#(the writing machine in my head is firing on all sorts of cylinders right now)

[godzexperiment]

It was one of the spaces he actually occupied frequently; an complicated set of walls that he just stripped down to its bare bones emotionally most days. Loud music blaring, echoing around while he twirled around with his eyes closed. Ever so light hopping on, off the pews and enjoying himself. And song after song of it- until he was spinning ever so fast, with perfect balance on the back edge of the pew bench. Until the last song was hitting its final chords. With which he ran along its length- using one foot to push himself off into the air. That moment before gravity was able to grip tight. While he just sort of drifted; even with his wings not present. Before his boots impacted soundlessly, an little last spin on the tip of them for the final seconds of instrumental. Just standing there for an moment with his eyes closed. Then the little run, slight gliding despite the heavy traction of his boots with an little help of his wings to fill the dead air with some more music.

[thetomorrowshow]

Mutually Beneficial Ch. ix

First  -  Previous  -  Next

A/N: So this one is going to be a bit different. Fair warning.

Recommended listening: IDKhow - Modern Day Cain

Tw: Needles, unknown drugs, angst, medical equipment/machinery, brief description of injury, like super brief, like just a few words brief, little bit of panic, I think that’s everything

-

The woman pushed him onto the sliding table. “Stay calm,” she said reassuringly. He trusted her, for some reason. Maybe it was her relaxed expression, or her comforting yellow blouse. However, he didn't lie down yet, as she seemed to expect him to do. Instead, Roman glanced around at the twenty-some professional individuals sitting at the desks in the room. It was an odd setup, him and the MRI machine at the front of the room, the suited men and women half-paying attention. It reminded him in some ways of  a classroom, but they definitely weren't in any school he'd ever been to. It was sleek and modernistic, with the wall opposite, at the back of the room, entirely constructed of glass. Through the walls, far below, he could see the edge of a parking lot, tiny people walking to an out-of-sight entrance in the building, leading him to guess he was on an upper floor. The ceiling was high—high enough that he wondered if this was the top floor.

“Please, lie down.”

Roman obeyed now, almost unthinkingly. He couldn't rightly recall why he was here—a test of some sort? Probably.

The unnamed woman loomed over him, a sugary smile on her face, a syringe balanced in her fingers. “This will go into your chest,” she explained, gesturing to the syringe. “Then I'll wheel the table into the machine. Are you ready?”

Roman nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the people in the room grow more attentive, some closing laptops, others pulling notepads out of desks.

As the syringe came closer, Roman panicked internally, realizing he was still wearing his shirt (a maroon t-shirt, which felt wrong for some reason). The woman didn't seem to mind, though, so he didn't bring it up. Instead, he focused on her long dark hair with blond highlights, her yellow blouse, her oddly cold hazel eyes behind rectangular glasses.

The tip of the needle pushed through his shirt; a shiver went up his spine at the cold metal on his skin. He observed wryly that it was directly above his heart, then squinted his eyes shut in preparation (of what, he didn't know) as she pushed it into his chest with a tiny prick of pain, then pressed the plunger down. Then—

His eyes shot open at the pain. Burning, vision-sharpening pain. He gasped as it spread outward from the needlepoint, hitting his fingertips and bouncing back to his chest in waves. A bespectacled man seated near the front of the room frowned at his obvious discomfort, then tapped something out on his computer.

“Time to start the MRI. How are you feeling?”

Roman gritted his teeth. “Ow,” he managed. A flurry of activity from the viewers. The woman nodded expectantly.

“It hurts, doesn't it? It'll put you to sleep, so try and relax.”

Roman took a stuttering breath and closed his eyes. She was right; he needed to relax. The machine started up, a lot of whirring a banging and loud beeps drowning out the sounds of typing and pencils scratching. His stomach lurched as the table he was on rolled into the large cylinder.

“Roman!” Bang bang bang. His eyes shot open.

“Roman!”

