#(so I figured I should at least make an effort when addressing em directly)

[cesium-sheep]

@crippled-sheep​ I don’t know that I feel up to an actual back-and-forth so it may require further revisiting, but I did want to more clearly explain my actual point of disagreement from the other day while I have the (many, many) words for it.

so first a point of clarification, I strongly strongly prefer the term “neurodivergent” over “neurodiverse”. I know they’re nearly identical and probably come from the same linguistic root but neurodivergent pairs much more clearly with neurotypical, and “neurodiverse” has “handicapable” vibes to it for me. neurodivergent (or neuroatypical, which is harder to parse and less ideal) also still has a connotation of Weird, divergence rather than diversity.* my primary issue with broadening “the neurodivergent/neurodiverse community” to cover the entire mental illness community is that “the neurodivergent community” already meant something specific. the term is already in use. and it’s really really valuable for autistic/adhd folks (and folks with other closely related disorders by internal experience, not by behavior, behaviorists can kiss my grits) to be able to find each other easily. we’re not being offered a replacement term and there wasn’t one already in use, so as an autistic person who required access to community in order to figure myself out, it feels very much like nt mentally ill folks going “mm, no, ours now” and actively taking something away. (also see how useful a quick recognizable distinction is even in this sentence.)

if we had a replacement term in common use it really wouldn’t bother me that much! I’d still have some qualms with it** but I probably wouldn’t bother raising a fuss directly when other people used it.

it’s kinda like how the nonbinary community has moved away from using “nb” as a shorthand for ourselves, because we were told that the black community had already been using nb to mean non-black presumably longer than we’d been using it to mean nonbinary, so our use was causing unnecessary confusion and potential distress.*** broadening “neurodivergent” to mean the whole mental illness community and its offshoots/relatives causes unnecessary confusion and distress, as it was already being used to mean something more specific and losing that specificity breaks up community and muddles meaning (which distresses me lol).

I absolutely do think there should be a destigmatized umbrella term available for the broader community! which I did say even in my initial dissent. but I don’t think it should be chosen by actively taking away from a subcommunity, and I also don’t think a word change will magically fix any prejudice against mental illness. based on my own experiences as an ad hoc practitioner, a mentally ill person, and an advocate, I feel efforts are much better directed at destigmatization of existing community terms rather than finding (appropriating) one that might be more mainstream palatable and pouring effort into widespread adoption while leaving the subcommunity it was appropriated from in the lurch.****

tl;dr: the only actual point of disagreement I have is over recent appropriation of This Specific Preexisting Term as the umbrella term due to the additional harm I see from it compared to using the preexisting umbrella term of “mental illness/disorder”. everything else you said about community and subcommunity and representation I genuinely totally agree with.*****

I hope that makes things a little clearer, even if we still disagree about the relative levels of harm between the two.

---

* (and I don’t think using “neurodivergent” for one and “neurodiverse” for the other would work, as others will definitely struggle to parse the distinction. to the point where I genuinely couldn’t remember which one you used in the original context until I scrolled back to look. you were using “neurodiverse” and I was using “neurodivergent” and we both proceeded as if it was the same word.)

** (mostly demedicalization of some genuine potentially medical concerns to a degree that smells suspiciously like unexamined internalized ableism, which will significantly negatively impact people’s willingness to seek proper support and potential treatment at a time when we already have tiktok folks going “oh there’s nothing wrong with you you’re just a ~star child~” or whatever to audiences of millions. “oh I wouldn’t benefit from medication or therapy or other forms of treatment/support for mental illness I’m just ~neurodiverse~” yknow? which to be fair in my current usage of nd isn’t generally the case, we’re very big on medication and other supports for folks who would benefit from it even though there’s a very strong push for total demedicalization of autism in particular.****** I just feel that’s how I often see it used by people outside that subcommunity.)

*** (altho there is an even older use as a shorthand for “nota bene” often used to highlight important context, which I’ve picked up from friends that have done academic writing and very nearly used a couple times when writing this :v still think the black community wins custody of that one through a combination of both precedent and priority, especially given the “nota bene” use is generally very distinct contextually and not in direct connotative competition.)

**** (like how the disabled community as a whole is pretty firm about using the term disabled, or the chronically ill community is pretty firm about yes really I am Sick.)

***** (I think, to clarify the original original point of contention, the reason most people use “neurodiverse” to mean “autism and adhd” is because. that’s already the subcommunity term that was in use. we’re focusing on our subcommunity because that’s always been what we mean when we say neurodivergent. and the fact that usage is actively in flux seems to be causing distress and confusion for those who mean the broader usage as much as it is for those who mean the more specific usage. there absolutely should be community and resources for the broader usage gathered under an umbrella term, but I just would really prefer it if a different term could be used, such as the preexisting “mental illness/disorder” umbrella. because while I don’t think the specific usage has any distinct priority over the broader usage, it absolutely has precedent, and ignoring the precedent causes harm in excess of the harm I see in deferring to precedent.)

****** (but not the common secondary disorders that can come from existing as an autistic, importantly - I think the distinction is mostly just “treatment” for autism is generally far more harm than good, with some exceptions that are focused on functioning in a neurotypical world rather than actually treating symptoms. which is generally not the case outside of autism, at least for modern outpatient treatment of the mental disorders I’m familiar with as an ad hoc practitioner. also I’m so sorry for putting a footnote in a footnote lol I just have Many Opinions and A Very Large Character Limit)

[second-chance-stray]

RP Log: Cravs, Aislinn, and Bertram try to find a buyer for stinky fish in a country of vegetarians.

Aislinn North Comes out from the house like a person moving briskly from one task to the next. Brushing a hand down her skirts, she smiles briefly to Cravendy. "Alright there, Cravendy?" she asks in her usual fashion.

Cravendy Hound - To this day, there have been -at least- five fish deliveries from Dirtpatch to Heartwood, all handled by Bertram Windshadow. The highlander’s feelings about becoming a fish courier was unknown...what was known was that Heartwood’s storage area would soon fill up if the product wasn’t dealt with soon. Crates upon crates upon crates, each full of fish in different stages of decay.

Bertram Windshadow was ponder such a turn of events himself as he walked along the path toward the Heartwood headquarters. It was certainly a stark change of pace for the man but it also came with the blessing of distraction. Something he'd found to be quite the blessing. Even if the perpetual smell of fish was ... maybe less than ideal. He waved a hand to the two standing just outside the yard and flashed a quiet smile, "Cravs! Lin!"

Cravendy Hound is outside, trying to dry some of the fish. But the drying racks are full and there are still plenty more to deal with. She turns to Lin and gives her a somewhat panicked smile. “Eh, er. Hm.” Then after a pause. “Nnn..nno. Oh bugger, Windy. Are ye ‘ere with more to deliver?”

Aislinn North By now she knew well enough not to jump right into the business at hand. Which in this case, was definitely the amount of fish piling up on the grounds. Even so, the looming need to move the product, and *fast* hung over her head. It was starting the smell and soon she feared the aroma would seep into the walls of the house itself. She turned her attention to Bertram as he arrived. She was smiling but her eyes all but dared him to say he had yet another delivery. "Afternoon, Bertram."

Bertram Windshadow: "Uhm ..." Bertram's gaze sweeps over the scene as he quietly processes what it all means, a somewhat nervous chuckle rising up from the man as he notes the look from Aislinn. "I ... uh ... was coming by to borrow a chocobo to haul it up the hill ..." He shifts his attention to Cravendy looking apologetic.

Bertram Windshadow: "But the ice crystals still have some chill in 'em, so ... they should be good for a ... bit!"

Cravendy Hound: “NO...” Cravs sinks to the ground, crestfallen. So soon! And all her efforts would barely cover the first batch, as there were still several more crates to process. That said, Cravs was really just buying time...a house full of fish jerky was still suboptimal.

Cravendy Hound: “The smell is startin’ to attract unwelcome company, if ye catch my drift. So far just small critters, like spriggans an’ squirrels, but if we don’t do somethin’ soon it’s only a matter of ‘when’ a bear’ll come and make itself at home ‘ere.”

Aislinn North groans inwardly at the news. With a shake of her head, she glances between Bertram and Cravendy. "We can't keep stockpiling it all here. Soon we'll all be smelling of fish." she makes a face. "What about...the botanist guild? Surely they need some fertilizer or somesuch?"

Bertram Windshadow watches in muted horror as Cravendy succumbs to piscine despair. Though he is pulled from that moment at Aislinn's suggestion of selling it to the the botanists. "That's a pretty good idea ..."

Cravendy Hound: “Seems like such a waste.” Cravs tips her head to a particular crate that she’s been too scared to open. The wood used to be straw brown, but now it was stained darker from its wet contents. She grimaces and averts her eyes from the disaster. “But we don’t ‘ave a choice for a lot of it.”

[FC]<M'shara Rhaz> if there's so much fish in the house all I can wonder if how badly the races with sensitive noses are suffering [FC]<Altani Misair> Maybe the fish smell good [FC]<Riylli Aliapoh> Did no one deal with the box after it was left there [FC]<Riylli Aliapoh> is it just rotting [FC]<M'shara Rhaz> fish do not smell good [FC]<Altani Misair> Maybe someone sprayed them with perfume [FC]<M'shara Rhaz> *shudder* [FC]<Cravendy Hound> ahahahah

Aislinn North she shoots Cravendy an incredulous look. "It can't possibly be fit for eating at this point. There's nothing for it."

Bertram Windshadow follows Cravendy's gaze to the ominous and unopened crate. "Yeah ... I think we've already passed that threshold."

Aislinn North waves a hand in Bertram's direction. "Maybe we can still sell the new delivery as food but whatever's sitting in that crate there..." she followed Cravendy's gaze to the ominous box like it was a ticking timebomb. "It just has to go."

Bertram Windshadow: "If it makes you feel any better, Cravs, it might be used to become food again."

Cravendy Hound: “By who?!”

Cravendy Hound: “Ye mean that one-” She points to the soggy crate. “-t-that one, as food?!”

Aislinn North tips her head. "I think he means that it'll be used to grow actual food. Part of the cycle. No one would eat it as it is." she assured the Roegadyn.

Bertram Windshadow blinks, trying to parse the question. "Not directly, I mean! But if we can sell as fertilizer like Lin suggested ..."

Cravendy Hound: "OH YE MEAN. AS fertilizer it'll become food again....Not like. Someone’ll eat it like food. Ah." Cravs finally understands. Gods, her mind is far too preoccupied by fish despair.

Bertram Windshadow gestures toward Aislinn, "Yeah, that!"

Bertram Windshadow: "Or maybe swine fodder ..."

Cravendy Hound blushes slightly as she clears her throat. “Ahem. Well, let’s go over and try to sell it to the botanists then. And keep an eye out for anyone interested in the fresher stuff as...instant food.” Cravs grabs a couple of fish samples before she heads out, just in case.

Aislinn North As the wind shifts, the putrid smell drifts their way. "Nymeia's breath." Aislinn chokes. "Alright. Yes, this needs to get solved. Yesterday. Surely we can make some sort of deal."

Bertram Windshadow suppresses the sudden urge to vanish as the scent of ripe fish wafts in his direction. He speaks as though he's being partially strangled, "Yeah. Let's go."

(Cravendy Hound) heading over to the botanists guild :D )) (Aislinn North) ((That firecracker was handy! :D)) (Bertram Windshadow) (( A signal cracker!! *grins* ))

Cravendy Hound - The Botanist’s guild is, as usual, a verdant and bustling place, with farmers diligently working the fields. As the trio approach, one of the guild’s workers stops what he’s doing and freezes in place, nose crinkled and generally confused. “Gods, what’s that smell?”

Bertram Windshadow follows along with Aislinn and Cravendy whilst also holding a russet colored chocobo by the reins and walking them alongside the trio. Hitched to the saddle bags are two small crates of fresh(ish) fish that are being kept chilled via ice crystals. He clears his throat and looks to the others at the cry. "Fish..?"

Cravendy Hound - Cravs realizes the stranger must be talking about her. When she had grabbed samples, she had grabbed a fish from every stage of rot, from unspeakable, to fresh, to bone dry. Figuring that there was no point in hiding it, she presents the source of the smell to the farmer. “Fish...”

Aislinn North Jerks to a halt, a dawning look of embarrassment flashing across her face. She knows it can't be the still fresh fish Bertram has in tow. "It's happened already. We reek of fish." she murmurs leans over and discreetly sniffs Cravendy. "Everywhere we go." a flush of red starts creeping up her neck.

Cravendy Hound: “I can’t tell if it’s ye, or this thing.” Cravs lifts the rotten fish in her hand slightly. “Or me. Or all three. Seven ‘ells, this is bad....Maybe we’re numbed to the smell.”

Aislinn North Realizes what Cravendy has brought with her and pulls back sharply. "Twelve above!" she hisses. "Nevermind." she says somewhat in relief. With a bracing breath, she steps forward and addresses the botanist.

Bertram Windshadow was starting to wonder if he was just going to smell like fish for the rest of his suns. He'd been around the scent for so long now that he was worried that he couldn't really discern it from himself any longer. "We ... uh ... we were hoping that we could, maybe, ... offer a trade with your guild?" He looks toward the botanist thoughtfully.

Aislinn North Nods in agreement with Bertram. "We find ourselves with some good quality fertilizer on our hands and we were hoping you all here might be interested."

Cravendy Hound - The farmer puts down his bag of seeds for a second to listen to the trio’s sales pitch. “Let me guess - fish fertilizer? We’re already stocked up on other varieties of fertilizer. What makes yours different?”

Bertram Windshadow seems entirely at a loss on this one. He's not exactly a botanist and his knowledge of caring for plants was ... middling. He looks over at Aislinn in the hope that she would know something about this, otherwise he'd have to fly by the seat of his pants.

Aislinn North "Namely, it's fish. It does wonders for the overall health of the soil. And the plants really take to it. The gardens at our Company House are quite the sight to see." Aislinn replied as she took a look around the garden plots. "We have an agreement with a fishing village and ended up with a bit of surplus."

