn't help but feel flustered at her own behaviour, "Ah my apologies Mister Albedo, I didn't mean to go off track. Have there been any progress on the investigations so far?" 

Albedo briefly glanced at the various documents splayed across his table. His reputation as an incredibly intelligent individual had reached far and wide through Mondstadt. This led to the authorities requesting his assistance regarding the recent matters, despite him specializing in the alchemical field, he was also the Captain of their Investigation Team. Although, Albedo detested partaking in things he deemed irrelevant to his research; 

"I'm afraid I would need more evidence to draw a conclusion." 

"Eh? You still need more?" 

He could not deny that the given authoritative position had provided much benefits to his own accord. 

"My expertise lies in the subject of alchemy," Albedo reasoned and proceeds to intertwine his fingers in front of his mouth, "Humans on the other hand, are very unpredictable in nature. Even the essence of their existence is hard to obtain." 

"Essence of their existence?" Sucrose repeated softly. She wanted to ask what he meant but the blank expression was evident  enough to signal his impatience. At least, that was what she thought, "Nevermind! I have something that might help," taking out a slip from her textbook, she handed it to him, "It's the report Captain Kaeya gave me. He said that the culprit might be a traitor coming from the Knights of Favonius." 

He narrows his eyes. 

"I-I think he might be right! Just think about it, we haven't found anything at all for the past few months but when we do, I sometimes feel like we're just running in circles...oh what if it's becau-" 

"Sucrose." 

"Y-Yes?!" 

Albedo calmly looks at the flustered girl, not realizing how sharp his tone was, "You're overthinking again. Perhaps it's best that you take this day off." 

"But I came here to help," she insisted, "I know it hurts to lose someone you love! Don't you understand that we're all worried about you? And Klee, she..." 

"..." 

"Please Mister Albedo, if there's anything I could do-" 

"No need," he cuts her off once again, "Your stress levels are too high. We can't go any further if you continue to act like this." 

"Oh," her ruby eyes casted to the side, "I understand..." 

"Good. Now, if you would excuse me," Albedo bid her farewell and watched as the door clicked behind her, observing every detail until he was sure that the absolute silence had returned. He picks up Kaeya's document. Such remarkable handwriting. But of course, appearances are only meant to be displayed on the surface for the Captain was a sly man, wearing a mask to shield what lies underneath. Just like his letter, they were full of innuendos and condensed meanings, orchestrated together until the truth spoke loudly to Albedo himself. 

"So, that's what he thinks." 

Perhaps the alchemist should have been a little more discreet. 

-------- 

There was a certain place in Dragonspine that no one dared to enter. But those who have, they never return. 

"Hm, no response. Now as for the next step..." 

And he was the reason why. 

Taking the sword out of the transmutation circle, Albedo turned to the snowy hill nearby and activated his alchemy. A small portion of it dissipates, revealing a trench that went so deep underground that even warmth couldn't outplay the sheer cold. It was the perfect hiding place for the evidence to lay out of sight and an environment where only he could handle. The alchemist tossed the leftover along with the others before exiting quietly, summoning back the ice to bury his victims once again. Another day, another experiment, another stain goes to his title. The path he walked upon was one littered with corpses and the sins he committed. But despite the bones crunching beneath his feet and the weight of the dead hanging on his shoulders, the alchemist was numb to it all. Like an entity floating in space with nothing to hold, he became unable to feel. 

"I'm back," When reaching the center of Starglow Cavern, Albedo puts his hand on the icicle and caressed it's hard cold surface, "Did you sleep well?" 

The girl did not respond. Her eyes were closed and her skin was as young as ever. She was frozen in time. 

"You must have." 

Albedo felt the sword beginning to shake in his grasp as it resonated with his energy. Dust particles emitted from the hilt and slowly made their climb to the side of his arm. Still, Albedo's attention did not waver, "To this day, I've been thinking about what you told me the first time we met." 

"..." 

"Follow your heart. I couldn't understand it at first but after being around your presence, I believe I can finally recognize what that term means." 

He closes his eyes as he envisioned your lively form running across the landscape. Albedo, Albedo! The sound of his name was mixed with your laughter while Klee came into the scene and caught the dandelions with you. A content smile formed on his countenance as he watched from afar, even if it was just a memory, "It's everything. The breakfast we ate together, to the nights spent camping outside, and the silly moments we shared, they bring all these colours that I never knew existed." 

"..." 

Albedo curls his fingers against the ice as he continues to lament, "Perhaps that's why I began noticing the strings around me. The closer I was to answer, the more I felt it was necessary to discover what they are. All this time, you were the answer I was searching for," Moist begins to build up in his eyes but they freeze up once reaching the corners. How cruel. Despite what he went through, he wasn't even granted the liberty to cry, "Because with you, I'm able to feel them." 

He wonders what you would think if you saw him right now. Albedo peers at his reflection casted on the crystalline surface, the frame of his face had been decorated with streaks of purple and red, spreading out like tree branches as they both fought for dominance. The teal coloured orbs you once adored were beginning to transform to a colour that reminded him of his darkest days. This was Albedo's true nature- a monster, a being that wasn't human, the essence in which you never had the chance to see. 

"I know I may not be the same as I was before," he added, "But if that is what it takes to follow your heart, will you let me feel the strings again?" 

Would you still love me the same? 

"..." 

"If so, then please understand my actions," Albedo takes a step back as he held out the sword in front of him. At last, the preparations have finally been completed. He plunges the blade to the ground with full force and the surrounding area begins to shake under the power accumulated through many, intentional sacrifices. To revive the dead was a forbidden art as it came with heavy consequences. If it weren't for Albedo's talent and quick wit, the process would have consumed him long before executing the last stage. He winces, the pain was excruciating. It was hard for him to ignore the sound of his skin cracking below his ears and all the way to his nose as they fall off in the shape of small rock-like chunks. Everything hurt so much that even death sounded like a sweet dream but Albedo couldn't afford to give up. He had already come this far, his hands completely washed with sin and his reputation already broken beyond repair, Albedo had nowhere else to go. This was his last destination. 

"Soon-" he pants between choked breaths. Soon your eyes will open. He could drown in your embrace, one that was warm and not cold. Soon he will be able revive those cherished memories from a frozen past. It was all he could think of right now. Your existence was the reason why a part of him felt whole and your death made him realize how painful it was to tear away those pieces. Albedo refused to let go of those pieces, they had already become a part of him. And if this path ended up tearing him even more, then so be it. 

"I should have stopped you the moment you were born." 

The intruder snapped him awake and he swung around to where they stood. But before Albedo could make out who it was, they lunged past him with incredible speed, kicking the sword off the ground while severing his two arms once and for all. They flew to the side, blood dyed purple trickling from the edges of his joint as he struggled to stay upright. 

"Dains...leif..." 

Dainsleif watched the alchemist fall onto his back as the light around him slowly faded away. He turned his gaze to where the objective was and noticed a girl encased within the ice. The man sighs out of relief when she shows no signs of life, he came just in time, "So this is how it ends." 

Albedo weakly stared at the blonde man. He attempted to say something but the blood caught in his mouth prevented him from that. 

"Save your breath, you won't be having any," Dainsleif remarks in a cold manner and glared at his bloodied form, "The renowned Chief Alchemist of Mondstadt and an important member of Ordo Favonious. Hmph, what an interesting turn of events. Out of everyone, I never thought you were the type to act so foolish." 

Foolish...what a foreign name to be called as. He never heard anyone tell him he was foolish. 

"Truly a pity," With a flick of a wrist, Dainsleif brought his sword to Albedo's neck. It was unbelievable how he had the endurance to go through all that pain while still breathing at this point but what is there to be expected from a monster? "Remember that all actions have consequences." 

The alchemist watched as his life flashed before him, the weight of his sins had finally caught up. He had always seen the world as a platform for his objectives and results were merely a natural cause after attempting many experiments. But death as a consequences was an unbearble realization upon his final moments. He abandoned his title, his pupil and his dearest sister. In the end, he was still unable to fulfill his duty. 

"I just..." Albedo mumbled, his words slurring together, "wanted..." 

As the ashes turn to ashes and dust becomes dust, chalk returns to the earth, forever yearning a place that can never be reached.

[kenganparadise]

Saw your Yandere thing and was wondering I hope this is alright but what kind of Yanderes would Raian, Ohma and Agito be like ?

YES!! Thank you so much for sending me a request! I really hope you enjoy i actually had a lot of fun writing this!☺️😆 thank you so much for reading my rules/earlier posts before sending in a request.

Quick Reminder (I should have specified earlier)- I wont do any violent yandere (everything I write will stay consensual towards the reader) so no kidnapping, murder, or brutality towards reader. I much prefer to write about non-toxic relationships. But sometimes I’m a simp for a little spicy yandere🥵

⚠️WARNING TOXIC RELATIONSHIPS AHEAD⚠️

Raian-

• Raian is a possessive/Jealous yandere. He doesn’t like anyone coming near his Mate. God forbid someone flirt or stare at his S/O just a little too long. He’d snap.

• His S/O would see some gore indeed. Raian would murder people in front of them. But he’d also murder people in public or in front of other Kengan fighters. He’d do this just to send a message.

• He gets jealous VERY easily. His S/O never goes anywhere alone. Whether they’re accompanied by him or another Kure. No harm will ever come to his mate.

• His obsession can lead to madness. He would be the type to do things against his Mate’s will. He does what he wants. And he wants his mate all to himself and himself alone.

• He’d go through his S/O’s phone. Not because he thinks they’re cheating on him- he does trust them- but to see if anyone has made comments on their social media’s or if anyone has sent them private messages. He probably blocks a bunch of people.

• And he just wants to see what his S/O looks up. He wants to know everything about his S/O. Some valuable information could be hidden in their phone.

• His mate better kiss privacy goodbye. He’s like basically like a cat with bad separation anxiety. The only place he won’t follow them to is the bathroom.

• If his S/O asks for space that’s gonna be a big fat no.

• He’s got a thing for scent- I’ve touched on this before in my NSFW HCs- but he will steal his Mate’s clothing for the smell. He loves burying his face in their hair and breathing deeply.

• He’d prefer his S/O to stay home and be his cute little house Wife/husband/spouse. His missions are much much shorter. He wants to come home to his mate as quickly as possible.

• Out of these three I’d say this relationship is the most toxic.

Ohma-

• Ohma is a lovestruck/admirable yandere. He’s probably the best out of these three men. Out of the three this is probably the healthiest relationship.

• He’s sickly over affectionate. He can’t keep his hands or lips off his darling.

• I don’t believe his love for his S/O would drive him to insanity.

• The relationship would probably start out as friendship. Though Ohma’s feelings would have probably started immediately. He would grow more and more attached to his Darling. He’d want to grow closer and closer to them.

• Soon they’re one of the only people he hangs out with. He’s calling and texting them daily asking them to come hang out or out to eat.

• He’s finding himself doing things he doesn’t like or doing things he has no interest in just to see his Darling.

• He’d pick up on their hobbies for sure.

• They might notices that his hand lingers on their shoulder. Or that his hand brushes against theirs quite often when they walk together.

• Ohma can become desperate for physical contact with his S/O. They might notice that he stands much closer to them than he does with Yamashita or any of their other friends.

• Finally he’d ask them out. He’d be elated if they say yes. He’d have a big goofy smile on his face and a skip in his step.

• If they say no he’d be utterly heartbroken. He’d go into a depression. He’d snap easier. He’d get into a lot of more fights. He’d be angrier, darker, and moodier.

• His S/O would become his inspiration. Seeing and hearing them cheer him on fills his heart with so much pride and love.

• Out of the three I’d say this would be the healthiest relationship.

Agito-

• Agito is a lovesick/obsessive yandere.

• He has no experience with love. So when he falls for his darling he falls HARD.

• Suddenly this person is all he can think about. They are all he can see, they are on his mind 24/7. He obsesses over them. He becomes lovesick. His chest tightens when he think of them. There’s a lump in his throat when they walk past.

• I believe his love could drive him to madness. He’d wait for these feelings to disappear but they never do. They only grow stronger and stronger.

• The relationship would start off as an odd friendship. At first he’d watch them from afar. He’d study them and their mannerisms, the way they talk, the say they speak, their body language. Then suddenly Agito was around his Beloved quite often.

• but watching from afar becomes not enough for him.

• They’d be surprised. Why was he hanging around them all the sudden? An unexpected friendship would form.

• He wants to be as close to them as possible. He also has a collection of things they have. Maybe a item they dropped, something they had thought they lost but Agito secretly pocketed it.

• His prized possession of his is a sweatshirt they had forgotten. He sometimes cuddles with it at night, pretending that is was them and not a piece of fabric.

• Its canon that Agito is artistically talented. He would draw pictures of his beloved. He’d make sculptures of them. He has sketchbooks filled with their smile. They are his muse.

• He does not have the words to describe how he feels. He’s never felt this way before in his life.

• He’d have such a hard time confessing. At first he’s more than fine just being friends. But his bottled up feelings bubble over. Suddenly he CAN’T be just friends. He need more. He need all of them.

• He confides in his friends. He either goes to Metsudo or Okubo. Both give him shitty advice.

• He ends up just telling his beloved that he has romantic feelings for them. If they return his feelings he’d feel as though a massive weight has been lifted. They’re finally his and his alone. That thought alone is enough to bring a smile on his face

• If he faces rejection Agito would go into a deep dark depression. He feels as though all the color in the world has faded to grays. His heart twists in his chest. He feels pain. His battles become so much more brutal.

• The relationship is quite nice. Agito isn’t that needy at first. He is so gentle with them. His S/O intoxicates him. He wants more and more and more. He can’t seem to get enough.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Michelangelo’s The Risen Christ: Discovering the sacred in the profane.

The true work of art is but a shadow of the divine perfection.

- Michelangelo Buonarroti

While a visit to Rome’s grand squares like Piazza Navona is at the top of everyone’s list, there is much more to the Eternal City. The Piazza della Minerva, is one of Rome’s more peculiar squares and is a must-see for lovers of Bernini’s work.

As one of the smaller squares in Rome, Piazza della Minerva holds some interesting sites. Built during Roman times, the square derives its name from the Goddess, Minerva, the Roman Goddess of wisdom and strategic warfare. During the 13th Century, the decision was made to build a Christian Church on top of what was once a square dedicated to a pagan Goddess – and so the church of Santa Maria Sopra Minerva was born, a beautiful example of Gothic architecture and Rome’s only Gothic church.

In fact this is the only Gothic church in Rome. It resembles the famous Church of Santa Maria Novella in Florence. There are three aisles inside the church. The soaring arches and the ceiling in blue are outstanding. The deep blue colours dominate the structure while the golden touches promote the intricate design. There are paintings of gold stars and saints. The stained glass windows are beautiful too.

In the centre of the Piazza is an elephant with an Egyptian obelisk on its back, one of Bernini’s last sculptures erected by Bernini for Pope Alexander VII and possibly one of the most unusual sculptures in Rome. There are several theories which aim to decipher Bernini’s inspiration for the sculpture, some of which point to Bernini’s study of the first elephant to visit Rome, while others point to a more satirical combination of a pagan stone with a baroque elephant in front of a Christian church.

Tourists flock to see the elephant but more often than not they miss out visiting an almost forgotten marble masterpeiece by Michelangelo himself inside the church. This controversial statue has resided in the Santa Maria sopra Minerva Church in Rome for almost five hundred years. Indeed The Risen Christ by Michelangelo is one of the artist's least admired works. While modern observers frequently have found fault with the statue, it satisfied its patrons enormously and was widely admired by contemporaries. Not least, the sculpture has suffered from the manner in which it is presently displayed and from biased photographic reproduction that emphasises unfavorable and inappropriate views of Christ.

Around 2017 I was fortunate on a visit back to London to see once again Michelangelo’s marble masterpiece, The Risen Christ, which was being displayed in all its naked glory at an exhibition at the National Gallery.

This was another version of this great sculpture that no one has got round to covering up. It has just come to Britain. Michelangelo’s first version has been lent to the National Gallery, in London, for its exhibition Michelangelo and Sebastiano del Piombo in 2017. It came from San Vincenzo Monastery in Bassano Romano, where it languished in obscurity until it was recognised as Michelangelo’s lost work in 1997.

I found it profoundly moving then as I had seen the other partially clothed one on several visits to the church in Rome. It has always perplexed me why this beautiful work of art has been either shunned to the side with hidden shame or embarrassment when it holds up such profound sacred truth for both art lover or a Christian believer (or both as I am).

Michelangelo made a contract in June 1514 AD that he would make a sculpture of a standing, naked figure of Christ holding a cross, and that the sculpture would be completed within four years of the contract. Michelangelo had a problem because the marble he started carving was defective and had a black streak in the area of the face. His patrons, Bernardo Cencio, Mario Scapucci, and Metello Vari de' Pocari, were wondering what happened when they hadn't heard for a while from Michelangelo. Michelangelo had stopped work on The Risen Christ due to the blemish in the marble, and he was working on another project, the San Lorenzo facade. Michelangelo felt grief because this project of The Risen Christ was delayed. Michelangelo ordered a new marble block from Pisa which was to arrive on the first boat. When The Risen Christ was finally finished in March 1521 AD Michelangelo was only 46 years old.

It was transported to Rome and this 80.75 inches tall marble statue was installed at the left pillar of the choir in the church Santa Maria sopra Minerva, by Pietro Urbano, Michelangelo's assistant (Hughes, 1999). It turns out that Urbano did a finish to the feet, hands, nostrils, and beard of Christ, that many friends of Michelangelo described as disastrous). Furthermore, later-on in history, nail-holes were pierced in Christ's hands, and Christ's genitalia were hidden behind a bronze loincloth.

Because people have changed this sculpture over time; many are disappointed with this work of art because it is presently different than the original work that Michelangelo made. The Risen Christ had no title during Michelangelo's lifetime. This sculpture was given the name it has now, because Christ is standing like the traditional resurrected saviour, as seen in other similar works of art.

It was in discussion with an art historian friend of mine currently teaching I was surprised through her to discover the sculpture’s uncomfortably controversial history. There is no doubt Michelangelo’s marvellous marble creation has  raised robust debates about where beauty as an aesthetic sits between the sacred and the profane. And nothing exemplifies that better than the phallus on Michelangelo’s The Risen Christ.

For the majority of its time there, however, the phallus has been carefully draped with a bronze loincloth - incongruous at best, and prudish at worst, but either way a less than subtle display of the historic Church’s discomfort with the full physicality of Christ.

Indeed, it is worth noting that this attitude prevails, at least in some sense, into the twentieth-century: the version of the statue in Rome remains covered to this day, and much of the critical attention the sculpture has received after Michelangelo’s death has been grating. Romain Rolland, an early biographer, described it as ‘the coldest and dullest thing he ever did’, whilst Linda Murray bluntly dubbed the work ‘Michelangelo’s chief and perhaps only total failure’. But Michelangelo himself saw no such mistake. The censored statue seen in Santa Maria sopra Minerva is what we might call his second draft.

It’s interesting to note that when artist was originally commissioned to sculpt a risen Christ in 1514, he had all but completed it before realising that a vein of black marble ran across Jesus’ face, marring the image of classical perfection which he so wished to emulate. It had nothing to do with the phallus. Furious, Michelangelo abandoned this Christ - the one I saw at the National Gallery - and began again. Even given a fresh chance, he chose to retain Christ’s complete nudity.

Why was this of such importance to Michelangelo? Why did he so strongly wish to craft the literal manhood of Christ, as never depicted before? Part of the answer may lie in his historical context: the Renaissance in Italy was driven in the part by the remains of Roman antiquity discovered there; study of the classics became commonplace, and scholars tended to consider the Graeco-Roman world as a cultural ideal, with ancient art in particular being emblematic of a lost Golden Age. Famously, classical sculpture was almost always nude.

In his interview with The Telegraph in 2015, Ian Jenkins, curator of the British Museum exhibition “Defining Beauty: The Body in Ancient Greek Art”, attempted to explain this tradition. ‘The Greeks … didn’t walk down the High Street in Athens naked … But to the Greeks [nudity] was the mark of a hero. It was not about representing the literal world, but a world which was mythologised.’

We see evidence for this trend in Greek literature as well as sculpture: Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey, considered by some to be the earliest known works of Western literature, were likely written between the 8th and 7th centuries BC, but their setting is in Mycenaean Greece in the 12th century. The Greeks believed that this earlier Bronze Age was an epoch of heroism, wherein gods walked the earth alongside mortals and the human experience was generally more sublime. In setting the texts at this earlier stage in Greece’s history, Homer echoes the belief held within his contemporary society that mankind had been better before (what we might now call nostalgia, or, more colloquially, “The Good Old Days syndrome”). There is a real feeling of delight present in the distance Homer creates between his actual, flawed society, and the idealised past.

Indeed, it calls to mind a line I once read in an introduction to L.P. Hartley’s The Go-Between, by Douglas Brookes-Davies: ‘Memory idealises the past’. Though modernist texts such as The Go-Between problematise this, in antiquity it was not only commonplace but celebrated to look back to a more perfect existence and relive it through art. The very fact that Michelangelo abandoned his sculpture after years of work on account of a barely noticeable flaw in the marble is evidence that he, too, was striving towards the classical ideal of perfection. ‘Unfortunately,’ Hazel Stanier has commented, ‘this has resulted in unintentionally making Christ appear like a pagan god.’

This opens up another question – why does such a rift exist between the way ancient cultures envisaged their divinity and our own conceptions of a Christian God? Why are we not allowed to anthropomorphise the deus of the Bible in the same way that the Roman gods were?

Christ, of course, makes this somewhat confusing, given that he is described in the Bible as ‘the Word made flesh’, a physical and very human incarnation of the spiritual being that we call God. Theology tells us that he is fully human and fully divine, and yet the Church have excluded him from many aspects of life that a majority of us see as typifying a human being. Christ has no apparent sexual desires or romantic relationships, and though not exempt from suffering, he does not play any part in sin (which, as the saying goes, is ‘only human’). I think that the enormous controversy caused by films such as The Last Temptation of Christ (1988), which explore the possibility of Jesus having a sex life, is reflective of the possibility that - though in theory the Christian messiah is fully human - we feel significant discomfort at the notion that he may have explored particular aspects of the human experience.

Purists and the prude and liberals rush to opposite sides of the debate. If purists run one way to completely deny Christ had any sexual desires or even inclinations as all humans are want to do, liberals commit the sin of rushing to the other extreme end and presuppose that Jesus did act on sexual impulses simply because it was inevitable of his human nature.

I think the truth lies somewhere between but what that truth might actually be is simply speculation on my part. It doesn’t detract for me the life and saving mission of redemption that Jesus was on - to suffer and die for our sins as well as the Godhead reconciling itself to sacrificing the Son for Man’s sins and just punishment.  

Of course, it is well-known that the classical gods had no qualms about sexual activity. It is difficult to make retrospective judgements about citizens’ opinions on this but, as it was the norm, we might assume that they felt it was rather a non-issue. I can empathise with some critics who reason that the Christian God is not entitled to sexual expression is because of the traditional Christian idea that sex is inherently sinful – that original sin is passed on seminally and so by having sex we continue to spread darkness and provoke further transgression. It is from this early idea that theological issues such as the need for Mary to have been immaculately conceived (she was not created out of a sexual union, much like her son) have stemmed. But here - the immaculate conception - the critics are profoundly wrong in their theological understanding of why God had to enter the world as Immanuel in this miraculous way.

Some Christian critics - and I would agree with them - assert that the vision of a naked Christ might make a powerful theological point in a world where sex still carries these connotations. They rightly point out that clothing - and I might extend this to mean the covering-up of the sexual parts of our body - was only adopted by humankind after the Fall, the nudity of Christ is making a statement about his unfallen nature as the second Adam. In other words, Christ has no shame, because he is sinless and has no need for shame. Perhaps what Michelangelo intended was actually to disentangle nudity from its sexual, sinful associations, instead presenting us with a pre-lapsarian image of purity taking the form of the classical Bronze Age hero.

There is another, less theological explanation for the sculptor’s obvious use of the classical form. It reminds us of a time when gods walked the earth alongside us, when they were fully human – us, only immortal. Maybe he wanted to emphasise that fully human aspect of Christ’s being. Questionable as much of their behaviour was, the classical gods were certainly easy to identify with. For Michelangelo, this may have been his own way of embodying John 1:14 in marble: ‘The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us’.

It is here critics may have gotten hold of the wrong end of the stick with The Risen Christ when they point out the odd proportions of the figure: that it has a weighty torso, or the broad hips atop a pair of tapered and rather spindly legs, or even a side or rear view of the figure that show Christ’s buttocks.

For a start, this ungainly rear view was not supposed to be seen. The statue was meant to go in a wall niche, so that the back of the statue was hidden. Michelangelo of course knew this, and shaped the statue so that it would appear well proportioned from the front. If we view the sculpture from the front left, perhaps its best side, then Christ is no longer a thickset figure. Rather, his body merges with the cross in a graceful and harmonious composition.

The turn of Christ’s body and his averted face suggest something like the shunning of physical contact that is central to another post-Resurrection subject, the Noli me tangere (“Touch Me Not”). The turned head is a poignant way of making Christ seem inaccessible even as the reality of his living flesh is manifest.

We are encouraged to look at not Christ’s face, but the instruments of his Passion. Our attention is directed to the cross by the effortless cross-body gesture of the left arm and the entwining movement of the right leg. With his powerful but graceful hands, Christ cradles the cross, and the separated index fingers direct us first to the cross and then heavenward. Christ presents us with the symbols of his Passion – the tangible recollection of his earthly suffering. Behind Christ and barely visible between his legs we see the cloth in which Christ was wrapped when he was in the tomb. He has just shed the earthly shroud; it is in the midst of slipping to earth. In this suspended instant, Christ is completely and properly nude.

We must imagine how the figure must have appeared in its original setting, within the darkened confines of an elevated niche. Christ steps forth, as though from the tomb and the shadow of death. Foremost are the symbols of the Passion, which Christ will leave behind when he ascends to heaven.

Why was Michelangelo compelled to portray Christ completely naked in a way that was bound to trouble some Christians? It was not out of a desire to blaspheme. On the contrary, this genius – poet, architect and painter as well as the greatest sculptor who has ever lived – was not only a faithful Christian but someone who thought deeply about theology. You can bet he had good religious reasons to depict Christ in full nudity.

But it would be complacent to think there was no tension in showing Christ nude. The fact that The Risen Christ in Santa Maria still has its covering proves how real those tensions are. The fundamental reason Michelangelo could get away with it was that he was Michelangelo. By the time he created this statue, he had the Sistine Chapel ceiling (with all its male nudes) under his belt and was the most famous artist in the world.

For centuries, the faithful have kissed the advanced foot of Christ, for like Mary Magdalene and doubting Thomas, they wish for some sort of physical contact with the Risen Christ. To carve a life-size marble statue of a naked Christ certainly was audacious, but it is also theologically appropriate. Michelangelo’s contemporaries recognised, more easily than modern viewers, that the Risen Christ was a moving and profoundly beautiful sculpture that was true to the sacred story.

[pollylynn]

Title: Superscript WC: 1100 Episode: Demons (4 x 06)

When it comes to the murder of Jack Sinclair—when it comes to all the wrangling over the nonsensical idea that there are ghosts in the world that require wrangling—what she is doing is perfectly sensible. She, as usual, is doing her job. What he is doing is . . . kind of extra, even for him. She wonders what that’s about.

She can only wonder about it part time. She does, after all, have a murder to solve. And not only is she clearly not going to get any useful help from him on that front, he has managed to turn one of her actual detectives to the dark side. Ryan, whom she suspects of getting a sizable under-the-table allowance from Dad for obsequious supporting roles played and annoying services rendered, has fully defected to Team Supernatural. Add to that—or subtract, rather—the time that Esposito is spending whining about little brother getting to play Ghost Hooky, and Team Rational is not operating at fully capacity.

And still, she siphons off a little focus to wonder why he’s so intent on horror movie explanations—and why she’s feeling a little sharp about that. The two go together, the way his mood and her mood so often do, don’t they?

These, at least, are all in good fun. or they’re mostly in good fun. He stays up all night writing a ghost story on the flip side of her murder board, and she rolls her eyes about it. She plays the decidedly not obsequious role of the Fun Police, as though she doesn’t find it endearing when he knows that he’s in for torture—he knows that there is a back-to-reality bitch slap in his near future—but he can’t contain his excitement.

This, she thinks, goes beyond that dynamic, though. She could write it off to just him and the time of year. She could take the fact of him staying up all night—alone, in the precinct—to be this year’s wandering through a graveyard in suspenders. But it seems like it might be a little extra.

For one thing, the shit gets real when it turns out that he’s drunk her coffee—and his coffee, and what? Did he wander into the street before dawn in some kind of fugue state to get them? Then it gets very real indeed when he fails to fulfill his sacred vow to make her a replacement coffee before he and his favorite son head off in the Mystery Machine to pointlessly interview the former tenants who were credulous enough to get scared off from the very unhaunted McLaren house.

That whole incident, she supposes, puts caffeine deprivation on the table as an explanation. It’s possible that there’s nothing extra here in reality, it just looks that way through the glare of her ocular headache. But that explanation doesn’t satisfy once she has finally bent the damnable cappuccino machine to her will.

He is not just stumbling into the bitch slap with his enthusiasm for the supernatural. He is courting the bitch slap. He is sassing her about being too busy solving her murder to follow-up on the lead his Ghost Hooky date with Ryan yielded and implying—actually implying—that he’d rather hop right back into the Mystery Machine than ride with her to take down a grifter of interest in the murder of their mountebank. He is showing up, unannounced, on her doorstep to spout jargon and smugly ask how her solo canvas under the Team Rational banner went.