He tilted his head back. On a side of the room he hadn't paid attention to was a wall of glass, encasing the landing of a staircase. A man was on the other side, pounding on the glass that separated them, hollering his name. The man seemed familiar to Roman. He was dressed casually, blue jeans with a plum-colored sweater. An odd choice, he thought. It wasn't all that cold.

“Get out!” the man shouted, barely audible. “They're killing you! Get out!”

Pandemonium broke out. The previously calm woman was yelling, people were throwing things aside and pushing back chairs, the machine seemed louder than ever, four heavyset individuals were heading toward the glass, presumably to take care of the man—Roman ignored it all in favor of crawling out of the MRI machine. His breath came in short, pained gasps as he swung his legs over the side of the table, pain shooting through every muscle in his body.

The world spun as he stood. The cacophony of noise around him was overshadowed by the sound of his heartbeat thudding in his head, not as even as he would've like it.

Help, Roman tried to say. “Hngh,” came out of his mouth. He wasn't quite sure where he was trying to go. The wall of windows? That seemed like a good goal. How to break through it, though?

A wooden chair, vacated moments before. Roman stumbled toward it, almost oblivious to the chaos around him. Using what felt like every ounce of his strength, Roman picked it up and took a few wobbly steps at a run, wincing as he launched the chair at the glass. It crashed through, little shards of glass flying in every direction, leaving a spider-webbing hole in its wake. The panicking around him multiplied, accompanied by screams, but Roman ignored it. It was crucial that he got out—and quickly, he realized, his vision blackening around the edges as the pain grew more intense.

He lurched forward a few steps. He realized that he was barefoot as he stepped on some glass, but didn't have time to stop. His heartbeat was slowing, the pounding in his head thickening, his body on fire, the room growing hazy—

Badum, badum, badum. Badum . . badum . . . badum. . . .

Then Roman's head scraped glass and he tripped—and fell. And fell. The concrete was far, too far. The wind rushed past his ears as his eyes blinked shut, but sounded like it was coming from the end of a very long tunnel. He forced his eyes open in time to see the pavement coming closer toward him at an alarming rate, felt his knee skin the pavement, then snap, then—

He was trapped, tied, restrained, he couldn't get out, he was fighting his bonds but hurt, hurt so bad, and—

“Help!” The word tore from his dry throat.

“Shh, it's okay, kiddo. We're right here.”

Who? Who was where? It was dark, and he hated the dark, and he couldn't move—

“Calm down, bud, thrashing around like that can't help!”

“Where am I?” he cried out, his voice cracking painfully. Memories started to leak into his head. “What—will I be okay?”

Silence.

“What was in the syringe?” he tried.

“Syringe? What syringe?” the voice said quietly, sounding scared.

“The—the one? The yellow lady?”

“Deceit?” another voice asked.

“I—” he gasped in pain. He was still burning from whatever he'd been injected with, his back, his chest, his face— “It was poison! I'll die!” He tried to get up again, but the bindings and pain held him down.

“Roman, don't try to get up,” the second voice instructed. “It will only make it worse. You'll reopen your wounds.”

“Wounds . . . from the glass? Or from falling? How's my knee?”

Another silence.

“I don't believe there was any glass involved,” the second voice said doubtfully.

“Your knee is fine, Ro,” the first voice added.

“What?” That was confusing. He struggled against his bindings again, ignoring the arrows of pain that shot through his body.

“Oh, you're all tangled up in your blankets. Logan wouldn't let me fix it while you were sleeping.”

A pair of hands guided him out of what was now known to be blankets, not ropes or something of the sort. It was still pitch-black and unknown, but at least he could breathe again.

“Go back to sleep,” the second voice said softly. “You and Thomas both need it.”

He nodded a little.  Now that he was starting to calm down, he could feel the warm embrace of sleep pulling at him. A vague part of him wondered if the drug injected into his chest was finally giving him the mercy of sleep First, though, there was something he needed to know.