Cravendy Hound: “Ye know why Sea Wolves are tall and strong? It’s cause we love fish. And eatin’ it daily ‘elps keep yer eyes workin’....Not that you’d know, since you Gridanian’s don’t eat meat...” Cravs notes, her comment both useless and insulting? She clearly has a bone to pick with Gridanian cuisine. “Anyway, that’s gotta count for somethin’ with the plants.”

Bertram Windshadow nods his head slowly along with Aislinn's explanation before looking back over to the botanist. "And I could make personal deliveries." He looks over to Cravendy's pitch with ... a bit of uncertainty but nods all the same. "It could bring some nutrients that the local varieties don't usually replenish!"

Aislinn North Blinks once at Cravendy's reply. And again. But aside from that small tell, she makes no sign that the comment was anything out of the ordinary and plows ahead, building off of what Bertram had said. "You really can't go wrong with a well-rounded fertilization schedule."

Cravendy Hound - The farmer listens intently to Lin and Bertram, his curiosity piqued. He opens his mouth, about to ask about price and volume, but is interrupted by Crav’s comment. So instead, he gasps, insulted. “Wait, what?! What do you mean by that?”

Aislinn North lets go the quietest of sighs. So close.

Bertram Windshadow takes in a *deeeeeep* breath as he lifts a hand up and rubs the back of his neck, "She ... uh ... she doesn't mean anything by it. She's just not from around these parts."

Cravendy Hound: “I’m sayin’ ye should try it too. Fresh fish. We got that.” Cravs says somewhat aggressively. She steps forward, invading the botanist’s space and looms over him with her fish-begotten height. The farmer shrinks under her shadow. What the HECK is this negotiation - more like intimidation?!

(Bertram Windshadow) (( I'm dying. "Fish-begotten" )) (Cravendy Hound) bad cop good cop confused cop ))

Aislinn North Steps neatly between the looming Seawolf and the botanist with a gentle laugh she certainly doesn't feel but sells all the same. "Or, just the fertilizer. Like Bertram said, our friend is from Limsa, very passionate about seafood. She just wants everyone to try it." as she's speaking, an elbow is nudging Cravendy back. "And I can't blame her. It really is, very good. Very fresh."

Bertram Windshadow takes a step forward and reaches up to touch Cravendy's shoulder with a pleading smile, "That's right. She feels real strongly about it, but it comes from a place of passion and knowledge."

Cravendy Hound - There isn’t much space between Cravs and the farmer, so for a second, Lin, Cravs, and the poor man are sandwiched against each other - chest to back to chest. At Windy’s touch though, Cravs backs down and takes a step back. She has more to say, but senses that maybe she should leave the talking to the others.

Cravendy Hound - The botanist is visibly shaken and annoyed. “Tell your oversized friend that around these parts, we live in harmony with the forest and Elementals! That our meals are balanced and wholesome!” He huffs, arms crossed.

(Aislinn North) ((I love the visual of us all just piling on this poor botanist XD)) (Cravendy Hound) probably never gotten a sales pitch like this before ))

Bertram Windshadow pats Cravendy's shoulder as she backs off from the botanist. Something that the man says seems to spark a thought. "I guess ... these fish would be like a wholesome meal for the plants that is in harmony with the forest? The fish returning to the soil..?"

Aislinn North For a moment, Aislinn stills and her smile grows tighter. Insults thrown in her direction rolled off her like water off a duck's back but insults tossed uncaringly at her friends were an entirely different matter. Even so, she tries valiantly to keep sight of the bigger picture. She merely nods along with what Bertram had said deciding it was much better than what might slip from her mouth.

(Cravendy Hound) return to soil )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( He's trying his best. )) (Cravendy Hound) I love all of this xD )) (Aislinn North) ((Ahh yes, the soil. Natural habitat of fish XD))

Cravendy Hound is being placated by Windy...for now. But when she hears the botanist spit an insult back, she nearly goes right back at it. Teetering on the edge of doing something rash, Cravs grabs tightly onto Windy’s shoulder and whispers harshly in his ear. “Guh, I know I shouldn’t, but I wanna give this whelp a new eye socket. ‘old me back, alright?”

Bertram Windshadow feels the vice like grip upon his shoulder and shifts his attention back to Cravendy. He listens quietly to the request before lifting his brow and, ultimately, giving a firm nod. "I'll do my best, Cravs, but you have fish-fueled strength." He offers back in a hushed tone.

(Aislinn North) ((*dies*))

Cravendy Hound - The botanist is at the limits of his patience and desperately wants this colorful trio to leave him alone so he can work. He raises his hands up in defeat. “Fish returning to the soil? I....doesn’t everything return to the soil eventually? Agh, look. Just. How much are you selling this for? If it’s a good price I might be willing to try, provided you throw in free samples as an apology for how your colleague acted. VERY generous free samples.”

(Cravendy Hound) LOL )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( I couldn't help myself! ))

Cravendy Hound: “Free samples?! F-for wh... Alright, this bloody drylander is askin’ for an ass kickin.” Cravs growls under her breath. She tries to lunge forward, truly testing Bertram’s strength.

Bertram Windshadow does his best to hold Cravendy in check! He slips his arm through her own and tries to lock it there ... or as best as he can! "Cravs ... we're *trying* to get rid of the stuff!" He whispers sharply.

(Bertram Windshadow) (( Good lordy. She's so much taller than Bertram. )) (Cravendy Hound) djfkls the contrast between professional and the absolute clownfoolery in the back ))

Aislinn North The only thing keeping the smile on Aislinn's face at the moment is the thought of this man opening up the dark, fish juice soaked crate that currently sat back at Heartwood. "Certainly. I can have that sent over straight away." she paused, a look of consideration on her face before tossing out a gil price per ponze of fertilizer. Discounted but still enough of a profit knowing the need to get rid of the stuff while still giving Dirtpatch something for their efforts.

Cravendy Hound is like a lion on a frightfully thin leash. For the moment she is held back, but for how long?

(Bertram Windshadow) (( *laughs and grins* Also, if you want me to roll or anything to hold by the fish primal just let me know. )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( *hold back )) (Cravendy Hound) oh god I desperately would want you to roll higher than me )) (Cravendy Hound) let's roll the dice why not xD )) (Aislinn North) ((famous last words)) (Cravendy Hound) also LOL the fish juice soaked crate....true fear )) (Cravendy Hound) Random! 664 (Bertram Windshadow) Random! 815 (Cravendy Hound) -wipes brow in relief- )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( Fate provides relief! )) (Aislinn North) ((Whew!))

Cravendy Hound - The botanist considers the price, considers the free sample, considers the sight of Bertram holding Cravs back....and finally gives. “Okay. But if this fertilizer isn’t up to par, we have the right to get a refund. Eh, hope this stuff really is a wholesome meal for the plants.”

Cravendy Hound isn’t able to break free from Windy’s grasp, and he buys enough time for the botanist to agree. This, in turn, is enough to defuse Crav’s fighting spirit.

Bertram Windshadow manages -- by some miracle -- to hold back the tide of fury boiling over in Cravendy, though he does hope and pray that the botanist either hurries or keeps his mouth shut a much a possible. He doesn't want to have to explain to the Wailers why there's a botanist outcold that smells of spoiled fish.

Bertram Windshadow heaves a sigh of relief as the tension seems to settle.

Aislinn North shakes her head. Did he take them for fools? The price was already discounted. All she could see was him opening up the crates of decaying fish and sending it straight back. They'd be in the same situation a sennight from now. "Alright, that's fair." she allowed. "But if you decide it's  not up to snuff, we'd like to come back and see the plants that you feel didn't benefit before issuing a refund." she replies.

Cravendy Hound - The man nods. “That’s fair. I’ll bring this up with the guildmaster and we can draw up official agreements, refunds and conditions included.”

Cravendy Hound shakes her arm free from Windy. Thank the twelve for Lin. It looks like she has something to say, but wants to wait until they leave.

Bertram Windshadow exhaled a sigh of relief as the botanist seemed to take to the demand reasonably. "And I'll be happy to come in and check up routinely for a moon or so!" He fully pulls his hands away from Cravendy as he decides to trust the roegadyn not to throttle the botanist now.

Aislinn North nods as the polite smile returns to her face. "We'll leave you some samples now." she waved to the decaying fish Cravendy had brought with her. "And we'll stop back later to sign the agreement. I'm excited to see how the plants here are going to take off once you start rotating in our fertilizer." turning to Cravendy and Bertam she gives them a look of utter relief. "We'll be getting out of your way now."

Bertram Windshadow nods in fervent agreement with Aislinn before looking over to the botanist with a small smile, "It was ... uh ... a pleasure doing business with you. I look forward to speaking again!" He then looks back to his two companions and quiets his tone slightly, "That ...wasn't so bad?"

Cravendy Hound places the rotting fish at the farmer’s feet and then backs away awkwardly. The farmer simply stares down at it and then at the three as they make their way out. The silence that follows is particularly uncomfortable for Cravs. What an experience.

Aislinn North Is only too happy to beat a hasty retreat before the botanist tries to change his mind.

(Cravendy Hound) lmao I like to think we ICly RAN AWAY )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( "Scatter!" )) (Aislinn North) (( Ahahaha! 'They bravely ran away'))

Cravendy Hound: “Pah, fish this high quality, and it’s just goin’ straight into the ground. What a goddamn waste!” Cravs bemoans, her agitated expression more intense than usual. She rubs the space between her brows. “Maybe there’s an underground market for this kinda stuff...I know there’re miqo’te in the woods that might be more open to eatin’ fish.”

Aislinn North Once they're far enough away, a rush of breath escapes her. "Alright, the important thing is we've dealt with the spoiling fish problem. From here on out, we can try and find takers who are actually interested in the fish as -food-."

Bertram Windshadow follows behind as they make their hasty retreat from the botanist's guild, leading the chocobo along with him. "That *does* take care of the more critical problem." He turns his attention to the crates on the chocobo's sides. "That just leaves the fresher catch..."

Aislinn North "Hopefully there are people around here a litt more open minded than that...." she stops herself. "man." from the stress she puts on the word it was clear she had something more colorful in mind. "Miqo'te, you say? Maybe some Keeper tribes?"

Cravendy Hound: “I can’t believe that man!” Cravs hears an echo of herself gently speaking back - but you started it. Undeterred, she shakes her head. “And he ‘as the gall to complain about how the fish stinks, when they’re usin’ literal shite as fertilizer too? Bloody shove it.”

Bertram Windshadow: "Sometimes it's the novelty of the stink that really gets people ..."

Cravendy Hound: “We’re givin’ ‘em the caviar of plantfood, and then ‘e’s askin’ for a discount, for samples,” Cravs grumbles. She sighs. But Lin was right, at least the problem of Heartwood filling up with fish was dealt with.

Aislinn North Nods to Bertram. "Shite, they're used to. Fish, not so much. But once they see the results, they'll stop complaining.

Bertram Windshadow nods his head slowly before lifting a hand and rubbing the back of his neck, "So ... we should look for one of the keeper tribes out in the Shroud?"

Cravendy Hound: “Worth a shot. A lot of ‘em ‘ave been branded as poachers though, so they might be ‘ard to find. Maybe Riylli could ‘elp us get a foot in the door.”

Aislinn North offers up a placating hand. "But think about it this way. You don't have to open that jack-in-the-box of decaying fish now. That joy belongs to him." she looks to Bertram and nods. "I think that's our best bet. Especially if that man's attitude is prevalent around these parts."

Aislinn North "Aye, maybe Riylli could help, if she's willing."

Cravendy Hound smiles smugly at the thought of the man dealing with /the/ wet crate. Hopefully, he wouldn’t return the merchandise, but still. It felt good to be petty.

Cravendy Hound: “That’ll be a once in a lifetime experience for ‘im. Windy, make sure ye run at least a malm away, in case ‘e wants to open it the moment ye deliver it.”

Bertram Windshadow glances over at Aislinn at the mention of pulling in extra help. "Well, I certainly wouldn't turn down someone that's more familiar with them. I can't say I know which would be the best to approach with this sort of offer." Bertram has chosen not to think about the horrifying pandora's box of the sea.

Bertram Windshadow looks at Cravendy at *that* comment. "I'll be ready to run ... don't you worry."

Aislinn North Seeing she had successfully hit the mark with appealing to Cravendy's vengeful side, she turns back to Bertram. "We'll have to move quickly though if we don't want the latest shipment to end up in the ground again." she glances over at Cravendy. "Can you try and track her down? See if she'd help us and soon?"

Cravendy Hound: “I can catch ‘er at the next bar night. Riylli...I don’t know where she lives, actually. She’s the type to drop in and out at ‘er own schedule,” Cravs notes. “Meanwhile, Windy, if ye can find others that might be interested, other Keeper clans or otherwise. I’ve found that when ye ‘ave rules on what ye can and can’t ‘ave, there are always interested parties willin’ to pay premium for illicit goods.”

Aislinn North snorts delicately. If that wasn't the gods honest truth, she didn't know what was.

Cravendy Hound gives the two a hearty thumbs up. A job well done! Well, it was mostly Lin, and 

Bertram keeping the situation from diving nose-down into disaster. But regardless, a job well done.

Bertram Windshadow nods his head firmly, "Yeah, I can do some scouting ..." his gaze drifts in the direction of the chocobo at his side, "And ... I'll keep these crates on ice as best I can."

Aislinn North glances at the crates. "We've got some more ice crystals back in Heartwood's lab. We can fill them up."

Bertram Windshadow reaches up and scratches the neck of the chocobo fondly before looking back to the others, "Compared to selling spoiled fish selling edible fish should be a breeze, right?"