It is all very definitely extra, so she turns around and puts a little extra in her own push back. She snickers about proton packs and makes him beg before she says it—I ain’t afraid of no ghosts. She shoots him the mother of all smug looks when Detective Smith wonders what kind of jackass would buy the demon storyline that Matt Benton apparently tried to sell. And even as she delivers shot after shot, she can’t help wondering why it is they’re pushing and pulling a little more forcefully than usual.

The demon storyline, much as she’s loath to admit it, knocks something loose for her. The demon storyline is where they—against all odds—intersect, she in her quest for mundane, completely off-this-world explanations, he with the ghost story he’s writing on the fly.

Matt Benton is—or was, as it turns out—a demon. They both have to look away from the photos of Melanie that tumble out of the domestic complaint file they dig up. They both find the floor in Pete Benton’s office suddenly fascinating as the man’s voice cracks and he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or horrified that his brother did not, as he has believed all these years, brutally murder the woman he himself had once loved.

Addison Smith is a demon. A man charged with protecting people—a man who had seen in the flesh what the two of them have to look away from in two infinitely removed dimensions—stands there snarling about everyone else’s guilt. He stands there in the middle of that hideous, patterned floor that has so recently been rendered all the more awful with the wild, violent spray of Jack Sinclair’s blood, and would have the world believe that everyone else is at fault.

It’s pure evil. It’s the devil’s handiwork they’re standing on now, they’ve been wandering through lately, from Brian Hayes, impaled on a sculpture, to the carelessly brutal disposal of Jane Herzfeld’s body, from Tyler Faris, split in two, to the Lester Hamilton-less pool of Lester Hamilton’s blood—it’s a lot.

It’s a lot on top of everything that isn’t a crime scene, isn’t a mystery to puzzle out, him leading with wild theories, her tugging them back to earth. It’s a lot, and this—his push and pull, his sass and her bitch slap—is how they cope together.

And in the end, she’ll take the finishing touches he puts on his ghost story. Matt Benton was a demon. Addison Smith is a demon. Those are facts from Team Rational and they suck badly enough that she’s willing to play Ghost Hooky. with him.

She’s willing to agree that Jack Sinclair very well might have nudged some things on this mortal plane to give them an assist when they most needed it. Jack Sinclair very well might have gotten something like justice for himself from beyond the grave.

Everything has sucked lately. Everything has extra sucked. So just this once, she’s Team Supernatural.

A/N: Racing against the lack of morphousness in my old, constantly crashing laptop at 4 AM. Like you do. There is no morphousness in this ghost story.

images via homeofthenutty

[lostbbygorl]

SECOND CHANCES (LEVI X F! READER):