“Did he get out?” he slurred. “The . . . the purple man.”

Someone cleared their throat.

“Don't worry about it right now,” the first voice said. “He's . . . he's fine.”

-

A/N: This was an actual dream I had just before writing this. I mean, there were some details different (I was in Roman’s place, I have no clue what the woman was wearing, and the man in purple was someone else), but I tried to be as accurate and vivid as I could. Also, when I woke up, the point where (in the dream) the needle had punctured my chest burned.

TAGLIST (let me know if you want to be added/removed)(also let me know if I missed you by accident): @stop-it-anxiety @i-can-get-extra-with-my-ships @shitpost-sides @kai-the-person @bl00scl00s @emo-adjacent @charakitcat @ainsleyf @sandersstuffsblog @ginnyfox617 @enragedbees

[thebibliomancer]

Dark Crystal Age of Resistance ep 4 liveblog

“The First Thing I Remember is Fire”

Just a stream of thoughts.

Dammit the logo caught on fire. This is why they didn’t want open flames on the sets!

Gelfling are just super racist against Podlings.

A Guard: “Shut up, you’ll give everyone nightmares with that wailing!”

Hup: -sings louder, out of spite-

Sooooooooo Deet has decided to be a cryptid.

For Gelfling are a superstitious and cowardly lot. 

Flew around wailing and screeching until A Guard and B Guard took off in a frighten and then rescued Hup.

“Thra’s true balance will be found when natural order is sound.”

Dark Crystal loves its weird, random prophecies. But they’ve got nothing on Redwall.

-Brea, breaks the secret door- 

Why is there a secret room at the end of the secret passage under a secret door in the throne secretly that has the symbols of the seven clans?

Brea: “Oh, its a puzzle!”

Hey, yeah, this is coming off a little Legend of Zelda…

“I have to put the clans in their natural order, from highest to lowest, and then Thra will be in balance” =| ffs brea

You done learned a classism, growing up.

Dammit puzzle room, don’t reward her for classism! Orrr racism?

Brea is having a hard time ranking the clans once she gets past the ‘well obviously the Vapra are the best’

Wow, good job, modern puppeteers. You’ve made the Skeksis eating even grosser. And in the original movie it was a sort of cathartic trash the set sort of scene.

Wow, very gross.

Oh, this specific gross banquet is in honor of the Ornamentalist. So of course everyone spends the entire time whining about how food is like ash in their mouths compared to drinking soul goo.

Soul goo is crackier than crack. One sip and the Skeksis are all super hooked on it and already jonesing for another hit.

And the Ornamentalist is just annoyed.

Ornamentalist: “Essence, essence, essence! That’s all any of you talk about since I returned. It’s my party. Talk about me!”

Of course, the Ornamentalist would gladly try a hit but there’s none left.

Awww, they didn't invite Scientist to the party. They locked him in his lab until he finishes his mad science chores.

All the Skeksis are talking about wiping out the entire Gelfling population and Chamberlain is the only one thats not stupid about the horrific act of eating souls to maintain youth.

Chamberlain: “A wise shepherd does not cull entire herd, yes? We should take only what Gelfling we need to survive!”

Gourmand: “Moderation is for the meek!”

I again wonder how these dinguses managed to rule the planet for a thousand years without using it all up.

Chamberlain just called the General a coward. And the other Skeksis are just going FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT

General: “I welcome war!”

Chamberlain: “Because you are too thick-headed to use brain!”

General: -affronted gasp-

And the Emperor is too busy PULLING HIS FINGER OFF to pay much attention

Gross. You’re getting pus… everything was already disgusting and you’ve found the way to make it worse, Emperor

So he wants instant results and starts yelling at the Chamberlain who can just shrink down and go ‘he started it’

Aww Emperor just dumped Chamberlain as his favorite counselor and his new bff is the general

Woow the general wasn’t kidding. The instant Chamberlain doesn’t have the Emperor’s favor, the General smacks Chamberlain to the floor and stomps on his hand.