Aislinn North "One would hope." she returns dryly

[autisticstarseed]

👐 Hand washing guide when you have sensory issues 👐

tbh. we shouldve been talking abt this a long time ago for many disabled ppls sake but ive put this post off for like a million years out of pure solidified fear of ableist harassment/kneejerk ignorance and also generalized cringe idiots but now that we got so much covid-19 fear and autistic ppl actually tend to have weaker immune systems than most people lets jump the shark;;;

i have autism and i physically struggle with washing my hands as often as i want to, having wet hands, drying them, the temperature difference, bad soap smells/textures, etc. are all genuinely painful. the good news is that ive dealt with water aversion shit since birth (its a common sensory issue), so ive had time to figure out alternatives and coping skills that still help reduce risk of disease and spreading it in ways that i can personally manage. (ie. not lazy or selfish or gross. genuinely putting more effort into this every day task than most other people would even think about. just disability lads) so heres the guide i have to offer if you’re in a similar boat, with some keypoints about hand hygiene and tips addressing the most common sensory struggles ive noticed with it;;;

1. hand sanitizer

i love hand sanitizer, i can get it in almost any scent i want and it dries down very very fast. the problem is; hand washing and hand sanitizer do different things. it only kills certain types of germs. which is all fine and dandy, but because of this, using only hand sanitizer wont actually keep you from catching or spreading many illnesses. so what its good for is times you cant wash your hands (out in public, sensory overload, no spoons, etc), thats fine, but it should not replace all hand washing if at all possible. it is supposedly effective to covid-19, but so little is currently known that it should not be considered your go to for this, and the only unanimous statement straight from the CDC is that hand washing works best at preventing its spread.

temperature - if you have trouble with it being too cold, conveniently keeping it in your pocket or closely against your body in some way warms it up and makes it much more comfortable. 

scent - they come in almost any scent you can imagine, but if you have trouble with strong scents, there are ‘scentless hand sanitizers’. they usually have a faint chemical smell, so if there are any testers available, you should check to make sure it can work for you before you buy it.

texture - if gel doesnt cut it, they also make foamy hand sanitizers and liquid sprays, but theyre harder to find and might be a little more pricey.

and remember; always buy hand sanitizer that says it contains AT LEAST 60% alcohol, the higher alcohol content the better, but try to keep track of how high it is and how much you apply it so you dont dry your skin out. and right now price gouging is pretty bad, so dont be surprised if you cant find any for a while, and dont buy any small bottle that costs over a couple dollars, its a rip off.

2. hand washing 

so what does hand washing do thats better than sanitizer??? soap and water lift up the dirt and oils that are carrying the germs and actually wash them off, and not only that, it also gets rid of all the things sanitizer cant, such as dust/dirt, spores, chemicals, and the previously mentioned viruses that are harder to kill. ik to an outside perspective it might not seem that hard, but obviously when you have autism and these tasks are split down into bigger ordeals and sensory nightmares, it can feel impossible. 

soap - there are so many different kinds of soap! scentless soaps exist, and they very rarely have any lingering chemical smell! theres also soap for sensitive skin, and baby soap also works well for that issue. bar soaps can come in all different shapes and sizes, with many different ingredients and additives to choose from (independent soap makers are an amazing source for customized soap btw), and liquid soaps can be pure gel, frothy, mousse-y or even have tiny exfoliating or moisturizing beads in them if thats a sensory experience you enjoy. this is my number one rec for people struggling with hand washing bc of sensory issues;;; mix up the soap. finding one that gives you an okay or even a GOOD sensory experience can completely turn around an otherwise meltdown inducing task

temperature - this is the one thats always been hardest for me. cold water straight up hurts me, and our plumbing is Terrible, so the trick i have for slow pipes is to run the hot water on high as Soon as i get into the bathroom. leave it going and by the time you’re done there should be at least lukewarm water. if this still takes too long for you, try out the various sinks in your house, usually one is able to get hot water faster than the rest (for me its the kitchen sink) and that can become a designated station for you if need be.

texture - some ppl just hate water. if thats the case, it rly doesnt change much abt the process if you use less water, ie work the soap into a lather, and then only use as much as you need to rinse it off. you dont have to keep your hands under the whole time, the soap clings to the dirt, the water takes it off all together, as long as you scrub well and rinse till you see no suds, you’re good 

If it really comes down to it, a washcloth with water+soap, a disinfecting wipe, or even literally just a rinse with plain ol water is better than nothing, but the stream of water and act of rubbing the soap in is the most effective combo against disease. soap/disinfectant wipes and hand sanitizers are your second best option. if theres a time in your life where an issue is so disabling for you that you truly cant keep any of this up, rly the most important thing is to limit your direct physical contact with your face and commonly used objects as MUCH as possible until you can figure smth out. (you kno those old ladies that grab a wipe and open the doorknob with it between their hand and the knob? become that old lady) and if push comes to shove, if a safe and accepting therapy setting is something accessible to you, hygiene struggles are actually something many mental health professionals understand Very well and can help you cope with personally and directly, without shame.

3. hand drying

this is also. my personal hell. and what most people say is the hardest part of the sensory experience. but ya cant just walk around with wet hands right

towels - the obvious choice for most, but to me they actually dont dry enough. i always end up damp and with lint stuck to me. this kills the man. but hand towels do have some variety to them, you can find em with really long fibers or really short/flat, really fuzzy or really stiff, etc. sounds silly but its smth a lot of ppl dont think about that can change a lot. you can also try super absorbent towels (yes like a shamwow), and again baby bath towels are also an option if you want something gentle.

paper towels - yeah a little more wasteful and expensive, but imo much more absorbent. theyre also pretty thin so you can get between your fingers (MY BANE), and under your nails if you use a corner. 10/10

blow drying - ik this is the kind of shit you only see in like movie theaters and malls and they are definitely LOUD AS SHIT, but if you happen to have the money, and struggle more with Textures than Noise, ie a stream of warm air seems worth the sound, you Can actually find a small basic one of these items for your own home. 

4. public restrooms

everybody hates em!!! but you can make em more tolerable;;;

soap - bring your own! little travel soaps you can keep in your bag are a godsend for ppl with sensory issues, sensitive skin/allergies, and if you just prefer not sharing soap.

temperature - most public places i notice actually do get hot water pretty fast (like,,, too fast,,, like,,, it bur ns me) so if there are no faucets and its too hot or too cold, once again you can try different sinks and one might be more comfortable. if there are faucets i recommend grabbing a paper towel to turn it off, so you dont have to touch it again with your clean hands.

sound - WHY R AUTOMTIC FLUSH TOILETS SO FUCKEN LOUDD..... honestly if you have noise cancelling earmuffs or earplugs or w/e pop em in. if you dont have any of that i just literally plug my ears with my fingers when i stand up. if you struggle with the sound of the blow dryers, they almost always have paper towels as well, but its a great idea to carry something like that around in your bag with you just in case. if its really packed and people chattering is getting to you, sometimes the ‘family’ bathrooms are actually smaller and less full. if its bad enough and you feel comfortable asking, an employee might be able to direct you to a single stall bathroom or at least a different one than that.

and though its convenient, try not to use your sleeve to touch things like doorknobs, toilet handles, etc. instead use something disposable like a paper towel or wipe, bc the germs will simply transfer to your sleeve and still risk infecting you. 

5. schedule

the number one suggestion is to wash your hands literally as often as possible during a time like this but like. even for allistic/nt/abled/ ppl thats just not always an attainable schedule so the Best times to wash your hands are;;;

after using the bathroom - the most important time and generally the easiest to get used to. its smth you have to do multiple times a day that already has a schedule, and if you were to forget or go into sensory overload its usually immediately accessible as soon as you can. as i mentioned earlier, if you need help remembering, you can turn the water on when you first get in and leave it going.

the doctors - ANY KIND of health facility should be avoided right now unless really necessary, places where sick people would frequent is the quickest way to get sick but like. ya rly cant help it sometimes right. you cant stop dealing with your own illnesses just bc theres another one floating around. so, this is time to go apeshit on the handwashing. if your health issue involves coughing and sneezing, ask for a face mask. bring a scarf in case they dont have any, its not as great but better than nothing. otherwise, you honestly dont need it, face masks are more for these people bc they keep germs in better than out. whether you’re worried abt getting sick or infecting others, this is a time to use hand sanitizer, avoid physical contact like shaking hands [autistic cheering], and when you first arrive and right before you go to leave are the most important times to remember to wash your hands. 

preparing food - not as commonly spoken about, but also easy to work into a schedule. i personally dont care unless its food for somebody else or if im going to be putting my hands on it a lot, but if thats the case, a lot of the time thats produce you already want to wash in the sink, so you can kill two birds with one stone there. dont just get the germs off your own hands, get em off the fruits and veggies before you eat em. carpool

after grocery shopping - not very common. most ppl just slap some sanitizer/a wipe on there or dont think abt it at all, but if you just got home from walmart thats a great time to wash. you just touched a bunch of items other people touched, including the cart, money/credit cards, and all the products people will pick up and put back, so its prime germ time babey. But again, sanitizer or a wipe will help if its all you can manage after a trip out like that.

before self care - also uncommon. ppl always say ‘dont touch your face’ and ‘apply this product with clean hands’, and what they mean is that one of the fastest ways germs get into your system is through your mouth, nose, eyes and ears. if you’re simply washing your face theres not as much concern, but applying a mask, moisturizer, makeup, etc. should all be done after a gentle rinse of your hands (and face). very hard to get into the schedule of, but if you consider it a Part of your ‘self care’ or use a special fun cleanser, it can stick a little easier.

6. stim items

STIM ITEMS!! if you have stim items, its a good idea to clean them regularly, but even moreso during an outbreak like this.

rubber/plastic - if it goes in your mouth, hot water (not hot enough to melt!) and dish soap, if it doesnt, look up how to safely make a diluted bleach solution.

silicone - silicone is usually dish washer safe.

fabric - if its light, add bleach to the washing machine, if its colored, you can use white vinegar or hydrogen peroxide which are less likely to discolor any dyes. lysol detergent is also super great. small items you’re worried about losing, or items with details/loose parts, you can usually wash inside of a sealed pillow case. 

‘squishies’ - for ‘mochi’ squishies aka the rubbery ones, soap and water + some dusted baby powder or corn starch (optional) to keep it from grabbing lint for a while. for foam squishies, they can rarely be deep cleaned without the risk of growing mold or taking paint off, but a disinfecting wipe every now and then should keep it clean for a while.

slime - cant be disinfected, sorry. also a breeding ground for mold if you arent careful, so its always best to cycle through these quickly.

technology - cant really be completely sterilized, but there are many places to get sprays and cleaning wipes for the devices you use that can at least keep the areas your hands frequently touch a little cleaner.

BUT of course if your item comes with instructions on how to wash it, always follow that instead. this is just a general idea.

and as a final note;;; disabled ppl should not feel guilty or dirty for struggling with this. like. man idc abt ur cringe feels or your ignorant blame or your lack of understanding/sympathy for what goes into these tasks for us. if u dont wanna get our struggles and sensitivities when we’re working twice as hard on functioning tasks which personal ease you take for granted, thats on you. @ disabled people if you struggle with maintaining the same standard of hygiene as nts you arent gross or bad fucking person, you’re disabled and by definition that means your level of functioning will be different, and you deserve sympathy. its just that germs dont discriminate, they wanna cause problems for everybody involved (especially you!!!), so Anything you can manage is Great and if anything from this post can help make it a little easier for people in any way, i feel its absolutely necessary to talk about with respect and dignity. people with autism/adhd/sensory processing disorder/similar neurodivergencies/literally anybody else this could benefit, pls feel free to add on any tips you might have or send me questions. let disabled ppl help disabled ppl do our personal bests

[thelastspeecher]

An Egg Stan AU Reunion

So, recently I’ve become invested in the Egg Stan AU again.  It’s a variation of the MerGucket AU, where when Ford gets mermaidified, Stan also gets mermaidified, but into a mer egg instead of a grown mer.  Ford ends up raising Stan as his son, and there’s some good angst.  There’s also some good fluff, though, bc Shermie is a thing in this AU, and is in a relationship with none other than Angie MerGucket.  Complicated?  Yeah.  But still fun.  So here’s a ficlet with Ford finding out that his older brother is now in a relationship with his mate Fiddleford’s younger sister.  Awkward sibling reunion time!

              “Angie and her mate found themselves a cute lil place,” Fiddleford remarked as he swam up to the door.  Ford nodded.

              “Agreed,” Ford said.  “But why are they living in a separate house?  Isn’t it mer tradition to only leave your parents’ house after you’ve had enough children that it’s too crowded?”

              “That’s correct.  Angie tried tellin’ her mate that, but he still insisted on their own house.” Fiddleford shook his head.  “He calls Angie his wife, too, not his mate. He actually corrects folks on that. I s’ppose he’s still adjustin’ to mer culture.”

              “I know what that feels like,” Ford mumbled.  Stan, whom he was currently carrying on his back, leaned forward, his arms brushing up against the gills on Ford’s neck.

              “What’d you say, dad?” Stan asked.  Ford smiled and ruffled Stan’s hair.

              “Nothing important.”

              “You can understand why I’m eager fer ya to meet ‘im,” Fiddleford said to Ford. Ford nodded.

              “Have you met Angie’s mate yet?”

              “Once.  He’s a nice enough feller.  A bit strange, but he might just be actin’ that way ‘cause he’s still adjustin’.” Fiddleford knocked on the door. “Stanley, remember to behave yourself. I know yer excited to see yer Auntie Angie again, but she’s still recoverin’ from what she went through.”

              “What did she go through?” Stan asked.

              “Ya don’t need to know the details.  Just know that there were some issues involvin’ yer cousins comin’ into the world.”

              “Is that why we’re just visiting ‘em now?” Stan asked.  “Auntie Angie ‘n her mate ‘n my cousins moved in last week.”

              “That’s correct,” Ford said with a nod.  “The four of them needed some time to relax and adjust.”  The door opened.  Ford looked at the merman in the doorway.  His jaw dropped.  “…Sherman?”