AU: PRIDE AND PREJUDICE BY JANE AUSTEN

~~~~

The breeze was cool. Just what Y/N L/N needed to clear her head after all the drama that had happened prior to this moment! Christa and Mr. Smith had split up, Mr. Ackerman confessed his love and desire to marry Y/N only to get rejected, and Y/N learned the truth about someone she greatly respected. Christa was in Ermich, on a much deserving holiday, whereas Y/N was in Utgard, the enemy base! But was he, Mr. Ackerman, really an enemy anymore? He had opened her eyes, and his motives may have caused damage, but Y/N would’ve done the same thing, right?

Y/N rested her head on the gazebo tree towering over her. She silently marveled at the beauty of Utgard river. The water was clear and glimmering under the sun’s golden rays. Small flowers of the brightest hues peeked from emerald bushes of fresh grass. On occasion, baby butterflies, amber and sapphire in color, would flutter by, sitting on the flowers. The smell of nature and strawberry jam had distracted Y/N from the fear of running into Mr. Ackerman for a good 1 hour. That’s right, strawberry jam!

“ Y/N, dear, you’ve hardly touched any of the food. You suggested we have a picnic. Are you devoid of an appetite?”, Y/N’s uncle, Mr. Theo Magath asked.

“ Oh no, I’ve eaten loads”

“ Have some more scones, you’ve gotten thinner since the last time we met, darling”, her aunt, Mrs. Lucy Magath joined.

Y/N quietly nibbled on a scone.

“ Y/N, is something troubling you?”, her aunt asked.

“ Not at all”, Y/N lied.

“ Don’t try that tosh with me, missy. I can see right through you. You’ve been terribly quiet this whole trip! I won’t pester you any further, but just know that your auntie is willing to listen to you, should you desire to seek me out, okay?”, her auntie soothed, to which she hummed as a response.

“ Say, Lucy, doesn’t Mr. Levi Ackerman live around here?”, Mr. Magath suddenly asked, getting Y/N’s attention.

“ He resides in Utgard castle, about 10 minutes walking distance from here, yes”, Mrs. Magath answered.

“ I hear there’s certain wings in Utgard castle that’s open for visitors. I also hear that the Ackermans have a magnificent lake absolutely brimming with salmon, and I’ve a good mind to see it”, Mr. Magath said. Y/N was uneasy. Anywhere but Utgard castle!

“ Please, can we not?”, she pleaded.

“ Why, dear? Is it because you know Mr. Ackerman? Is he a nasty man?”, her auntie implored.

“ No, it’s just that-”, she stuttered, shaking her head. He’s not so nasty, she thought.

“ It’s just that he’s so-”

“ So what?”, her uncle questioned.

“ He’s so rich”, Y/N said weakly. Her uncle and auntie frowned in confusion. What had gotten into their niece?

“ Now, Y/N. Don’t be a snob! Refusing to see Utgard castle or Mr. Ackerman because of his riches that he didn’t ask for”, Mr. Magath joked. His wife chuckled, but his niece still looked uneasy.

“ Oh, come on now, dear. I’m really eager to go! Besides, I bet a rich man like Mr. Ackerman has business in Ermich. He’s probably not home at the moment”, Mr. Magath argued. And so, the trio walked to Utgard castle. Mr. and Mrs. Magath gossiped on their way to the castle, but Y/N remained quiet, hoping with all her might that Mr. Ackerman wasn’t home.

Once she reached the castle though, a majority of Y/N’s worries vanished. The colossal building was white with dark blue painted towers. Some of the windows were made of stained glass. The trio walked towards the wing open for visitors. A short, plump, middle aged woman greeted them warmly. She had sparkling brown eyes, and white streaks in her auburn hair.

“ Welcome, visitors, to Utgard castle. I’m your host, Martha Somserset”, she beamed.

“ Utgard castle has been the home of the Ackerman family for many generations. Currently, it’s the residence of Mr. Levi Ackerman and his younger sister, Ms. Isabel Ackerman”.

The maid cheerfully guided them through the castle, showing them all the most popular sites. To say that the interior was beautiful would be a gross understatement! Red velvet curtains hung above the large windows, and the marble floors gleamed under the light of a massive crystal chandelier. Ceramic vases boasted expensive flowers, and every wall held an impressive oil painting. The paintings were of previous members of the Ackerman family. Y/N chuckled to herself, noticing that all of Levi’s ancestors had the same serious expression as he did, all except one. Only one painting had a smiling subject. The painting was of a slim, elegant, raven haired woman. Her aura was warm, and she strikingly resembled Levi.

“ Ah, admiring the late Mrs. Ackerman, are we”, Martha smiled. Y/N nodded.

“ This is Mrs. Kuchel Ackerman. She was Levi’s mother, and a breath of fresh air indeed”, Martha said fondly. Y/N found herself smiling too! Who would've thought a man like Levi had such an amiable mother?

“ Mrs. Ackerman was very close with her son. Levi was absolutely shattered when she passed. He hasn’t been the same since”, Martha explained.

“ Levi takes after his father more, but he has his mother’s golden heart. I assisted Mrs. Ackerman with Levi’s delivery, same with Isabel”, she continued.

“ Levi is a perfect gentleman. Never once has he mistreated a servant. He’s so independent, always cleaning up after himself no matter how much I tell him to leave his dirty work to me”, Martha chuckled. Y/N was absolutely shocked! Was Martha talking about a different Levi? She knew that Levi wasn’t as bad as she made him out to be, but was he really this good?

“ Anyways, enough of my blabbering! Let me show you people the statue room”, Martha interrupted Y/N’s thoughts. The young girl felt butterflies erupt in her stomach! The same sense of affection and giddiness she felt back when she read his letter returned- this time with much more force!

The statue room was a sight to see indeed! Incredibly realistic sculptures made of Parian marble filled the room. All the statues were of members of the Ackerman family, and some of them were hundreds of years old. But the statue that caught Y/N’s eyes the most was a life sized one of Levi.

“ This one is of Mr. Levi Ackerman. Isn’t he handsome?"Martha gushed.

“ Yes, I suppose he is”, Y/n replied with a fond gaze and rosy blush.

The more she wandered the castle and heard Martha’s praises of Levi, the more her affection for him grew. At one point, Y/N got lost in the castle as she had wandered off on her own. Y/N was trying to find her way back to the group when all of a sudden, beautiful piano notes started playing, stupefying her and luring her to its direction. The music was a soft, soothing melody so well played, Y/N had goosebumps. As if in a trance, Y/N walked towards its source, stopping in front of a large wooden door that was open just a crack. She peeked through the crack, noticing slender, fair fingers press on the keys of the piano. She peeked further, now seeing a full figure. The pianist was a girl with fiery red hair tied in a ponytail. She had amber eyes, and was about Sasha’s age. Her gown was a lacy ivory one. Suddenly she stopped playing and got up from her seat.

“ Levi!”, she squeaked in delight, jumping at the man, startling him.

Levi twirled her around- and smiled! Y/N had never seen him do that before! She didn’t even know he was capable of it!

“ Hello, Isabel”, he patted her back affectionately.

“ Yes, hello, brother. But first tell me who that girl is peeking at us from outside the door”, Isabel demanded. Y/N widened her eyes as she made contact with Levi. Without much thought, she sprinted to the exit of the castle. I’m not ready to see him yet, she chanted in her head as she ran. She panted outside the castle, totally out of breath. To her dismay, she heard footsteps catch up with her, and then stop behind her.

“ Ms. L/N. It’s a pleasure to see you again”, came Levi’s voice.

“ Um, yes, hello, Mr. Ackerman”, Y/N replied awkwardly.

“ Sir, please don’t be offended by my presence outside the piano room. I had no idea you and your sister would be there and Ms. Martha said this place was open for visitors-”, she began frantically.

“ I’m not bothered by it at all, ma’am”, Levi cut her off.

“ I’m just glad to see you here. And yes, some parts of the castle are open for visitors. I hope Utgard castle impressed you”, he said.

“ Oh, yes! You have a lovely home. Actually, I came with my uncle and auntie. They’ll be out in a minute”, she explained.

“ Levi, who’s this? Are you alright?”Isabel's voice interrupted them. She walked up to the duo.

“ Yes, Isabel. Isabel, meet Ms. Y/N L/N”, Levi introduced. Isabel’s eyes started twinkling, and she pleasantly shook hands with Y/N.

“ Ms. L/N, it’s so wonderful to finally meet you”, Isabel said.

“ Levi has told me so many good things about you. My, you’re just as beautiful as he had described to me”, she giggled cheekily. Both Levi and Y/N started blushing.

“ He said you’re the smartest and most interesting lady he’s ever been acquainted with. He also says you play the piano better than anyone else he knows”, she continued smirking.

“ Isabel, shut up”, Levi hissed in her ear, causing her smirk to intensify.

“ Oh my! I had no idea Mr. Levi enjoyed my terrible playing so deeply. He was joking, Ms. Isabel”, Y/N laughed, hiding her nervousness.

“ My brother doesn’t joke about such things. I insist you play with me this evening”, Isabel returned

“ Y/N, there you are!”, Mr. Magath exclaimed, running towards her.

“ We were looking all over for you”

“ Sorry, uncle, I was lost. Uncle, meet Mr. Ackerman”

“ Nice to meet you sir, please call me Levi”, Levi bowed. Y/N had never seen him this polite before. She expected him to curtly nod and be on his way. Isabel curtseyed and introduced herself before talking with Mrs. Magath.

“ A fine home you have indeed, Levi. I just saw your lake. Me and my wife are most impressed by it”, Mr. Magath complimented.

“ I’m glad you enjoyed your trip here. The lakes have recently been filled with grown salmon. Can I persuade you to go fishing with me later this afternoon?”Levi requested. Mr. Magath enthusiastically nodded.

“ Splendid. I’m inviting your whole family to Utgard castle for lunch and tea. Isabel and Y/N can play the piano, and you and I can fish with Mrs. Magath”, he said.

“ Oh, you boys go fish by yourselves. I’ll be with Ms. Martha”, Mrs. Magath said.

“ See you at 1:30 PM. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to see. Lovely chatting with you all”, Levi bowed again, lingering on Y/N before walking back to the castle, his arms linked with Isabel’s. Y/N couldn’t stop grinning even after he left. He sure had changed for the better! And this time around, Y/N didn’t force herself to see only his flaws. She was beginning to return Levi’s feelings! Levi had taken every criticism Y/N had made to heart. He vowed to improve himself. And so, even though he was awfully nervous and not used to such spontaneity at all, he made conversation with complete strangers and invited them to his home. Anything to see Y/N. Anything to spend time with her. Anything to win her over.

The afternoon wasn’t awkward at all, much to Levi and Y/N’s surprise. Levi and Mr. Magath were getting along famously, and Mrs. Magath was laughing with Ms. Martha. Isabel reminded Y/N of her younger sisters at home- and of herself! She was a bright, cheeky young girl with a fondness for music. Soon, the duo talked to each other as if they were old friends!

That night, Y/N went to bed with a smile on her face.

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Phone Lesson (5/5/2021 chat log)

Alastor/Astor (hi there) visits Sir Pentious/Ruddy’s (@ruddygore) ship to help teach Alastor/Offal (@offalgore) how to use a smartphone. But mostly to try to get to know his supposedly “mad” alternate.

Offal doesn’t seem particularly mad to Astor. Just really sad and, like, super insecure.

(Technically this thread happened months ago, but like, stuff happens.)

Ruddy & Offal

Sir Pentious had clearly never spent a day in Hell before now, he decided. No, his time in this inferno was nothing. A jaunt. A slither in the park compared to what he'd sat down to start attempting today.

His local Alastor was sitting on his couch after the disastrous voice to text attempt, smiling that stupid smile, nodding along as Pentious went over how a smartphone touchscreen worked... And then didn't take his gloves off before trying to poke the on screen keyboard.

If Pentious had hair, he'd be ripping it out by the fistful.

Astor

And who is here to save Sir Pentious from Alastor but another Alastor! A veritable hero.

As soon as work's over, he hops over to Sir Pentious's dimension, looks around for the most important-looking airship, and teleports in. From there it's easy to follow his alternate's signal. "Hello, hello! How are we all, having fun?"

He can tell that they are not, in fact, having fun.

Ruddy & Offal

Alastor looks at Alastor. Sir Pentious looks at both Alastors, one at a time.. and quietly decides the one local to his universe is going to be called Offal now.

Sir Pentious clears his throat, ushering Astor closer. "FUN IS ONE WAY TO PUT IT. IT'S STRANGE, IT DOESN'T CARE FOR HIS VOICE IN THE SLIGHTEST. TELL HIM TO TAKE HIS GLOVES OFF TO TOUCH THE SCREEN."

Astor

"Oh, that's a common problem! Not to worry, we can fix that. The gloves though, *that's* interesting." Astor leans over to examine the phone, presses a gloved finger to the screen, and tries to scroll it around. It works. "Well! Time to figure out if the issue's electrical, physical, or magical! What's your glove made from, my friend?" He holds out a hand to his alternate, palm up.

Ruddy & Offal

Offal watches Astor wiggle the lights around on the horrible little rectangle, almost missing the question entirely. A blank stare for a moment, then his brain catches up and he jerks a hand up to show off an impressively worn deerskin glove... Which he peels back just a touch to reveal the edge of another glove underneath, this one a softer fleece. "Which one, my good self? There's a selection!"

Astor

"Ah! *That* might be the problem." He taps the glass screen with a claw. "You see, the way this thing works is that there's just the faintest layer of static on the surface! You break it when you touch it, and where you break the static layer tells the phone where you're touching! Like when you touch a doorknob and get a little shock. Now, clothing can't break it, skin *can* break it, and that tiny little field of magical energy that hovers right by our skin can break it—but I'd guess that field can reach through one glove layer but not two!" He pauses for a second to think; then nods at the phone and says, "Try reaching for it like you're going to make a deal with the phone—with all that energy focused in your hand. Let's see if *that* lets you reach through your gloves."

Ruddy & Offal

There's hesitation, a flash of discomfort before Offal looks back to the phone. He hasn't made a deal of any sort since... Well. It didn't matter. He does as Astor says, letting his finger smoothly scroll up to refresh Ruddy's dashboard. Which serves as a perfect distraction, he can read more words from other people instead of thinking about the feeling of his magic surging through his hands again.

An eggboi chooses now to come bring Astor some coffee and a scone. He's helping!

Astor

Astor makes note of the look; but his alternate doesn't object, so he doesn't say anything either. He casts a quick glance to Sir Pentious—*look at that, progress*—and then focuses on his alternate again with a broad smile and a modest round of applause.

"There you go, just like that! With a bit of practice, you'll be able to do that second nature, without needing to spend so much of your own energy on it—thank you, my good egg." That last comment is directed to the Egg Boi as Astor takes the coffee and scone and straightens back up. "Or, if you find you don't want to waste a *drop* of magic on such a lowly machine, you can take your gloves off. *Or* you can get these new pens they make these days that have nubs on the end that look like black erasers, they're designed like fake skin to touch the screen for you. Like this!"

He opens up a portal, rummages around, and pulls out a cheap-ass pen with "CALL SINNER SALES STRATEGY FOR YOUR ADVERTISING NEEDS" on the side and a stylus tip on the back. Don't mind the stain on the pen. It's probably just blood.

Ruddy & Offal

Sir Pentious nods, accepting his own coffee before shooing the eggs away so they can't distract from this delicate display of Alastor to Alastor communication. Progress indeed. Astor was far better suited to helping another Radio Demon solve the puzzle of modern technology, no surprise there.

What's a little blood between Alastors! Offal takes the pen, squishing the nubby stylus tip a few times before scribbling on the screen. Oh, that was MUCH better. "Is THAT what these are? I thought they were a ah...." Give him a second, he's thinking. "Stim toy! A discreet little one for those high minded professionals out there!" How hilarious to be so wrong about such a simple thing!

Astor

"'Stim toy'?" He can guess that "stim" is short for "stimulation." He is absolutely prepared to be informed that a "stim toy" is some new form of sex toy.

Ruddy & Offal

Offal reaches up to brush his too long bangs out of his eyes, trying to get a good look at Astor to see if he's joking. No? *Well then*. Time to reach into his pockets and pull out a little fidget cube to press into Astor's hands, all shiny brass and black leather. Looks like Sir Pentious made this at some point, it was *heavy*. "These little doohickeys, my dear me! Completely pointless busywork for your hands. Helps stave off the gnawing teeth of boredom!"

Astor

"Oh! Hand busywork!" He hefts it and pushes some of the buttons. "Like desk toys! Newton's cradles and magnet sculptures, and those trays of sand and polished rocks with those little rakes they sell at bookstores, that sort of thing? *Stimulates the mind,* I take it?" He has, of course, immediately zeroed in on all the buttons and wheels that make click sounds. "I've always been partial to slinkies."

Ruddy & Offal

"Just the ones, never did understand why people wanted to rake sand so badly! I thought people hated yardwork!" A nod. "Slinkies are fine toys, my good self, but unfortunately, one wrong move and they twist themselves out of shape like a.. me!" He barks out a laugh, but quickly moves on. "Not very good for carrying around, unfortunately! A damn shame."

Astor

Well, that's a telling statement. "I'd sit there and painstakingly untwist them! Completely forget what I was doing! Do that with telephone cords too, you know, the curly ones."

He's gone from click-click-click-ing to clicliclicking; he offers the cube back. "Funny little thing."

Ruddy & Offal

The cube is tucked back away into a different pocket than he'd pulled it out of, coat smoothed out with a quick pat. "Funny indeed! Now.." Back to the matter at hand. The phone! Sir Pentious' phone at that, comically large in the hands of someone under twelve feet tall.

"How do I get to the typewriter, my self? Which horrid little mock buttons do I get no tactile sensation from?"

Astor

Typewriter, typewriter. He pauses as he translates that. "Now, see, that bit depends on what you want to do with it. The little typewriter will automatically appear and disappear when you need it, and there's quite a few tools in here that use a typewriter at some point. So—what, specifically, are you planning to do with the typewriter once you have it?"

Ruddy & Offal

He nearly titters. "Oh! Write one of those little telegrams that Pentious here is always on about to the public pinboard. No, dashboard. That's the one."

Astor

The "telegram" mention has him nearly redirect his alternate to the texting app, but by the end he's figured it out. "Ah! Well, lucky you, we're already looking at the dashboard, so... you see the five little symbols lined up in a row at the very bottom, there? The one smack in the middle, in the box to make it easy to see. It looks like a simple pencil but then it pulls up a typewriter and a fresh telegram, but I suppose it's close enough, isn't it? They'll both let you put words on the page."

Ruddy & Offal

"Oh! How.. intuitive." He says that with the driest voice he can muster, but quickly sets about tapping at the screen with his little stylus. He manages to figure out the backspace and shift keys, at least, though the emoji key seems to surprise him. So many tiny pictures..... A problem for later.

A once over, and he pokes around until he figures out how to send the "telegram" off. And there it is, out for everyone to see!

Astor

Astor watches obnoxiously over his alternate's shoulder to see whether he needs help, then plays a little trumpet fanfare when he successfully posts the "telegram." "And there you have it! Nothing to it, is there?" He nods at the phone, "What other tricks were you looking to figure out?"

Ruddy & Offal

Oh, other tricks? He squints at the phone. He hadn't paid enough attention to technology after... When had he lost touch with-- No. No time for that. He prods the button again, pointing at the other symbols. "What do these do? How do I put a photograph in it?"

Astor

He goes over them one by one: "The first one with the letters changes the type face—bigger letters, cursive letters, so on, they've got half a dozen different types. The second that looks like two chain links, it lets you put in what they call a 'link' on the Internet; it's less like a chain link and more like a street address, if touching an address instantly teleported you to the location. The third one is for... I'm not really sure what that's for." He shrugs at the "gif" button. "But the *fourth* one, the one that looks like a stack of papers with a drawing on top, *that's* how you put in a photograph! And then the headphones at the end are for music, obviously." *Obviously.*

Ruddy & Offal

"Oh! A music button? Tell me more, my dear self." *Now* he's interested in the horrid little rectangle and all its bright little lights. "I met another self, the one with the wife and son? And I believe Sir Pentious mentioned he used the tumbler too.... Do you two run your stations on these?" Actually, maybe ALL his alternates were married. He didn't know. Seemed probable enough, he'd been a charmer in life after all.

Astor

"Touch the headphones and then touch at the top where it says 'search audio,' and you can type in the name of a song you want to find. It's not a very effective way to listen to music, but to be fair, you *are* trying to insert a phonograph record into a telegram! One doesn't go to the telegraph station to listen to music, does one—one goes to the record store, or the jazz club, or the theater. And there's record stores hidden elsewhere in this thing."

Wife and son? Which alternates does he know who have wives and sons? None that he's close to. He'll circle back around to that question later. "Most alternates I know are still broadcasting on AM! A few on FM. One's picked up a TV station, believe it or not. Some of us, myself included, use v#xblr—what did you say it's called in this universe, tumbler?—to advertise for our stations." He likes "tumbler" better. "I know one self who has his station set up to play on the radio *and* on the Internet at the same time, but I don't know any who are *only* broadcasting on the Internet."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal happily taps away, adding and removing a few songs and photos to get the hang of this strange system. "Oh yes, Once Sir Pentious took Vox out," and he can say Vox without censoring himself, how lovely, "he went and rebranded most of the properties he inherited. Still though, a TV station of all things? My Goodness what a shift! Good for him! I myself haven't put out a broadcast in quite a while. Not since--"

Ahem. Moving on. "A dual broadcast sounds like a good way to get the younger generations interested, goodness knows I've heard enough about Pod Casts. Sir Pentious is unfortunate enough to listen to them." And oh, his heart breaks at the very THOUGHT.

Astor

*Not since.* Astor wonders—would that be his alternate's rampage after cannibal colony fell? From what Astor's heard about it, he wouldn't consider that "quite a while"—but maybe his alternate is trying to distance himself from the incident.

Either way, his alternate doesn't want to talk about it, so Astor won't pry. "*Podcasts.*" He scoffs. "For the people unwilling to commit their time to a scheduled radio program but unwilling to commit their money to an audiobook. The worst of both worlds."

Ruddy & Offal

The accused snake is rolling his eyes, but refraining from commenting. He's had this debate a *hundred* times. Offal, on the other hand, seems QUITE pleased that his Dear Self shares his opinion, nodding firmly as he side eyes Sir Pentious. You hear that, buddy? Yeah that's right.

"Ah well! No accounting for taste, this is Hell after all! Shouldn't surprise us that a bunch of loathsome sinners have no appreciation for the wonders of radio!" A comical shrug, and he looks around. What, no coffee for him? Fine. A concerningly long silly straw appears in Sir Pentious' tea, half of the liquid vanishing into Offal's mouth in one SUCC. He doesn't even like tea, he just needs something warm to lube up his throat.

Astor

"It's a pity! But it's their loss!"

Oh, c'mon, dude, don't antagonize one of the only two people in this universe willing to talk to you. Astor quietly holds out his coffee cup. Here. Take it.

"A bit ago, you mentioned an alternate of ours with a wife and son? Which one was that?"

Ruddy & Offal

Sir Pentious SIGHS.... And pours himself more tea. He's used to Offal's antics at this point, though why the eggbois are so hesitant to be around him is a mystery. Coffee for ONE of his guests was just insulting. And look, here comes an egg already to offer Astor another cup. *Embarrassing*.

Offal accepts the coffee, immediately taking a hearty sip to get the taste of earl gray out of his mouth before he speaks. "Ah! Yes! I'd give you a name, my dear me, but. Well. You know! I mean the one with the long black hair and the glasses. He visited Sir Pentious with his wife once or twice while I was over, lovely couple. Very cozy! He's a smidgen overprotective if you ask me, but I suppose if I got married I'd hover over whatever unfortunate soul dazzled me too! And a second child on the way! Incredible!" Another of those sharp laughs. "Does that narrow it down enough, my self? I know there are *apparently* a number of us out there!"

Astor

Long black hair, glasses, recently visited... Alastor narrows his eyes suspiciously. "Is his 'wife' Valera?" he asks. "Valera and child Pelagios?"

Ruddy & Offal

"I didn't catch his son's name, and I'm not certain on the wife, he wouldn't even let me near her without looking ready to snap my neck! Is Valera a bit of fish? Tall? Big horns? Big tail? Big... eyes?" He's miming around himself, trying to portray various aspects of his alternate's spouse's grandiose features. Honestly he wasn't sure how his alternate didn't get lost in the hair alone, but to each their own.

Astor

"... One moment." He reaches over to the phone his alternate is using, does a quick search, and pulls up one of Valera's selfies. "Is this the fish in question?"

Ruddy & Offal

Give him a second while he squints at the phone.. "That's the one! Though she's quite a bit slimmer in this picture than in person." Snrk snrk. "But yes, that's the one! Are *all* of my alternates out there getting domesticated into doting husbands?"

Astor

"They're not married," Astor says flatly. "If they told you they are, either they were playing a little joke, or else they're conducting the world's most poorly concealed affair. I certainly hope they *didn't* tell you they are?" Because if they did, then Astor has to go fucking ask them about it, which is going to be excruciating for everybody involved and won't even resolve anything.

Ruddy & Offal

Well *that's* a weird reaction. Offal raises an eyebrow, but takes another sip of his coffee and decides to see where this is going. "My own self informed me they were in a rather intense on and off again relationship. Seven times divorced and counting, or somesuch? I found it rather hard to believe, really, but after seeing the way he looked at her?" He snorts. "No, those goo goo eyes wouldn't be on anyone who was just playing at a bit. And I haven't had a chance to ask his wife yet, as I said. Can't go near her."

Astor

*Oh.* The divorce gag is back. Or never left, whichever. "The divorces are an inside joke. But however goo goo his eyes were, they are not and have never been married—or else I think the Sir Pentious that Valera's been engaged to since long before meeting our alternate would have had something to say about it. The son was adopted from deadbeat relatives, and the egg on the way is said Sir Pentious's." He leans back over to the phone and keeps on scrolling through the selfies until he finds a picture of Valera and Penny being cutesy together.

Ruddy & Offal

Offal tilts his head one way and then the other, his ears twitching slightly as his brain turns the information over. So his dear self had lied to him, then. Or this dear self was lying. Was his own self an unreliable narrator? Maybe he'd forgotten. He did forget things, sometimes important things. Was this dear self going to mock him for believing another dear self? Maybe. But he knew what he saw! Probably. Maybe. Maybe not? Probably not, really. This sounded like something he'd misunderstand.

He feels heat creep over his cheeks, and his head ducks down to let his overgrown hair hide his face.

Astor

No comment? Odd. Odd and uncomfortable. Better fill that silence. "Although they *can* get..." He's silent for a moment, grimacing, a clock ticking sound unfortunately highlighting just how long he's struggling to find a delicate way to put it. "... Clingy."

Although if Leal had guarded Valera from even *talking* to this alternate, that was quite a bit more protective than usual. Is Leal really *that* afraid of this alternate?

Ruddy & Offal

Offal clenches his jaw until his teeth creak. He'd ask later. He'd ask his dear self about it later, if he remembered. Deep breath, and he sits back up with the same smile as always. "Hah! They certainly can! The way he wrapped himself around her, you'd think my dear self thought I'd lay a finger on a pregnant woman! And his *"beloved"* At that! No no, I would never harm a mother OR my dear self's beloved! I wouldn't!" He wouldn't. He didn't think he would.

He stares at Astor for a moment, a beat of dead air and a blank smile. Then he continues. "So what IS the deal with them then, my dear self? Has a casual friendship turned from the occasional embrace to protective amulets and wrapping around your beloved like a fashionable scarf while I wasn't paying attention?"

Astor

The radio doth protest too much. He's trying to convince himself as much as Astor, isn't he? "Oh, I'm quite sure you wouldn't, my friend, *quite* sure!" And for the purposes of this conversation, Astor believes it wholeheartedly. This alternate needs somebody other than himself to believe in it, doesn't he?

"Oh, well—I wouldn't call that a *casual* friendship. That other of ours has a tendency to... Well, you know how touching another person's flesh feels like dipping one's hand in a vat of acidic mold! I think when he meets people that *don't* feel like that, something in his head concludes it's some sort of spiritual bond." A shrug. "That's the best I can make of it, anyway. But no, I wouldn't exactly call that the norm."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal is seized by the sudden, wild urge to grab his dear self by the shoulders and beg him to repeat that. He's sure? Is he sure? He wouldn't do it he swears but is his dear self SURE he believes him? But no. That's pathetic. So instead he brushes the reassurance off like it didn't affect him, biting the inside of his cheek as he hears the rest out.

... Someone who DOESN'T feel like acid? Well, it made sense. No wonder he could drape himself all over her and have two children-- Wait no, this dear self said they *weren't* his. But still. The hugging and nuzzling and all the kisses he'd watched his dear self pepper all over the fish's face made much more sense when it wasn't something he'd have to fight through the screaming urge to recoil to do. His mouth moves before his brain can, voice thick with bitterness. "Lucky him."

Astor

Lucky? He *wants* that? Poor fellow, Astor doesn't think there are any alternates he pities more than the ones who can't handle physical affection but long for it. Except maybe for the ones who have no trouble with it and get themselves into the same torrid affairs as the rest of the human race. Or the ones who find physical contact so revolting they can't stand to so much as think about it, much less hear anyone else discuss it.

... Which means he pities just about every alternate who doesn't share his *exact* personal levels of indifference, doesn't it? Maybe he's biased. Oh well.

He doubts his alternate would appreciate hearing that it's really not all it's cracked up to be—grass is always greener—but maybe he can help another way. "Well, here, have you ever tried direct contact with another of yourself?" He tugs a glove down to his knuckles and offers the back of his hand to his alternate—not to shake, no threat of a deal. "Most of us find most of us safe to touch, if you want to test it out."

Ruddy & Offal

The bolt of panic that shot through him when he realized he'd voiced his thoughts, surprisingly, didn't get much to work off of with Astor's reaction, and thus fizzled out somewhere between his fourth and fifth rib as he watches his dear self start peeling his glove back and exposing *scandalous* amounts of Bare Hand.

Well he can't just leave his poor dear self be the only one exposing himself here. If the man is going to offer up something wildly uncomfortable, it's Offal's job to match him. His own gloves are peeled back with a bit of a struggle, the back of his hand pressed to his dear self.

......... Well it. Wasn't acid. It didn't really feel like anything at all, really. Which was an improvement, but not the bolt of near euphoria he remembered from life in the rare instance of being able to tolerate someone's touch. "It feels like I sat on my hand! Still, that's the best I've handled any physical contact since I was a teenager!" Poor maman had been heartbroken when he started wriggling out of her hugs... Why did he remember that?

Astor

He idly wonders what changed when his alternate had been a teenager. Maybe nothing; maybe that was just when he'd let himself become aware of how unpleasant touch is. "Not all that exciting, is it? Just like touching anything else, except this time it happens to be a person. I think that's all it is for most people, most of the time; it's only remarkable when it's an exception."

Ruddy & Offal

"I'm sure!" And the gloves are slipped back down to their proper position. Experiment over, send those results in to be filed away! "Say, my dear self! How well do you know my dear self's.... *Companion?* Is she as scaly as she looks? Cold and slippery? Physically, not emotionally! But if she's both, well that'd be fitting!"

Astor

"Huh. Well..." He has to stop and think about that. "I've only had reason to touch them a few times, never without clothes in between, but... I wouldn't say cold and slippery, but cool and smooth, certainly. And the scales are really scales, yes."

Ruddy & Offal

"Cool and smooth.." He ponders that. So she really felt like a fish, then! Fish scales had certainly never made him recoil the way human touch did. Maybe that's how his dear self had managed it. Simple and effective. Negate the problem by just. Not touching skin.

He nods to himself, tapping his chin. His dear self was certainly clever. "What is she like? You said she was engaged to a Pentious, so I can assume she's either deaf or has the patience of a saint." Sir Pentious huffs from his chair, but stays out of it.

Astor

"Well, I've spent the last couple of months rehearsing with Valera for a musical, so either she's not deaf or she has a clairvoyant sense of pitch!" Astor laughs. "She *is* patient, as it happens; but her fiancé isn't as difficult to get along with as you'd think! Get through the first hour of defensive posturing without trying to poke holes in his shield, and he'll set it aside and have a civil conversation with you. It's just most people don't see the point in enduring that first hour, see. I'd even say he's easier to get on with than this one!" Astor tips his head toward Ruddy. "Sure, at least this one starts out cordial, but you've practically got to hand him a resumé and two character references before he'll let you do him a favor."

Ruddy & Offal

There's an AWFUL lot of little tidbits Offal could follow up on, there. But he'll come back for those in a moment, it seems like his dear self has a lot to say about snakes. "I disagree, my dear self! Sir Pentious here is the least cordial being I've ever met AND he never lets me do him any favors."

Anyway, enough about snakes. If he talks too much about Sir Pentious he might get kicked out again. "So! The fish-- Valera. I should call her by name, my goodness. You know her fairly well then? Working together for your musical and all. Is she.." He has to consider his words, here, lest he imply things. "She's patient. Is she.. kind? To my dear self? If my dear self got attached so quickly, I would hate to hear it was to someone unsuitable!"

Astor

"Did your resumé's cover letter say 'Dear Sir Pentious' or did it say 'To whom it may concern'? Maybe that's the difference." A wink, he's just teasing. ... But no yeah that probably is the difference.

"I know Valera well enough! And they're kind, yes—if anything I'd call them a little *too* concerned with how everyone else is doing, but that's a matter of personal preference, isn't it! Some people put on a mask as a test to discover who wants to see underneath, other people put on a mask because they're actors and they don't appreciate audience members getting on stage to tug it off.

Ruddy & Offal

Vaguely disgruntled noises from Sir Pentious, and a single sugar cube goes sailing over to bounce harmlessly off Offal's mass of hair. He doesn't even seem to notice.

TOO concerned... Interesting. "I take it you're the latter, my dear self! I imagine most of us are. She sounds like a bit of a busybody, no good for letting a performance run smoothly." Not that he necessarily minded that. If his dear self was anything like he was, having someone fret and fuss over his _feelings_ of all things had probably been an unexpected high.

Astor

Astor is momentarily terrified but then relieved when the incoming sugar cube bounces off his alternate's head instead of his. Okay good, he was right.