              “Stanford?” the merman, Shermie Pines, said quietly.

              “What are you doing here?” Ford asked.

              “I live here with my wife and children,” Shermie answered.  He frowned.  “I feel like I should be asking you what you’re doing here.”

              “Visiting!” Stan chirped happily.  Shermie abruptly noticed Stan on Ford’s back.  He smiled warmly.

              “Visiting, huh?”

              “Yessir,” Fiddleford interjected.  He held out a hand.  “Shermie, we met once ‘fore.  I’m Angie’s older brother Fiddleford.”  Shermie nodded slowly and shook the offered hand.

              “That’s right, Angie said her brother, his significant other, and son would be stopping by today.”  Shermie looked at Stan, clearly thinking.  “What’s your name, kiddo?”

              “Stan!”  Stan tugged on Ford’s hair.  “This ‘s my dad.”  He pointed at Fiddleford.  “‘N that’s my pa!”  Ford froze, ice running through his veins.

              Oh, no.

              “You’ve got two fathers?” Shermie asked Stan.  Stan nodded eagerly.  Shermie smiled.  “That’s lucky.  Most people only get one.”  Ford blinked in surprise.  

              I didn’t expect him to respond so well.

              “Shermie, who’s at the door?” Angie called from inside the house.

              “Your brother and his family.”

              “Let ‘em in!  They want to see the guppies.”

              “Babies,” Shermie muttered under his breath.  He moved to the side, allowing Ford, Fiddleford, and Stan to enter. The front door led directly into a cozy living room, where Angie was sitting on a couch.  Stan unlatched his arms from around Ford’s neck and swam over to Angie.

              “Auntie Angie!” Stan shouted.  Angie chuckled.

              “Howdy there, lil Stanley.  How’s my cutest nephew doin’?”

              “Good,” Stan said, embracing Angie tightly.  “I’m ‘cited to meet my cousins.”

              “Then ya came to the right place, ‘cause there’s a lil boy and lil girl in the nursery who ‘re eager to meet you.”  Angie looked up at Ford and Fiddleford, beaming.  “Glad y’all could make it.”

              “Wait, Angie, you’ve met Ford before?” Shermie asked.  Angie nodded.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

              “I…didn’t think it merited tellin’?” Angie said, cocking her head.

              “You didn’t think you should tell me that you met my younger brother?” Shermie persisted.  Angie’s mouth dropped open.

              “I thought ya looked similar!  But I just sort of assumed that my ‘all humans look the same’ bias was actin’ up again.”

              “I thought Auntie Angie’s new mate used to be human,” Stan said, confused. “How come he’s your brother, dad?”

              “Um…”  Ford looked at Fiddleford, who shrugged.  “He’s my…half-brother?  Our father met his human mother, then left her for a mermaid, my mother.”

              “Hmm.”  Stan frowned. “Okay.”

              “Your son doesn’t know-” Shermie started.

              “Stanley, I think yer dad and yer Uncle Shermie have some stuff to catch up on,” Angie interrupted.  “Why don’t we go check on yer new cousins while they talk ‘bout borin’ grownup stuff?”

              “Okay!” Stan said happily.  Angie got off the couch.

              “You gentlemen figure things out,” she said shortly.  “I’ve had enough drama in my life recently.  I need a break.”

              “Of course, honey,” Shermie said.  Angie took a hold of Stan’s hand and swam away.  Shermie gestured at the couch.  Ford and Fiddleford both sat down.  Shermie continued to tread water a few feet off the ground.  “Stanford, start talking.”

              “About what?”

              “Everything!” Shermie burst out.  “If you’re Fiddleford’s…”

              “Mate,” Fiddleford supplied.  A sour look appeared on Shermie’s face.  “You really don’t like that term.”

              “Of course I don’t.  It’s dehumanizing.”

              “You’re not human,” Ford pointed out.

              “And neither are you!  That’s what I’m getting at!  When did you become a merman?  Why? Did you fall in love with Fiddleford and decide to live with him?  Is this why you haven’t talked to your family in years?  We thought you and Stanley were dead.”  Ford looked down.  “Where’s Stanley?”

              “He’s…” Ford started.  He trailed off.  

              “Six feet under, I’d guess,” Shermie said softly.  “If you named your son after him…that can’t be a good sign. And Stan loves kids, he woulda wanted to see Caleb and Cadenza.”

              “He did,” Fiddleford said.  Shermie waved a hand, frustrated.

              “Not your son, Ford’s twin!”

              “Those two folks are one and the same,” Fiddleford said.  Shermie shook his head.

              “I’m sorry, what?”

              “It’s- it’s-”  Ford clasped his hands together and took a deep breath.  “It’s tied into why I’m mer now.  I didn’t get transformed into a merman through the usual route, ingesting the magical plant.”

              “Then how?” Shermie pressed.

              “It happened four years ago.  Stan and I were on our ship, going about our day as usual.  But out of nowhere, a sea monster attacked us.  It- it spat at us, coating much of the ship in its strange saliva. I was almost drenched in it, but Stan- Stan pushed me out of the way, taking the brunt of the blow.  Everything abruptly went black, and I woke up underwater, as a merman, and Stan was- was gone.  At least, I thought he was.  I caught sight of a large, fishlike egg on the seafloor.  I swam over to it and picked it up.  I knew, somehow, that this…this egg was Stan.”  Shermie sank down onto an armchair, staring at Ford.  “I have my suspicions about why the sea monster targeted us.  I worked with a rather shady character, prior to the incident, and Stan convinced me to stop working with the individual in question.”

              “What would that have to do with a sea monster coming after you and Stan?” Shermie asked.

              “This individual has magical capabilities, and far too many allies,” Ford said carefully.

              “Not to mention, the critter what did this to Stan ‘n Ford never leaves its nest,” Fiddleford added.  “It’s a malevolent entity that merfolk know very well.  Not once in recorded history has it gone after a ship so far from its home.”

              “This is all very fantastical,” Shermie said softly.  “But I shouldn’t doubt it.  I’ve been in the midst of fantastical things myself lately.” He paused.  “Ford, how did you meet Fiddleford?”

              “After the incident, I panicked,” Ford said.  He rubbed the back of his neck.  “I swam around in circles, trying to decide what to do. Eventually, I came across Angie and her brother Lute, who did not believe me when I told them I used to be human.”  Shermie leaned forward.

              “Why not?”

              “I don’t have a belly button anymore.  That creature completely rewrote my genetic information. I don’t have any characteristics that indicate I used to be human.”

              “Well, that explains why Stan believes you were born mer,” Shermie muttered.

              “Anyways, Angie and Lute didn’t believe me, but they still brought me to their house, because I was clearly in distress and needed help.  I eventually proved to the MerGuckets I was born human, told them the story, and…fell in love with Fiddleford.”  Ford swallowed nervously after ending his story. Shermie merely nodded slightly.

              “Okay.  But why are you raising Stan as your son?” Shermie asked, not addressing the last thing Ford had said.  “Couldn’t you raise him as your brother?”

              “I tried.  But it was too much effort, correcting everyone.  Stan himself got confused frequently, and…”  Ford looked away.  “I think that Stan deserves to have a decent father, since he’s been given a second chance.”

              “That’s very compassionate of you,” Shermie said.  He sighed.  “I just have one more question.  What’s the story you’re telling Stan, about how he came to be?”

              “That my former mate, the mer that laid him, was killed by mer hunters, as were the rest of his clutch,” Ford said.  

              “That’s a nice enough backstory,” Shermie said with a nod. “Solid.  Mom might even believe that.”

              “Why are you bringing up Mom?” Ford asked.  Shermie raised an eyebrow.

              “Stanford, she deserves to know your whereabouts.”

              “No, she doesn’t!” Ford burst out.  “She wouldn’t take any of this well.  My new status as a mer, my male mate, my son.”

              “You’d be surprised,” Shermie said softly.  “She’s fond of Angie, scales and all.”  Ford’s eyes widened.  

              “She knows about you and Angie?”

              “Of course she does,” Fiddleford said.  “She’s the one what helped deliver Caleb and Cadenza. Or did ya not listen to me when I explained the sit’ation?”

              “I might not have been completely attentive,” Ford said, “but I was trying to move the potted anemone by the door somewhere that Stan wouldn’t be able to reach.  He keeps trying to eat it.”

              “Angie got stuck in her human form,” Shermie said.  “She was too nervous to tell me about being mer, and didn’t get a chance to lay the eggs in time.  So she had to go through a human pregnancy.”

              “I knew that,” Ford said.  “But Mom delivered your- are you crying?”

              “Mers can’t cry,” Shermie said.  He rubbed his eyes.  “But I am upset, yes.  The love of my life had to go through something her species almost never does, because I didn’t make her feel safe enough to be her true self around me. It’s been a very rough time for us.”

              “We came here to cheer ya up, not bring up bad feelin’s,” Fiddleford said softly.  “I’m sorry, Shermie.”

              “No, it’s- it’s fine.  Ford, Angie and I told Mom, because we didn’t know what other humans we could trust, and Angie needed help delivering the babies.  Mom took it pretty rough at first, but by the time Caleb and Cadenza were born, she didn’t have any issues with her grandkids, daughter-in-law, and son being mer.”  Shermie took a breath.  “I know for a fact that she wants to know where you are.  She won’t care about anything other than your safety.”

              “I can’t see her.”

              “Mom thinks that you’re dead,” Shermie said shortly.  “She deserves to see you!”

              “No, she doesn’t.  And I can’t. I can’t see her.”  Ford got off the couch.  “Sherman, you have no clue how difficult it is for me to be a good father to Stan.  I can’t think of him as a brother, and that means I can’t think of my life as a human, either.  Those perspectives go hand in hand.  Seeing Mom again would bring up memories that I keep buried for my son’s sake. I won’t let myself get bogged down by those memories again.”  He swam toward the front door.  “Goodbye.”

              “What- Ford!” Shermie said.  “You can’t just leave.”

              “Yes, I can.  Just tell Stan that something came up, and I had to go.”

              “It’s incredibly rude of you to leave without saying goodbye,” Fiddleford protested.

              “Nonsense.  I just did.” With that, Ford opened the door and left.

[random-thoughts-collection]

Supernatural | 13.09 Review

Supernatural - The Bad Place

written by Robert Berens, directed by Phil Sgriccia

The structure of this episode only makes sense in the context of the setup of the possible spinoff show “Wayward Sisters”. What has started in the third episode of this season with Patience continues here with her and Kaia. While the main season arc is still moving forward, the focus shifts and half of the episode is only in parts connected to Sam and Dean. In general the episode does quite a decent job in delivering its plot, but being half Supernatural and half Wayward Sisters doesn’t do the episode any favour.

The multiverse

“It wasn't just the Bad Place. It was everything.” Are we still on Supernatural or is this the Arrowverse? Or is this becoming a thing in general on the CW? I don’t mind multiple universes or dimensions, but the timing is a bid odd, especially since there was that large crossover of the DC shows involving another universe. I guess it’ll be a thing on Supernatural now, too, or at least on Wayward Sisters. That’s probably the main reason for introducing dream walkers. While I like the concept of dream walkers, I hope that jumping dimensions doesn’t become a regular thing here. I like things to stay grounded. From a visual perspective I like the Apocalypse Universe with it reduced colours better than the blue filter on The Bad Place™. 

The Look

The cinematography of this episode in general was pretty amazing! Phil Sgriccia is a talented director who usually delivers. I loved the paintings at the beginning, and I adore the shipyard set! It was unusual and something new and gave the scenes there a wonderful atmosphere. I hope we’ll see that set again; it was too good to be never used again.

Angel teamwork

“We're screwed. There's too damn many of 'em!”

For once there is actually something positive to say about the angels! Seeing them working as a team was great, and I liked how they were getting rid of the sigils. We have never actually seen that many angels using their powers together, so I think it’s believable that they would be able to do it like that.

That’s the only positive thing about the angels though. Ever since they lost their wings, angels have to walk and drive to get to places now, and on one hand I’m glad they keep the continuity here but on the other hand it just looked ridiculous when the angels were arriving in their cars. And their leading angel spilling the plot and their motives to Kaia? That was too much obvious exposition to let us know who Derek’s real killer was. It could have been done better, and just a little change like Kaia slowly awakening and overhearing the angels exchanging news or something like that would have made more sense than announcing their past and future plans to a human they don’t consider relevant.  

And another thought: if Heaven is running out of angels, the remaining ones should do everything in their powers to stay away from the Winchesters. It never ends well for angels to go after the Winchesters.

Starting the setup: Kaia

“I hate doing this to myself, putting that junk in my body, but it's the only thing that keeps me awake. It's the only thing that that keeps me from from the Bad Place.“

My first thought about Kaia was that we rarely ever see women and girls with barely any makeup on screen. It was nice to see, although it’s telling that it happens when the character is in an emotional weak state and got arrested. Who wants to bet that her finger nail polish is going to be perfect if the Wayward Sisters spinoff gets a green light?

My second though about Kaia was that I like her and that the actress is doing a good job with her. The poor girl really didn’t have it easy so far, and it doesn’t get any better.  Dream walking into The Bad Place™ seems horrible enough, but getting scars from it, getting arrested for taking drugs that you don’t really want to take anyway, getting kidnapped by angels and then getting kidnapped by hunters… that’s a lot for one person. I can’t blame her for not jumping on the idea to help the Winchesters with the search for Mary.

Her scene with Jack looking for the Apocalypse Universe was a bit too long, and her screams were irritating. Not that I doubt whatever was happening there wouldn’t make you scream like that, but I just kept distracting me and threw me out of the scene.

Ending up beside the road in the middle of nowhere is probably the best result of that little experiment – no Bad Place™ and no Apocalypse Universe – but considering how that first encounter with Sam and Dean went, I doubt she would want to help get them back. If she does, I hope they she gets to know the positive side of Dean & is a person who can forgive.

Continuing the setup: Patience

“You raised me to do what's right, and this is what's right.“

Patience’s appearance in this episode confused me. Aside from not answering Dean’s calls and showing up at Jody’s at the end of the episode she wasn’t involved in the plot of this episode, and developing her here only made sense within the storyline of Wayward, but not for Supernatural. I think getting her on board would have probably fit better into the actual spinoff episode.

However, she gets her second setup here, and I don’t find it any more convincing than the first time. We learn that she has gotten worse at school and that her visions continuously bother her. She has a vision of Jody dying (again) and leaves her home to warn Jody. That leads to a wannabe-parallel-scene to Sam, when her father tells her that she can’t return if she leaves now. I can understand that Patience’s father doesn’t want her to lead a hunter’s life, but honestly – if you push her away like that there is no way for having second thoughts later on. This is helping no one. At all. I also wish the writers would be more creative and try to avoid parallels with Sam and Dean in their new characters. It was worse in their first spinoff attempt, but little things like this feel forced and unoriginal.

And I suppose we have to assume Patience dislikes using phones, because she could have just called Jody to warn her but chose not to, and also didn’t answer Dean’s calls.

One good thing: Jack

“Our powers can be good. We can do good in this world.”

I like Jack, so I was glad to see him again. Troubled but cute is a trope I fall for easily. Jack visits Derek, a dream walker, and we can see that he learned how to research from Sam and Dean. The episode does a nice job of giving us the impression that in an act of carelessness Jack accidentally killed Derek. The result is a wonderful moment with Sam and Dean when they find out it wasn’t actually him. The scene in the car is very sweet – Sam and Dean’s had good reasons to be worried, but it was good to see that they gave him credit for what he did. I think the fact that Jack was able to prove himself to them and that they acknowledged his efforts is an important part of Jack’s attitude towards the angels’ efforts to get him on their side. The Winchesters accepted and praised him in this episode, so he had no reason to leave them.

Jack mentoring Kaia in a way was as also interesting to see. He is still trying to figure out his own powers, and found a fellow student in Kaia. Their powers are very different and Jack’s definitively more powerful, but in this episode they can help each other. I like how kind he is towards her and how he tries to calm her down.

And now with Jack in the Apocalypse Universe we’ll see him interacting with Mary – I didn’t expect him to end up in the Apocalypse Universe so I’m excited to see what is going to happen there. It probably won’t be shown in the next episode though.

Moving out of the focus: Sam & Dean

“Now that we do know - We find her, no matter what it takes.”

Sam and Dean have a weird position in this episode. They start their part of the episode looking for the main plot – a well-known scene we’ve seen in countless variations. They connect Patience and Jody and Jack, and after going to the next quest giver – Derek or rather his wife and his emails – they can also add Kaia to the list. They provide structure for the episode and a frame for the other characters to move their stories forward. Doing that all in one episode is quite an accomplishment; but unfortunately while doing all of that the episode also loses sight of Sam and Dean as the main characters.

They bring Patience in by Dean calling her 6 times – something that feels wrong since he told her to stay out of this. And even when they were dealing with Amara Dean refused to ask the hunter couple Jesse and Cesar for help. So why Patience now? Surely she’s not the only psychic they know, and after having called her once or twice you’d think they accept her not wanting to help? They weren’t THAT desperate to find Jack.

The main plot moves forward once they get to Jack – and that is where they get their central scene in this episode – emotional and plot-wise. They get the confirmation that Mary is alive and it’s a huge thing! It sets a new goal for them and affects them emotionally. There is the hope to find and save her now, but also regret and self-blaming on Dean’s part. Despite the huge revelation the rest of the episode isn’t particularly about that though. We see Dean’s desperation when he threatens Kaia with a gun, but there is no real follow-up on this, despite it being very uncharacteristic of Dean to act like that. Sam and Dean have done questionable things in the past in desperate moments. Putting the picture of Mary getting tortured directly into their minds certainly could lead to such a reaction. However, Sam and Dean aren’t really acting as the story’s main protagonists of this episode, so we get barely any details in terms of emotions about this. That makes the scene feel weird, and I wonder if it’ll ever be addressed and sorted out between Kaia and Dean.  If you paint your protagonist in a villain way like that, you need to counter that! But it didn’t happen in this episode and it won’t happen in the next one.

You wouldn’t have guessed that this episode is the midseason finale if you didn’t know it - except maybe for them ending up in another dimension. For once they’re send to another plane of existence together - but that also means no Winchester is left to get them back. I guess that is where the Wayward Sisters come in. Here’s to hoping it doesn’t go beyond the technicalities of opening a way back to their home dimenison.

Next: Wayward Sisters (spoilers)

The next episode will be the backdoor pilot for the Wayward Sisters spinoff -  so despite what we see in the promo I don’t expect to see much of the Winchesters or Supernatural in general in this. Hopefully the episode remembers that it’s still happening within the Supernatural show. I am not happy when Supernatural is used to set up a spinoff, because within the story and format it usually doesn’t make a lot of sense. I’d rather prefer a stand-alone pilot episode. Having said that, I still wish the Wayward Sisters show success. Just don’t start off on the expense of Sam and Dean.

[talesfrombarovia]

Curse of Strahd: Death House Pt. 1

In which Sacha and Fianna meet two Barovian children, enter a house, and steal things.

Cast: Litza as Sacha and the DM in black, Fuzzbox as Fianna in |blockquote.

Fianna and Sacha have been traveling together for some time and have entered the village of Barovia a little after nightfall. The gravel road leading through the village is flanked by tall houses dark as tombstones. Nestled among the solemn dwellings are a handful of closed-up shops. Even the tavern is shut tight.

A soft whimpering draws your eye toward a pair of children standing in the middle of an otherwise lifeless street. The 7-year-old boy is weeping and clutching a stuffed doll. The 10-year-old girl is attempting to shush him.

Fianna strides towards the two children. She carries herself with an easy confidence. Athletic but not bulky. Her hair is a messy tangle of ashen blonde, and despite her best efforts, a wild strand always manages to fall in front of her eye.

Her voice is a little wary but her eyes are kind and honest. "Why that's a nice doll you have.  Tell me, why do you cry while holding it?"

Sacha follows after Fianna, her gait more reminescent of a wild animal, wary and feral.

The girl looks up as Fianna approaches, her gaze immediately trusting, if a bit frantic. "There's a monster in our house!" she says, turning to point to a house a distance down the lane, its windows dark. It has a gated portico on the ground floor, and the rusty gate is slightly ajar. The houses on either side of it are abandoned, their windows and doors boarded up.

Fianna kneels down so that her eyes are level with the little girl. Her voice calm, "My name's Fianna, what's yours?"

"Rosavalda Durst," the girl replies, in a voice that is soft and almost trembling. She lifts her chin, though, attempting to be brave. "This is my brother, Thorn." The boy sniffs, hugs his doll tightly, and peers up at Fianna with teary eyes. Their clothes are old and worn, perhaps fine generations ago, but now darned and patched and leeched of all color, as is common in the village. "Please, you have to help us!"

Fianna tilts her head to the side as she regards Rosavalda and then Thorn. "You've both been very brave, but I can't do this alone, so I need to ask you to be brave just a little longer. I need to know where your parents are.  Are they still in the house?"

Her messy hair tumbles to one side of her face as she turns towards the distant manor. Her voice darkens, as if she's speaking from the back of her throat. A hushed growl, "And what can you tell me of this monster?"

"It screams," Rosavalda whispers, sounding fightened just to speak of it. "We can hear it in the basement. Our parents trapped it down there, but now they're gone, and Walter is still in there." Her throat closes up for just a second, and she quickly blinks back the prickly beginnings of tears. Thorn clings to her side. "Please get our baby brother out. Please."

Sacha gives Fianna a sideways glance before looking back at Rosavalda. "Gone where?"

Rose's voice sounds choked. "I don't know."

From her tone of voice, she doesn't seem to imply that her parents are dead, but perhaps that they abandoned them and the house.

Fianna nods when Thorn mentions their baby brother. It's a cocky and confident nod with a slanted smile that tells him everything will be okay.  "We'll take care of it, kid."

She stands up and turns to face Sacha directly before speaking. She moves close, "You okay with this?"

"Do you think these kids will be safe out in the streets while we take care of.. whatever is in there?"

Sacha glances at the two kids, then shrugs. "I mean, probably?" She leans slightly to the side, addressing Rose. "Hey, you guys come wait close to the house while we go in, yeah?"

Rosavalda looks nervous, and doesn't move.

Fianna walks behind the children and doesn't even ask.  What she does is more akin to herding, her voice stern but steady, "Move along now, we can't save your brother while you're out in the streets like this.  Up there on the porch you go!"

Rose blinks, but quickly obeys Fianna's suddenly adult-like tone, Thorn in tow. She moves through the rusty gate, pushing it open and heading up the dusty path to the front door of the house and onto the porch.

Fianna will take a moment to pace from right to left along the front of the house, taking a brief peek in through the center window.  And as she approaches the door, she stoops down low for a moment, graceful and lupine, and quietly sniffs near the entryway.

The front archway of the house where the children stop is filled with a wrought-iron gate with hinges on one side and an unlocked lock on the other. Oil lamps hang from the ceiling of the porch by chains, flanking a set of oaken doors.

Through the window you see an oak-paneled room that appears to be some sort of living room or den, filled with chairs, a table, cabinets, a fireplace, and at least one stuffed wolf.

The place beneath the door smells clean. The only scents you can detect are wood, dirt, and other scents of the outdoors. The house itself seems to give off very little smell besides the wood and metal that it's made of.

Fianna turns to Sacha while still low to the ground, makes eye contact and shakes her head, "Nothing here." She stands and reaches her hand out to the door, slowly turns it and enters without much caution.

Sacha's eyes narrow slightly as she glances over the house, suspicious of Fianna's assertion. "Weird," she mutters, then follows Fianna inside.

The children stay on the porch, huddled together. Inside the door is a foyer leading to a set of mahogany-framed double doors set with stained glass. On one wall hangs a shield emblazoned with a coat-of-arms, a stylized golden windmill on a red field. On either side of the shield are framed portraits of stony-faced aristocrats, four in total.

Fianna gazes at the four portraits. "This house seems so huge. Really, these people, whoever they are, they must be so wealthy."

"And you're right, this is all just really... weird.  Should we just go inside?"

Sacha shrugs, approaches the wall, and takes the shield off it, testing its weight on her arm. Turning, she poses for Fianna, grinning. "I think we should rob 'em blind. After getting the kid, of course."

While holding Sacha's gaze, Fianna turns her head slightly down and to the side.  Her eyes narrow warningly. But she can only hold it a second before a devious smile spreads across her face, laughter behind her eyes. "You read my mind."

She turns with confidence and opens both of the two heavy wooden doors and swings them open like she owns the place. She saunters forward and sweeps her eyes back and forth.

Sacha's eyes are bright and happy in response to Fianna's reply, and follows her as she throws open the doors to what appears to be a main hall. It spans the width of the house, with a black marble fireplace at one end and a sweeping, red marble staircase at the other. Mounted on the wall above the fireplace is a longsword with a windmill cameo worked into the hilt. The wood-paneled walls are ornately sculpted with images of vines, flowers, nymphs, and satyrs. The decorative paneling follows the staircase as it circles upward to the second floor.

“A black marble fireplace and red marble stairs?  Rich and a flare for the dramatic.” She says as she runs her fingers along the grooves of the carved wooden figures. She works her way towards the sword and reaches for its hilt!

Sacha cracks another grin as Fianna reaches for the sword. It comes off the wall easily, a perfect match for the shield. “Hey, now we match,” Sacha teases. “Too bad we can’t take the stairs and the fireplace too.”

Moving over to the wall, she runs her fingers over the satyrs and nymphs, tracing them with a focused curiousity.

“Hey–” She peers closer at the wall. “Look at this.”

Fianna laughs but then grows curious and moves close to Sacha and examines the wall carefully.

Sacha moves her finger over a satyr, a nymph– and then, cleverly and inconspicuously woven into the design– serpents and skulls are carved alongside the cavorting humanoids and flowers. She turns, raising an eyebrow to Fianna. “Creepy folks, eh?"

Fianna runs her fingers along the carving too, "Ooo this is honestly so pretty though.  Snakes and skulls I’m used to. I actually really like this house. Maybe we can move in here after we get things sorted out with the kids?"

Sacha laughs, a sudden sharp breathy sound, surprised and amused. "Yeah, sure,” she says, in a tone that doesn’t make it clear whether she’s quite taking the request seriously or not.

Truthfully, the house looks in very good shape. The house is free of dust and signs of age, the floorboards and wall panels are well oiled, and the drapes and wallpaper haven’t faded.

Fianna steps away from the wall and brings her hand to her chin in thought.  Her eyes dart about the room.  She walks over and peers into the black marble fireplace, looking for signs of a recent fire.

There’s fresh wood in the fireplace, but no sign of a recent fire, no trace of ash, not even a lingering smell. It’s very, very clean.

“This is… strange. Someone set this fire to burn but never lit the spark. That’s a sad sight, don’t you think?”  She strikes flint to steel, igniting kindling, and holds it low beneath the dried wood. As the tender catches flame, a warm glow radiates out upon her face.

“If there’s a monster here, we’ll fight better with light on our side.”

“Say, do you think we should go upstairs or downstairs first? The kid said something about their parents locking the monster in the basement? This is all so weird.  Don’t you think?”

She walks towards one of the unopened doors at the back of the room, “Or maybe we should check things out here first.”

“Weird,” Sacha mutters, crouching beside Fianna and running a finger over the black marble. It comes back clean. “Have they never used it?” She sounds bewildered. “Or maybe they just clean it really well.”

As Fianna lights the fire, Sacha stands and steps back, taking a moment to admire the flame, and shrugging as Fianna speaks again. “Better to avoid the monster while we can, I think. Assuming there is one. Weird that their parents just left them, yeah?” Dick move, even for Barovians.