"I certainly am! Most of our others tend to be the same—only a handful of people are allowed backstage. Although there are exceptions, of course, all perfectly within the normal variations of Radio Demons." Offered just in case this alternate happens to be one of the exceptions. Astor doubts it—he doesn't think this alternate's been giving peeks behind his mask because he wants people to see so much as because the ribbon that's supposed to keep it up is fraying—but from what he's heard, if *anyone* could use someone peeking in, this one could.

But no prying. If this one doesn't invite Astor in, then it probably means that what he wants most is to be treated like everything's perfectly normal, so that's how Astor will treat him.

Ruddy & Offal

Normal variations... Oh, yes now there's a topic. "If it isn't too much to ask of you, my dear self, tell me about some of the other varieties of radio demon around. I've only seen two and the differences are already rather stunning!"

Astor

"Well, who do you want me to start with! There's me, the one I mentioned with a TV station, you've met the one Valera knows, another who spends most of his time mentoring a college radio station, one that's ascended to some sort of godhood... These are just the recent local ones, mind, I've met more than I can count beyond that—but I figure you'd want me to start with the ones you might actually meet! What or who do you want to hear about first?"

Ruddy & Offal

Offal was expecting the first few. Yes, he could see a better version of himself working with a college, if he squinted. A bit out there, but not unbelievable. But the casual mention of godhood had him choking on his coffee. Pardon him while he tries to pretend he isn't hacking up a lung here. "Apologies, my dear self." *Ahem.* "When you say godhood, you're exaggerating I hope?"

Astor

His smile widened. "He goes by *the Engineer*—Engi to friends. He independently devastated his own Earth with nothing but his own raw power, and plays around with the surviving population for his own fun. He can transport himself anywhere unaided, absentmindedly wander backwards and forwards in time without noticing, plant visions in your head more real than any hallucinogenic you've ever had or signal you've ever received—all while never once breaking character! Why, half the time he speaks in advertising jingles! Whether or not that qualifies him for godhood depends on one's definition of a god, doesn't it? But consider what you or I can do, and imagine how powerful one of us would have to be before I'd consider him out of our league entirely. Whatever you call him, he's something that's moved beyond humanity."

Ruddy & Offal

He keeps as neutral a smile as he can as Astor spins what can only be *incredibly* out there lies, nodding politely and taking a much more measured sip of his drink. So this dear self was the liar, then, and Leal really did have some kind of fish wife. Really, a dear self that was that powerful..? That was just too far. Not remotely plausible. But quite the story! "Well well! What a fellow he must be! Perhaps I'll meet him someday, if I ever get out of this pit! In the meantime though, what about that college radio chap? What's his bag, my dear self?"

Astor

He could see that change in demeanor, that quick shift from shocked disbelief to indulgent neutrality, that rapid loss of all curiosity. Why? What could he stand to gain by lying about something so outrageous? Did this one simply assume Astor would spin tall tales to his own self—why, for the fun of it? To mock him? Out of some pathological need? Did he think he was delusional and the Engineer was some fantasy? Astor quickly cycled through anger and hurt and humiliation before he managed to snap on his own polite smile. "I'm sure you will, he likes his alternates. Turn the dial on any radio all the way to the left until it cracks a little and ask for him." Let this one get his *own* verification. And Astor's going to kick Leal when he sees him next. Maybe he wouldn't have gotten such a cold reception if this alternate had never been given reason to think his other selves were untrustworthy.

What does he say about Alexa to distinguish him from the others—that in his universe all radio stations broadcast from a singular tower and he's the self-appointed guardian of them all? "You might not find him convincing." Astor smiled wanly and sipped his coffee.

Ruddy & Offal

Ah, not as subtle as he'd hoped. Damn, he'd fallen out of practice. Offal's smile twitches a bit, but he chuckles and waves an airy hand. He's fine. It's fine. This is fine! "I'll have to give it a go sometime, meet this.. Engineer, you said? For myself!" He glances at Ruddy, still curled up in his armchair and seemingly oblivious to the radio chatter. "Off of Sir Pentious' ship, of course! I'm already overstaying my welcome, having a surprise guest over would get me dropped from the bay doors in a heartbeat! Again!" There's a rumble of agreement from the snake. Not as oblivious as he seems, then. But any drive to talk about this other self was nipped in the bud, Astor's less than subtle jab hitting its mark with enough emotional impact for Offal to outright flinch. So he just.. nods, and grips his cup tighter.

Astor

It hadn't been meant as a jab, but a shield. He didn't think it had been taken that way. He had no idea how it *had* been taken, but a flinch wasn't what he thought it would cause. Well, great. Now he didn't just feel stupid and small; he felt stupid, guilty, and downright microscopic.

Come on, Alastor; you're the professional communicator, salvage this. "Anyway—pretty soon you'll find that anything that can vary between two people, does between our alternates somewhere. Including the things you wouldn't expect to be variable, even..." He tried to think of an example; but any that were big enough to make his point would probably be too big for his other to believe now. "Well—I don't yet know enough about you to say what you'd find unusual versus what you'd find mundane, do I! Any trait I could try to name as an outlier, you might say 'why, but that's just what I'm like!' And then wouldn't I look the fool?"

Ruddy & Offal

Oh no. This sounded like he was being nudged to talk about *himself*. Was he being nudged to talk about himself? That was the LAST thing he wanted to do. Offal wanted to find the perfect, most average Alastor experience, adopt that as his story, and never draw any attention to himself that wasn't one of his dear selves nodding in agreement at how very... Alastor..y.. he was. But he'd already screwed *that* up, and it was sounding like, from what his dear self was saying, his little plan was doomed from the start.

Deep breath. "I suppose so! You'll ah.. Have to excuse me, my dear self. I am still struggling to grasp the notion of seeing other people running around with my face!" A slightly too high pitched laugh. Come on, rein it in. "Perhaps it will be easier to grasp the differences if I don't think of them as my selves! Just.. Cousins."

Astor

Was that nervousness? Astor was just fucking up all over, wasn't he. "Why, I don't know what you want to be excused for!" (He really didn't.) "Mutiversal variations are endlessly fascinating, really—you get used to seeing your face on other people, but you never quite stop being surprised at the new variations. For my own part, I see my others as... as something like cousins and brothers and my own self all at the same time. An alternate is never quite the same person as you but never quite a different person from you, either; but there's no comfortable place in between the categories to put them either, so they're in all categories at once."

Ruddy & Offal

Sir Pentious snorts, lowering his newspaper to look pointedly at Offal. He knows what this idiot is on about, and he's not about to sit through thirty minutes of agonizing social awkwardness while Astor fumbles for a clue. "I'VE SPOKEN TO A NUMBER OF ALASTORS BY NOW, AND IT IS MY _EXHAUSTED_ OPINION THAT YOU'LL FIT RIGHT IN WITH THE PARADE OF _THESPIANS_. DON'T TAKE THAT AS A COMPLIMENT."

Sir Pentious slithers from the room with a huff, off to refill his empty cup. Offal looks.. weirdly reassured. And so he turns to look his dear self, and blurts out the first thing that comes into his fool head. "I died at twenty seven. How old were you?"

Astor

Astor's struggling smile wilts even further at Sir Pentious's jab. He's just striking out with everyone today, isn't he? He keeps his mouth shut until Sir Pentious is gone, then mutters, "Figures, doesn't it. You go above and beyond to help a man with his work, and after that he calls you a 'thespian' like it's some kind of vermin that'll spoil your picnic." He sighs harshly. "*Sorry.* I think I tuned out for a moment, there. You were saying?"

Ruddy & Offal

Offal's smile twitches down, head cocking to one side as he loosens his death grip on his coffee. Well _that_ came out of nowhere. Astor's question is dismissed with a sharp shake of his head, and Offal uncurls to lean towards his alternate. "My dear self, you think he dislikes you?"

Astor

Eyebrow arched, he says dryly, "He's certainly never suggested he *likes* me. I know Sir Pentiouses are much louder when they're peeved than when they're pleased, but generally they drop *some* hint if you've won their approval. I suspect he finds me forgettably neutral."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal shakes his head. "He likes you quite a bit, my dear self! If he didn't, he'd never leave you unattended in his ship. Or even let you in." He shrugs, gesturing around them. "I know he's.. prickly, but he's talked about you with respect."

Astor

Astor isn't so sure about *that*—thus far he's been allowed on board when he has something to offer and has demonstrated he won't cause trouble. That makes him *minimally trustworthy and occasionally useful,* not *likable.*

But that last bit gives him pause. "Has he. With *respect*-respect, or just without *dis*respect?"

Ruddy & Offal

"Respect-respect! I've known Sir Pentious since I landed here, and in that time the only people he's ever been anything approaching sweet to are ladies. If you want him to speak kindly, try wearing a bonnet and fluttering your lashes!" He snickers, but he's completely serious.

Astor

A huff. "In my experience, his others reserve 'sweet' for lovers and 'kind' for close friends—and infrequently at that. No, I'm not expecting any of *that* out of him." But there are ways one can demonstrate approval for a person without having to be *kind* to them. Like by publicly stating that a given person is the only version of them that one respects. And Astor is not the Alastor that received that honor.

He decides not to ask what exactly Sir Pentious has been saying about him. He's afraid to find out that it isn't genuine praise but rather *you'd be less insufferable if you were more like your alternate, let me tell you what he does that you don't measure up to—* Besides, it would feel needy. "Well, you've known him longer—I'll trust that you've had more experience picking up his subtleties." It's half true.

Ruddy & Offal

A shrug, and Offal puts down his empty cup. He's rubbish at reassurance, but he wants SO badly to connect to his self.. "I do! Earlier, what made you wilt? That was him.. reassuring me." Oh, that IS embarrassing to admit. Soldier on.

"I'm sure you've figured out that I'm not quite. Matched up. To yourself. Or others of my dear selves." His shoulders droop, but he squares himself back up to continue. "He's aware of my feelings. Not that I ever _admitted_ them." Hrmph. "It's horrible, I'm freeloading in the airship of a man who can _read_ me!"

Astor

Oh, was the wilting that obvious? He very nearly internally cringes at himself too hard to catch the substance of what his alternate is really saying. But he does catch it.

"My goodness, aren't you the unlucky one—stuck with the only Sir Pentious capable of reading anything subtler than a billboard." Dumb joke to lighten the mood; but Astor quickly sobers up. If his alternate is openly talking about the subtext now, then he can talk about it too.

"I've figured out you're having a bad year, yes. But I don't think the rest of us are as matched up as you might think. Or if what you mean is you think you're *lesser* than us?" He snorts dismissively. "Sure, you look at the Hell Broadway performer, the TV manager, the college mentor, the *god,* all of that, and my oh my don't they sound like an impressive lot! Living their best afterlives, aren't they? But that leaves out all the drug habits, the suicidal gestures, the identity crises, the breakdowns, the burnouts... Oh, we're quite the pack of fireworks, aren't we? Flashy and loud, and all too prone to catching fire and exploding."

A wink, "But none of that's fit for broadcast, is it? A good announcer puts on a smile and his best persona and makes sure the audience can't tell he's got a hangover! Even if his audience is his fellow announcers. See—you match up with us, after all."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal's smile is thin, but he nods appreciatively towards Astor as his cheeks turn slightly pink. It's a comfort to hear, he'll just need time to roll the thought around in his head. At least this dear self is being honest with him, or if he's lying, doing a damn good job. It makes it less humiliating to have done what felt like pulling his own organs out to show off.

"I suppose you're right, my dear self. Easy to get razzle dazzled even by your own selves, if you're already full of self loathing. And I'm afraid I've let myself fall rather far from my own graces! No broadcasts, I haven't even been to my own house in.. Who knows HOW long. What a waste of a good garden, I'm sure the flowers are all dead by now." He sighs, reaching up to brush his too long hair out of his face. "A shame, it's a nightmare getting plants to grow down here, let alone flower and reproduce. Maybe I can.. try again. Eventually." Now that's wishful thinking. But his dear self doesn't need to hear him get TOO melancholy over some ridiculous flowers.

Astor

Astor leans closer, fixes him with a look, and says meaningfully, "You have a *house?*" The corner of his mouth twitches. He sits back up. "Oh, that's the trouble, isn't it? We're good even at dazzling each other! And then trying so hard to be dazzling in return nobody can see past the lights to realize that *most* of us think we're the one black hole in a sky full of stars." Astor doesn't think he's ever managed to discuss this with an alternate before, even though he's sure he'd met enough alternates to figure it out a couple decades back. Ironically, the fact that this alternate currently can't keep his mask on makes things easier—not that Astor is going to make him self-conscious by mentioning that.

"I've got some okra and bell pepper potted right now—remarkably hardy strains, too. I could give you some seeds if you need to restart your garden. I'm making plans for a little herb garden, too—nothing ambitious, just what I can squeeze into a window planter."

Ruddy & Offal

"Of course I-- Ah. I see your point." He chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. His dear self was right, though having such an honest discussion still felt incredibly wrong. But maybe that was good. They were both breaking rules, talking like this.

"A window planter? I think you could manage a decent selection of herbs with that, if you're not too worried about the aesthetics. You could probably even manage some cherry tomatoes if you fashioned a little trellis. If anything in my garden is left, we can trade cuttings."

Oh, that wasn't supposed to be the topic here. But it was a nice distraction at least, gave him something to dig his nails into while trying to navigate difficult terrain.

Astor

"Of *course.*" Huff. He crosses his arms loosely, casually, hoping it's not obvious how painfully he's digging his fingers into his arm. It's a hard, rare thing for him to admit, *especially* to an alternate. This conversation really is breaking all the rules.

His eyes light up. "Oh, a trellis, I hadn't even thought of that! Wonderful! Hold on—" He opens a portal, pulls out his grimoire, and flips it open to two pages at a right angle so that they stand like a desktop and an adjoining wall; on the desk he's pencil sketched out a magical workspace and altar, and on the wall a couple of cabinets, a planter, and a round window. He roughly sketches in a pair of trellises curling up along the curved window frame, and then, inspired, adds some over the window that something could hang off of. "Brilliant. Yes, by all means, let's trade—the only way to get any decent produce down here is to swap snips of the stuff that survives!"

Ruddy & Offal

"Gladly, my dear self. The less I have to try and comb the market for fresh ingredients, the better." Offal tilts his head, trying to get a look at what Astor is drawing. A curved window? That looked like.. Well. That was none of his business, now was it? He pulls back, glancing at his empty coffee before his head suddenly swivels up at the sound of scales on the floor.

Ruddy enters, a fresh pot of coffee in hand, and glances between the two Alastors before nodding his head towards Offal almost imperceptibly. It was as close as he'd ever get to asking "do you need help". The returning shake was equally easy to miss, but enough for the serpent to come refill empty cups. "I'M ONLY HERE FOR A MOMENT, SUPPER IS COOKING."

Astor

Lots of places have circular windows, probably, maybe.

Astor starts. "Oh! I believe I'm being reminded not to overstay my welcome, aren't I? I won't intrude upon your supper." Pity, they were just getting somewhere.

Ruddy & Offal

Offal opens his mouth, but Ruddy responds faster, staring at Astor like he'd just grown a second head, and that second head had started speaking tongues. "IF I WANTED YOU OFF MY SHIP, I'D TELL YOU TO GET OFF MY SHIP. THERE'S A PLATE FOR YOU TOO, ALASTOR."

A loud scoff, and Ruddy twists around to slither back out of the room, leaving Offal to give Astor a 'what did I tell you' look.

Astor

"Oh, then my mistake for thinking you might be tactful about it!" He meets his alternate's gaze and rolls his eyes. "How do you like that? It takes real skill to offer someone an invitation without letting them feel the least bit welcome. I bet he's practiced."

Ruddy & Offal

"Incredible, isn't it? And this is how he is with the people he *likes*." He shakes his head, giving his coffee a tentative sip before putting it back down. WAY too hot to drink, he'll have to wait. Oh well, more time to try and reassure his dear self that Ruddy wasn't, in fact, JUST a foul tempered old man, but ALSO a cantankerous bastard of a friend who never just SAID nice things. "You may have missed it, if you weren't looking. He came in to see if I was alright. I don't know about the snakes you know, but he's rather *subtle* about any care he shows."

Astor

"Hm. 'Likes' or 'tolerates'?" Astor's still dubious of the claim that this Sir Pentious so much as respects him—and it's a steeper climb still to get from "respects" all the way up to "likes."

"They run the gamut, but some are... well, it's hard to call anybody that loud 'subtle,' but certainly they've got ways of showing concern that no one else would recognize as such. I wasn't looking until he mentioned dinner, I'll take your word for it."

Ruddy & Offal

"Of course, my dear self." Offal leans back into his seat, giving Astor a once over. Now that he wasn't in the middle of shrinking away or flinching, he had a chance to see his alternate as something other than the pinnacle of what an Alastor should be. There were flaws, probably, even if he didn't see them yet.

He was forgetting something... Oh, yes. "*Did* you want to stay for dinner, my dear self? I'm sure you could sneak out without any fuss."

Astor

"Sneak out, after getting an explicit invitation? Not without insulting him." Which didn't quite directly answer the question, but it meant he was staying.

Ruddy & Offal

"I'll take that as you're staying, then! Good. Sir Pentious always cooks enough food to put my own mother to shame, and we wind up feeding the leftovers to some college students he knows just to clear out the fridge!" Why does he know college students? Offal has no idea, but it seems like Sir Pentious just *knows* people.

Astor

Considering Sir Pentious had just helped a university worth of them unionize, Astor isn't too surprised. "Oh, well, I'm always happy to help rescue people from leftovers."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal didn't know about Sir Pentious' adventures, unfortunately. He simply nods and reaches for his coffee again. It's still too hot of course, but he's going to do his damndest to cool it down by blowing on it before the dinner bell sounds. He has nothing else to say, so unless Astor has more to say, they're just going to sit in silence.

Astor

Astor very rarely doesn't have more to say. What had they been talking about before Sir Pentious came in? Gardening, Radio Demons dazzling each other—ah. "You uh, asked something when Sir Pentious first left that I didn't catch, and we never looped back around to it. What was...?"

Ruddy & Offal

Oh, he remembered. Damn, and here Offal had thought that had been conveniently forgotten in the rest of the mess. Ah well, he'd already spilled his guts to this alternate, he may as well commit to it. A polite cough, and he nods. "Ah, I'd asked how old you'd been when you died. A bit of a silly question, feel free to ignore it, my dear self. What does it matter when we've been stuck down here for so long, really?"

Astor

"Oh, it makes some difference. Not the age itself, maybe, but what it means you lived through. I was in my mid thirties," he says automatically, before immediately amending himself: "Thirty-five. Although I don't give just anyone the exact number. You?"

Ruddy & Offal

Oh no, he's OLD. Offal's smile turns almost apologetic, coffee cup lifting to his lips as he mumbles his response. He's talking to the coffee, it's fine. "Twenty five, I think. Maybe twenty seven at most. I don't remember. Younger than thirty, that's for sure."

Astor

Oh no, he's a BABY. Never mind the fact that the gap between 113 years old and 123 years old doesn't mean much. This is an infant. "Well—see, that's a perfect example of an age that *does* make a difference. It means you're one of us that didn't fight in the war. You must have been... what, eleven or twelve during the draft?" He blinks as another thought occurs to him. "My goodness. You were still a teenager when I first went on air."

Ruddy & Offal

Just an old man and a baby, hanging out in an even older man's glorified blimp. This is going great. "Correct! Not that my father's side of the family didn't try and tell me I should go lie about my age and serve the country like a proper man. If looks could have killed, I tell you, my mother would have had a body count!" His laugh is a little bitter, but at least it's a laugh. "I don't envy your service, but it certainly sounds like you had more time to enjoy being on air. Felt like I'd barely started before I was six feet under."

Astor

"She wasn't too happy about it in my neck of the woods, either. I'd never seen her like that before."

And over a century later, it's still uncomfortable to think about. Move along. "You were on speaking terms with your father's side, then? I've found that's one of the most inconsistent things among our others. I think you and I are in the minority."

His smile thins grimly. "I'd been on air just a few months short of a decade—and it still felt like I'd barely started, too."

Ruddy & Offal

That was the way of things, wasn't it. It was always too soon to go, when you were doing something you were passionate about. He sighs, the hand not holding his coffee pushing his hair out of his face again. Maybe he should find a pair of scissors soon... But that's for later.

"I was on speaking terms with them, yes. Although they could never completely hide that they were disappointed that my father's only child was, well.." Mixed, but he's not going to say it outright. A gesture towards himself should get the general idea across, hopefully. "But I was never mistreated, and I was never left wanting."

Astor

Astor nods energetically in agreement; yes, his too. He gets it. "They kept me on the family tree and stared down any neighbors who looked puzzled when they introduced me as a cousin. There was never any question that I wouldn't become the next patriarch of the family; but they always had the decency to make like it was because I lived so far out of town. Of course, not *all* of them were quite so circumspect, but—well." Astor clicks his tongue. "Interesting how a tragic hunting accident can lighten the atmosphere at Thanksgiving dinner." He sips his coffee very coolly.

Ruddy & Offal

That startles a laugh out of Offal, but he nods in turn. Good! Good, someone understands where he was coming from. That was a relief. Some things were hard to talk about with someone who didn't share the experiences. "Couldn't put it better myself! I have no idea how they never figured me out, I doubt I was *half* as clever as I thought I was at the time. Being the patriarch would never have worked out, I barely tolerated the questions of when I'd get married to one of the nice *white* girls from the church they insisted I attend with them."

Astor

Astor blinks in amazement. "No. And I'm sure it never crossed their minds what a fix *you'd* be in if a stranger came to town and objected to the marriage." He shakes his head. That's his father's side of the family, all right. "I was far enough outside the line of succession that they saw my bachelorhood as a subject of gossip rather than as a problem to be solved. Anyway, Pa never married and only had a child with a woman he *couldn't* marry, I don't think anyone was surprised I followed in his footsteps. Ma certainly wasn't."

Ruddy & Offal

"Hah! I was.. pale enough, I suppose? That I'm sure they hoped they could just pass me off as tanned from hunting. Or maybe they just didn't think at all, who knows. Once mother died and I was stuck with them full time, they wasted no time trying to make me presentable. I'm just glad she never had to see what they did to my hair!" His smile twitches at the corners, but he wastes no time on *that* little memory. Natural causes his *ass*.

"Were I so lucky to only be gossiped about! No no, I had the misfortune of being the eldest son of the eldest son. A barely passable bastard, but one too well known to hide away. I suppose I was proud of it, in some way. I made myself quite the thorn in their side while I could!"

Astor

"I was pale enough to get away with *some* things, but not enough that I was about to try fathering Désirée's baby." Not that he'd planned on being *anyone's* father, but.

His eyes widen almost imperceptibly at the revelation that his alternate's mother died; and again, this time in anger, at the thought of anyone touching his hair. In life he'd had the same hair as his mother, and proudly so; if they dared try to take that from his other—

But he presses his lips together. That's not a can of angry worms he wants to open now. Instead, he says, "I only spent summers with them. Ma survived me."

Ruddy & Offal

They'd done a bit more than *try*, but that wasn't something either of the alternates present wanted to get into at the moment. The news that his dear self's mother survived him was enough to distract Offal from memories of hot irons and wet combs. His eyes close as his shoulders hunch, smile twisting for a fraction of a second before it snaps back into place. Deep breath, relax his posture, come on then. He'd already crossed enough lines with his alternate without *crying* over things from a hundred years ago.

"I. Well. I don't know if I should be glad to hear that or not! But it is what it is! I wish I'd had more time with mine, but I'm glad she never had to bury me." He clears his throat and goes for the coffee. A few gulps to help steady himself, that does it. "So! Do you speak French then? That was one of the only things they were happy about, though they insisted I learn *proper* French once I was in their house. And piano, though I didn't mind the piano. I'd always liked music."

Astor

None of the possible endings were good, were they? "I wish I hadn't made her bury me." It might be the plainest and opennest thing he'd said all afternoon.

But that kind of thing can only be taken in a grain or two at a time. Back to lighter topics. "*Bien sûr, mon ami!* I practiced with my father's family in the summers and with ghosts the rest of the year. In Paris a man told me I looked like somebody's grandson but spoke French like somebody's grandfather. I don't remember which side of the family got me started on piano—both had ones I could play—I was young when I started. I do know I was with Ma when I started the violin, although it was Pa's side of the family that put the idea in my head to learn. He probably paid for it, I don't know; children don't keep track of that sort of thing..."

Ruddy & Offal

"You went to Paris! How fantastic, I never got the opportunity. I... never got the opportunity to do a lot of things, really." He really *had* died young, hadn't he? It was easy to forget, until he remembered all the things he'd been *planning* on doing. But that was *depressing* to think about, lighten the mood there buddy! "The experiences are half lined up, but my French is tragically standard. Not a hint of my poor mother's accent!" He tosses his head back dramatically, the back of his hand daintily pressed to his forehead.

And then its several seconds of trying to arrange his hair once he's sitting properly again. Pthhbt. Hair in his mouth. Give him a moment. What had he been saying? "So, what was Paris like, then? Everything people said it was, or a disappointment all around?"

Astor

"Now, here's the thing, in Louisiana they thought *my* French was standard, too. It was the *French* who disagreed. I'm sure if you'd ever made it to Paris, they'd have found your French charmingly antiquated, too!" This is probably meant as reassurance.

He's watched his alternate fuss with his hair a time too many and his desire to mind his own business is now outweighed by his pity. He opens a portal, rummages around inside, and emerges with four glittery plastic barrettes that are just slightly too pink to blend into Radio Demon red hair. He wordlessly offers them. "When I was there? Lamentably full of soldiers. I'm afraid I didn't have an opportunity to absorb the culture, although I glimpsed a little in the distance. I always wanted to go back after the war, but, well." A shrug. "As it is? All I got out of Paris was my first honest-to-God demonology book."

Ruddy & Offal

It takes Offal longer than it should to figure out what his alternate is offering him, several seconds wasted on puzzling over the barrettes before he realizes what they're for. Astor gets to watch him haphazardly pin back his bangs. It doesn't look good, the man has never used a hair clip before.

"Is THAT how you got your start, my dear self? I got mine from poking my nose into the pittance of belongings I was left by my mother that I was _allowed_ to keep."

Astor

Completely satisfactory. Barrettes aren't to help you *look* good, they're to help you *see* good.

Astor is just about ready to strangle his alternate's paternal relatives. "You'd have to specify what, exactly, you're asking about the start of! I had many starts at many different things at many different times, and that was certainly *one* of them; but I'm quite certain my mother never worked with demons, so I suspect we're talking about different things!"

Ruddy & Offal

"We may just be, my dear self!" Offal plants his cheek into his own palm, finally able to look at his alternate without a curtain of hair obscuring his vision. It was strange, seeing himself sitting across from, well, himself. It wasn't like the illusions or shadow copies, this was an independent person who happened to share a face, and apparently several other things as well. "My mother didn't work with demons either, to my knowledge. She worked *against* them. It wasn't her main area of focus, not her religion, not her circus, not her monkeys. But apparently it was something she picked up when she got involved with my father? Or so the letters said, if I remember correctly."

If he were anyone else, he'd frown. But he furrows his brows instead, and shrugs his shoulders. "I'm afraid that in the absence of my mother, I was raised almost entirely Catholic. Demonology was my bread and butter once I got my hands on it. Learning how to counter them was a fine start in learning to *deal* with them."

Astor

"What in the world was your father up to that necessitated getting into demon fighting?" A huff.

"Half with Catholicism, half with Voodoo. I've been communicating with spirits since before I was born; Ma started teaching me magic before I learned to read. But I didn't start working with demons until the war. The Catholics discouraged it and the Voodooists had no business with it." He nods to his alternate, "Did you only work with demons, then?"

Ruddy & Offal

"I don't know! Never got the chance to ask." His grin grows. It's a vexing mystery, but some part of him thinks it's *hilarious* that somehow, his blandly pleasant but ultimately spineless father was out there attracting the attention of demons.

"Oh, almost entirely. I wasn't allowed any of the, as my grandparents put it, *"Blasphemous Voodoo Hoodoo Garbage"* after I moved. No no! That was a good Christian household, anything out of the ordinary was scolded out of me." He rolls his eyes, now that Astor can see them. "I did try and relearn what I could once I moved out, scrounge the scraps I could remember together, but it wasn't the easiest thing."

Astor

It's impressive how effective a sneer Alastor can produce while technically still smiling. "'Blasphemous' my entire... I used the Bible far more for conjure than I ever did for church! Try telling *that* to average 'good Christian'! Or that Hoodoo is practiced on nearly every page in the book, just by a different name!" He sighs harshly. "You were robbed." Which he's sure his alternate already knows, but sometimes it helps to hear someone else say it. "I wish I could offer to teach you whatever you didn't get to relearn, but I'm afraid I'm not qualified anymore. Maybe for some of the rootwork, but not the deeper stuff. Certainly nothing of Voodoo."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal nods, taking a few seconds to get his feelings in check before he responds. He was robbed. It was painful to think about, painful to acknowledge. And there wasn't much to be done about it anymore, unfortunately. And it stung.

"I appreciate the thought, my dear self." A shrug, and he shakes his head. "I didn't mean to turn this little social into a deep dive into my history! You've already heard enough prattle to last your whole afterlife! I'm just glad to hear my other dear selves weren't also cut off."

Astor

"Think nothing of it, I find these little compare-and-contrast sessions tend to go that way! We'll start with 'so what's *your* favorite food?' and end up on, '... and that's why I still have lingering trauma around blonde women and golden retrievers!'" He laughs. "For what it's worth, our experiences run the whole spectrum. You're not the only one who's been cut off for one reason or another. Even I was eventually. It's unfortunate, but, well! At least it means you aren't an outlier."

Ruddy & Offal

It's less of a comfort and more of him feeling a twinge of sympathy, but it's kind of his alternate to offer up that kind of knowledge trying to.. comfort him? Relate? Either way, it's appreciated.

Offal nods, empties his cup, and puts on his best grin. "Well, I can tell you my favorite color isn't red! I'm more of a fan of pink, personally. Or yellow. My mother adored yellow."

Astor

His eyes light up. "Oh, my mother's favorite was yellow too! Perhaps I should say 'is'—I doubt it's changed in the last eighty-odd years. As long as I lived, every year she'd grow yellow angel's trumpets right outside the kitchen window. It's among my favorite colors too, yellow or gold. But I'm afraid I'm terribly predictable and really do favor red just as much as my wardrobe would suggest!"

Ruddy & Offal

Should he ask his alternate why he's speaking about his mother in present tense? It's tempting. But the idea of her being, well, not *alive*, but any sort of present, is absolutely terrifying. And it wasn't even *his* mother, it was none of his business. Don't be a freak, Alastor.

"Angel's trumpets! Now those bring back memories.. I managed to get some of them growing at one point, I'll figure out how to do it again. I hope the honeysuckle is alive at least, its a stubborn enough plant that it may still be limping along." He taps his lips thoughtfully, staring off into nothing. Later. He'll worry about that later. Along with everything else. "Red is a fine color! Pink is just a bit softer, easier on my eyes. Though it'd clash *horribly* with my skin tone now!"

Astor

"Did you? *Oh!*" The corners of his mouth and eyes twitch a bit, threatening to betray just how much hearing of an alternate with living angel's trumpets yanks at his heartstrings. "I've only seen them a few times down here, and never growing free, just dried parts in tea bags. I do hope yours survived! I'd ask for a cutting, but goodness, where would I plant it? I'm sure I'd just kill the poor thing." He tuts chidingly at himself—but there's a flash of genuine melancholy in his eyes.

"I've seen a few of us with pink wardrobes! I don't think it clashes all that terribly, but then I've never had much of an eye for that sort of thing. I'm sure you could find someone to exchange fashion ideas with, at any rate!"

Ruddy & Offal

Forget the pink, look at the way his poor alternate had responded! No no, unacceptable.

"Despite the sizes I'm sure you've seen various plants reach, Angel's Trumpet *is* a shrub. You can keep a one in a pot if it suits your fancy! Mine filled half the sunroom before I moved it outside, QUITE the display!" A shake of his head, and he leans in towards his alternate again. "You've already done enough for me, you think I wouldn't help you learn how to keep a plant alive? Really, my dear self. Even if I have to start from seedlings all over again, I'd be happy to show you how I strangled life out of Hell's soil."

Astor

"That would be..." He's *tempted.* But he shakes his head. "No, no—Ma took hers inside when it got cold, and she had to plant that thing in a washbin. And I don't have a *sunroom*! Goodness me, wherever I put it, the poor thing would starve for lack of sunlight! I've got one spot with a window, but just the one window, and small; I'm going to try out those sun lamps in another place, but that's a *kitchen*, and a crowded one at that, I can't grow a massive poisonous shrub in there—I have the makeshift greenhouse at the hotel, but I was hoping to move everything out of it soon, I couldn't possibly tie myself down at the hotel again for the sake of an ornamental plant..."