Sacha trails behind, taking her time to look at the walls, the ceiling, the staircase again. “Yeah. Kid must be hiding somewhere.”

The door opens easily to a large dining room. A carved mahogany table is surrounded by eight high-backed chairs with sculpted armrests and cushioned seats. A crystal chandelier hangs above the table, which is covered with resplendent silverware and crystal-ware polished to a dazzling shine. Mounted above the marble fireplace is a mahogany-framed painting of an alpine vale.

The wall paneling is carved with elegant images of deer among trees. Red silk drapes cover the windows, and a tapestry depicting hunting dogs and horse-mounted aristocrats chasing after a wolf hangs from an iron rod bolted to the south wall.

Fianna runs her hand along the red silk, imagining the lavish lifestyle of those who live here.  She chances a peek out of a window before turning and taking the whole room in.

She pauses before the grand tapestry in particular and a low growl builds from the back of her throat.  Her fingers graze over the wolf.

Sacha’s eyes widen slightly as she follows Fianna into the room. For a moment, she’s possessed by the urge to jump up on the table and rip pieces of crystal from the chandelier, but she resists when she sees Fianna pause in front of the tapestry. Padding softly across the floor, she comes to a quiet stop beside Fianna. For a moment, she lets the moment stretch, then she reaches up, dragging the tapestry and rod off the wall and to the floor with a great clatter. Pulling the tapestry off the rod, she wads it up, giving Fianna an impish crooked smile. “Ours now.”

[gapimnydiaries]

Diary Entry #18

Dear Diary,

Lately, I’ve been increasingly fearful of my own death.

I haven’t always been fearful, though. In fact, I used to welcome it.

There was a time in high school when I thought about it extensively, with curiosity and dramaticism. I used to wonder how people would feel if I were to die. It was an attempt to validate my own existence, since I was lacking my own reasons to keep going. If someone needed me here for them, then, by gosh, I would make the heroic choice to stay. If no one wanted me, then why would I stick around? I relished in the possibility that someone might regret dismissing my presence after it is too late.

This lack of validation was the result of different thoughts that reinforced each other.

I felt somewhat disconnected from everyone. While I was growing up, my parents (God bless ‘em, they do their very best) constantly highlighted that we were different from other Americans. There were the obvious cultural differences. Food was one they talked about a lot. How Americans tolerate and even enjoy room temperature or certain cold foods was disgusting according to them. My parents would make sure every savoury food we ate was heated. There were also ideological differences. “Americans” supposedly did not value or trust family as much as we did. There was an implication that Americans were therefore ruthless. In order to be successful in the greater community, I was told to be more outspoken than my parents. I trusted their warnings and advice, wise from their experiences after moving here. They had created me, so I felt a duty to remember their words. They managed to sow some seeds of distrust and skepticism in my brain about American society at large. However, I also had my own thoughts on the matter.

Even though we were different and relatively new to America, were we not also Americans? Our whole family loved the ol’ American hotdog! American culture is something my siblings and I fully immersed ourselves into. We enjoyed and memorized many movies and songs as any other American would. I also saw no evidence of a systemic disregard for family. Most of my “American” friends were not particularly rebellious against their own parents; during my childhood, I would visit my best friend’s home every week, and his interactions with his parents appeared cordial. I wondered whether my parents were just paranoid or overly critical about America. I did not view the world as “dog eat dog” as much as they did (they were justified in thinking so, given how they grew up). It also felt a bit manipulative, to be advised to stay loyal to them without much reflection on the true reasons why or the pros and cons of living that kind of life. Stuck between loyalty to my family and affinity to my homeland, I felt myself lacking a strong group identity to align myself to.

Another factor to my lack of validation was the trivialization of my own problems. I viewed being selfless as a valiant ideal. Hence, I immediately perceived all of my problems as lesser to those of others. How could I complain about my emotional state when I at least had a place to sleep at night and food on my plate? Especially when considering what my parents had gone through before life in the States, I felt I had no right to complain. I was a lowly but fortunate person. There were more important things to battle, like worldwide hunger (which I was not even doing shit about), or even the problems of my friends. I wanted to shoulder others’ problems to an unnecessary extent. As a result, I didn’t take care of myself or my own issues.

Inevitably, when I could be “selfless” no longer, I looked for someone to confide in. I eagerly self disclosed as a way to get closer to the people I was interested in, so I confided in very few. Whenever I did, though, I found it never gave me the deep comfort or connection that I desperately needed. Constant misery is not the best environment to foster long lasting bonds. I am sure I scared people away. If they happened to take up the challenge, I would internally make up excuses not to take others’ reassurances that easily. I was skeptical that anyone I talked to had thought that deeply about their place in the world, let alone had made the conscious decision to live despite it all. I never thought that anyone would care for my well being so deeply without expecting something in return.

I also completely invalidated any parental love I had received prior. I was out to friends in as early as junior high, but my parents did not accept me when I tried coming out to them three years after that. It ended very poorly. I continued to live in their care under the false promise of changing myself to conform to their wishes. I had to deal with the guilt of what would appear on paper as grand theft (a whole life’s worth!). It bore this idea in my head that I had never really been loved by them. All my past memories with them were false because, if my parents knew who I really was, they would have never given them to me in the first place. How many other kids at school could say they have felt that?

This lack of validation was the source of many mental ruminations that did not serve me. It made me crave for attention, but never ask for it outright. I sunk into myself, constantly burying deeper into my thoughts. It made me test some of my friends, and treat some in regrettable ways. I had mood swings every other day. Most of all, it compounded with other conclusions I had about the world -- that Murphy’s law meant that I should never trust anyone with any important task, that not everything I desired is possible (thanks unrequited straight obsession), that nearly everyone is a predictable archetype, that there is lots unfair with the world and not a lot of momentum among commoners to rectify it -- to demotivate me from living my life.

I never told you about this, Diary, but I remember one of my lowest points from back then. It was sophomore year of high school. I carried a paring knife in my backpack for a while. I had this fantasy of committing suicide seppuku style in a bathroom, but no concrete plans to do so. I probably would never have done it in reality. I only entertained the idea as a way of simulating external affirmations.

One of my friends was complaining to me in English class about everyday life problems. At that point, I was so tired of people talking to me about what seemed like small inconvenient details when they were not even questioning or concerned about the bigger picture. In an effort to one up her misery, I flashed her the knife I had in my backpack. She was absolutely quiet for the rest of class, but, after school, she came to my house and ordered me to talk about it. She was adamant in getting me to talk to an adult, or else she would not leave.

My primary emotion was embarrassment, not so much gratitude. I felt so embarrassed that she came over to my house, since it may have hinted to my parents that something was off. As much as I wanted attention from certain people at school, I did not want to burden my parents with my unhappiness. Besides, what could they do to resolve this black hole in my heart, when I believed they would never fully accept me? I went back to school with her, as she had to go back to her extracurricular activity (drama club, coincidentally). I reassured her that I would be fine and that I would stop carrying a weapon around.

Like, what the actual fuck was I thinking? I was too much of a coward to actually take my own life, but dramatic enough to brag to someone about it? And I was not even grateful that she had stopped by because of the aforementioned mental loops above: I assumed that she never had to think hard about choosing to live, and that she was just doing what anyone else would do in her position. She was not someone who I was interested in getting to know any better than I already did. I am thankful for her now; she had the guts to call me out on my ridiculous antics. I also want to apologize to her for putting her through that. Back then, though, it was an unsatisfying bother.

I do not know if word ever got around. I’m sure it did, but no one ever talked to me directly about it. There were some displays of genuine care afterwards. There was a very supportive teacher that offered to listen if I desired. He is also gay. I never took up the offer. I assumed that he would not be as understanding about my situation with my parents. There was a lot of talk in the gay community about “making your own family” with people who accept you. I figured he would tell me something along those lines. I did not want that. My family was enough for me. I did not want to accept tearing up my family as a certainty; I did not want to abandon promises made to take care of them when they are older as they have taken care of me.

There is one additional person that I particularly remember: another girl, one I was not particularly close with, was talking to me after school. I was reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower at the time (I do not even really remember that book), and she had asked if I related to it. She made me pinky promise with her that, if I ever felt like dying, I would at least talk to her about it first. I did not initially make it in seriousness (I would not go out of my way to confide in her), but mostly for appeasement. The same mental loops happened. Looking back, though, it was a small turning point that I am also thankful for. I am pretty stringent about promises, and even a small promise like that influenced my thoughts. I did remember it at times, and, with courage and a desire to put that awful sophomoric year behind me, I eventually came around to address my demons.

I realized a few things upon thinking deeply about my situation. If I really wanted to die, I would have done it by that point, but I had not. I had survived past some pretty rough points, but never to the point where I actually attempted to end it all. I figured that there must have been something that kept me going. I was not going to take my own life, and I attributed it to some innate desire that I had.

The base of that desire was the want to keep experiencing. I did not want for grandiose experiences, though, mind you. At that point in my life, I felt that I had experienced little. There were no exhilarating, fairytale moments to draw strength upon or look forward to. The future is a fickle thing anyway; one can never be so sure that the sun will rise tomorrow. I remembered, rather, the smaller moments already lived that had, for some reason, stuck around. The heat of some smiley french fries my mother would make for me after a rainy day at school. The sunset walks home in the fall where everything was perfectly golden. Little details like that, that usually go unnoticed, I savoured, and I did not want to lose being able to comprehend those types of blessings.

Remember when I used to write in you every night, about things that I wanted to change in my life, and then about things I was grateful for? It was a writing exercise one of my good friends gave me to restructure the way I thought. It got me into the mindset of articulating what I want to improve in my life, without forgetting that I have countless blessings.

With that friend as an occasional talking board, I worked to reverse engineer my thoughts, to dig even deeper, to venture beyond the black hole, and to position once unproductive thoughts to my advantage - to be on my own side because, in the end, who else would be? I wanted to develop a basic, flexible mental model of how the universe works so that I could not only tolerate the “worst” of the world, but harness value from it. I wanted to balance all feeling and thought in some type of equilibrium so that I could always find my way back to myself if the scales happened to tip.

Instead of focusing on how I could not fit fully into Asian culture or American culture, I focused on the unique insight I was given. I understood why my parents may be wary of other Americans. They have their own histories backing their own conclusions. That does not mean that all of their conclusions apply to what I experience today. Like many other Americans, they just wanted to make a better life for themselves and their loved ones. I appreciated my own identity, which gave me the ability to be critical to both mainstream American culture as well as the culture my parents grew up in. Instead of perceiving myself as unable to fit completely on either side, I perceived myself as more of a bridge: neither here nor there, but a supportive structure that allows ideas and understanding to flow.

I learned that selflessness does not merely mean putting everyone above yourself. Paradoxically, sometimes helping yourself is the best way to help others. When I am emotionally exhausted, there is less mental room for me to think about anything else. I found the value in dealing with my problems first and foremost, as it allowed me to be better focus on others. It is as essential as getting your eight hours of sleep at night. Hell, you may even find out that your experiences in dealing with your own baggage can be offered as a stepping stone to others struggling with similar problems, as I have.

Instead of looking outward for validation that never fulfilled me, I fostered internal validation.

When I did not believe anyone else who affirmed me, and I believed my parents may never come around to accept me as I am, there is only one other person who could be my cheerleader: myself.

No one I knew ever talked about self-love growing up. It was never really a sexy idea, after all. What was sexy was what was shown in the movies, when a man whispers in your ear that he will never leave you, while firmly holding you despite anything that happens. I grew up thinking that I needed to find some magical being that could provide that for me, but that is completely unrealistic. How can you expect someone to love you, when you do not even love yourself? And what makes you “yourself” even? Among seven billion people, where your traits lie on some spectrum, what truly makes you distinct?

After so many years of digging deeper, analyzing the hell out of my own behaviors and finding out my true motivations, I felt I had found my most essential self. I realized that every human being is born from some fantastical phenomenon out of countless possibilities. I defined the boundaries of what I would and would not do in many situations. I came to visualize an internal framework of the world - a web of cosmic hidden connections - and saw possibilities of who I could get to know and who I could come to be. When I accepted all of this and promised to continually hold myself to a higher standard of action, it was like I hit a hidden spring. It was a never-ending source of water that filled up all the emptiness caused by my digging, and reinvigorated me with a thirst for life.

Do not get me wrong, I do not believe external validation is completely bad. We all live in a physical world, where feedback of that type lets you know whether you are doing good towards your fellow humans. External criticism can be extremely helpful in developing one’s self. Individuals do not live in a vacuum. In this world, we depend on each other in order to live life as fully and as fast as we do. However, the desire to live should start with yourself.

I learned that truly connecting with people, in any range of emotion, is one of the closest things to heaven that we have here on earth. It is probably where my strong appreciation for music comes from, which I consider a method of instantaneous empathy. I am constantly fighting the desire to connect as a means to an end. I want to connect for the sake of feeling the connection, of feeling some ancient synchrony. It has been difficult to find that when you have been predisposed not to look for it. After all, I had confided my sexuality in my parents, seeking their understanding as a fellow human despite the generational rift, but it almost tore up my family.

Even though I accepted the possibility that my parents may never love me if they knew the truth, I still loved them. My love for them was not invalidated. That was what felt more important after everything - what I felt towards them and how I was/could be affecting them. I was (am) thankful for them, for how could I have grown to realize self-love without them? They struggled a lot in order to raise four children. I could not reverse that. It would have been worse for me to uproot what they have planted and hoped to grow.

I grew to accept my own sacrifice of keeping the peace. I thought of the times they sacrificed silently for me many times, and so I accepted it. When I was my high school self, especially at 15, I was not mature enough to take on the role as teacher of the subject. Where they grew up, they did not understand homosexuality. Since it was an unknown, I know it scared them. I intended to grow to eventually pay them back and teach them that it is not something to be feared. One day (which may be coming up very soon), when I have grown self sufficient enough and I am not endangering any of my siblings, I hoped to finally have them understand.