He shakes his head again and smiles sadly. "I just... don't have anywhere for it."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal nods. He wasn't about to insist his alternate saddle himself with a plant just for emotional reasons, so... "Entirely understandable, my dear self! I suppose you'll just have to come see mine once its all back up to its former glory. May take some time, if my house is half as dusty as I think it is. I couldn't *possibly* have a guest over until the place looks passable again. But we can do coffee in the garden, if you'd like."

He didn't like having guests over even when he HAD lived in his house full time. But he hadn't known any versions of himself then, either. It might be interesting. Or disorienting. But if his dear self had half the emotional attachment to a few plants that he did, maybe it would do him good to be able to see some again. It was the best way he could think of to try and pay him back for this bizarre peptalk.

Astor

"Yes—yes, I'd like that. It sounds—pleasant. Whenever is convenient for you." He clears his throat and takes a sip of his coffee. Damn, almost slipped up and had emotions for a second. "If you find you could use a second pair of hands to help get your garden back in order—well, I don't get nearly enough practice these days!"

Ruddy & Offal

He is not going to comment on the nearly emotional display. Glass houses and all that, this alternate had already tolerated him being as close to hysterical as he could tolerate, let the man have a dignified wobble. Instead Offal cheerily snaps his fingers, letting himself speak more loudly. Bombastic! Cheery! No emotional anguish here! "Oho! And here I thought I was going to have to beg Sir Pentious to loan me a few eggs. Yes, you'd be most welcome to come help me dig out my... What did he call it.. *Depression Pit*. It'd be good to trust in my assistant's competence instead of having to run to hide the fine china."

Astor

*Depression pit.* Well, *that* wasn't very optimistic. "I imagine all they'd be useful for is  contributing their shells to the fertilizer! I'm sure I could offer much more help! We'll get your garden back in shape, never you fear."

Ruddy & Offal

"Fertilizer, certainly, and they don't make bad starter pots if you clean them out well! You just have to make sure you crack them apart once you're putting the plant in the ground." He pauses, then taps a fingertip to his own cheek. "I... appreciate the assistance. Once we have it fixed up, we'll have to at the very least set you up with a fresh bouquet. Less permanent, but you can dry the flowers."

Astor

"Now there's an idea! I suppose their shells would be thick enough for it, wouldn't they?"

His face lights up at the offer of a bouquet. "I'm sure it would make a lovely decoration! Thank you, my friend, that sounds delightful!"

Ruddy & Offal

"Glad you think so! I'm sure we can keep you well supplied with flowers when you want them, this Hell doesn't have much in the way of seasons beyond Hot and then Hot and Raining. At least the plants love it!"

And there's the dinner bell, right on schedule. Offal gestures towards the doorway, tilting his head towards Astor. "I hope you're hungry, my dear self!"

Astor

"You have *hot and raining*? We got the short end of the stick! All we have is *hot*! With a few surprise days, peppered in like sprinkles in a confetti cake!"

His ears flick at the bell. "Aren't I *always* hungry!" He heads for the door—but his alternate has better catch up fast, Astor isn't actually sure where he's going.

Ruddy & Offal

Uh oh, time for Offal to do the awkward little half jog everyone hates, look at him go. Once he's caught up to his alt he can settle into a more dignified walk. "The kitchen and dining room are this way! Just follow the sound of Sir Pentious humming! Or, failing that, the line of eggbois. They're like ants, I tell you!" It's okay to kick eggbois out of the way. It's fine.

Astor

"Why, do *they* eat?" Squinting at the Egg Bois. The ant comparison may have thrown him off, he's imagining they're invading the dining room like ants at a picnic. He's not about to kick them though, he is a *guest.*

Ruddy & Offal

"Do they eat? My dear self, they'll eat anything you let them shove into their mouth." His grin widens. "Don't ask me where it goes, I have no idea! I saw them swarm a sinner and eat him once, though. Gone in seconds, never saw the fellow again." He nudges another eggboi out of his way with the side of his foot, one of the fancy faberge ones.

"...I don't think they get hungry though, they just like putting things in their strange yolky mouths."

Astor

"Hm! The one I've seen, they'll eat if you tell them to, but they won't do it on their own." He regards them curiously. Multiversal differences. "Self-seasoning omelets."

Ruddy & Offal

There's a loud snort. Seems like Astor managed to almost get a laugh out of Ruddy! Not that you'd guess it by his expression when he leans out of the kitchen. A fistful of rolled silverware is shoved at Offal, and then Ruddy vanishes back into the kitchen before he emerges properly with a tray of garlic bread. A last minute addition he'd thrown in, but EVERYONE likes garlic bread. Off to the dining room, a comically huge amount of food was waiting!

Astor

Oh, he was overheard. He doesn't think he caused any offense, but just in case, he throws in, "Of course, I'm not going to scramble any without permission!" He's pretty sure this Sir Pentious isn't accustomed to Alastors asking permission, it can't hurt to throw in a reassurance.

And it's a good thing Astor reminded *himself* he's asking for permission, or else he might have casually snagged a slice of garlic bread off the tray on the way to the dining room. In a herculean display of self-control he holds off, and in the dining room waits eyeing the feast to be told how seating is to be arranged.

Ruddy & Offal

Such strength... Such restraint. Offal has no such thing, and tries to grab for a slice before the tip of Ruddy's tail darts up to slap the back of his hand. Neither of them comment on it, and Offal meanders off to one end of the table on his own. Ruddy pulls out a seat for Astor, and sits at the other end of the table, tail coiled around and around his seat to keep anyone from tripping on him.

A moment to get himself arranged, and Ruddy plucks up a slice of the bread. Better to do it now, before the radio demons inhaled it all. "HELP YOURSELF, THERE'S MORE GARLIC BREAD IN THE OVEN."

Astor

Astor made the right move on the garlic bread. He hates to try to make himself look good merely by avoiding the decisions that make the alternate he's decided he'd like to help look worse; but like, he'll take it.

He takes his seat and then a slice of garlic bread—but it's a close race. "Quite hospitable of you to let me stay!"

Ruddy & Offal

There's that look again, like Astor had grown a second head. Ruddy takes his time to respond, fixing his plate up before he *harrumphs* at his guest. "WHY WOULD I NOT? YOU WERE HERE WHEN IT WAS TIME FOR SUPPER, I HAVE PLENTY TO SPARE FOR A GUEST OR TWO." A pause as he sets his napkin in his lap, can't forget his manners here. "TAKE SOME WITH YOU WHEN YOU GO, TOO. IT'D BE A SHAME TO WASTE THE LEFTOVERS."

Astor

"If you hadn't wanted a dinner guest you could have made some excuse to kick me out. Or skipped the excuse! Now, you accept my gratitude without making a fuss." He serves himself. It's time to Judge this cooking.

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy opens his mouth to respond, but closes it again with a huff. *Fine*. He has to see what his guest thinks of his cooking anyway, it'd been a while since he'd cooked for anyone but himself or his squatter guest, and Offal was expected to praise his cooking just to keep from getting booted off the ship to find somewhere else to freeload. Astor was under *no* such obligations.

Offal of course, is already plowing through his serving and getting ready for a second. That garlic bread had his name on it, watch out.

Astor

Well, clearly this Sir Pentious doesn't think "seasoning the food" meant "adding salt," which is a good first step. The cooking style is definitely British (derogatory), but if Alastor couldn't drum up an appreciation for foods low on additional flavoring, then he wouldn't have a penchant for raw human flesh, now would he? Satisfying him takes either a high-quality recipe or high-quality ingredients.

And luckily, Sir Pentious has the latter. Alastor gives him a pointed look. "*You* have a supplier."

Ruddy & Offal

Look how that serpent preens, he's so VERY smug about his food. Oh, did you notice? Did you notice the fresh snap of the vegetables? The decided lack of that almost spoiled aftertaste to the meat? Oh, it's nothing special..... He hums, and then answers as matter of factly as he can despite the insufferably smug aura.

"SUPPLIERS. PLURAL. OF COURSE I DO, WHAT, YOU THINK I'D EAT HELL'S IDEA OF FOOD IF I COULD AFFORD NOT TO?" Ruddy grins with all his teeth, waggling his fork with a piece of broccoli skewered onto the tip. "NO NO. EVERYTHING HERE IS EITHER FROM THE SURFACE, OR FROM A SPECIALTY SELLER WHO KNOWS HOW TO GROW IT JUST AS WELL. I AM A MAN OF CLASS AND STYLE, I EXPECT MY FOOD TO BE *EDIBLE*. COSTS A FORTUNE, BUT THESE DAYS, MONEY IS ONE OF THE THINGS I HAVE IN ABUNDANCE."

Astor

"And the quality shows! We'll have to trade lists of suppliers sometimes. I'll bet there's some overlap, cross-universally speaking; but we move in different circles, I imagine I've got some sources you don't and vice versa."

Ruddy & Offal

"OH, ALMOST CERTAINLY. I'LL GET YOU A LIST SORTED BY WHAT THEY SPECIALIZE IN. PHONE NUMBERS, ADDRESSES, YOU CAN SEE WHAT MATCHES AND WHAT DOESN'T." He didn't want to think about how long it had taken to track down some of his suppliers, he'd had to attend a NUMBER of what passed for high class functions these days before he'd managed to get a few of those names. But who knew, maybe Astor had a more reliable fellow for finding decent chicken. It was worth investigating, at least!

Astor

"And I'll do the same! As far as I can, anyway. Some of them don't have *addresses* so much as farmer's black markets where you can catch them if you're lucky."

Ruddy & Offal

"AH, I'M FAMILIAR WITH THE TYPE. MINE MOSTLY CAME FROM THE... *HIGH SOCIETY* CIRCLES. A BIT OF ACCESSIBILITY IS REQUIRED FOR REPEAT CUSTOMERS." He'll get the list after dinner, if he remembers. Though he doubted Astor would let him forget, the fascination Alastors had with food was one of their more respectable features, after all.

Astor

"Oh, I gave up on those high society functions in the sixties. They're so insufferable." Astor tuts, shaking his head. "For most ingredients I prefer to go the working class route! Sure, any prince with a taste for human cuisine can hook you up with fresh produce—but what are the odds he's personally maintaining a cellar full of dirt and mushrooms, or hopping over to China to harvest asparagus? No, he's paying some imp servant to do that for him! It's far easier to just befriend that imp!"

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy shrugs, cutting his meat into little cubes so he can better arrange little bites of everything together. "I SUPPOSE, BUT THE PRINCE IS THE ONE WHO CAN SEND THE IMP TO THE SURFACE. BEFRIENDING THE IMP WON'T DO YOU ANY GOOD IF THE IMP IS KILLED OFF OR REPLACED, YOU WANT TO GET IN GOOD WITH THE ONE ACTUALLY HOLDING THE POWER."

Astor

"See, that's why you don't *stop* at befriending the imp. You bring gifts and favors for *all* his coworkers. You make yourself a staple at the farmer's market. If he disappears, they'll know you well enough to give you an honest answer when you ask who's replacing him—especially if they know you're a middleman who can get things they can't." He's trying not to watch Sir Pentious cut up his food and not quite succeeding. Makes him think of Penny and how he preferred his meat cut up just so. "One strategy that works if you have more money than time, another if you have more time than money. It all gets the job done!"

He glances at Offal. "Or you could cut out the middlemen and grow your own produce, can't you?" Hi he didn't forget you're here.

Ruddy & Offal

Offal jolts at the sudden acknowledgement, his fork scraping across his plate with a screech that makes him and Ruddy both wince. Can't play that one off, so he elects to ignore it entirely. "Why yes, my dear self! That's always worked well for me."

Ruddy has no green thumb to speak of, so he's not going to comment on that. He'll settle for watching the Alastors.

Astor

Make that three for three on the wincing. Astor also chooses to ignore it. "I *do* appreciate the offer to trade cuttings, by the by! You mentioned a couple of flowers, what else have you gotten to grow down here?"

Ruddy & Offal

Offal blinks at his alternate, brain stalling for several seconds as he tries to remember the name of any plant, ever. What had he grown? Think, Alastor, think. What had *mother* grown?

"Green beans, okra, potatoes, a few herbs.. I had sunflowers, too. Pumpkins and corn, occasionally. I had a few fruit trees..."

And NOW Ruddy decides to poke his nose in, snorting loudly. "HE'S BEEN GRAFTING TOGETHER A HORRIFYING CITRUS AMALGAM IN ONE OF THE STORAGE ROOMS. IF YOU WANT A LEMON, AN ORANGE, _AND_ A GRAPEFRUIT, HE'S GOT JUST THE NIGHTMARE SHRUB FOR YOU."

Astor

Astor is sorely tempted to play the sound of a car engine trying to start—but no, no doing that to an alternate.

He nods appreciatively at the list. Good mix of ingredients. He's about to ask about growing corn in a garden when Sir Pentious's addition scatters more mundane questions completely. "Oh, like the... hold on, I heard a story about this once—the Bizarria hiding somewhere in Italy, right? But from how I hear it, that one only had *two* citrus trees. But *three!* Now, there's a trick! To think I've been talking to the high king of horticulture, here!"

Ruddy & Offal

"Well, I haven't seen any chimera fruit yet, but the grafts are still fresh! I'm sure given a year or so, I'll have plenty of bizarre combinations to hand out to a lucky few unsuspecting victims! But high king? That's far too generous. I've heard tell of SEVEN citrus grafts." Offal waves a hand. "As long as they're in the same family, you can graft any number of trees together. Citrus is one of the more forgiving ones. Now, stonefruit? Finicky. The peach tree fought me for months when I put an apricot branch on there, and getting cuttings of trees fresh enough to graft is a NIGHTMARE in this place."

Astor

"Seven! Now, that must be a sight!" He shakes his head. "All right, maybe not high king—but you're at least a Dr. Frankenstein, stitching all those limbs together. I wouldn't have the foggiest how to do it myself—although if you're in need of an Igor, I *might* be able to help find fresher parts for your creation."

Ruddy & Offal

"It's not nearly as complicated as you might think.." Offal trails off, Ruddy's sudden sharp look making him snap his mouth closed. Right. Try that again.

"I mean. Thank you!" He imitates the Pentious Preen. This is what you wanted, you big snake, this is what you get. "The offer is appreciated, once I've got my garden under control I'll be happy to enlist your assistance in more Frankensteining. I'm sure we could find a favorite fruit of yours to graft on somewhere."

Astor

He doesn't catch the look, but he certainly makes note of the sudden shift it caused. Hmm.

"Favorite *fruit!* Huh..." Don't mind him as he momentarily zoned out, picking at his food as he tries to think of a favorite fruit. "Do tomatoes count? Hah! But no, they don't grow on trees. Lemons are useful, but you've already got those..."

Ruddy & Offal

"Spoiled for choices, my dear self? I understand! I barely knew where to start, the idea of having fresh produce in my own backyard was a SHOCKING possibility! Not having to beg barter or steal a lemon for my zest? Unthinkable!" A chortle, and Offal pulls out a very expensive looking sketchbook, complete with Sir Pentious' crest embossed into the leather cover, and starts scribbling away with the attached pen. "If you've got a hankering for tomatoes though, we COULD graft together a pomato plant! Potatoes down below, tomatoes up above!" Behold, his terrible doodle showing a hastily rendered visual of exactly that, right next to several other doodles of various eggbois doing their strange egg activities.

Astor

He's tilting his head to try to see that fancy notebook cover for a moment before he finally tilts the other way to see the actual drawing. "Is that a *thing?* The tomatoes don't come out tasting like potatoes?" He glances at the egg doodles. Huh. An alternate who does art.

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy makes an annoyed huff when he sees the notebook, but just gives Offal a *look*, which is returned with an innocent smile before Offal turns back to his alternate to answer. "It's a thing! A far more recent thing than grafting trees, granted, but a thing!" Tomatoes tasting like potatoes? He hums, considering the possible applications. That may not be so bad, he had hated the texture of potatoes when he was young, even when his mother had made them. Maybe he'd have liked it.. But it had been a *question*. "They taste normal, I assure you! You're grafting different plants together, not mixing their genetics!"

Astor

"Huh! You'd think they'd be fighting over..." Vague hand wave. "... nutrients." He's only got an approximate understanding of nutrients as applied to agriculture. Vegetables are full of Nutrients, and plants wither if prior crops have taken too many Nutrients out of the soil, so either a tomato-potato would take twice as many Nutrients or else each half would contain half as many Nutrients as it should. Right? This is far more complicated gardening than he's ever had to worry about. "Impressive, all the same!"

Ruddy & Offal

"Fighting? Not at all, they're cooperating. They're one plant after a certain point. The tomato part is doing all the leafy business of energy gathering, and that provides for the potato part that is doing the other half of the equation." Offal is a bit baffled at Astor's rather interesting take on plant civil war, but he moves along. "It IS impressive! I'd have never considered it on my own, but modern science has come a long way!"

Astor

One plant making twice as many veggies; or maybe they produced half as much of each? Something for him to look for when he actually saw the thing, he supposed. "It certainly has! My goodness, the marvels they're coming up with these days! Did you know back in the mortal realm, they've put *robots* on *Mars?* Honest-to-God robots!" Listen, he's only known this a few months, he's still amazed,

Ruddy & Offal

Offal blinks, processing the information. Humanity did what??? "They put *robots* on *Mars?* I can hardly imagine what good that does for them! How and why would you put a robot on Mars? Do they come *back?*" Give him a moment while he tries to imagine a reason humans would send multiple robots all the way to Mars. "What, did we discover alien life and decide to do a hostile takeover?"

Astor

"Win the *War of the Worlds* before it starts? Ha! No, no, it's for scientific study! Scientists broadcast signals from Earth telling them where to drive around—like the controls of those fighting robots Sir Pentious let us play with—and in return the robots take photos of the surface of Mars and broadcast them back! And I think they study some other things too, chemicals and such. Maybe nutrients." He's only thinking of nutrients because he's still thinking about vegetables and soil quality. "I don't think they're designed to come back—the scientists just make them hardy so they can last a while out there without a mechanic to come tune them up, then send a more advanced replacement once they've come up with some more equipment to strap on. I expect they'll pick them up and stick them in a museum once astronauts make it up there in a decade or so." Alastor is very optimistic about this hypothetical Mars mission's timeline.

Ruddy & Offal

That was a lot of information to take in, though Ruddy seems to be completely unsurprised by it. Mentioning him by name only gets a vague hum of acknowledgement and quick glance to confirm Astor isn't talking to him. Of course the old snake's kept up with the accomplishments of topside. Offal on the other hand, seems entirely flabbergasted. "Scientific study! Who'd have thought. Next thing you know we'll have... Cities on the moon, or some nonsense like that! Tell me, what do they look like? They must be rugged little wonders to survive a trip to another planet entirely!"

Astor

For a split second after he finished talking, Alastor was worried that he'd come across as unbelievable again. But no, apparently either Mars rovers were more believable than a godlike alternate or else their heart-to-heart had raised Astor's credibility in his alternate's eyes.

"Oh... let me think, it's been a while since I saw the pictures." He looked up as sketchy red shapes floated over his plate, chunky vehicle parts he was trying to shift together into a shape that reminded him of the robots. "They did look tough, though! I remember thinking they looked like something halfway between a beach buggy and a real bug—they must have had bits and bobs sticking out like legs and antennae, I suppose, although I can't quite reconstruct it." He glanced at Ruddy. "Say, could I trouble you to pull up a picture for us?"

Ruddy & Offal

Both, Astor. It was both. But mostly the former, humanity had already been meandering in that direction the last time Offal had been caught up on current events, no surprise they'd raced ahead by now. Little robots on Mars, using radio signals.. how strange.

Ruddy takes a moment to register that he is now being spoken to, but obligingly wipes his mouth and sets about finding a picture before handing over his phone, comically oversized in the hands of the smaller sinners. "HERE YOU ARE, THEN. THE MARS ROVERS. CHARMING CONTRAPTIONS, REALLY. WERE SOLAR POWER AN OPTION DOWN HERE, IT WOULD CERTAINLY SAVE _ME_ SOME MONEY."

Astor

Astor lets his alternate take the phone, but leans over to look at the picture as well. "There they are, *that's* why I thought they looked like bugs! The panels make me think of insect wings."

He glances back at Sir Pentious, surprised. "Do solar panels *not* work here? Not even off of Heaven's light?"

Ruddy & Offal

"THEY DO NOT. AS IF HEAVEN WOULD EVER DO SOMETHING *USEFUL* FOR US SINNERS." Despite not having an immediately apparent nose, Ruddy manages to make a haughty sniff of disgust, dismissing Heaven's failure with a wave of a hand. "NOW, PERHAPS THE PANELS I USED WEREN'T SENSITIVE ENOUGH, THE TECHNOLOGY HAS IMPROVED SINCE MY LAST ATTEMPT. BUT I AM INCLINED TO THINK NOT. BUT IT DOESN'T MATTER, MY ATTEMPTS TO HARNESS GEOTHERMAL ENERGY HAVE BEEN *MUCH* MORE SUCCESSFUL, IF LESS IMMEDIATELY USEFUL..." Oh, but he's taking the conversation into a tangent. He cuts himself off, adjusting his glasses before returning to his mostly empty plate.

Offal has been staring at the various mars rover pictures, completely fascinated by the strange little science cars. They looked AWFULLY silly, but he had to admit they were.. cute?

Astor

What is a conversation but a series of tangents tied together at the ends? And Astor's alternate seems momentarily preoccupied, they can pursue this one a bit further.

"I've seen folks show how a solar panel under the moon can light up a tiny bulb—but then, I suppose a panel that can charge a bulb can't charge a room! Here I thought adopting solar panels was going so slowly just because Hell's so terribly disorganized!" He laughed. "Now, why isn't geothermal energy useful? From the sound of it I'd think it'd be easy to use, considering how hot Hell is!" A pause. "Oh. Because you're in the air, I suppose?"

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy snaps his fingers, nodding at his guest with a pleased grin. "GOT IT IN ONE, ALASTOR. THAT IS PRECISELY THE ISSUE. IF IT WERE A MATTER OF STRAPPING PANELS TO THE TOPS OF MY AIRSHIPS, THEY COULD STAY AFLOAT PERPETUALLY. BUT WITH GEOTHERMAL, I HAVE TO DOCK EACH SHIP AT A PLANT TO CHANGE OUT AND CHARGE THE BATTERIES. STILL A DAMN SIGHT EASIER THAN SOME OF THE ALTERNATIVE ENERGY SOURCES, THOUGH. HAVING TO DEDICATE SPACE TO STORE COAL TO BURN? ABYSMAL." And here he preens, twirling his glasses chain around a finger. "MY SHIPS ARE MUCH FASTER AND LIGHTER NOW, BUT I ALWAYS SEEK TO IMPROVE THEM FURTHER."

A pause, and he gives Alastor a considering look. "THAT REMINDS ME, ACTUALLY. I HAVE DESIGNS IN THE WORKS FOR A MAGIC ENGINE, PARTIALLY BASED OFF OF THE MATERIALS YOU'VE PROVIDED ME WITH. IT IS STILL IN THE EARLY STAGES, BUT REST ASSURED YOUR RESOURCES ARE BEING PUT TO WORK."

Astor

Oh! He *has* been useful! And is being recognized as useful! He puffs up. "Is that so! Well, you're quite welcome!" (Even though Sir Pentious didn't say "thank you.") "You know, it seems like every version of you I run into these days is looking into using magic as a power source! Don't take that the wrong way now, that's no accusation of uncreativity—I'm just marveling at—well, when one looks at alternates across parallel universes, one's first instinct is to look at what events in their pasts make them parallel to each other, isn't it? Hometowns, hobbies, death days, the like. The moment they meet, one assumes, is the moment they branch off in divergent directions. But no! They continue going on, being nearly the same people, making nearly the same decisions, and—well, here I am rambling! It fascinates me, that's all."

He rested his chin on a hand thoughtfully. "But, here's a thought, back on the topic of geothermal energy and magical engines—you've got those portal makers of yours now. What if you opened up some sort of permanent portals between your geothermal plants and your engines? I know an alternate who's made doorways permanently bridge two points, I've been meaning to look into doing it myself—I bet that could solve your power problem."

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy shrugs and nods where appropriate as Astor prattles on about the similarities between alternates. He's mostly met alternates of Alastor, and they were difficult to tell apart without their little emojis next to whatever nonsense they'd decided to ramble at him. Besides, of course his own alternates would turn to magic! Penny lived on a planet riddled with the stuff, and Telly... Well, he wasn't keeping up with Telly's activities whatsoever, but if he was entangled with this Alastor that was probably reason enough. Why waste such an ample power supply?

"I'D CONSIDERED IT. HOWEVER, THAT DOES LEAVE THE MATTER OF..." His tongue flicks out as he hesitates, thinking of an appropriate comparison. Thoughtful blelele. "LEAVING THE FRONT DOOR WIDE OPEN, I SUPPOSE. THERE ARE MANY MAGIC USERS IN HELL, I AM NOT CONFIDENT IN MY CURRENT ABILITY TO ENSURE THEY CAN'T EXPLOIT A PORTAL DIRECTLY TO THE POWER SUPPLIES OF MY FLEET."

Astor

"Well! I think the chances are low, personally. If permanent doors can be constructed the way I think they can, it wouldn't reduce your security any more than installing a door between two adjoining rooms would—which is to say, the door's only useful to an intruder if he's already in the right room to go through it. But still, it's a fair concern. It's something I'd planned to make absolutely sure of myself in my own research into such doorways. I could let you know if I find anything interesting either way?"

Ruddy & Offal

"I WOULD APPRECIATE THAT, YES. OBVIOUSLY THE POWER PLANTS ARE HEAVILY GUARDED INSIDE AND OUT, BUT I DIDN'T DRAG MYSELF TO THESE HEIGHTS BY ASSUMING THINGS WOULD GO WELL FOR ME." Ruddy sighs. "IT'S HELL. THE PLACE IS TAILORED TO DRAG YOU DOWN BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY GIVEN HALF A CHANCE. YOU KEEP ME POSTED, AND I WILL SEE ABOUT SEEING WHAT I CAN DIG UP THAT YOU MAY BENEFIT FROM IN TURN."

Astor

A wry, dry laugh. "Don't I know *that.*" But a polite dinner that he'd really only gotten himself invited to by accident wasn't the place to get into his grand theory of How Some Days He Thought Even Being Careful Wasn't Enough Because Hell Probably Only Let You Achieve Good Things As A Setup To Cause Even Worse Things, so he'd leave it at that. "And I'd appreciate anything you find too, of course."

Ruddy & Offal

"WE'LL SEE WHAT I COME UP WITH." A wiggle in his peripheral vision catches Ruddy's attention, and he turns from Astor to accept his phone back from Offal, who finally seems to be done staring at pictures of robots on Mars in favor of hastily shoveling more food into his face before it gets cold. Ruddy glances at his empty plate, and then looks between the two radio demons. "NOW, ALASTOR. I ASSUME YOU DON'T HAVE MUCH OF A SWEET TOOTH, SO I DOUBT YOU'RE INTERESTED IN DESSERT?"

Astor

He flashed his grin toward his alternate as he passed the phone back. "They're sure something, aren't they?" And then turned his attention back to their host. "It depends on what it is, but probably not, no. What is it?"

Ruddy & Offal

Offal grins at his alternate, nodding enthusiastically. "They are! I can't believe I hadn't heard about them sooner, how exciting!" And back to Ruddy, who's pushing his chair back to take his plate to the kitchen. "COFFEE CAKE WITH A RUM GLAZE. *PROPER* COFFEE CAKE, WITH COFFEE IN IT, NONE OF THAT GARBAGE THAT JUST HAS SOME COFFEE POWDER DUSTED OVER TOP OF IT." The very THOUGHT makes him sneer. The nerve of some people.

Astor

He considers it. Coffee flavored. Probably won't be completely overloaded with sugar. "Oh... it would be rude not to if everyone else is eating. I'll try a thin slice!" He hops up to take his plate to the kitchen as well. Good guests move their dirty dishes.

Ruddy & Offal

"A THIN SLICE, THEN." Finally, someone with *manners*. Offal is entirely content to let Ruddy pluck the plate out from in front of him and doodle in his sketchpad while he waits to be served.

Into the sink with the dirty plates, where Long Eggboi can wash them from atop his little egg stool, and Ruddy pulls the cake from the fridge to cut slices. How thin is thin.. An inch? An inch. Alastor is getting an inch thick slice of cake, here's a plate. Shoo back to the table.

Astor

An inch is perfect. That's exactly how much he wants.

But he feels odd toddling right back to the table with only his own dessert, so he asks, "Anything you want me to carry back with me?"

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy hadn't expected Astor to actually want to be helpful. After a moment of confused staring, Ruddy offers up another plate with a similarly thin slice of cake. "I SUPPOSE YOU COULD TAKE THIS TO YOUR OTHER SELF WHILE I GET MY OWN SLICE AND PUT THIS AWAY?"

Astor

"Happy to!" It's a Task, he'll take it. He accepts the second plate and heads back to give it to his alternate his dessert.

"And one for you!" Plop. "You're using that book there as a sketchbook, aren't you? Are you much of an artist?" That's right: it's time for more small talk. But Astor's genuinely interested; all Radio Demons sing and dance, but not many draw.

Ruddy & Offal

Astor's approach gets an ear twitch from Offal, the younger alternate looking up in time to Accept Cake. Ah, cake. Always better when someone else makes it.

"You flatter me, my dear self!" He trades his pen for a fork, waving it dismissively before cutting himself a tiny bite of cake. "No no, I'm just a doodler I'm afraid. No real skill to speak of, it just helps me keep track up here." His other hand taps the side of his head. "If you want an actual artist, get Sir Pentious to show you his charcoal sketches sometime! Seems the arts were mandatory for the upper crust back in, what, the 1830s?"

Ruddy & Offal

[[ We NEED to find the worst possible design from the pilot for philip. maybe that weird naked dude with the face on his chest

Astor

"You've seen my sorry excuse for artistic record keeping! Now, *that's* what I'd call doodling." He scoffs. "Is he that old? I wouldn't have guessed. Mine never gave me a year, but I would have put him around 1840 at the earliest."

Ruddy & Offal

"He might be! Or not? Well, let me see..." Offal pops his nibble of cake into his mouth, humming thoughtfully as he watches Ruddy slither back to the table and sit down. "Sir Pentious! When were you born, you fossil? The spring chickens in the audience want to know!"

Ruddy looks unamused, but answers over the rim of his... glass of milk. Seems he wanted a drink with his cake. "I WAS BORN ON THE SECOND DAY OF JUNE, IN 1826, AND DIED AT SIXTY TWO YEARS OF AGE ON AUGUST 8TH, 1888. NOT THAT IT'S ANY OF YOUR *BUSINESS*, ALASTOR..S."

Astor

Astor starts when his alternate abruptly asks Sir Pentious. Oh, he's going to think they're rude—

Aaand he thinks they're rude. "I wasn't going to ask," he mutters, turning his full attention on his cake.

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy looks from Offal, who is completely delighted, to Astor, who looks considerably LESS delighted. Ah, of course. He saw plenty of this in his lifetime. Usually from his kids, but still. "I KNOW YOU WEREN'T, ALASTOR. I CAN'T BLAME YOU FOR THIS MAN'S LACK OF MANNERS." There, a single crumb of patience as a reward for being helpful. If he were anyone else, Ruddy may even reach over and pat his shoulder. But alas, Astor will have to settle for a quick little flutter of a hand in his direction. A strange little air pat, and an almost apologetic look from Hattie.

Astor

Well, he hates throwing his alternate under the bus, but slightly less than he'd hate undeservedly going under the bus *with* him. An almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment is all he offers in return before digging into the cake.

Ruddy & Offal

Ah, good, they had an understanding. Ruddy turns his face to Offal with a hiss, and Offal responds with a shit eating grin before he cheerily goes back to nibbling his cake. No remorse from this deer, then. Ruddy will remember this. For now though, the three can eat their cake in silence as the eggbois start to gather to lift food away from the table and carry it back to the kitchens. A very organized little army, not even a WoooOooOOooO between them.

Astor

It's been silent for more than three seconds and that's far more than Astor can tolerate. He would have preferred the WoOooOOoos.

"Anyway! We were talking about art!" He nods toward his alternate, "Or *doodles*, as you say."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal looks up from his cake, staring blankly at Astor for a moment before his brain catches up. "Oh! Yes! What about them, my dear self? Curious? I'm afraid I don't have a wealth of examples on hand for you to page through. Come back in a month and perhaps I'll have sweet talked Pentious into letting me use his supplies!" Not likely, judging by the snort that Ruddy made.

Astor

That wasn't a promising sound. "Or you *could* get your own." That was one of the perks of being the Radio Demon, after all: people give you free stuff.

Ruddy & Offal

Offal laughs, a strained bark of noise. "I suppose I *could*, were I so inclined." He quickly shakes his head, as sudden and stiff as his laugh. "I'd have to find something decent to wear, my my! The public hasn't laid eyes on me in far too long to show up looking so rough!"

Astor

He glanced at his alternate, then glanced at himself, then reached down to lift up the tail of his coat and pointedly examine the atrociously tattered hem. "You know, as long as you're still recognizable from your warning poster, I don't think they'll care about the rest."

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy covers his mouth and turns away as Astor pointedly examines himself, trying to disguise his wheezing laugh as a cough as Offal gets mildly called out by his own alternate. "That's the thing! People see me and run screaming, my dear self! I can't really avoid that just by changing into something less.. *me*, but I could at least look less like I dragged myself straight off the posters to terrorize Hell for a *third* time."

Astor

"Well, that's how you get the art supplies, isn't it? They scream and run, you browse the store at your leisure, you leave with what you need!" This is just how Astor conducts his shopping trips.

Ruddy & Offal

Offal's smile tightens for a moment before he nods and cheerily waves a hand, voice rising an octave as he cheerily exclaims. "... Yes. Of course! That *is* how I get most things, isn't it! I suppose there's no need to worry about my appearance if it doesn't matter, hm? Silly of me to forget that!" He is the radio demon, after all. He can hardly just walk away from *that* reality!

Astor

Astor studies his alternate's face for a moment; then looks back at his own plate. "A new suit won't undo what's been done," he says, more subdued. "Nor would depriving yourself of something you want by using the lack of new clothes as an excuse not to go." He'd have to apologize for giving his alternate a far more pointed call out in front of Sir Pentious, but Astor doubted it was anything Sir Pentious hadn't figured out himself.

Ruddy & Offal

Both of the locals at the table have gone very still, for entirely different reasons. Ruddy is the first to break the tension, loudly dropping his fork on his empty plate before standing up to hastily exit the room under the pretense of cleaning up after himself. Excuse him, pardon him, he must go make a strong cup of tea for himself.

Which gives Offal a moment to breathe in, hold it, and sigh forcefully. He has to control himself better, he's slipping too much too quickly, if this self can read him so blatantly this soon it spells terrible things for the future when he inevitably gets seen by anyone else half as perceptive. Chin up. "I am aware, my dear self! Apologies if I've made it sound like I resent you for pointing out the obvious, it simply stings to hear something you're avoiding. But you're right, as I always am!" Another laugh. "I suppose I'll have to face the music, eh? I set the band going, I can hardly walk away from it!"

Astor

"A little *too* honest?" he mutters. Nice work ruining dinner. Well, he hadn't expected to get invited back to a second one anyway.

He gives his alternate a wan smile. "Afraid so. But, think of it this way: if they don't have the courage to face their own damn customer, then they're getting what's coming to them if their customer walks out without paying, *aren't* they." There's a faint hint of a sneer on his face as he says so.

"Sorry for..." sigh, "scaring off our host." He stabs at what's left of his cake.

Ruddy & Offal

Scaring off..? Oh right! Of course, Sir Pentious left the room rather hastily, of course it would look terrible. He laughs, more genuinely this time. "Don't you worry about that, my dear self! It takes more than an awkward conversation to scare that uppity old rope off. I assure you, he'd said far blunter things to me at much greater volumes! He likely just thinks I'd take it better one on one rather than if he joined you for a surprise intervention. Not a lick of social graces to delicately excuse himself though!"

He cocks his head, thinking. "He's right, too! It's quite a bit easier to take this from myself in private, like a pep talk in a bathroom mirror without an audience on the side."