I validated my own presence in the world. I became someone who, despite thoughts to the contrary, chose to live, using those thoughts as additional motivators to improve. As with many others like me, it has been a solitary challenge, but we also receive the gift of understanding and insight from it. I cultivated self-love as a way to constantly remind myself that I am worth this life.

As with a good amount of things in life, though, when you gain something, it comes at a price. With this gain in self love and the ensuing will to live, it also ignited a fear of death.

◆◆◆

Diary, I write to you now because I’m not sure when I’ll be able to write to you next. Not for time reasons (life sure does move fast here), but because more than ever, I am taking risks.

A common person would not even consider most of them as “risks,” though. Living life in general has insignificant risks for any person. People do not usually think about them. The thing is, fear of death amplifies the perception of danger exponentially. Hell, I once read somewhere that a non-significant amount of people die from accidentally falling out of their bed. Ever since then, I try not to roll around too much while sleeping. I am acutely aware—some would say paranoid—of these small, unfortunate possibilities that could happen to me in this crazy, interconnected world.

As a consequence, some may think that I consider the worst case scenarios a bit too much. I totally understand that, but, remember where I am coming from. Years ago, while suffering from my own neuroses and lacking validation, I had gathered all of my remaining casino chips. From what I could perceive, I could either cash out or keep betting on slim chances that the future will fit my desires.

It took years of soul searching to see that there was an alternative choice to make. Instead of betting on someone or something else to give me purpose, I could invest in my current self. I could create my own feedback loop. I would not be bound by another’s rules; I could set my own. I could help myself first and grow strong enough to help others.

After weighing the odds, the optimal bet was obvious. I went all in on myself. Because of this, every choice I make during this life has high stakes. I would be so damn angry if it all ended, especially if it were because of my fault or my carelessness. The scariest thing is having my decision invalidated by a meaningless death.

Since this past November, I have been finding that the number of risks that could threaten my existence have been exponentially rising, some personal and some out of my control. I have started attending more LGBT events since last summer and getting to know a lot more people, and I have been increasingly afraid of worst-case scenarios in the current political climate. I have gotten a bit lazy with watching my diet to the point where I worry about getting hypertension. My choice to live in a major city is like a choice to live in the center of a dart board. The rising likelihood of a magnificent death in a nuclear blast determined by leaders so removed from the quotidian sometimes leaves me motionless in bed in the morning for a few extra minutes. If this does not happen within my lifetime, I worry about the future of the world’s children, who might not even get the chance to choose to live. There does not seem to be many people alarmed enough by all of this. The amount of energy it would take to mobilize out of our collective complacency deeply discourages me. There is a lot to be pessimistic about when you inhabit a certain viewpoint. A fear of death makes that pretty easy to slip into.

At its worst, this fear hinders me from doing anything. When the inevitability of death comes to the forefront of my mind, it paralyzes me. As a being that exists, I cannot comprehend non-existence. It makes me doubt the value of everything I do. Death would most likely erase any value I got out of living. The very concept of value itself may not even matter outside of human minds, so why pursue the things I feel are important? The horror is Lovecraftian in a way. Through the eyes of an ancient universe, my existence is nothing. I blind myself with the boundless, unreachable future and forget the things I see now.

If the fear is not causing some sort of self-existential crisis, it is triggering self-preservation instincts. It has contributed to some of my apprehension to be fully out in public; I do not want to give any potential crazies on the sidewalk a reason to take me down. Being more vulnerable, either by sharing my thoughts or letting people in, is extremely difficult when I prioritize my own survival ahead of others’. In this current period of my being more open to experiences, sometimes I wonder if I may be letting the wrong people in. I get scared of the possibility of that one person who could take advantage of weaknesses I have shared with them.

It is not all bad news, though, Diary.

One “risk” that I find myself taking more often nowadays is flying. I blame work, although I probably take more leisure trips than work ones. I would never say I dislike flying—it is a miracle of human genuity—but it gets me into a very contemplative mood. I heard there are people that cry on the plane just from the mix of emotions. I guess I am one of those people minus the tears. The thoughts start as early as the night before the long subway ride to the AirTrain.

The fear always hands me this question before embarking: “Would I be satisfied if I died today?”

Every time, the answer has been no. There has always been more I want to do. I would compare my ambitions with what I have been doing with my life until that point and refine what I intend to do the days after my trip is over. After many trips like that, I feel thankful that I have my fears because, just as with so many other things in life, there’s another side to the coin.

At its best, the fear pushes me to truly perceive what I feel is most important. There is no reason to fret over frivolous things when I am aware of the bigger picture of my life and the even bigger cosmic narrative that surrounds it all. In every situation, I only have that one chance during this one life to do the action that is truest to myself. There is a constant sense of urgency to respect that action, lest regret happens.

Since choosing to live, I wake up and am subconsciously aware of all of the things I want to do still. I want to have more cozy, humble memories. I want to live to eventually take care of my parents. I want to continue to be vulnerable, despite my fear telling me not to. I want to deeply relate with other people, because it gives me a glimpse into what I imagine a heaven would be like. I want to reach the limits of what I can do. I want to keep adding to my life until I cannot add any more. I want to keep experiencing enjoyment responsibly and sustainably. I want to see the world on track to continue vigorously past my lifetime. I want to take some of the responsibility in ensuring a functional world for our future generation, and I want to inspire others to do that. I want to live all the possible lives that are afforded to me. I want to bring to general consciousness the experiences of being gay, of being Asian, of being both. Most of all, I want to live for myself: to respect this life I was given and this unique viewpoint that I have (dare I say, soul?) because I cannot imagine any other existence that could be as fulfilling as this one. These subconscious thoughts power my interactions with the outside world.

In a flawed, selfish way, I want some piece of my “soul” to continue living on when most of me passes. I want a way to circumvent death, even if just partially. I remember in 9th grade English class, when we read Epic of Gilgamesh (what a weird piece of literature to gain a life lesson from... but anyway). I learned that leaving yourself in writing is its own kind of immortality. That is partly why I try to write things like this -- to leave something of myself using the exact words that I desire. I want people to be comforted by these certified official perma-thoughts if they ever wanted to revisit my mind when I have been long gone.

As I get older, there are some events that make me wonder if death is even to be feared. A belief in the afterlife would probably assuage some of my worries. I would like to think that everyone gets their desire for an afterlife, with all of their personality and “soul” intact. I used to believe in it, but most times, I don’t. There are no whispers beyond the veil that I can hear. I just imagine what it is like to be non-existent, and then imagine what it is like to not be able to imagine, and crawl under the covers. There are times, though, most recently in the resting face of my recently departed grandmother, where I think that maybe death is some mysterious magic to us young folk, like how computers can seem to be a type of magic to the elderly. Maybe it’s just something so sufficiently advanced and higher dimensional that, at a young age and in an active body, we cannot comprehend the full capability or meaning of. It doesn’t make sense to me yet. As long as death is a one way street, though, I will take my time walking the tightrope.

As the plane rushes down the runway and I grip the armrests, I think of every single person that has been in my life thus far. Faces flash by. I hope that I have treated them well. I wonder if at least some true part of me can live on in them. I become supremely thankful. Thankful that, up to that point, the world has granted me another day through a combination of dice rolls, kindness, humanity’s hard work, and my own will. Thankful that my fear can inspire such a deep, conscious gratitude. So what if there have been failures throughout my life, branches of possibilities that have been closed off? Death has failed every day in taking my own life. I have survived to cultivate a life that seems to have as much potential as any other untaken path.

I accept that I will die someday. However, I have chosen to live now. That pushes me to continually choose to live for what I want to accomplish.

Just in case I have died by the time anyone reads this, here is a humble request to those still living: make the explicit promise with yourself to live. Respect that promise. Constantly choose to live. Remind your peers of this same promise. This world may be the closest shot to heaven we will ever get, and I am jealous that you get to stay in it a bit more. Count your blessings. Live consciously.

Kevin F. Chen

--

I could never have gotten through my thoughts if my friend had not been giving me the courage to do so. I understand that not everyone has a friend they can count on to do that. There are people who are silently suffering, and who may not even know that there is always someone a phone call away if they need it.

If you are ever in crisis, feeling suicidal, or in need of a safe and judgment-free place to talk, please call Trevor Project’s Lifeline at 1-866-488-7386.

[lettersnorth]

To this day, there have been at least five fish deliveries from Dirtpatch to Heartwood, all handled by Bertram Windshadow. The highlander’s feelings about becoming a fish courier was unknown...what was known was that Heartwood’s storage area would soon fill up if the product wasn’t dealt with soon. Crates upon crates upon crates, each full of fish in different stages of decay.

Aislinn comes out from the house like a person moving briskly from one task to the next. Brushing a hand down her skirts, she smiles briefly to Cravendy. "Alright there, Cravendy?" she asks in her usual fashion.

Bertram was pondering such a turn of events himself as he walked along the path toward the Heartwood headquarters. It was certainly a stark change of pace for the man but it also came with the blessing of distraction. Something he'd found to be quite the blessing. Even if the perpetual smell of fish was ... maybe less than ideal. He waved a hand to the two standing just outside the yard and flashed a quiet smile, "Cravs! Lin!"

Cravendy is outside, trying to dry some of the fish. But the drying racks are full and there are still plenty more to deal with. She turns to Lin and gives her a somewhat panicked smile. “Eh, er. Hm.” Then after a pause. “Nnn..nno. Oh bugger, Windy. Are ye ‘ere with more to deliver?”

By now Aislinn knew well enough not to jump right into the business at hand. Which in this case, was definitely the amount of fish piling up on the grounds. Even so, the looming need to move the product, and fast hung over her head. It was starting the smell and soon she feared the aroma would seep into the walls of the house itself. She turned her attention to Bertram as he arrived. She was smiling but her eyes all but dared him to say he had yet another delivery. "Afternoon, Bertram."

"Uhm ..." Bertram's gaze sweeps over the scene as he quietly processes what it all means, a somewhat nervous chuckle rising up from the man as he notes the look from Aislinn. "I ... uh ... was coming by to borrow a chocobo to haul it up the hill ..." He shifts his attention to Cravendy looking apologetic. "But the ice crystals still have some chill in 'em, so ... they should be good for a ... bit!"

“NO...” Cravs sinks to the ground, crestfallen. So soon! And all her efforts would barely cover the first batch, as there were still several more crates to process. That said, Cravs was really just buying time...a house full of fish jerky was still suboptimal.

Cravendy Hound: “The smell is startin’ to attract unwelcome company, if ye catch my drift. So far just small critters, like spriggans an’ squirrels, but if we don’t do somethin’ soon it’s only a matter of ‘when’ a bear’ll come and make itself at home ‘ere.”

Aislinn groans inwardly at the news. With a shake of her head, she glances between Bertram and Cravendy. "We can't keep stockpiling it all here. Soon we'll all be smelling of fish." she makes a face. "What about...the botanist guild? Surely they need some fertilizer or somesuch?"

Bertram watches in muted horror as Cravendy succumbs to piscine despair. Though he is pulled from that moment at Aislinn's suggestion of selling it to the the botanists. "That's a pretty good idea ..."

“Seems like such a waste.” Cravs tips her head to a particular crate that she’s been too scared to open. The wood used to be straw brown, but now it was stained darker from its wet contents. She grimaces and averts her eyes from the disaster. “But we don’t ‘ave a choice for a lot of it.”

Aislinn shoots Cravendy an incredulous look. "It can't possibly be fit for eating at this point. There's nothing for it."

Bertram follows Cravendy's gaze to the ominous and unopened crate. "Yeah ... I think we've already passed that threshold."

Aislinn waves a hand in Bertram's direction. "Maybe we can still sell the new delivery as food but whatever's sitting in that crate there..." she followed Cravendy's gaze to the menacing box like it was a ticking timebomb. "It just has to go."

Bertram Windshadow: "If it makes you feel any better, Cravs, it might be used to become food again."

Cravendy Hound: “By who?!”

Cravendy Hound: “Ye mean that one-” She points to the soggy crate. “-t-that one, as food?!”

Aislinn tips her head. "I think he means that it'll be used to grow actual food. Part of the cycle. No one would eat it as it is." she assured the Roegadyn.

Bertram blinks, trying to parse the question. "Not directly, I mean! But if we can sell as fertilizer like Lin suggested ..."

"OH YE MEAN. AS fertilizer it'll become food again....Not like. Someone’ll eat it like food. Ah." Cravs finally understands. Gods, her mind is far too preoccupied by fish despair.

Bertram Windshadow gestures toward Aislinn, "Yeah, that! Or maybe swine fodder ..."

Cravendy blushes slightly as she clears her throat. “Ahem. Well, let’s go over and try to sell it to the botanists then. And keep an eye out for anyone interested in the fresher stuff as...instant food.” Cravs grabs a couple of fish samples before she heads out, just in case.

As the wind shifts, the putrid smell drifts their way. "Nymeia's breath." Aislinn chokes. "Alright. Yes, this needs to get solved. Yesterday. Surely we can make some sort of deal."

Bertram suppresses the sudden urge to vanish as the scent of ripe fish wafts in his direction. He speaks as though he's being partially strangled, "Yeah. Let's go."

The Botanist’s guild is, as usual, a verdant and bustling place, with farmers diligently working the fields. As the trio approach, one of the guild’s workers stops what he’s doing and freezes in place, nose crinkled and generally confused. “Gods, what’s that smell?”

Bertram follows along with Aislinn and Cravendy whilst also holding a russet colored chocobo by the reins and walking them alongside the trio. Hitched to the saddle bags are two small crates of fresh(ish) fish that are being kept chilled via ice crystals. He clears his throat and looks to the others at the cry. "Fish..?"

Aislinn jerks to a halt, a dawning look of embarrassment flashing across her face. She knows it can't be the still fresh fish Bertram has in tow. "It's happened already. We reek of fish." she murmurs, leans over and discreetly sniffs Cravendy. "Everywhere we go." a flush of red starts creeping up her neck.