Astor

"Yes, well, I shouldn't have brought up something he'd feel the need to excuse himself for, delicately or otherwise." He tuts. "Anyway, that's all I had to say on the matter. He hardly needed to leave."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal holds a finger up, voice far too chipper. "Ah, but he knows how I usually respond to getting confronted, you see!" He doesn't elaborate on *what* exactly he usually does, instead fussing with his hair clips before they can lose their grip. "I'm sure he'll return with tea and his sour attitude before long once he notices the lack of reaction. Though of course, he may also be packing you some leftovers to take home. What did you think of the cake, by the way?"

Astor

He's going to politely stare at his alternate in quiet invitation to elaborate on how, exactly, he usually responds. No? Okay then.

A shrug. "It tastes like cake." The review's utter neutrality is scathing.

Ruddy & Offal

Offal raises an eyebrow, but decides to drop the conversation in favor of turning to watch Ruddy slither back into the room. As expected, a serving of leftovers had been packed away for Astor, and was placed on the table in front of him after a quick glance around. Not even a tear in the tablecloth, how refreshing. A sigh that might be quiet if he hadn't been a massive serpent escapes him, and he nods politely at Astor. "I HATE TO INTERRUPT A CONVERSATION, ALASTOR, BUT I'M AFRAID I NEED TO BORROW YOUR OTHER TO DEAL WITH A RAID ON ONE OF MY FACTORIES BEFORE THE IDIOTS MANAGE TO BREAK ANYTHING *TOO* EXPENSIVE." And to Offal he hands a paper with an address, huffing irritably.

Ah, of course. Offal pushes up from the table, plucking the clips from his hair to toss back to his dear self. "Ah! A sinner's work is never over, I see! I'll be seeing you, then. Ta!" A hasty exit on his part, but it's not like Astor was expecting social grace from this shaggy man, right? No of course not.

Astor

"It's fine, as luck would have it we'd exhausted the topic anyway." Astor wondered whether Sir Pentious would manufacture a crisis of that scale as an excuse to tell Alastor to leave. He didn't think so—especially after being quite insistently informed that Sir Pentious didn't have that kind of tact—but considering that he'd also just received a hint that his other tended to get violent when confronted (what kind of violent, Astor wondered), he wasn't going to rule out the possibility of lying for self-preservation. It certainly was convenient timing.

Pity, though; Astor had hoped to have one final private word with his alternate before he left. He supposed it could wait til next time.

He gestured at the hair clips on the table. "Tell him he can keep those. I have more and he can make better use of them right now." He picked up his leftovers with a word of thanks. "I suppose you'll need to go supervise the counterattack?"

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy wouldn't admit to it even if he had, but he gives Astor a considering look as this strange alternate of his resident squatter speaks. "I DON'T, NO, BUT I WONT KEEP YOU HERE IF YOU'D LIKE TO HEAD HOME." A gesture from Ruddy, and a decorated eggboi slides the clips off the table and into a small bowl, scampering off down the hall to deliver them presumably to whatever room Offal has claimed as his own.

"ALASTOR, A QUESTION BEFORE YOU LEAVE." Ruddy shifts back, his tail sliding over itself as he tries not to accidentally crowd his guest. "WHAT DO YOU.. *MAKE* OF HIM. IF YOU GET MY MEANING? I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO DO."

Astor

A surprised blink, and Astor says hesitantly, "No, I'm not in a particular rush..." As long as they aren't trying to out-polite each other into Astor overstaying his welcome.

He gives Sir Pentious a thoughtful look. "There's a dozen different ways I could answer that, so I think you'd better narrow it down for me a little more?"

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy's face scrunches. An internal debate, a sigh, and he flops back into his seat, elbows planted on the table as he rests his chin in his hands. Well, damn it all, he certainly wasn't going to get anywhere trying to play games with radio demons, now was he? If he could get along with Alexa by speaking frankly... "YOUR ALTERNATE, ALASTOR. I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO DO WITH HIM. HE ACTS LIKE WE'RE BOSOM COMPANIONS HALF THE TIME, AND THE OTHER HALF HE SEEMS TO WANT NOTHING MORE THAN TO SEND ME INTO A RAGE."

He shrugs, rubbing his forehead. "FORGIVE ME FOR BEING INAPPROPRIATELY BLUNT, ALASTOR. BUT HE IS *MAD*. OFF THE ROCKER. ATTEMPTS TO SPEAK TO HIM GO IN CIRCLES, AND DESPITE MY GENIUS, I AM NOT THE SORT OF DOCTOR WHO CAN FIX AN AILING MIND. I WOULD LIKE TO SEE HIM GET *HELP*, AND THEN GET *OFF MY SHIP* TO REJOIN SOCIETY IN SOME CAPACITY."

Astor

He slowly takes his seat again. This doesn't seem like it's going to be a short conversation.

"You know—I've heard quite a lot from you and my other alternate about how supposedly mad this alternate is—but I've seen no evidence of it so far. Maybe that says more about my mind than his, hah. But what I've seen is a sinner who suffered a single brain storm, and who's now terrified of his own potential to break again. Maybe *that's* what you're calling madness; but if there's more to it than that, I need to hear about it." He props his chin on his hand and leans toward Sir Pentious. "Have you asked him why he acts like a friend one minute and a pest the next? I'm not suggesting you do, I'm just wondering what his answer was if you have."

Ruddy & Offal

He really shouldn't be surprised that Astor didn't respond with a glib comment or an insult, but he is. Perhaps his expectations have been a bit unfairly skewed by his local radio demon. Astor isn't Offal, they wont respond the same way to everything. Possibly even most things. Another great, heaving sigh, and Ruddy gives Astor a very tired look. "I HAVE ATTEMPTED TO ASK THAT QUESTION ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS, YES. IF HE WISHED TO BE FRIENDS, WHY DID HE TURN AROUND AND BARB ME WITH WORDS? IF HE WISHED TO BE HATED, WHY DID HE CLING TO ME SO DESPERATELY? I HAVE TRIED ASKING DIRECTLY, AND I HAVE TRIED COUCHING IT IN THE NONSENSE RIDDLING FRILLS DEALMAKERS SEEM TO LOVE. AND NO MATTER HOW I APPROACH IT, HE DOES ONE OF TWO THINGS."

His head reads heavily in one palm, the other curling into a fist to raise two fingers for emphasis. "ONE, HE WILL INSULT ME VIGOROUSLY AND PERSONALLY. IT DOES NOT MATTER HOW I APPROACHED IT, HE WILL INSULT MYSELF, MY CHILDREN, MY PAST FAILURES, ANYTHING HE POSSIBLY CAN, UNTIL I HAVE TO LEAVE BEFORE I LOSE MY TEMPER. OR TWO, HE WILL DANCE AROUND THE QUESTION MORE SKILLFULLY THAN I HAVE THE PATIENCE FOR. HALF TRUTHS, MISLEADING STATEMENTS, I KNOW WHAT HE'D DOING BUT I SIMPLY DO NOT HAVE THE PATIENCE FOR IT." He hesitates, then raises a third finger. "OR. AND THIS HAS ONLY HAPPENED *ONCE*. HE WILL RESORT TO THREATS. VIOLENCE, IF I PRESS FOR TOO LONG. I MAY NOT FEAR HIM THE WAY OTHERS DO, BUT I AM NO FOOL. I'VE EXPERIENCED WHAT YOUR LOT IS CAPABLE OF ONCE, AND THAT WAS MORE THAN ENOUGH FOR ME."

Astor

Astor nods slowly, thoughtfully, turning that over in his head, asking himself when would he react like that, what would it mean out of him.

"Tell me more about this 'madness' of his."

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy shifts in place, face twisting for a moment. "I SUPPOSE YOU SHOULD KNOW. AFTER HIS THREATS AGAINST ME, THE ONE TIME HE CROSSED THAT LINE, HE WAS INCONSOLABLE. I NEVER SAW HIM IN WHATEVER STATE HE WAS IN, BUT I COULD HEAR HIS WAILING THROUGHOUT THE NIGHT. LIKE A DAMN BANSHEE HAUNTING MY AIRSHIP. IT TOOK A WEEK FOR HIM TO SHOW HIMSELF IN MY PRESENCE AGAIN, THOUGH HE KEPT LEAVING THE HEADS OF SINNERS AROUND IN WHAT I ASSUME WAS APOLOGY." Oh that felt awful to say out loud. Spilling other people's business *sucked*. "HE LEFT AN ANGELIC WEAPON ON MY NIGHTSTAND, AFTER THAT. MILDLY TERRIFYING, BUT CONSIDERING HE DIDN'T KILL ME IN MY SLEEP..."

Another shrug. "IN THE DAY TO DAY, HE GENERALLY HOVERS AROUND ME AS I WORK. *GENERALLY*, IF I ACT FRIENDLY AND ATTEMPT TO ENGAGE WITH HIM, HE EVENTUALLY LASHES OUT. IF I LASH OUT IN RETURN, HE TRIES TO BACKTRACK AND ACT LIKE A BOSOM COMPANION. OCCASIONALLY HE'LL VANISH FOR A FEW HOURS AND RETURN EITHER DESPONDENT OR GIDDY. USUALLY WITH SOME PRIZE CLUTCHED IN HIS HANDS, OR COVERED IN SOME SORT OF SUBSTANCE. NOT BLOOD. PAINT OR DIRT OR DUST, USUALLY. ONE TIME HE CAME BACK WITH SOME RATTY TORN UP SATIN THROW PILLOW AND ASKED ME TO REPAIR IT."

Astor

Astor clicks his tongue thoughtfully. How long had he spent alone wailing after he'd betrayed his Sir Pentious? "Well, he doesn't sound mad to *me.*" He's mainly referring to the strange cycle of hostility and penance, and the mysterious day trips; but it probably says something about Astor that he doesn't even bat an eye at the decapitations. "He just likes you and hates himself—hates or fears—that's all there is to it! Did you work out that the angel weapon was his apology?" Probably not, since Sir Pentious only mentioned the heads. "He's given you self-defense. So you can exterminate him if he threatens you again." Because that's what Astor would have done.

Ruddy & Offal

Radio demons will do as they please, it seems. Is an Alastor really apologetic if he isn't leaving severed heads around for you? No better token of remorse than a slain enemy. "HE'S ONE OF THE MOST POWERFUL SINNERS IN HELL. GIVING ME A WEAPON CAPABLE OF EXTERMINATING HIM WONT DO ME MUCH GOOD IF HE CAN CRUSH ME FROM HALFWAY ACROSS THE RING. BUT IT'S SOMETHING, AT LEAST." Ruddy taps his claws on the table, frowning deeply. "AS FASCINATING AS THIS IS, AND IT *IS* INTERESTING TO HEAR AN INSIDER-BUT-ALSO-OUTSIDER PERSPECTIVE, IT DOESN'T TELL ME WHAT I CAN DO TO GET HIM BETTER AND OFF MY AIRSHIP."

Astor

"Do you want him better or do you want him off your ship? Because those are two separate matters! If all you *really* want is to get him off your ship, and getting him better just seems to you like the easiest way to make that happen... well, that opens up quite a lot of much faster options. But it depends on your priorities."

Ruddy & Offal

He looks outright offended at Astor's suggestion, his entire torso rearing back as a hand rests daintily on his chest. Gasp! The NERVE.... "I WISH TO SEE HIM *IMPROVE* HIMSELF, FIRST AND FOREMOST. I MAY NOT WANT HIM AS A ROOMMATE LONG TERM, BUT I HAVE STANDARDS, ALASTOR. IF *I'M* THE BEST SUPPORT HE HAS, HE MUST BE *TRULY* DESPERATE, AND I AM ABOVE KICKING A MAN WHEN HE'S DOWN."

Astor

Color him surprised. He tries not to let it show too much on his face. "Then I'm afraid I can't offer you a solution in one visit; but I could keep coming back. My alternates have a tendency to open up more easily to each other. If he's determined to keep *you* at arm's length, that's that, but I bet I could get through to him instead." He's not going to mention that his alternate already all but cracked like a walnut under a jackhammer. That's private. "You claimed what's left of the Cannibal Colony, didn't you? What have you done with it?"

Ruddy & Offal

Of course he couldn't get a nice easy solution, nothing in life was so quickly wrapped up in a bow. Not even another magician could fix the one living in his home. Pah. The question, however, is unexpected enough that his displeasure is forgotten for the moment. "THE COLONY? NOTHING, REALLY. I HAVE SOME EGGS WORKING ON CLEARING THE RUBBLE, BUT MY ATTENTION HAS BEEN MOSTLY TAKEN BY MAINTAINING MY BORDERS AT THE MOMENT. IDEALLY I'D LIKE TO SEE IT REBUILT IN SOME CAPACITY, I FOUND IT A CHARMING LITTLE DISTRICT..." He turns his head almost entirely sideways, giving Astor a whole other kind of side eye as he smirks. "EVEN IF THE RESIDENTS *WERE* PRONE TO BITING."

Astor

"Bite back, it's how they say hello." It *was* how they said hello, he reminds himself. "You might want to hold off on rebuilding it for now—and keep an eye on it. I'd bet you anything that's where my alternate is going when he leaves the ship: to scavenge in the ruins. Did that pillow he brought back look like it coulda come from the colony?"

Ruddy & Offal

Did cannibal colony pillows come with some special signifier woven into them? Were the tassels special? He may be overthinking it. Astor probably just meant to ask if it looked old enough to be from the era. "I.. SUPPOSE? IT'S A VERY FEMININE PILLOW, I'D EXPECT SOME YOUNG HYSTERICAL HEIRESS TO HAVE IT ON HER BED TO SCREAM INTO IN A FIT OF RAGE. VERY LUXURIOUS."

Astor

You never know. Maybe it has "BLESS THIS CANNIBALISTIC MESS (1910)" embroidered on it. Maybe it can be immediately ruled out because it has a Pikachu on it. Worth asking.

"It could be." Sounds like something Mimzy could have owned, although Astor wouldn't put it outside the realm of what would fit in Rosie's quarters. "Anyway, I'd leave the colony be for now in case that's where he's been going. If it *is*, then discovering it's been leveled before he's found whatever panacea he's digging for probably won't help his mental state." The corner of his mouth quirks wryly. "Especially if he's not ready to admit he's looking for anything at all."

Ruddy & Offal

He squints, then turns to wave an eggboi over with a cup of tea. Add a little scotch, and he's got something worth drinking for this talk. "I SUPPOSE IT'S NO LOSS TO LEAVE THE WRECKAGE BE, IF YOU THINK IT'S FOR THE BEST. WHAT THE DEVIL *WOULD* HE BE LOOKING FOR THOUGH?"

Astor

"Something to remember his friends by? Maybe something that smells like them, or something he once gifted them, or something he always associated with them whenever he visited." He's totally just listing the things he rummaged for in his Sir Pentious's abandoned safe houses. Projecting is useful when it's an alternate. "Or something he knows they'd hate to see buried and abandoned. Or, hell, maybe he's rebuilding a room or two by himself—you said sometimes he's got paint on him. He's recently lost almost everything; why wouldn't he want to salvage whatever's left over?"

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy decides to keep his suspicions to himself, even as Astor goes down a list that sounds less like pure guesswork than seems completely plausible. You know what that sounded like? None of his business. The losses of a man a few universes over weren't his to pry into. So he nods, and hums, and drinks his tea. "I SUPPOSE THAT'S TRUE. I CAN'T SAY I ACTED ENTIRELY REASONABLY WHEN I FIRST LANDED DOWN HERE AND REALIZED I'D NEVER SEE MY FAMILY AGAIN." Huff. "I DON'T THINK IT'S AN ENTIRELY COMPARABLE LOSS, BUT THEY'RE SIMILAR ENOUGH. SO YOUR SAGE ADVICE IS TO LEAVE HIM ALONE AND LET YOU HANDLE HIM, IS IT?"

Astor

"It's comparable enough! It's enough to understand that he's grieving. Now keep in mind that the only people he could have shared that grief with are the ones he's grieving for, and he's spent the last eighty-odd years pretending his only two emotions are 'bored' and 'entertained,' and it makes sense he'd act a little unreasonable, wouldn't it! Poor man's trying to squeeze everything he feels through the eye of a needle."

Astor shakes his head. "No, don't leave him alone, just the colony—at least until you figure out if that really is where he's going. If you leave *him* alone, I think he'll self-destruct from social deprivation, and the only question is whether he'll implode or explode." But what can Astor offer that Sir Pentious *can* do? "In the meantime... I wish I could offer concrete suggestions, but without knowing more about how he is when he isn't trying to make a good first impression, I'm afraid I have nothing but 'don't push him too fast.' If you have any specific scenarios you want to know how to handle, I can offer my best educated suggestions?"

Ruddy & Offal

"HRM." Yes, very helpful Ruddy. Try that again, with more words this time. "FINE. I WILL DO WHAT I CAN. I DON'T HAVE ANY SPECIFICS YET, BUT IF ANYTHING COMES UP I'M SURE I COULD FIND SOME WAY TO CONTACT YOU."

Astor

"Yelling into the nearest radio always works! You might have to narrow down which Alastor you're asking for, but I've never had trouble with it! Although I *suppose* you could contact me online, too." He says this like the Internet is clearly the inferior of the two options.

Ruddy & Offal

"AND HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO NARROW DOWN WHAT ALASTOR I'M ASKING FOR. WHAT, DO YOU ALL HAVE YOUR OWN.." Ruddy flicks his wrist, vaguely gesturing at the air as he tries to remember a word. "CALL SIGNS? YOU CAN HARDLY EXPECT ME TO REMEMBER TO TUNE IN TO FREQUENCY 666.06, THE SLAUGHTER, AND ASK FOR ALASTOR *"DON'T-ASK-THE-RADIO-DEMON"* LAST NAME, THE RADIO DEMON."

Astor

"I generally broadcast on 670 AM, actually! Call sign KTRD! But don't you worry, you can yell for me on *any* frequency and I'll hear it." The biggest grin. Isn't he just so helpful. "If Alastor Don't-Ask-The-Radio-Demon-Last-Name-The-Radio-Demon is too much of a mouthful for you, you could also try asking for Marquis de Lafayette, I doubt there are any other Radio Demons answering to that. Or President Jefferson, if you *must.*" He has briefly forgotten that he has a nickname.

Ruddy & Offal

There's the classic Pentious Scrunch again, and Ruddy spends longer than remotely necessary giving Astor a *look*. Then he resumes the conversation like it never happened. "RIGHT. WELL THAT WONT BE NECESSARY, I DON'T KEEP ANY FUNCTIONAL RADIOS ON MY AIRSHIPS UNLESS I AM USING THEM AT THAT MOMENT. CONTACTING YOU *ONLINE* WILL WORK JUST FINE. BESIDES, IT SEEMS EXTREMELY ILL ADVISED TO SPEAK TO YOU ABOUT A *RADIO DEMON* OVER THE RADIO IN MY OWN HELL WHERE HE'S QUITE LIKELY TO PICK UP THE TRANSMISSION. UNLESS YOU'RE SAYING YOU'D BLOCK HIS ACCESS SOMEHOW?"

Astor

Astor gives a *look* right back. Why's Ruddy bothered by the fact that he's got a call sign. Of course he's got a call sign.

"I *can* block my alternates, actually; not enough to really keep one out, but enough that most wouldn't notice the signal unless they went looking, and I'd notice them knocking down my wards to listen in. I'd really only expect you to use it to tell me you want to talk, not to have the full conversation. *But*—" he offers a tight smile, "—as I said, online is fine, so all of this is a moot point!" *So whydja bring it up, Ruddy.* "But do keep the radio thing in mind in case of emergency. Not that I expect any, but it's the nature of emergencies to be unexpected, isn't it?"

Ruddy & Offal

"HM.." Now before he gets too interested in the specifics of *how* Alastor does that, he'd better stop letting his curiosity get away from him and actually stick to the point. "I WILL BE SURE TO WRITE YOUR INFORMATION DOWN IN CASE OF EMERGENCY, AS YOU SAID, AND ALLOW OFFAL TO FINALLY PUT SOME OF HIS OWN LITTLE RADIO CAPABLE KNICK KNACKS AROUND THE SHIP JUST TO BE SURE YOU ARE ACCESSIBLE." He didn't even notice the tight little smile, too busy wrapped up in himself. Typical. "NOW, ABOUT YOUR ONLINE ADDRESS. YOU SHARE YOUR BLOG WITH A TRANSCRIPTIONIST... OH, WAIT. GOODNESS, I FORGET. IS YOUR HELL STILL HOSTING A VOX? I'VE ENTIRELY TAKEN FOR GRANTED THE NOTION THAT HE'S DEAD!"

Astor

*Offal*, is that what his alternate has been dubbed? *Awful.* Poor thing. "We have an agreement, one we've shaken on. Among other things, she's not permitted to read my private messages. I trust her to honor it." He sighs heavily, *Vox.* "As for *him*—yes, he's still around, but I can completely keep him out of tracking my online activity. If he tries, all he'll get is static. All the same, I prefer discussing more sensitive matters in person, just in case he proves me wrong someday."

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy drums his claws on the table, other hand rubbing his chin as he thinks. Does anything else spring to mind, any other immediate concerns...? Didn't seem so. He nods. "VERY WELL. IF I REQUIRE YOUR ADVICE, I WILL CONTACT YOU EITHER ONLINE OR OVER A RADIO DEPENDING ON URGENCY. HOPEFULLY YOU WONT HEAR MY *LOVELY* VOICE RATTLING AROUND YOUR AIRWAVES ANYTIME SOON." A self deprecating joke from good old Sir Pentious, he knows EXACTLY how grating his voice is. "I JEST. BUT TRULY. I AM SORRY THINGS WENT A BIT SIDEWAYS THERE IN THE MIDDLE, BUT YOU HAVE BEEN HELPFUL."

Astor

Maybe the self-deprecating joke would have landed if it was said to somebody who thinks Sir Pentious's voice is grating. However.

Receiving an apology is surprising enough that he starts, even though he doesn't know what it's for. "Which part was the middle?" Speaking of self-deprecation. However, he's afraid Sir Pentious might give him an answer, and then he'll know exactly what he's being judged for; so he hurries onward. "As long as I've done *something* helpful! I suppose I saved you having to explain the basics of v#xblr, didn't I?" He pauses. "Or whatever it was called around here." He's sure he's been told. He's already forgotten.

Ruddy & Offal

Oh, Satan, he forgot Alastors could do *that* with their mouths. He physically jolts, head jerking back before he can catch himself. But he plays it off as best he can, smoothing down his vest and hem hemming loudly. "YES, WELL. YOU HAVE DONE THAT. BEYOND THAT, OUTSIDE PERSPECTIVE ON THE BEFUDDLING FREELOADER IN MY HOME IS ALWAYS APPRECIATED. I AM A BIT TOO CLOSE TO THE SITUATION, AND A BIT TOO LEGLESS, TO TAKE A STEP BACK."

Astor

"Ha!" Snake jokes. Alastor's going to pretend he didn't accidentally startle Sir Pentious by revealing he knows how to pronounce a hashtag and quickly moves on: "Consider yourself welcome to ask me more about the befuddling freeloader at any time. I hope you don't think me too sentimental if I say I'm rather invested in my alternates' well-being; they're the closest things to cousins I've got left."

Ruddy & Offal

Ah, good, neither of them will comment on his Moment Of Surprise. Don't mind him as he adjusts poor Hattie, the poor thing was a little sideways. "NOT AT ALL. I'M INVESTED IN MY OWN ALTERNATES AS WELL, TO VARYING DEGREES." Lets ignore that his relationship with Telly is strained at best. He never said the investment was strictly positive. "NEXT TIME, I'LL EXTEND A PROPER DINNER INVITATION AND PREPARE SOMETHING SUITABLE TO SERVE A GUEST. YOU DESERVE COMPENSATION FOR YOUR TIME." This whole being nice thing does NOT come naturally, but he attempts a smile that's only SOMEWHAT lopsided. Very good effort.

Astor

*To varying degrees.* He can guess what *that* means. "I appreciate the consideration! Not that there was anything wrong with tonight's dinner, mind!" At least he'd know next time he wasn't overstaying his welcome by having dinner.

Ruddy & Offal

He COULD argue that tonight's dinner was incredibly basic fare, or he could just accept the compliment and move on. And who is Sir Pentious to turn his nose up at praise? So he hums, nods, and smooths his lapels. "I'M GLAD TO HEAR IT. UNTIL NEXT TIME THEN, ALASTOR. I'VE KEPT YOU LONG ENOUGH. DO YOU NEED ME TO ESCORT YOU TO THE EXIT, OR CAN YOU FIND YOUR OWN WAY HOME?"

Astor

Sure, it was basic, but like, the ingredient quality was top notch and it wasn't quite totally bland. He knows how to manage his own expectations. "I think I can make my own way out, thank you." He tips his head. "Until next time. And convey my regrets to my alternate for not being able to say goodbye to him in person."

Ruddy & Offal

"I'LL LET HIM KNOW YOU SAID GOODBYE, I'M SURE YOU'LL BE HEARING FROM HIM SOON ENOUGH." A polite nod, and Sir Pentious turns to begin his long and dramatic slither out of the room. No time to waste, he must go back to his workshop and continue whatever ridiculous project he's got on the table today.

Astor

One portal to dimensions unknown, and Alastor was gone too, headed back home to think over his alternate and what else he might do for him.

[sailor-muno]

Hi and welcome to my new series called: Mixing D&D with the Black Clover Universe

In this series I will be taking elements, mechanics, and other random things that I like from D&D and figure out how these things could work/be implemented into the Black Clover world. With that being said please add on your own thoughts and ideas to this topic because I want more stuff to think about. Also do not be afraid to suggest a D&D concept to me because it’s all valid here. With that being said let’s get started!

The topic: Classes - The Bard

“Words and music are not just vibrations of air, but vocalizations with power all their own....They say that the multiverse was spoken into existence, that the words of the gods gave it shape, and that echoes of these primordial Words of Creation still resound throughout the cosmos.” - D&D Players Handbook

Section 1: What is a bard?

Typically, we think of bards as magical musicians, but that’s only a narrow wedge of what a bard can be. Bards are experts, performers, and craftsmen, worldly travelers who can win the day with a smile and a careful selection of words where bladed steel cannot. Their spells lean toward charms and illusions rather than blatantly destructive spells. With a wide-range of knowledge in many subjects and a natural aptitude that lets them do almost anything well, Bards become masters of the talents they set their minds to perfecting, from musical performance to esoteric knowledge.

However, not every minstrel singing in a tavern or jester cavorting in a royal court is a bard. Discovering the magic hidden in music requires hard study and some measure of natural talent that most troubadours and jongleurs lack. It can be hard to spot the difference between these performers and true bards, though. A bard's life is spent wandering across the land gathering lore, telling stories, and living on the gratitude of audiences, much like any other entertainer. But a depth of knowledge, a level of musical skill, and a touch of magic set bards apart from their fellows.

Only rarely do bards settle in one place for long, and their natural desire to travel—to find new tales to tell, new skills to learn, and new discoveries beyond the horizon—makes an adventuring career a natural calling. Every adventure is an opportunity to learn, practice a variety of skills, enter long-forgotten tombs, discover lost works of magic, decipher old tomes, travel to strange places, or encounter exotic creatures. Bards love to accompany heroes to witness their deeds firsthand. A bard who can tell an awe-inspiring story from personal experience earns renown among other bards. Indeed, after telling so many stories about heroes accomplishing mighty deeds, many bards take these themes to heart and assume heroic roles themselves.

Cassiea - OlchaS

The Bard class takes inspiration from the Norse skald, the warrior-poets and historians of Scandinavia; the Celtic bard, honored storytellers who reportedly followed heroes into battle to retell their deeds and also acted as neutral diplomats; and the southern European minstrel, musicians who entertained royalty.

In medieval Ireland, the bard was a highly respected profession of poets, storytellers and historians. Bards trained for many years, and held the important role of learning and retelling history in memorable poetic form, in a time before reading and writing were commonplace. By some reports, the bards held the highest social caste in society, and it was taboo to refuse them any request; one even asked for the king's brooch, who was forced to comply, though the brooch was later returned.

When it comes to Bards in Black Clover I would see them as pretty much the same thing. Historians who have a passion for stories and knowledge. They’re the documenters of all knowledge that isn’t related to spellcasting (think grimoires, making magic items, anything Julius would be interested in, etc.). This means that they are in charge of taking care of documenting things like the history of the kingdom, popular folktales and songs, news articles and basically anything else that one would consider to be a historical resource. They are the lore keepers of the kingdom and as such they often have a large presence all about the Clover Kingdom and can be found in all social class districts.

“Anybody can make history. Only a great man can write it.” - Oscar Wilde

Section 2: Magic and the Bard’s College

When it comes to black clover and it’s magic system, we all know that the only way to cast spells of significant power is with a grimoire. This will never change and I will not change it within the context of adding classes to the world. However, with that being said I still believe that while we can’t change the core foundation of how a spell is learned and stored, we can change what the caster uses their magic for. When we think about classes in this context all of a sudden we no longer see them as a different way of casting magic but instead we see it more like a school. How we use our magic in this world is dependent upon our education, like fine-tuning a weapon a class takes your sword and sharpens it m into a fine point.

To go along those lines I now must address The issue of bards only being able to cast their magic with music. In the world of black clover instead believe that bards can cast magic in any way they see fit, as long as they are using their magic in an artistic way. This could be painting, cooking, singing, dancing, or any other artistic medium.  when we put the class under these definitions there are actually quite a few characters in the show that could be considered Bards. Some of these characters include but are not limited to:

Kahono

Kiato

Puli Angel

Rill Boismortier

Marx Francois

Charmy Pappitson

Vanessa Enoteca

Kirsche Vermillion

Catherine

Samantha Kravitz

Elvira Aguirre

Damnatio Kira

David Swallow

Langris Vaude

Dorothy Unsworth

Dominante Code

 these are just a few of the characters that I believe are bards. something interesting to know about this list though is that a lot of the characters on this list or female, more specifically they’re witches. well I cannot give a solid explanation for why this is I can give my own theory on it.

Witches have an innate ability forecasting artistic spells. Based off of what we’ve seen from most of the witches in the show a lot of their magic is based around the idea of Creation or illusion magic. With Elvira and Samantha both having a form of illusion magic that manipulates sound and sight. I like to think of their magic being like the Minor Illusion spell in D&D. Vanessa having threat magic and using it to make dolls and sew clothes is another bard like trait that helps fit this theory.

When it comes to bards in this world and their magic we often find that their magic in it of itself is very showy and performance like. While any magic can be interesting to see some mages are just gifted or taught how to use their magic in a way that is particularly showy or dramatic. For those who are not gifted with artistic magic, and struggle to teach themselves how to use their magic in a creative way there has to be a place where they can go to learn how. This is why we have the Bard’s College.

“What sculpture is to a block of marble, education is to the soul” - Joseph Addison

Section 3: The Bard’s College

The way of the bard is a gregarious one. Collecting songs and stories and sharing them with each other in an effort to spread knowledge. It is for this reason that the bards college was made, it is a place for bards to come together and share their finding and store them somewhere they can be taught to future generations. It also serves as a place of learning, teaching its students various mediums of art along with how to properly preserve and document history and record the world around them. While they may not be magical scholars, they certainly are the clover kingdoms finest anthropologists and non-magical historians to date. The college is also home to the biggest Historical Archives in the Clover Kingdom. These archives are treated very much like the Vatican Library and will be explored in the next section.

Now in D&D there are 8 different colleges a bard can attend (including the new Unearthed Arcana college because it’s cool): The College of Creation, The College of Eloquence, The College of Glamour, The College of Lore, The Collage of Spirits (UA), The College of Swords, The College of Valor, and The College of Whispers. Rather than putting all 7 college into the Black Clover Universe I have decided to take these 8 colleges and merge them together to make one college with 8 different “degree plans�� one can take. This section will provide you with a generalized overviewed of each of the eight schools. If you wish to look more in depth at either of the colleges from a more mechanical viewpoint rather than a lore point I have provided links to each of the different colleges above.

Bard of Creation

Bards believe the cosmos is a work of art - the creation of the first dragons and gods. That creative work included harmonies that continue to resound through existence today, a power known as the Song of Creation. The Bards of Creation draw on that primeval song through their art as they try to spread the Song of Creation and its meaning to all life on the planet. Usually Bards in this Path either have a love for their art or an already artistic magic such as voice or painting magic. This path is one of the most difficult routes for a non-artistic mage to take on, but it isn’t impossible.

While studying under this practice most mages learn how to take non-magical items and infuse them with Mana to serve as a arcane focus for their spells. Taking their magic and concentrating it into a fine point that is easier to control and direct (think like Noelle and her wand.) along with this the Bards of Creation also put a heavy focus on Creation spells, helping their casters hone and fine tune their spells to perfection. Most Bards of Creation go on to either work in the noble realm as scribes for the nobility or become performers in small towns, collecting villagers stories and immortalizing them through their craft.

Some Characters that I believe are Bards of Craation would be:

Rill Boismortier

Dominante Code

Telian Springbreeze - College of Creation

Bard of Eloquence

Bards of Eloquence master the art of oratory. Persuasion is regarded as a high art, and a well-reasoned, well-spoken argument often proves more persuasive than facts. These bards wield a blend of logic and theatrical wordplay, winning over skeptics and detractors with logical arguments and plucking at heartstrings to appeal to the emotions of audiences.

Bards of the Spoken word most people in this group tend to be Debaters. Always looking to be the winner of an argument these bards are almost unparalleled when it comes to knowing what to say and when. Spending their time studying vocabulary and reading they learn to retain lots of memory and also learn how to regurgitate it properly for any situation. Most bards of this type often go on to become politicians or work for the Magic Parliament as a lawmaker and negotiator. They also end up becoming Royal Advisors in order to help with lawmaking.

Some Characters that I believe are Bards of Eloquence are:

Damnatio Kira

Marx Francois

Valorant Rose - College of Eloquence

Bard of Glamour

The Bards of Glamour are regarded with a mixture of awe and fear. Their performances are the stuff of legend. These bards are so eloquent that a speech or dance that one of them performs can cause captors to release the bard unharmed and can lull a furious dragon into complacency. The same magic that allows them to quell beasts can also bend minds. Bards of this college instead use this power to gladden the downtrodden and undermine oppressors. The can also use their magic to inspire their allies and keep them going through the worst of times.

Often times bards in this school are taught how to use their magic to captivate people and serve as support characters in a battle. Being able to draw on their mana as a source to take their art and use it as a method of passing their spell buffs to their allies these bards often times are found as support roles in their communities. A majority of them finish their training and then apply to join the magic knights, they’re often highly sought after to serve as combat support and occasionally as healers (though this is less common) .

Some Characters that I believe are Bards of Glamour are:

Kirsche Vermillion

Charmy Pappitson

Antigone LaRue - College of Glamour

Bard of Lore

Bards of Lore know something about most things, collecting bits of knowledge from sources as diverse as scholarly tomes and peasant tales. Whether singing folk ballads in taverns or collecting the stories of people at the old folks home, these bards use their gifts to hold audiences spellbound. When the applause dies down, the audience members might find themselves questioning everything they held to be true, from their faith in the priesthood of the local temple to their loyalty to the king.

The loyalty of these bards lies in the pursuit of beauty and truth, not in fealty to a monarch or following the tenets of a deity. The Bards of Lore are the protectors of the archives, serving as it’s curators and guardians. As this is such, a majority of the Bards of Lore prefer to stay with the archives and study rather than leave out for adventure. However some bards do go out and these aren’t the ones that spend their time looking for stories to add to the vast collection of tales in the archive already.

Some characters that I believe to be Bards of Lore are:

Samantha Kravitz

Elvira Aguirre

Bonezo the Undead - College of Lore

Bard of Spirits

Stories of the past are powerful; they hold lessons of history, philosophy, and magic. Bards of Spirits seek the stories of those from beyond the material plane. Using seances and rituals, they reach out to hear their stories, but the bards have no control over what story they find. These bards are closely tied to otherworldly powers often being able to tap into the astral plane (dream dimension) and the threads of fate themselves. Some speak to the dead while others become oracles and masters of fate.

Bards in this school often end up training themselves to use their magic see into the other planes of reality. All bards in this college need to have a gift for the sight in order to join because their magic needs to be tied to the planes. Here they learn how to use their magic safely and correctly so as to avoid any dangers that come from speaking with things outside of the material plane. Most of these bards go on to become oracles or fates. Traveling the countryside easing the pain of lost souls and misguided individuals.

Some characters that I believe to be Bards of Spirits are:

Dorothy Unsworth

Vanessa Enoteca

Tristan - College of Spirits

Bard of Swords

Bards of Swords are called blades, and they entertain through daring feats of weapon prowess. Their talent with weapons inspires many blades to lead double lives. One blade might use a circus troupe as cover for nefarious deeds such as assassination, robbery, and blackmail. Other blades strike at the wicked, bringing justice to bear against the cruel and powerful.

Blades who abandon their lives as entertainers have often run into trouble that makes maintaining their secret activities impossible. A blade caught engaging in vigilante justice is too great a liability for most troupes. With their weapon skills and magic, these blades either take up work as performers or will join the magic knights in order to take their two lives and finally merge them together. Seen as skilled combatants and magic users these bards are not a force to be reckoned with.

Some characters that I believe to be Bards of Swords are:

Kiato

David Swallow

Sierra - College of Swords

Bard of Valor

Bards of Valor are daring skalds whose tales keep alive the memory of the great heroes of the past, and thereby inspire a new generation of heroes. These bards gather in mead halls or around great bonfires to sing the deeds of the mighty, both past and present. They travel the land to witness great events firsthand and to ensure that the memory of those events doesn't pass from the world. With their songs, they inspire others to reach the same heights of accomplishment as the heroes of old.

These bards are taught the stories of dead heroes and in turn a lot of them end up going on to write music about them or use their stories as inspiration for their magic. Often using their knowledge to help inspire their friends in combat and bring hope in bleak battlefields. A majority of the Bards of Valor go on to join the magic knights in hopes of finding their own hero to write and tell stories about. Seeing this as their shot at becoming Chaucer or Geoffrey of the world (Chaucer wrote A Knights Tale and Geoffrey wrote the stories of King Arthur)

Some characters that I believe to be Bards of Valor are:

Kahono

Puli Angel

Hype - College of Valor

Bard of Whispers

Most folk are happy to welcome a bard into their midst. Bards of Whispers use this to their advantage. They appear to be like any other bard, sharing news, singing songs, and telling tales to the audiences they gather. In truth, the College of Whispers teaches its students that they are wolves among sheep. These bards use their knowledge and magic to uncover secrets and turn them against others through extortion and threats in order to seek out justice.

Many other bards hate the Bards of Whispers, viewing it as a parasite that uses the bards’ reputation to acquire wealth and power. For this reason, these bards rarely reveal their true nature unless they must. They typically claim to follow some other school, or keep their true nature secret in order to better infiltrate and exploit royal courts and other settings of power. However they can also use their powers for good, often times bards of this school can use their power to help bring justice and equality to a flawed system or to bring justice to those the law cannot touch.

Some characters that I believe to be Bards of Whisper are:

Catherine

Langris Vaude

Ichiro - College of Whispers

“Stories have to be told or they die, and when they die, we can’t remember who we are or why we’re here.” - Sue Monk Kidd

Section 4: The Archives

Miles upon Miles of shelves full of nothing but books and thousands of feet dedicated to this one library located deep below the college. Centuries worth of national history folklore legends no one‘s heard hundreds of years live buried beneath the dirt and cobwebs of this dank and mystic labyrinth of books. These are in the royal Archives. most people don’t even know this place exist however, the bards and nobles of the kingdom are very aware of its existence... and of it’s secrecy.

Now you may be thinking “Hey this sounds just like the Vatican library“ but unlike the Vatican library, the archives are open to anyone wishing to seek knowledge. The only reason a lot of people don’t know about it is because no one really cares to ask. If we’re being real here, a majority of the books in that archive are really just diaries written by old people that are really hard to read because they’re either in a different language or they just have poor spelling because people back then were illiterate. However some of the stuff within the walls of the archive it’s rather interesting. Ancient maps leading to long-lost treasures, legends that have faded and been forgotten with time, stories of war love and loss.

It is within these walls that we find that only the country‘s history but it’s very soul. We find the story of our people hidden deep within these tombs of books. Well it is very rare for somebody that isn’t a barred to visit the archives if one is really out seeking knowledge the archive is open to them. I would like to believe that Gauche and Gordon have both visited the library at least once right after the seabed temple arc. 

The grounds of the archives are guarded heavily by the bards of the college. Not only are they guarded but they are also highly protective of the knowledge there. One of the worst things that could possibly happen is the destruction of the archives. It would be on the same level as the burning of the library of Alexandria. It is for this reason that anyone wishing to enter the archives must first pass a test of character. If you are perceived as a threat you will be turned away from the archives but not banned, nobody should ever be denied access to knowledge.

“A society that has no respect, no regard for its bards, its historians, its storytellers, is a society in steep decline, a society that has lost its very soul and my never find its way.” - Laurence Overmire

Section 5: Conclusion

I’ll keep this section short and sweet because it’s been a long read and I just wanna give my thoughts. Honestly I thought that Rill and Kahono had such a unique style of magic that it almost felt like a crime to give us a taste of bard magic without making it something that was common. Plus I felt the clover kingdom needed historians to archive their history so I felt that this was a fun thing to put together to solve both problems!! I hope you enjoyed it! Please feel free to add your own thoughts and contributions to this post because I really wanna hear them!

[pop-pop-pop-popculture]

Do you think Yves Scherer's artworks were meant to flatter Emma Watson or something else?

(images)

Whoa!  Before I answer your question, I looked up an article on Scherer's artwork and found this part in one article interesting:

"This process is a mimic of something that happens frequently online: celebrity faces are pasted onto nude female forms to give the impression of intimate pics. When examined in the larger cultural context of celebrity nude leaks, of which Emma Watson was recently victim of, you begin to understand the power of the work. Scherer is touching on the social relationships and attitudes that give birth to exploitative online behaviors. The virtualised female body is a trope, through which values and intentions responsible for these images can be explored. The artist is more of a voyeur to these values than a complicit participant. Scherer elaborates on the sculptures: ... there is something about her that is not quite right. I don't think she is a, if I can say that, a sexy figure or something. For me she really stands beyond it, for me it's not even a female figure. It's something like a computer generated idea of a female - but there is not really that much love in it. Indeed Scherer's sculptures feel impoverished and loveless. They are a reflection of feelings of loneliness, alienation and sadness, and these are the very feelings that can be seen as driving exploitative online behaviors, in particular towards female celebrities. This is a valuable and interesting insight worth reflecting on, especially if we are interested in understanding and preventing similar future scenarios."

  In summary, Emma’s nude photos were leaked online; however, this article states it was just a threat, so I honestly don’t know if it happened or not. The threat and the sculptures occurred in 2014, by the way. So, to answer your question, I believe his intentions were to not 'flatter Emma Watson', but instead to let everyone know that celebrities are not perfect, first of all, and therefore should not be idolized. It is totally fine if you look up to them (there's a few I look up to myself!), but don't form an unhealthy obsession over them and lead yourself to genuinely believe that celebrities have no flaws and therefore can do nothing wrong. We all make mistakes regardless of our career occupation / job title. In this specific case, like the article said, Emma possibly took photos of herself nude and they somehow got leaked. I don’t know if that is true, though!   Although a nude photo (or more) of a celebrity being leaked is not uncommon, I believe he chose Emma Watson as his muse due to her large fanbase (fans of her alone and fans of the ‘Harry Potter’ books), PR image, and over-the-top marketing tactics in the early to mid-2010s. On top of all of that, she admitted in an interview that she is a perfectionist, thus being why she tried hard to keep her image clean. She was quite the big deal between 2001-2017, so it’s no wonder why Scherer added her to his “Closer” series!

That is what I believe Scherer was explaining through his artwork. I highly recommend reading this article!

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

A Study in Allies

Until We Meet Again: Part 2/?

Thrawn x Senator!Reader, Female Pronouns

Summary: You and Thrawn meet again, your fascination only growing.

A/N: I’m not exactly sure where this is going. I plan this to be a series of one shots revolving around this Senator!Reader. If your interested in reading more about her and Thrawn, feel free to send any request my way! And remember REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS!!!

Word Count: 3.7K

       As much as you tried to fight it, Lieutenant Thrawn did not fully leave your mind for the next twenty-four hours.  

       You had spent the rest of the evening performing your duties, shaking hands and introducing yourself to as many of the movers and shakers of Courscant as you were able. But as you finally made it home and drifted off to sleep, your conversation with Thrawn was the only thing to remain in your memory.

       The next day was relatively light.  As soon as you finished your morning calls, you spent your time researching what you could on the Chiss and Thrawn in preparation for your next meeting.

         A small twinge of guilt twisted your stomach, but you suppressed it.  All Thrawn’s military exploits were public record.  It wasn’t as if you were digging up private, personal information. Besides, you had no doubt he was doing the same thing with you.   

       You ought to have been embarrassed by this strange new obsession, but he couldn’t help holding your fascination.  You hadn’t met anyone like him before. 

       You had heard stories about leaders in various systems throughout the years.  Conquerors, emperors, generals, all of which were described as having a strange aura of power and charisma.  An unflinching confidence that inspired people to rally behind them.  

       You had met many political leaders over the years, from kings to admirals.  None possessed the air described by the stories, except Thrawn.  It was a rare quality, often lamented as occurring only once in a lifetime. Was it so strange then to want to be in its presence again?

       Your comm rang, pulling your from your thoughts. 

       “Yes?”

       “Pardon me Senator,” Cora, your aid, called.  “But there is a Lieutenant Thrawn here to see you.”

       You straightened, feeling a small smile touch your lips.

       “Please, send him in.” 

       You stood from your desk as the door slid open. 

       Lieutenant Thrawn stood before you just as he had the night before; tall, confident, and dressed in his Imperial navy uniform.  A part of you wondered if he possessed any other type of clothing. 

       The light of day also helped to clear a suspicion you had been harboring; he was handsome. 

       “Good afternoon, Senator,” he greeted, inclining his head in respect. 

       “Good afternoon, Lieutenant,” you replied, matching his movement.  “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

       You gestured to a small table and chairs placed just to the right of your desk.  On the table was a small selection of fruits, meats and vegetables, along with a range of alcohols.  You hadn’t been sure how long the meeting would go and wanted to be prepared. 

       If Thrawn was in any way affected by the spread, he made no indication. 

       “Thank you.” 

       He took his time choosing a seat as his eyes wandered your office, pausing at each of the paintings and sculptures you had scattered throughout. 

       You followed his gaze, noticing how it lingered on one particular painting; an impressionist interpretation of the sky of Danu just as the sun was rising; it’s pinks and oranges contrasting and over powering the purples and dark blues of the night sky. It was a gift to your family by one of Danu’s prominent art museums, and one of your personal favorites. 

       You turned your eyes back to Thrawn, whose attention still remained on the painting.  

       “See something you like?” you asked, with just a hint of teasing. 

       Thrawn blinked, before turning to you.  His glowing red eyes now focused with inquisitive intensity.  

       “It is an interesting collection,” he said, smoothly. “Were these all selected yourself?”

       “Yes.  A bit eclectic perhaps, but I like them,” you said, taking the seat just across from him.

       “And those in the reception area?”

       You frowned, thinking of that rather gaudy display of golden vines and multi-colored flowers. “Those were chosen by Governor Lir. I’ll be replacing them once the commissions are finished.”

       Thrawn nodded in consideration.  “If you don’t mind, I would be interested in seeing them once they’re finished.  I assume you asked the painting to be done by an artist from Danu?” 

       “Yes,” you said carefully. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

       “Some of the sculptures have been done relatively recently,” Thrawn answered, easily. “Their subject matter and style match current trends in Danu art.  I assume if you’re having a piece commissioned you want to keep them in continuity with your office.”

       You wanted, very much, to ask him how he knew anything about current artistic trends on Danu or even how it was relevant. Upon brief reflection, however, you realized you didn’t have to. 

       You had done your research on him, he had done the same.  His searches simply lead him to invest an interest in Danu’s art scene.  And, considering what he was able to discern from the mural, it wasn’t so strange. 

       “I will say to make fast work,” he continued. “I understand you’ve only been on Coursant for a few weeks.” 

       You gave a casual shrug. “This will be my place of work and home for a long time if all goes according to plan. I might as well make myself comfortable.” 

       He raised his eyebrow slightly with an amused, possibly even impressed, half smile on his lips. 

       “Indeed.”

       You couldn’t help but smile yourself a little. “Now Lieutenant, I believe you’re here to listen to some stories. Where would you like to start?” 

       You weren’t sure how long the pair of you talked and you didn’t really care. 

       You related to him all the stories you could bring yourself to remember about the Chiss.  The image you had painted in your mind of honor bound warriors wasn’t as far off the mark as you believed they might have been, according to Thrawn.  But, like all stories faced with reality, there were some more nuanced shades of grey. 

       He didn’t openly share any new information.  But from small hints, decisive silences, and rather obvious dodges, you were starting to get a slightly clearer picture.  The Chiss were warriors certainly, but they had their own bureaucracy to contend with, family squabbles, and pride which was always found within such systems. A pride Thrawn most certainly possessed, whether he wished to acknowledge it or not. 

       “May I ask you a possibly personal question?” you asked, pouring you each another glass of wine. 

       “You may ask,” Thrawn said, a note of suspicion in his voice. 

       You gave a small laugh.  “It’s nothing too terrible, I hope. I simply wanted to know if Thrawn is your true name. From what I’ve come to understand, Chiss usually have much longer names.”

       His shoulders relaxed slightly. “We do. Thrawn is my core name.”

       “Then, what’s the rest of it? Or are outsiders not allowed to know?”

       “Others may hear it.  It is more a matter of efficiency,” he explained. “Those with Basic as their primary language have a difficult time pronouncing it. But, if you truly wish to know, my full name is Mitth’raw’nuruodo.” 

       “Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” you repeated back. 

       “Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” he corrected. 

       “Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”  This time you tried rolling the “r”s as he did. 

       “Mitth'raw'nuruodo.” 

       Your lip pursued in concentration.  You could hear how you were saying it wrong, but couldn’t quite figure out how to correct the mistake.  But you had to try at least once more. 

       “Mit-thra-nur-uod-o,” you said, deciding to disregard the “r” roll and simply pronounce each syllable as best you could.

       “Better,” Thrawn conceded. “But not quite.”

       You let out a sigh.  “I will get it eventually.”

       A small amused smile came to his lips. “You may try.”  

       It linger there a while longer, but a small shift in his eye convinced you it was about something else. 

       “Is there something else you find amusing?” you asked.

       “More interesting,” he said, diplomatically. “Your selection of stories is very different from others I’ve heard.”

       “How so?”

       “Ensign Vanto recounted stories of The Chiss’ military exploits or combat abilities.  No doubt you have heard the same. You, however, chose to tell stories referring to our culture and traditions.”

       “Maybe I assumed you have heard them before.”

       “Perhaps,” Thrawn said.  “But, unlikely.  You stated yourself how you admired the times of peace in the Republic. Tales of war do not hold your interest.”

       “Guns and battleships don’t hold my interest. It’s the people behind them that do,” you corrected. “Like you for instance.”

       “How do you mean?”

       You gave him a doubtful look.  “Don’t play that game.  You’ve done your research on me, it’s only fair I do the same.  I only wish to parse out facts from fiction.” 

       Thrawn watched you closely.  His glowing red eyes burned into you, but you did not look away as you did before.  You held your ground, until finally he relented. 

       “What have you learned?

       “Very little, I’m afraid,” you admitted, with a small smile. “Your recent military exploits speak for themselves.  By all accounts a series of miraculous victories pulled seemingly from thin air orchestrated by a brilliant military mind who should by all accounts be an Admiral, but is instead the first weapons officer. This most recent encounter with the Dromedar being emblematic of that.”

       He nodded.  “You’ve heard about my court marshal, I take it. “

       “There had to be some reason why you’re here,” you said, your expression turning apologetic. “I am truly sorry.  The navy has no right to pursue you in such a way.  As far as I’m concerned you made the right decision.  Life should always be valued over profit.  If there is any way I can help, please let me know.” 

       “I will,” he said, in a tone that made you feel as if not only did he mean it, but truly appreciated it. A small part of you had to wonder who, if anyone on Coruscant had offered him help. 

       “What else have you heard,” Thrawn prompted. 

       This part was tricky and for the first time that afternoon, you looked down.

       “I understand you were discovered in exile, though the reasons why vary from telling to telling.”

       “Which of these tellings do you believe?”

       You glanced up again.  

       Thrawn sat coolly in the chair.  His body and positioning were relaxed but still ultimately in control as he stared unblinking awaiting your answer. 

       You thought of the man before you, and the one described in the reports.  You thought of the priority of minimal casualties on both sides.  You thought of the crew of the Dromedar.  And you thought of the calculation in his responses when talking about his people. 

       “You ordered a preemptive strike on an enemy,” you said with a confidence foreign to you. “But I have a hard time believing it was done in a fit of blind ruthlessness.”

       “And what do you believe?” 

       He learned forward.  It was just a hair, not many would notice, but it was enough for you to know you had to choose your next words very carefully.

       “I think you would do whatever is necessary to protect who you perceive your people to be, whether it be your crew or The Chiss.” 

       “Do you?” he questioned.

       You nodded. “I know a little something about that.” 

       For a long moment, neither of you spoke. 

       “Yes,” Thrawn said, quietly as if to himself. “I believe you do.” 

       Something flashed across his features.  Understanding, perhaps?  Or maybe admiration?  

       You didn’t have time to question it as all too quickly, he leaned back and his unreadable mask slipped easily into place.  

       “You’re quite perceptive, Senator,” he commended. 

       “Not really,” you said, with a shrug. “In my experience people are very open about what they want either through their actions or outright stating it.  The only ones who aren’t are those who have yet to make up their mind.  You don’t strike me as the indecisive sort.”

       “Perhaps,” Thrawn said.  “But do not belittle your abilities.  Stating one’s wants is one thing, but often actions can be misinterpreted, their true meaning plagued by personal bias.  Being able to clearly see someone’s reasoning for their actions is a rare skill.” 

       “I’ll take your word for it,” you said, feeling your cheeks warm slightly. “But you’re avoiding the question.”

       “Which is?”

       “Am I right?”

       Thrawn was silent for a moment.  

       “You are right in the ways that matter,” he said. “I will always do what is necessary to protect my people.”

       You frowned, but knew better than to ask further.  Perhaps he wasn’t allowed to talk about the true reason for his exile. Which itself only lead to more questions.

       “Something else?” Thrawn asked.

       “Yes…” you said.  Your stomach twisted, unsure if what you were about to ask truly was crossing some invisible line.  But, you had come this far. 

       “Why join the Empire?”

       Thrawn stared a moment as if surprised by your question.  You didn’t blame him, but instead of anger or even indignantly you expected, there was just confusion.  “As I have stated, and you have observed, I will do what I feel is necessary to protect my people.”

       “So why not go back to them? How does joining the Empire do that?”

       Thrawn’s eyes darkened, his expression going distant, almost regretful. “There are many dangers in the galaxy.  Dangers greater than The Chiss Ascendancy or The Empire can face alone.  I believe an alliance is necessary to face such a danger.” 

       “Assuming the Empire doesn’t turn on you.”

       He glanced at you, titling his head curiously. “Do you believe it will?”

       “It doesn’t matter what I believe,” you dismissed. “You obviously believe it won’t.” 

       “But you do have your doubts.”

       It was your turn to remain silent as your own mind flashed to darker times. The Clone Wars. Your father. Danu torn apart and only now starting to rebuild.  

       You let out a tired sigh. “I suppose we each have to settle for an uneasy alliance to maintain peace for our people.”

       “Spoken like a diplomat,” Thrawn said, dryly.

       Your lip twisted into an ironic smile. “I have to get my practice in somewhere.” 

       Thrawn’s own lips turned upward slightly, giving just a hint of amusement.  It softened his features, if only a little.  You found you rather liked it. 

       His expression then shifted into an oddly thoughtful expression. 

       “Do you have a question for me?” you asked. 

       Thrawn shook his head.  “Not a question.  I was just musing on how you have heard so little of me and my people and yet are able to construct a fairly accurate picture.  While I comparatively have heard much of you, and yet the reality speaks to something entirely different.” 

       “And what have you heard of me?”

       For the first time since you met him he appeared uncomfortable. “I hesitate to say.  As I said, the reality is much different.”

       “I can take it,” you assured.  “I promise not to shoot the messenger.  And besides, you said it yourself; it’s often illuminating to hear stories about yourself from an outside source.”

       Thrawn nodded in consideration. 

       “I understand you were made Senator four months ago,” he began. “Your family has lived on Danu for generations and is highly regarded within its sphere of influence.  Your father was governor during the time of The Clone Wars, but was killed in a Seprestist attack.”  

       He bowed his head to you, his voice growing surprisingly gentle. “My sympathies.” 

       “Thank you,” you said, feeling your heart ache at the old wound. “Please, continue.” 

       “Governor Lir was appointed to the position soon after although not to the same success. He was the one to suggest the previous senator, Senator Trask. Unfortunately, Trask was eventually charged with corruption after being found in league with a pirate gang stealing and reselling food stuffs on the black market. Governor Lir was cleared of any involvement.  It was then, your name was selected to be Trask’s replacement.  From what I gathered, you made a name for yourself on Danu for various public works and, given your father’s legacy, it was the logical choice.”

       You nodded in understanding.  Governor Lir needed his name associated with your father’s to maintain his reputation.  The thought made your stomach twist unpleasantly.

       “As Colonel Yularen explained it to me, Danu lost much of its influence after the Clone Wars,” Thrawn continued. “It is now in direct control of its governors who are themselves controlled by Grand Moff Tarkin.”

       “So, I’m a puppet head. A naive heiress, picked out of a hat because of her father’s accomplishments,” you said, feeling like you were about to be sick. Was that why Lir had been so insistent on showing you around, introducing you as some non-threatening, pretty young thing? 

       You gave a dry scoff. “Not a very flattering portrait.” 

       “No,” Thrawn agreed.

       You laughed again, sincerely this time.  “You really need to work on your interpersonal skills if you’re going to survive Coruscant,” you said dryly.  You then let out a sigh. “Well, I’ve certainly got a much harder job ahead of me than I anticipated.”

       “Perhaps,” Thrawn said.  “Perhaps not. As I said before, what I have been told and what I have observed are very different.  You may use that to your advantage.” 

       “How?”

       “They will underestimate you.”

       It was said so calmly, so matter-of-factly you couldn’t help but be taken aback.

       “That implies I am more than what they make of me.”

       “You are.”

       And there it was again, that unwavering confidence that what he was saying was unquestionably right. 

       He raised an eyebrow. “Do you doubt me?”

       You blinked, pulling yourself back to the moment. 

       “I believe, you believe your words,” you said. “I can only hope you’re right.”

       “Time will tell.” 

       It was at that moment, your comm buzzed. 

       “Yes?” you asked. 

       “I’m sorry Senator,” Cora answered. “But you asked to remind you about your appointment with Governor Lir.”

       You frowned, but a quick look out the window told you she was right to do so.  The sun was just starting to set, and Governor Lir insisted on meeting before the next round of parties you needed to attend. 

       “Yes, thank you for reminding me.  Please message the Governor to let him know I’ll be a few minutes late.” 

       Cora offered an acknowledgement before clicking off the comm.  

       You gave Thrawn an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I really do have to attend to this.”

       “Of course,” Thrawn said, rising from his seat.  “I will not keep you from your duties any longer.” 

       You rose as well.  “I only wish you could. You’re certainly more interesting company. Will you be joining in any of the festivities tonight?” 

       “I do not believe so.  Ensign Vanto and I must meet with the high command tomorrow.” 

       “Of course,” you said, feeling a twinge of regret.  It may be some time before you saw him again, if at all, but you pushed it down.  You each had your duties. 

       You met his eye then with a gentle smile.  “Thank you for your stories and advice.  And, please know you have a friend on Coruscant, should you need one.” 

       Thrawn gave you an odd look. “Are we friends?”

       “We were able to discuss art and politics without feeling compelled to throw things at each other.  If that’s not friendship, I don’t know what is,” you said, dryly. “But, if the word is too familiar, could we at least part as allies?” 

       You offered your hand. 

       Thrawn hesitated a moment, taking your words into careful consideration. 

       “I do not believe either term is exactly the right one, but for the sake of simplicity, friend will have to do.”  

       Your brows furrowed, unsure about what exactly he could mean. 

       He gave not further explanation as he took a small step forward and took your hand in his.  His skin was warm, warmer than you anticipated. He held you hand in an oddly gentle, but firm grip; his palms rough from years of experience and untold battles. It was a strange combination, but not unpleasant. 

       He held your gaze.  You couldn’t even guess what he was thinking, all you knew was that your throat was going dry and your heart was beating rapidly against your chest. 

       “Until we meet again, Senator,” he said. “I look forward to your career with interest.”

       “So do I, Lieutenant,” you managed. “Until then.”   

       He released your hand, and it was over. 

       You watched him as he walked out of the room, staring after him even after the door had hissed closed. 

       You let out a breath, willing your heart to calm to a walking pace. What could he possibly mean by neither friend nor ally?  

       Without thinking, you flexed the hand he had touched as if to make sure it wasn’t truly burning.  Had he felt it too?

       Mentally, you shook your head.  It didn’t matter. You had no idea if and when you would ever see him again.  He would undoubtedly get out of this court marshal and accelerate up the ranks of the Imperial Navy.  Meanwhile, you had your duties here on Coruscant.  Duties you had to attend to. 

       You quickly gathered your things, and walked briskly out of your office. 

       “Excuse me, Senator?” Cora said, her words stopping you in mid-stride.

       “Something wrong?” you asked. 

       “No ma’am.  It’s just…” she hesitated as if unsure if she was even allowed to know what she was about to say. “Lieutenant Thrawn asked me to give you a message.”

       “Which is?” 

       “He asked me to remind you he would like a holo copy of the pieces you have commissioned for the reception area.  And if it wasn’t an inconvenience, he would be interested in having holo copies of the pieces you have in your office as well.”

       You blinked unsure whether to feel flattered or utterly exposed. 

       “Should I tell him you’re unable to,” Cora asked, tentatively.

       “No,” you said, shaking out of your temporary shock.  “No, go ahead and collect holo copies of the pieces and send them along.  Contact Ensign Vanto of the Imperial Navy, I’m sure he will pass them along.” 

       Cora gave a look of confusion, but seemed to know better than to question a Senator. 

       “Yes ma’am.  Goodnight.”

       You barely gave her a wave of acknowledgment as you walked out the door, the same question reverberating in your mind; friend, ally, or something else?

[ey8508]

Rumors & Secrets LZ

Totally more contents about LZ : )

[Finally, we meet again]

Note:

R&S for this card (CG above)

Chapter SPOILERS up to chapter 37 (read with your own risk)

Contains 5 chapters

Translation isn’t 100% accurate (or grammar errors)

This is mostly in Li Zeyan’s POV before he meets MC (in the past original timeline) and ends with the iconic “Evolver?” question (where it all begins in chapter 1)

Do not repost to any other site (reblog is fine)

Chapter 1

Page 1

The sun is slowly setting...

At the horizon, a large rose color slowly fainted from the golden sunlight, soaking the low-hanging cloud curtain, allowing the color of the stratus clouds to burst out, reflecting the blue sea surface that meets the sky.

The extended Bentley drove away from the bustling part of the town and moved slowly along the winding road. It rained at noon, and the air was full of the smell of wet soil and raindrops soaking leaves. Li Zeyan lowered half of the car window and turned his gaze to the red-brick and white-walled building under his feet, unconsciously a little surprised.

Eze, one of the most beautiful towns on the Mediterranean coast, is also the former residence of Li Zeyan's grandfather and grandmother.

Page 2

Since he can remember, he has often come to Eze with his mother to stay for a while. The leisurely and beautiful memories of his youth are composed of the humid sea breeze here, the touch of the ankle being drawn by the low bushes, and the moment when the eyes are filled with bright and full bouquets.

Mother always likes to go to the market in the early morning to buy a few bunches of flowers, before he gets up. He then will put the flower branches in various containers or clay pots or glasses as the way he likes.

When grandpa and grandma were still alive, they would have a richer breakfast. Although they had settled in Eze early in the morning, they still had a Chinese stomach. They wanted to eat porridge and noodles. When they passed away, breakfast becomes a little simpler, only bread, omelette, or instant cereal...

Page 3

Of course, his mother is also studying cooking seriously and wants to cook some complicated dishes for him, but progress is slow.

Although these memories became more and more blurred with his busy life, as soon as he returned here, the images of sunlight, green trees, ocean, and flowers in his mind became particularly clear.

The corners of Li Zeyan's lips showed a faint smile.

The video conference is already being connected, and Li Zeyan withdraws his gaze and sets his sights on the laptop in front of him. Soon, several young people in suits and leather shoes appeared in the meeting room. Although their hair colors were different, their pupils were different, the confident and relaxed look on his face was particularly noticeable.

Page 4

They are several industry stars recently discovered by Li Zeyan. They have been successively arranged in several venture capital companies established by Huarui overseas. In Li Zeyan's view, the times have changed. It is no longer the person in the investment department holding a bunch of industry data. In financial statements, you can easily figure out whether a company really has the stage of commercial value. They need to work hard in a field, understand every link that a student can accomplish, understand the most innovative business models, and look at all new things with suspicion and surprise.

They can contact any field they are interested in on the platform of Huarui, accumulate experience, and become Li Zeyan's eyes for exploring new tracks.

Page 5

The car drove halfway through the mountain, and the cascading sunset cast a golden glow on Li Zeyan's face, covering his smiling eyes in a warm color.

[They're talking in EN]

"Li, looks like you've got a brilliant sunset."

"It sure is."

[Back to CN]

"Isn't it Eze? It's a place worth sitting on the balcony all day."

" Indeed. "

Page 6

[Now they're talking in French]

"Better to drink good wine and appreciate the scenery."

"D'accord."

Chapter 2

Page 1

The relaxed video conference ends when the vehicle reaches the top of the mountain.

Li Zeyan got out of the car, strode forward, and a gentle breeze came towards him, messing with the strands of hair on his forehead. He fastened the suit that was blown up by the wind, took the rose bouquet from the entourage, and walked to the corner he knew.

Only a little golden light remained in the setting sun, hooked in the dark blue of the starry sky, quietly spilling on the white marble tombstone.

"mother."

Page 2

Li Zeyan put down the flowers, took out a brown handkerchief from his pocket, and knelt down to wipe the floating dust on the monument. Although there are people taking care of it every day, the tombstone is never slender. Every few days someone will come to replace a bunch of flowers, they are all taken care of and was cleaned with moisturizing liquid in the crystal vase that was placed in front of the tomb.

"Father was originally going to come over, but something happened temporarily. He asked me to bring you this bouquet of roses to make amends."

Li Zeyan slowly stood up as he spoke, looking at the sun that had completely sunk at sea level, inadvertently folded his fingers slightly, and clenched into a fist.

Page 3

On this day of the year, he will definitely take time to return to Eze. Although the schedule is tight, sometimes he can only stand in front of the grave for a short while, and has to rush to the next meeting. However, he still insists on coming in person...

His mother's death day is of extraordinary significance to him.

Li Zeyan breathed the cool air at the top of the mountain and talked about trivial matters for no reason.

"The charity project I talked to you last time is fully operational. I have found a lot of professional teachers who are willing to teach music to disabled children. Many of them have experience in caring for disabled children. Some also have a background in music schools. It should not be an issue to send gifted children to regular schools in the future-"

Page 4

"By the way, I saw the Moments two days ago. Aunt Gu said that she wants Wenwen to accept the wedding, as she has a very good boyfriend. Given her previous battles with Wenwen to urge her to marry, I think they will be urged to get the certificate soon."

" Do you remember Ronan? He went to Italy two days ago and sent me a two-meter sculpture, the sculptured piece was me.