Cravs realizes the stranger must be talking about her. When she had grabbed samples, she had grabbed a fish from every stage of rot, from unspeakable, to fresh, to bone dry. Figuring that there was no point in hiding it, she presents the source of the smell to the farmer. “Fish...”

“I can’t tell if it’s ye, or this thing.” Cravs lifts the rotten fish in her hand slightly. “Or me. Or all three. Seven ‘ells, this is bad....Maybe we’re numbed to the smell.”

Aislinn realizes what Cravendy has brought with her and pulls back sharply. "Twelve above!" she hisses. "Nevermind." she says somewhat in relief. With a bracing breath, she steps forward and addresses the botanist.

Bertram was starting to wonder if he was just going to smell like fish for the rest of his suns. He'd been around the scent for so long now that he was worried that he couldn't really discern it from himself any longer. "We ... uh ... we were hoping that we could, maybe, ... offer a trade with your guild?" He looks toward the botanist thoughtfully.

Aislinn nods in agreement with Bertram. "We find ourselves with some good quality fertilizer on our hands and we were hoping you all here might be interested."

The farmer puts down his bag of seeds for a second to listen to the trio’s sales pitch. “Let me guess - fish fertilizer? We’re already stocked up on other varieties of fertilizer. What makes yours different?”

Bertram seems entirely at a loss on this one. He's not exactly a botanist and his knowledge of caring for plants was ... middling. He looks over at Aislinn in the hope that she would know something about this, otherwise he'd have to fly by the seat of his pants.

"Namely, it's fish. It does wonders for the overall health of the soil. And the plants really take to it. The gardens at our Company House are quite the sight to see." Aislinn replied as she took a look around the garden plots. "We have an agreement with a fishing village and ended up with a bit of surplus."

“Ye know why Sea Wolves are tall and strong? It’s cause we love fish. And eatin’ it daily ‘elps keep yer eyes workin’....Not that you’d know, since you Gridanian’s don’t eat meat...” Cravs notes, her comment both useless and insulting? She clearly has a bone to pick with Gridanian cuisine. “Anyway, that’s gotta count for somethin’ with the plants.”

Bertram nods his head slowly along with Aislinn's explanation before looking back over to the botanist. "And I could make personal deliveries." He looks over to Cravendy's pitch with ... a bit of uncertainty but nods all the same. "It could bring some nutrients that the local varieties don't usually replenish!"

Aislinn blinks once at Cravendy's reply. And again. But aside from that small tell, she makes no sign that the comment was anything out of the ordinary and plows ahead, building off of what Bertram had said. "You really can't go wrong with a well-rounded fertilization schedule."

The farmer listens intently to Lin and Bertram, his curiosity piqued. He opens his mouth, about to ask about price and volume, but is interrupted by Crav’s comment. So instead, he gasps, insulted. “Wait, what?! What do you mean by that?”

Aislinn lets go the quietest of sighs. So close.

Bertram takes in a *deeeeeep* breath as he lifts a hand up and rubs the back of his neck, "She ... uh ... she doesn't mean anything by it. She's just not from around these parts."

“I’m sayin’ ye should try it too. Fresh fish. We got that.” Cravs says somewhat aggressively. She steps forward, invading the botanist’s space and looms over him with her fish-begotten height. The farmer shrinks under her shadow. What the HECK is this negotiation - more like intimidation?!

(Bertram Windshadow) (( I'm dying. "Fish-begotten" )) (Cravendy Hound) bad cop good cop confused cop ))

Aislinn steps neatly between the looming Seawolf and the botanist with a gentle laugh she certainly doesn't feel but sells all the same. "Or, just the fertilizer. Like Bertram said, our friend is from Limsa, very passionate about seafood. She just wants everyone to try it." as she's speaking, an elbow is nudging Cravendy back. "And I can't blame her. It really is, very good. Very fresh."

Bertram takes a step forward and reaches up to touch Cravendy's shoulder with a pleading smile, "That's right. She feels real strongly about it, but it comes from a place of passion and knowledge."

Cravendy Hound - There isn’t much space between Cravs and the farmer, so for a second, Lin, Cravs, and the poor man are sandwiched against each other - chest to back to chest. At Windy’s touch though, Cravs backs down and takes a step back. She has more to say, but senses that maybe she should leave the talking to the others.

The botanist is visibly shaken and annoyed. “Tell your oversized friend that around these parts, we live in harmony with the forest and Elementals! That our meals are balanced and wholesome!” He huffs, arms crossed.

(Aislinn North) ((I love the visual of us all just piling on this poor botanist)) (Cravendy Hound) ((probably never gotten a sales pitch like this before ))

Bertram pats Cravendy's shoulder as she backs off from the botanist. Something that the man says seems to spark a thought. "I guess ... these fish would be like a wholesome meal for the plants that is in harmony with the forest? The fish returning to the soil..?"

(Cravendy Hound) return to soil )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( He's trying his best. )) (Cravendy Hound) I love all of this xD )) (Aislinn North) ((Ahh yes, the soil. Natural habitat of fish XD))

For a moment, Aislinn stills and her smile grows tighter. Insults thrown in her direction rolled off her like water off a duck's back but insults tossed uncaringly at her friends were an entirely different matter. Even so, she tries valiantly to keep sight of the bigger picture. She merely nods along with what Bertram had said deciding it was much better than what might slip from her mouth.

Cravendy is being placated by Windy...for now. But when she hears the botanist spit an insult back, she nearly goes right back at it. Teetering on the edge of doing something rash, Cravs grabs tightly onto Windy’s shoulder and whispers harshly in his ear. “Guh, I know I shouldn’t, but I wanna give this whelp a new eye socket. ‘old me back, alright?”

Bertram feels the vice like grip upon his shoulder and shifts his attention back to Cravendy. He listens quietly to the request before lifting his brow and, ultimately, giving a firm nod. "I'll do my best, Cravs, but you have fish-fueled strength." He offers back in a hushed tone.

The botanist is at the limits of his patience and desperately wants this colorful trio to leave him alone so he can work. He raises his hands up in defeat. “Fish returning to the soil? I....doesn’t everything return to the soil eventually? Agh, look. Just. How much are you selling this for? If it’s a good price I might be willing to try, provided you throw in free samples as an apology for how your colleague acted. VERY generous free samples.”

“Free samples?! F-for wh... Alright, this bloody drylander is askin’ for an ass kickin.” Cravs growls under her breath. She tries to lunge forward, truly testing Bertram’s strength.

Bertram does his best to hold Cravendy in check! He slips his arm through her own and tries to lock it there ... or as best as he can! "Cravs ... we're *trying* to get rid of the stuff!" He whispers sharply.

The only thing keeping the smile on Aislinn's face at the moment is the thought of this man opening up the dark, fish juice soaked crate that currently sat back at Heartwood and being assaulted by whatever lay within. "Certainly. I can have that sent over straight away." she paused, a look of consideration on her face before tossing out a gil price per ponze of fertilizer. Discounted but still enough of a profit knowing the need to get rid of the stuff while still giving Dirtpath something for their efforts.

(Cravendy Hound) djfkls the contrast between the professional and the absolute clownfoolery in the back ))

(Bertram Windshadow) (( *laughs and grins* Also, if you want me to roll or anything to hold back the fish primal just let me know. ))

Cravendy Hound is like a lion on a frightfully thin leash. For the moment she is held back, but for how long?

The botanist considers the price, considers the free sample, considers the sight of Bertram holding Cravs back....and finally gives. “Okay. But if this fertilizer isn’t up to par, we have the right to get a refund. Eh, hope this stuff really is a wholesome meal for the plants.”

Cravendy isn’t able to break free from Windy’s grasp, and he buys enough time for the botanist to agree. This, in turn, is enough to defuse Crav’s fighting spirit. Bertram manages -- by some miracle -- to hold back the tide of fury boiling over in Cravendy, though he does hope and pray that the botanist either hurries or keeps his mouth shut a much a possible. He doesn't want to have to explain to the Wailers why there's a botanist out cold that smells of spoiled fish.

Bertram heaves a sigh of relief as the tension seems to settle.

Aislinn shakes her head. Did he take them for fools? The price was already discounted. All she could see was him opening up the crates of decaying fish and sending it straight back. They'd be in the same situation a sennight from now. "Alright, that's fair." she allowed. "But if you decide it's  not up to snuff, we'd like to come back and see the plants that you feel didn't benefit before issuing a refund." she replies.

The man nods. “That’s fair. I’ll bring this up with the guildmaster and we can draw up official agreements, refunds and conditions included.”

Cravendy shakes her arm free from Windy. Thank the twelve for Lin. It looks like she has something to say, but wants to wait until they leave.

Bertram exhaled a sigh of relief as the botanist seemed to take to the demand reasonably. "And I'll be happy to come in and check up routinely for a moon or so!" He fully pulls his hands away from Cravendy as he decides to trust the roegadyn not to throttle the botanist now.

Aislinn nods as the polite smile returns to her face. "We'll leave you some samples now." she waved to the decaying fish Cravendy had brought with her. "And we'll stop back later to sign the agreement. I'm excited to see how the plants here are going to take off once you start rotating in our fertilizer." turning to Cravendy and Bertam she gives them a look of utter relief. "We'll be getting out of your way now."

Bertram nods in fervent agreement with Aislinn before looking over to the botanist with a small smile, "It was ... uh ... a pleasure doing business with you. I look forward to speaking again!" He then looks back to his two companions and quiets his tone slightly, "That ...wasn't so bad?"

Cravendy places the rotting fish at the farmer’s feet and then backs away awkwardly. The farmer simply stares down at it and then at the three as they make their way out. The silence that follows is particularly uncomfortable for Cravs. What an experience.

Aislinn Is only too happy to beat a hasty retreat before the botanist tries to change his mind.

Once they're far enough away, a rush of breath escapes her. "Alright, the important thing is we've dealt with the spoiling fish problem. From here on out, we can try and find takers who are actually interested in the fish as food."

“Pah, fish this high quality, and it’s just goin’ straight into the ground. What a goddamn waste!” Cravs bemoans, her agitated expression more intense than usual. She rubs the space between her brows. “Maybe there’s an underground market for this kinda stuff...I know there’re miqo’te in the woods that might be more open to eatin’ fish.”

Bertram follows behind as they make their hasty retreat from the botanist's guild, leading the chocobo along with him. "That *does* take care of the more critical problem." He turns his attention to the crates on the chocobo's sides. "That just leaves the fresher catch..."

"Hopefully there are people around here a little more open minded than that...." Aislinn  stops herself. "man." from the stress she puts on the word it was clear she had something more colorful in mind. "Miqo'te, you say? Maybe some Keeper tribes?"

“I can’t believe that man!” Cravs hears an echo of herself gently speaking back - but you started it. Undeterred, she shakes her head. “And he ‘as the gall to complain about how the fish stinks, when they’re usin’ literal shite as fertilizer too? Bloody shove it.”

Bertram Windshadow: "Sometimes it's the novelty of the stink that really gets people ..."

“We’re givin’ ‘em the caviar of plantfood, and then ‘e’s askin’ for a discount, for samples,” Cravs grumbles. She sighs. But Lin was right, at least the problem of Heartwood filling up with fish was dealt with.

Aislinn nods to Bertram. "Shite, they're used to. Fish, not so much. But once they see the results, they'll stop complaining.

Bertram nods his head slowly before lifting a hand and rubbing the back of his neck, "So ... we should look for one of the keeper tribes out in the Shroud?" “Worth a shot. A lot of ‘em ‘ave been branded as poachers though, so they might be ‘ard to find. Maybe Riylli could ‘elp us get a foot in the door.” Cravs says

Aislinn offers up a placating hand. "But think about it this way. You don't have to open that jack-in-the-box of decaying fish now. That joy belongs to him." she looks to Bertram and nods. "I think that's our best bet. Especially if that man's attitude is prevalent around these parts."

Aislinn North "Aye, maybe Riylli could help, if she's willing."

Cravendy smiles smugly at the thought of the man dealing with /the/ wet crate. Hopefully, he wouldn’t return the merchandise, but still. It felt good to be petty. “That’ll be a once in a lifetime experience for ‘im. Windy, make sure ye run at least a malm away, in case ‘e wants to open it the moment ye deliver it.”

Bertram glances over at Aislinn at the mention of pulling in extra help. "Well, I certainly wouldn't turn down someone that's more familiar with them. I can't say I know which would be the best to approach with this sort of offer." Bertram has chosen not to think about the horrifying pandora's box of the sea.

Bertram looks at Cravendy at that comment. "I'll be ready to run ... don't you worry."

Seeing she had successfully hit the mark by appealing to Cravendy's vengeful side, Aislinn turns back to Bertram. "We'll have to move quickly though if we don't want the latest shipment to end up in the ground again." she glances over at Cravendy. "Can you try and track her down? See if she'd help us and soon?"

“I can catch ‘er at the next bar night. Riylli...I don’t know where she lives, actually. She’s the type to drop in and out at ‘er own schedule,” Cravs notes. “Meanwhile, Windy, if ye can find others that might be interested, other Keeper clans or otherwise. I’ve found that when ye ‘ave rules on what ye can and can’t ‘ave, there are always interested parties willin’ to pay premium for illicit goods.”

Aislinn snorts delicately. If that wasn't the gods honest truth, she didn't know what was.

Cravendy gives the two a hearty thumbs up. A job well done! Well, it was mostly Lin, and Bertram keeping the situation from diving nose-down into disaster. But regardless, a job well done.

Bertram nods his head firmly, "Yeah, I can do some scouting ..." his gaze drifts in the direction of the chocobo at his side, "And ... I'll keep these crates on ice as best I can."

Aislinn glances at the crates. "We've got some more ice crystals back in Heartwood's lab. We can fill them up."

Bertram reaches up and scratches the neck of the chocobo fondly before looking back to the others, "Compared to selling spoiled fish selling edible fish should be a breeze, right?"

"One would hope." Aislinn returns dryly