...It is really difficult for him to spend such a large cost to let the world's best sculptor accompany him to do such boring things."

After a moment of silence, he remembered another thing.

Page 5

"Father’s favorite program "Discovering Miracles", the ratings and profitability of the last year are not good, Huarui is preparing to divest. Although it is a pity to say that, in the process of fast-forwarding, many people have been left behind, and "Discovering Miracles" is just one of them."

The hands on the dial had reached the time when Li Zeyan planned to leave, but he was standing in the dark, looking deeply at his mother's silent gravestone.

A breath of wind was quickly blown away by the night wind, and his voice became lighter while he was talking.

"All leads are broken..."

"I still didn't find her."

Page 6

After that, Li Zeyan sighed slightly emotional. He retracted his gaze from the tombstone, raised his hand to shake off a leaf hanging on the neck of his suit, and then strode away.

As if responding to his lonely back when he left, a quiet meteor suddenly struck across the endless night.

Chapter 3

Page 1

On the tarmac, Li Zeyan's private jet had been waiting for a long time. The weather tonight was good and the field of vision was wide. When boarding the plane, the captain rarely suggested that he could take a look at the sea covered with white moonlight from the porthole.

As soon as he sat down, Wei Qian walked over with his tablet computer.

"President. Regarding today's schedule, there are some parts that need your confirmation."

"First of all, the equity investment plan of the SE network video platform has been formally established. The relevant meeting is scheduled at 2 pm, and the representatives of SE will land at 12 noon, and the airport pick-up personnel have been arranged."

Page 2

"But you have promised Mr. Chen to attend his cocktail reception at 7pm on time, so the dinner after the meeting with the SE representatives..."

"Just say that we understand their hard journey, postpone the meal for one day, let them rest for the night."

"Understood. Also, Yaoxing Circus has accepted our invitation and is willing to come to Lianyu City for performances. However, they still have some doubts about the performance venue and performance permits, and they want to determine the original schedule. Is it possible to successfully obtain the performance license? Regarding this point, I have asked the relevant person in charge to prepare the materials required to apply for the license. I apply in the name of Hua Rui. I believe that it is not a big problem to get this license. So please ask the president, can you give them a positive answer directly?"

Page 3

Li Zeyan nodded faintly, and turned his sight out towards one of the porthole. The plane was flying over the city, and the star lights were gathered in his eyes. In the darker glass, a pair of eyes were also as deep as night.

"President Mr. Bao's payment for this month has passed, but he replied to this email and asked me to convey it to you."

"He said that he has only found some useful clues in the first few years before. In the last year, almost nothing was collected. He loves money very much, but he does not want to take your money for nothing. None of these investigations have yielded much. He is willing to help you do some commercial work. Business. No additional fees will be charged to you. He has a wide range of knowledge and resources. If you can find some news, you can help your friends... "

Page 4

Lao Bao's original words were "commercial espionage," and Wei Qian thought about it repeatedly before coming up with this rhetoric.

Li Zeyan couldn't help but smile faintly when thinking of Lao Bao's joking expression.

"Tell him, we don't need it for now. Hua Rui's information channels may not be less than his. Let him take money at ease and do things seriously."

Wei Qian replied in a low voice and stopped talking. The silence in the cabin was comparable to that of the night. The plane traveled steadily in the quiet, clear night, repeating the journey it had traveled countless times without moving.

Chapter 4

Page 1

Half an hour later, Li Zeyan finished shower, changed into a white bathrobe and sat on the bedroom sofa.

The red wine in the decanter has reached its best taste. Li Zeyan poured himself a half glass and tasted it, his expression was neither salty nor light. He vaguely remember that this 85-year-old Romanee-Conti seems to be a gift specially given to him by a director of Yuelai Entertainment at the auction.

At Yuelai Entertainment, Li Zeyan was tasting the wine, and a few projects that could work with them flashed in his mind, but when then changed his mind, as he puts it down.

Can wait, they are not qualified now.

Page 2

Li Zeyan leaned on the sofa, turned on the computer, and casually browsed the letters in the mailbox and the approval process.

An e-mail with the subject "Facial Structure and Profit Prospect Analysis Report" was lying on the first line of his mailbox. He clicked it in and glanced at the conclusion part 1 hastily.

According to the final data analysis, the film company’s only variety show "Discovering Miracles" lost about 80% of its audience in the last year, and its ratings ranked thirteenth (that is, third from the bottom) among the programs at the same time. At the same time, the film and television company has changed the person in charge a few months ago. The investigation showed that the person in charge had no experience in program production, company management, business negotiation, etc. before officially taking over the company. Accordingly, the venture capital department requested the president and the board of directors to suspend the continued capital injection of the company.

Page 3

Li Zeyan replied to the email with one hand with little thought: Approval of the withdrawal.

It never takes him too much time to make such a decision.

In the last two weeks, Li Zeyan has divested five companies, and this film and television company is the sixth. At the same time, he also made a lot of investment transactions, such as SE.

Huarui's capital chain is operating at a high speed, quickly responding to the market.

Page 4

Many people think that there is a gamble in this. Li Zeyan never denies that Huarui's style of offensive and never procrastinating seems too "aggressive" in the entire industry. But it doesn't matter. He knows better than anyone that the steady fight of the so-called industry giants is just a strategy that has to be adopted without an efficient business promotion mechanism and redundant management structure.

In a few years, perhaps Huarui will do the same.

But it doesn't matter, before that, he will lay the best foundation for Huarui, so that Huarui can still maintain active and vigorous vitality in the continuous expansion.

Page 5

After drinking the red wine in the glass in one sip, Li Zeyan pressed the sleep mode on the remote control, the light-shielding plate slowly fell, and the surrounding lights dimmed a little bit. He walked into the bathroom again to brush his teeth and wash to end the busy day.

This night, Li Zeyan had a deep dream.

In the time of emptiness, countless spots of light flowed slowly between his fingers. He tried to hold one or two in the house, but every time he made a fist and opened it, his palm was empty. Someone was smiling in front of him, her long light brown hair was slightly curly, and the corners of her lips were slightly raised with a smile, that was his mother. She smiled at him, her eyes calm and gentle, as if looking at a unique treasure in the world. She seemed to be asking something, but she also seemed to be just smile quietly.

He couldn't keep up with her.

Page 6

He knew that he had been waiting for a long time in a strange vortex, but who was he waiting for?

The indicator light on the wing is not clear in the thick night, the whole continent under the clouds is sleeping, and the time is as quiet as stopping, freezing the whole world at this moment.

In the sky, the stars are shining, and the whole Milky Way witnesses him breathing while in a dream.

Page 7

In the same deep dream, a girl was holding a mobile phone with a flashing light in her arms, and she was talking indifferently in a drowsy sleep.

As the two ends of the world are finally connected, the trajectory that continues to move forward is quietly changed.

The smoothly moving plane passed the sunrise scenery on the horizon.

The light-shielding board was slowly raised in accordance with the program instructions, and the first ray of sunlight in the morning shone into the porthole, covering Li Zeyan's bed.

Chapter 5

Page 1

Li Zeyan originally planned to go directly to Hua Rui, but halfway through, he received a message that Mr. Cai said that he had committed rheumatism and wanted to ask him for two days off.

He was a little worried, and after hesitating a little, he decided to visit.

Coincidentally, it was close to the meal time when he went to visit. The elderly eat early, and the house is full of plants when he enters the door. Mrs. Cai said that it would keep her down for a casual meal. He couldn't refuse the meal, so she took over the dishes.

Li Zeyan held a bowl straight at his waist, eating, and asking about Mr. Cai's condition. He had already arranged for a doctor to follow up for Mr. Cai before he finished the meal.

Page 2

Mr. Cai was grateful, and remembered some gossip he had seen on the Internet before, "I saw a lot of people commenting about the restaurants on the Internet. You must have seen it, manager, don’t keep it to your heart."

Li Zeyan smiled, he did not expect Mr. Cai to comfort him in return, "Mr. Cai, I never care what they think, how the restaurant wants to operate, I have always been aware of this, please rest assured. You can rest in peace in these two days. According to what I just said, Souvenir will be out of business for a week. Firstly, see what the doctor says."

Mr. Cai pounded his long-painful knee with a smile on his face, "I am old and useless. You don't have to do it for me"

Li Zeyan remarks "It's nothing"

Page 3

Then Mrs. Cai silently took a thin blanket from the living room to cover her husband. The two couples looked at each other for a short time, and said nothing. They still followed the topic just now and started talking cheerfully. The restaurant diners praised the manager’s craftsmanship.

Li Zeyan took the scene in his eyes, and a faint smile flicked across his lips.

After finishing light meal with a cup of tea, Li Zeyan did not want to disturb the couple too much, and left after that.

When he came, the weather was fine, the sun was fragile, and there was a leisurely sunny day scenery. Unexpectedly, when Li Zeyan walked to the intersection across the street from Huarui, there was both the sun and rain.

Page 4

He thought of the evening reception, thinking about whether to let Wei Qian bring him a clean suit. At this moment, a petite girl suddenly stood in front of him.

The green light on the crosswalk turned red just after the countdown, the vehicles coming from a distance did not slow down at all, and the girl was still standing in the middle of the road slowly, not aware of the coming danger!

It happened too suddenly, and two rapid bangs rang out.

Page 5

Li Zeyan's expression between his eyebrows changed slightly, and all the noise around him stopped in the moment.

He took a step forward and held her in his arms.

The girl stared at him with stunned eyes.

"Evolver?"

When time stands still, raindrops hover in the air, he also stopped his gaze.

[xiaomoxu]

MLQC CN Lucien (Xu Mo) Art Gallery Date Part 1 & 2

SPOILERS AHEAD!!

It's Xu Mo Date which has released on CN server. I'm doing translation for personal reason, so I'm sorry if there's some mistranslation. Kindly tell me if you found some :) feel free for read it~ ^^

Part.1

When I returned to the community, the night was already very deep.

I walked into the elevator under the cold white light from the lamp, leaned against the wall wearily, and exhaled a long breath.

MC: So tired...

Recently, because of a cooperation, I have been working for several weeks in a row, and even slept directly at the company for a few days, but fortunately, only finishing work is left.

The elevator rose slowly, and finally stopped on my floor, "Ding" the door opened.

I stopped when I stepped out of the elevator door.

MC: Xu Mo?

The lights in the corridor were bright and silent, reflecting the very familiar figure at the end.

Xu Mo was quietly leaning against the corridor holding a book, and after hearing the movement, he looked up at me.

Touching his gaze, my sleepworm ran behind my head immediately.

MC: Are you waiting for me?

Xu Mo: Yes

Xu Mo: You seem to be very busy lately, always come back at this time.

Xu Mo: Is there a problem at work?

Xu Mo: I don’t know if you need a help from me as program consultant.

His inquiries were scattered in the silent corridor, with seemingly careless concerns.

MC: I did not encounter any difficulties. There is a new cooperation, which is almost over.

Xu Mo: Now that it's almost over, can you leave it to me this weekend?

The smile in his eyes is soft, it seems that I will not refuse.

MC: Not this weekend.

The smile paused for a moment, then looked down at me deeply.

MC: This weekend, I have made an appointment with the partner of this project to discuss the final conclusion together.

MC: So sorry, I cannot accept your offer.

I raised my eyes and looked at Xu Mo a little sorry.

Unexpectedly, he didn't say anything, and even nodded his head with understanding.

Xu Mo: It turned out to be so.

He turned around, opened the door, and walked in by himself.

MC: ....

I stepped forward subconsciously, and quickly blocked the door with my eyesight and hands when the door was about to close.

Xu Mo moved his gaze from my hand holding the doorknob to my face, his eyes darkened.

Xu Mo: Blocked at the door of a neighbor's house in the middle of the night, usually this behavior implies a kind of ambiguity.

MC: I just want to tell you that I have been busy recently, but I will be free in a while.

Xu Mo held the door handle, and after a while, a smile leaked from his lips.

Xu Mo: Since you still have to work on weekends, you need a good sleep tonight.

Xu Mo: Isn't it?

His tone was soft, and in the silent night, it fell on my heart in circles.

I looked at him and slowly raised a smile.

MC: Yes

--

In the morning of the weekend, I held the ticket in my hand and walked into the artistic building in front of me.

Special exhibition of sculpture art.

MC: ...This is the first time I have met someone who insists on discussing business cooperation in an art museum.

MC: Probably someone who loves art very much.

After entering the exhibition hall, relying on the location sent by the other party, I quickly found the man in the suit not far away

MC: Hello, are you Mr. Gu, the person in charge of Canggu Film and Television Company?

Mr. Gu: Hello, yes I am.

He said, handing over his business card.

Mr. Gu: I've been in contact online before. Actually, I've long wanted to see you.

I politely reached out and shook his hand.

MC: I am also honored to cooperate with your company

MC: We have made corrections to the areas where there were problems before, so we hope to finalize the final plan today.

As I spoke, I took out the documents I brought from my bag, but the other party did not answer the conversation.

Mr. Gu: Are you satisfied with the place I chose this time? The art gallery has a strong atmosphere and quiet. It is best for enjoying and chatting.

MC: It's pretty good...

MC: Mr. Gu, take a look at this place.

I opened the file and handed it to the other party, trying to get the topic on track, but he was not in a hurry to read the file, but smiled.

Mr. Gu: Miss, don't worry, let's go walk slowly. You can read the documents anytime.

MC: Let's talk about cooperation first...

The words are not finished yet, I was stunned.

Across the heavy shadows, A familiar figure is walking through the glass door

Xu Mo smiled and took a guidebook from the instructor and walked in.

Probably my gaze were too obvious. Xu Mo raised his head and glanced in my direction.

The moment his eyes met, he bent his eyes and smiled slowly.

Part.2

Mr. Gu: Miss?

The partner tentatively called my name. I recovered and nodded slightly to apologize.

MC: Sorry, I just lost my mind.

MC: Mr. Gu, both of us attach great importance to this project.

MC: So why don't we go through the file first, and talk about other things later, what do you think?

I raised the document in hand with something that could not be rejected, and the partner had to accept the document.

Mr. Gu: Basically there is no problem. I can sign when I go back.

Mr. Gu: So now can we watch the exhibition together?

I took a half step back without showing a trace,

MC: I'm really sorry.

MC: I need to deliver the final version to my executive colleagues as soon as possible, so I may not have time to enjoy the exhibition today.

I glanced at the door, but Xu Mo seemed to be no longer there.

Mr. Gu yelled in disappointment, but quickly spoke

Mr. Gu: Come here anyway, let's take a photo in the front photo zone.

MC: …. It’s not going to work.

I subconsciously looked around, looking for Xu Mo, but no trace of him was found.

Mr. Gu: Sir, can you take a picture for us?

Xu Mo: can.

Xu Mo's voice suddenly came from behind, and I turned around in shock

He stood not far away, his eyes floating lightly on my body.

MC: ....

Mr. Gu: Then trouble this gentleman...

MC: Professor Xu? I didn't expect that you would come to the art exhibition too. What a coincidence.

I interrupted my partner, pretended to look at Xu Mo in surprise, and blinked vigorously to indicate that he would not agree.

Xu Mo didn't speak for a while, he looked at me thoughtfully, and his smile grew stronger.

Xu Mo: Well, it is indeed a coincidence.

Mr. Gu: You actually know each other? That's great.

He happily handed the phone to Xu Mo, and then stood next to me in a standard tourist pose.

I looked at Xu Mo stiffly, and forced a twisted smile.

Xu Mo held the phone with interest and then pressed the photo button.

After the sound of "click", I quickly backed away half a step.

The partner took the phone from Xu Mo, frowned and made a confused voice.

Mr. Gu: Huh? Why is there only the sculpture at the back in the photo?

Xu Mo: Although you can take photos at will in the photo zone, I think the artwork here is more worth watching.

The partner was stunned by Xu Mo's words.

Xu Mo turned around and looked at me again, there seemed to be some reproaches in his eyes.

Xu Mo: MC, I remember telling you last night to take a good rest. Why do you still look so tired today?

MC: What?

He stretched out his hand, brushed his slender fingers across the dark circles under my eyes, and gently rubbed them.

Xu Mo: Why can't you take care of yourself so much and make me worry?

I was stunned on the spot under Xu Mo's overly intimate tone and the shocked gaze of my partner, and subconsciously stepped back half a step, but was held back by him.

He sighed softly, took my hand, and looked aside my partner.

Xu Mo: Sorry to make you laugh.

Xu Mo: As you can see, MC put too much time and energy into this cooperation, so even I can only "ran into" her here.

Xu Mo: However, now that the cooperation is over. Next, can you return her to me?

The partner's gaze stopped for a moment on the hands that Xu Mo and I were holding together, and then his expression became a little awkward.

Mr. Gu: Uh, of course. After I got back, I sent the signed documents.

Mr. Gu: Miss MC, happy cooperation. I will leave first.

When the back of the partner disappeared from his vision, Xu Mo turned his head and let go of my hand.

MC: That, thank you for helping me out...

Xu Mo: It turns out that the job you are talking about is to come to the art gallery with others to see the exhibition.

He looked at me lightly, his tone calm.

MC: This is the location set by the partner, I'm not good to refuse.

I opened my mouth to explain, but Xu Mo's eyes were faint, I had to change the subject.

MC: Why are you here? Today's exhibition seems to be unfamiliar.

Xu Mo: Famous or not is not the best way to judge whether a value is worthwhile, is it?

MC: .. But are you really just watching the exhibition? It's a coincidence.

Xu Mo: I am afraid I will disappoint you. I am indeed here to come to the exhibition.

I looked at Xu Mo suspiciously, and he looked back calmly.

Xu Mo: However, you just said that there are still issues that need to be resolved in the company.

Xu Mo: Don't deal with it?

He reminded me with a smile, with a gentle tone.

I felt a little strange.

Xu Mo seemed to be anxiously urging me to leave. This was for what?

I press down on the slightest thing I feel in my heart, try to speak.

MC: Actually just now it was just an excuse I was looking for.

MC: It doesn't matter what happens next, it's such a coincidence, why don't we watch the exhibition together?

Xu Mo didn't look at me, he opened the guide book in his hand. Look down at the line marked above.

Xu Mo: Do you want to be with me, is it true or an excuse to inquire about intelligence?

I was speechless for a while. I followed Xu Mo's gaze and saw the guidebook, only to find a vague task force mark on the corner pinched by his finger.

MC: What about you, you said you just came to the exhibition, is this true, or is it an excuse to make me not suspicious?

I stared at Xu Mo, his dark time wandered around on me.

Xu Mo: It seems you already have the answer.

Xu Mo: So it doesn't seem to matter whether I admit it or not.

MC: But I want to know what kind of thing is worth letting you handle?

Xu Mo put away the guidebook and looked at me with interest.

Xu Mo: If I answer your doubts, what good will it be for me?

He asked seriously, as if he would not easily reveal the real reason for being here.

MC: This time we have shared information, and next time the BS has any information that I can tell you, I will not talk about it separately.

MC: how about it?

The smile on Xu Mo's lips widened.

Xu Mo: It sounds pretty good.

- To be continued-

[thirstforfleck]

I Had the Craziest Dream ~ Arthur Fleck x Reader

summary: arthur has a hard time convincing himself that you are real and not just in his head. a date with you proves otherwise

warnings: none? brief mentions of nudity

word count: 1,358

notes: finally finished this piece. the summary is really crappy, but I wasn’t quite sure what else to put. The ending is meh. I was inspired by the song “I Had the Craziest Dream” by Harry James and his Orchestra and vocals by Helen Forrest. Here’s the song if you want to listen to it. This is written with a female love interest in mind. I hope you enjoy :)

Arthur was convinced you weren’t real. He had visions of angels resembling you before you had even met. And yet, here you were.

Your hair was spread on your pillow like the sun’s rays. Your mouth slightly agape as you snoozed. Arthur found you most beautiful at your most vulnerable. You were reminiscent of a Renaissance marble sculpture: delicate and exquisite. A goddess, in simple terms. He had to resist the urge to kiss you. He didn’t want to wake you. Arthur grabbed his journal off the nightstand next to him. Perhaps he would sketch your soft, bare body bathing in the sunlight that shined through the curtains.

Flipping through his journal, Arthur glanced at his past entries and sketches. Dark words filled the majority of pages. Disturbing pornographic images, whether drawn by him or pasted from nudie magazines, were glued randomly throughout. The occasional black holes, made by repetitive anger-filled pen strokes, were found scribbled over top journal entries or a porn model’s face. As he got closer to a blank page, he spotted an entry titled ‘Beutiful Girl’. He smiled to himself. This was his first entry about you. 

You had met in the lobby downstairs months ago. You had just gotten off work, Arthur had guessed, and were standing in front of the elevator. Your arms were crossed in frustration, rightfully so. The building was dilapidated, built in ancient times it seemed. The elevator was taking longer than usual. You were tapping your foot impatiently. Your hair was tousled from the wind. Arthur waited alongside you.

You looked to him and shook your head. “Can you believe this place?” you said in disbelief. “I may have to start taking the stairs.”

Arthur couldn’t say much. He was struck by your beauty. Your limpid eyes were the first feature he noticed. Bright and clear, sparkling like daylights’ reflection on a calm body of water. Your lips looked plush, alluring. Arthur snapped himself out of his daydream and managed to croak out, “Yeah, it’s awful.”

Your heavenly lips formed a soft smile and Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. The ding of the elevator interrupted his thoughts. You both get on together, standing on opposite sides. “Which floor?” you asked, pressing the number 8.

“8,” Arthur said shyly.

“Hey, me too!” you grinned. “We’re practically neighbors.”

Arthur thought his heart would burst out of his chest. Someone was being polite to him, interacting with him positively. To Arthur, it didn’t seem like you were doing it just to be nice either. Your smile was unlike any other he had received in his life. The only word he could describe it was “warm”.

The doors opened to the 8th floor and you stepped out. You looked over your shoulder and made eye contact with Arthur. “See ya around, stranger,” you softly spoke with a wink.

“Bye,” Arthur spoke softly. You made a right down the hallway, and he made a left. He raced to his apartment with a pounding in his chest. He rushed to his journal after slamming the door shut. He flipped it open to the first empty page and began to write.

Beutiful Girl

I just met the most beutiful girl. I don’t no her name. All I no is that she is very nice and prety. She is the nicest person I hav met in a long time. She smild at me! And we liv on the same floor. I hope she is reel.

He saw you again, and again, and again. He found out what your name was. It was the prettiest name he had ever heard. You laughed at his jokes. You showed that you cared about his personal life. He didn’t know if his mind was playing tricks on him or if you were truly real. Someone as gorgeous and kind as you just didn’t exist, right?

He had his first dream about you. He barely slept, let alone had dreams. When he awoke, he rolled out of bed and scribbled in his journal.

I Had the Crazyest Dreem

Y/N was in my dreem. My first dream I’ve had in a long time. We wer dancing to Harry James and Glenn Miller. She smild at me. She playd with my hair. She was in love with me. I kissd her and she kissd me back. I want to kiss her so bad. I want to dance with her so bad. I still do not no if she is reel or not. If she is reel, I want to touch her and hold her and kiss her. How long must I wate until I no if she is reel? I hope my dreem comes tru. 

Arthur’s dream did indeed come true. He gained some much needed confidence and invited you to one of his gigs at Pogo’s. You accepted. You thought his jokes were sweet, mostly cheesy. Afterwards, he took you out to a diner. It was late, after midnight. You were one of the few couples still out and about on a Tuesday night. Arthur made you laugh some more with a few jokes he had hidden from his routine. 

You stared intensely at him, your eyes peering from above your cup of tea that touched your lips. He sucked on the end of his cigarette, his cheeks hollowing. His eyes met yours, a cloud of smoke leaving his lips. You reached your hand out and caressed his wrist that rested on the table. Arthur tensed up slightly, but eased when you stroked small circles into his worn skin. 

“Arthur, thank you for a great night. I’ve really enjoyed myself,” you smiled.

Arthur grinned, holding back the tears that almost brimmed his eyes. “I have too, Y/N.”

Walking back home, you held hands and shared sweet side glances. You made it back to your building on Anderson Avenue. You squeezed his hand as you rode the elevator together. His cheeks flushed pink and you smiled cheekily. Arthur walked you to your room first. You put his arms around him, resting your head on his shoulder. You could feel Arthur was hesitant on what to do. No one had ever hugged him before besides his mother on occasion. He rested his arms around your waist and pulled your chest flush against his. His cheek laid on the top of your head. 

He had been waiting for this moment. He could feel your body heat radiating, your heart beating softly. You breathed in the fresh scent of your hair. How wonderful it felt to finally hold you. 

“Arthur?” he heard you murmur from his shoulder.

“Yes?” he asked softly.

He felt your head move so he lifted his cheek. You gazed at him, your hands tracing his spine. “Can I… kiss you?” you asked him.

Arthur was speechless. You wanted to kiss him. To kiss you would make his day, his week, his year, his whole life. This would be his first kiss. That was something you hadn’t discovered yet. He was too embarrassed to tell you yet.

Arthur stammered. “Y-yeah. Y/N, y-you can kiss me whenever you want.”

You giggled, pursing your lips and planting them on his. His first instinct was to hold your face in his hands. His thumbs stroked your cheekbones as he kissed back. You hummed into the kiss, clearly enjoying yourself. Your fingers danced up his back and tangled into his hair. Arthur smiled as his lips brushed against yours. You broke away for air, your eyes still shut. You bit your bottom lip as you found his eyes. They were large and puppy-dog like, almost pleading with you to kiss him again. You granted his wish. 

A soft touch halted his memory. You were upright in bed now, brushing his hair away from the nape of his neck. “Good morning, darling,” you whispered, your hot breath giving him goosebumps. You peppered his neck in kisses. “What are you up to?”

Arthur closed the journal with a chuckle. “Just reading some old dreams I had.”

“Oh, yeah?” you enthused. “Do you have a favorite dream?”

Arthur’s gaze locked with yours. “You.”

lovelies who wanted to be tagged: @freewriterofdarkness​ @bring-your-holy-water​ @flowerglitterwoman​ @arthurflecksgirl​ @mr--clown​

[ah-kasuna]

Puppetry in a Nutshell // ♥ I ♥

Pairing: SasoDei

AU: Art School

THIS IS THE 1ST PART AND MY VERY 1ST TRANSLATION ;_; I ain’t native speaker, so there will be mistakes I think, so please let me know about them, so I could fix em! Tbh it feels like doin it with the blindfold on, so XD Yeah, forgive me anyway. 

I hope you’ll like it!♥ Let me know what you think please! Love ya!

AND I DEDICATE IT TO @deidaraakasuna, U KNOW WHY♥♥♥

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Geidai.

The world-famous Fine Arts Academy, located in one of the most charming corners of Tokyo. 

A place that growing artists dream about, perceiving it as a mystical land of inspiration and creativity (until they see sculpture students playing with their own Pony ponies). 

The university to get to is a high-class feat, usually drenched in liters of alcohol and liters of tears in a later hangover. After all, who wouldn't get drunk on this occasion? 

I smiled at the vague memories as I unpacked my breakfast and shook my head fondly. Basically, this sentimental feeling of being an old woman with a bunch of grandchildren has accompanied me since the beginning of my sophomore year, when I watched the freshmen roaming the corridors in sweet ignorance of their fate. Fortunately or not, this intoxicating state faded into non-existent at the end of the first semester as the session approached. And it just so happened that it was just approaching, breaking the will to fight along the way and magically depriving the students of creative inspiration, the one necessary - as you can easily guess - to pass half a year at a group of charming leaders.

My gloomy eyes followed the classroom. Outside the corridor window, visible through the open door, a bird chirped merrily. The weather was beautiful - a typical Japanese spring. The cherries were blooming, scattering fragrant white-pink petals around, and I was rotting at the epicenter of All Evil, like a condemned man aware of what was about to happen. And which happened cyclically twice a week, because my goddamn ambition pushed me to apply for this equally damned university. And so I redeemed my sins before I died, regretting abandoning the idea of ​​self-improvement in the privacy of my modest (but equipped with a kettle and toaster!) Apartment. What more could you want?

I shoved a huge piece of bread in my mouth, which I chewed for five minutes before he graciously wanted to squeeze through my esophagus. A dry mouth like this meant only one thing: my brain finally picked up the information that puppetry classes were about to begin. For my despairing amusement, everyone was rushing to their seats, with shaking hands shoving paints, chisels, and the rest of the necessary utensils out of their bags, as if someone's life depended on the speed of their perfect arrangement on the table. I felt a sudden urge to laugh out loud.

If asked about the reason why the very thought of puppetry gave the vast majority of students sudden symptoms of delirium and depression, the answer would be simple, concise, and more eloquent than the potency pill ads: Hell Cerberus aka Sasori Akasuna. Officially - a lecturer in a terribly heavy and hated subject; in fact - the walking essence of the deepest pits of hell. What was it about him that wherever he went - everyone immediately cut off discussions and silly games? Well, the puppetry professor not only carefully nurtured the art of being laconic, cynical and ruthless. He was devilishly intelligent, even more talented and vindictive and possesive a tons of sophisticated sarcasm, which he liked to apply with the greatest pleasure to me. 

The bell rang. Everyone but me jumped up immediately and Akasuna entered the classroom. As always: in a perfectly matched shirt, elegant pants, a perfectly knotted tie and an equally perfect boredom on the face.

I reluctantly swallowed the rest of my bun, limiting myself to lazily lifting my ass off the chair and making a painful expression. Anyway, I was a loser at the outset, so I saw no point in putting on a similar play as the others, which only maked him sastisfied more. I clenched my fists automatically. Not this time, man!

The professor walked slowly towards the cathedral by stairs, giving the impression of a man who  scrupulously and deeply don't care for this worldly place and time. And perhaps I would even fall for his 'dun-give-a-shit' play, if I had not been marked by his hatred from the very first class. And yet, it's not like I did something to him, oh no. I was simply not susceptible to his mental puppet strings, so I stubbornly disagreed with him on the essence of the art. For him, the highest dimension of beauty were - horror of horrors - goofy make-uped puppets; for me, the art was much less crude carving in plastic materials, where every little movement could fix or spoil everything. And the wood? It was too patient, too tough, hard to work with, unresponsive to the tender touch of trained hands, and it had splinters ...

Everything happened according to the established order. Akasuna checked the attendance, gave an excruciatingly boring spiel about our laziness and talentlessness (noting that exams were coming up), and then had everyone make an individual puppet design. I groaned woefully like the rest of them, reluctantly reaching into my bag for a sketchbook and a set of pencils.

I loved nothing so much as wasting my time gouging dolls. To my left, a class idiot Tobi, wrapped in an orange and black scarf almost under his nose, looked at me as if I was a revelation of heavens.

"Don't even try," I said, feeling what was happening." We'll be kicked out both."

The guy made cat eyes, but said nothing more, and I went to work. I was drawing the lines in concentration, letting my mind wander along the definitely nice tracks, and in the end I turned off mind for good. And I would have been drawing in peace so I'd probably have finished this stupid task if that black-haired moron at the desk next to mine had not disturbed me with his grunts accompanying his neck stretching towards my work. 

It was the end of my composure. I lifted my head from the project and cursed him to the next five generation, supporting my words with a discreet but well-hit kick. There was a muffled groan.

"Kawamoto, shall you explain me what are you doing?" I immediately heard the distinctive, bored tone of his voice and stiffened on my chair. 

The professor was standing a few steps away from me, eyebrows raised and hands folded across his chest.

"Should I take you to the playground?"

"I'm trying to work, professor," I grunted, holding back the appropriate retort and wondering how the heck did he materialized at my desk.

"Good choice of words, indeed." The corner of his mouth curled up in a cynical smile. "Then be that kind and continue your trials in peace, unless you prefer to try at another university."

I felt my blood flooding. Tobi inhaled loudly, knowing what awaited him at the break, and Akasuna leisurely returned to the cathedral, occasionally glancing at me with hideous satisfaction.

I hated him. I hated him most sincerely and most earnestly, with particular emphasis on his physicality, which, despite the sadistic nature, made most of the female students' knees soften and their tongues tangled. Because exactly! He wasn't just a psychopath. He was a disgustingly handsome psychopath who was well aware of this fact and was not embarrassed to make use of it.

Unfortunately, it happened that he accidentaly found out about my moderate interest in the opposite sex, and from that moment he enjoyed torturing me with himself, perfectly guessing my preferences and weaknesses.

"May you rot in these shavings," I drawled under my breath, sticking a pencil on a blank sheet of paper and tracing a busty doll in a ballerina costume on it, with revenge paints 'Miss Sasori' on her exposed ass. And I would probably enjoy this piece of finest art until the end of the class, if I hadn't realized what my "blank sheet" was and why I just sentenced myself to death. I scribbled a porn image of the puppetry professor on the outline.

The bell rang.

"I would like to remind you that today we have the deadline for submitting the presentation plans to pass," his voice occurred to me as if through a fog.

Did I really hoped it would end well? With my heart pounding in the chest, I tore the rubber band out of my pocket, trying to erase the traces of my crime, as I caught above me the distinctive smell of his perfume.

"It was especially to you, Kawamoto," he announced icily, slipping the battered paper out from under my hands with a nimble movement. 

He attached it to the stack of papers he held, without even glaring at it, and left me sitting at the desk with a silent scream of terror on my face.