I almost feel bad for him.

And now several minutes of Aughra complaining about how old she is and yelling at the ground to shut up until someone shoots plot arrows around her.

And the Emperor rolls into the lab to mock the Scientist for having no friends. Wow.

So the Scientist finished repairing the soul suck machine, with the bondage chair upgrade like in the movie.

Emperor: “How many Gelfling must we drain to cheat death for all eternity?”

Scientist: ‘thats fucked up, dude’

Or more seriously, the Scientist is actually worried about the Darkening and worries that draining Gelfling will cause it to spread faster.

But the Emperor is a global decaying denier and tells Scientist to tell him what he wants to hear.

Or he’ll kill his pet lab animals. Which the Scientist actually seems to like. I mean the animals, not the choking of them.

Scientist: “Fifty Gelfling, every trine!” I’m split between thinking ‘wow thats awful’ and ‘wow thats sustainable’

Chamberlain is feeling sad because Emperor doesn’t love him most anymore so he’s blowing an ominous horn.

Oh, another new Skeksis! SkekMal, the Hunter!

And all the other Skeksis are like ‘aw fuck not that guy’

Its interesting to think that from how much all the Skeksis seem to despise each other, thats actually them getting along and liking each other, and there are other Skeksis that they just don’t like at all.

WOW SKEKMAL LOOKS SPOOKY

THE GROUND IS ANGRY

THE SKY IS ANGRY!

WHY IS EVERYTHING ANGRY

Oh theres Aughra, of course she’s angry. She’s angry or peeved or irritated or disgruntled.

Aughra: “I will go no further!” -many plot arrows- “... I will go a bit further.”

I hadn’t gotten a good view yet but Aughra has a cool cape.

Oh hey, a new UrRu! This day brings a bounty. He’s the Archer who has been shooting arrows adjacent to Aughra.

Archer: “Thra still sings”

Aughra: “Then why don’t I hear it?”

Archer: “Because you turned your eye away from Thra and towards the stars.”

Hearing that from the Skeksis is just audacious but hearing it from an UrRu makes it hurt.

Aughra: “I trusted the Skeksis to look after Thra! I took their word!”

Archer: “And their gifts”

GET DUNKED ONNNNNN i guess.

Having four arms must help with archery. But apparently having arthritis in all of those arms doesn’t.

Archer shoots arrow straight up into the air and has it land right at her feet. And vanishes while she’s watching it go.

Aughra: “You could have just said this! Clearly, succinctly! Without all the walking!”

Archer is the troll UrRu

Ohhh, I bet Archer and Hunter are counterparts. BECAUSE THEY’RE BOTH BATMAN

Archer does the vanishing when he feels the conversation is ended part and Hunter appears out of nowhere to give Chamberlain a frighten.

Hunter: “What is the prey?”

Chamberlain: “A Gelfling”

Hunter: “Nope. Bye.”

But Chamberlain talks him into it anyway because talking people into things is what Chamberlain does.

Although first he tries to make the Hunter feel sorry for his, the Chamberlain’s, reverse in fortunes by whining that the General hurt his hand but the Hunter just. Doesn’t. Care. About castle politics. He wouldn’t be out in the night being batman if he did.

But Chamberlain does manage to somehow convince him that Rian is worthy prey.

Now the General is charge of Gurjin’s interrogation and he immediately cattle prods him several times and straps him into the soul suck machine. Welp.

Gurjin, you’re wonderfully defiant and snarky.

General: “I will ask you once again, WHERE IS THE FUGITIVE RIAN?”

Gurjin, having just been partially soul sucked: “Have you checked the Great Smerth? It’s particularly lovely in spring.”

The Emperor rolls in and its like dad came home and caught the boys misbehaving.

Scientist: “I told him not to do it!”

General: “I… I was just introducing myself to the Gelfling!”

Emperor: =__=

OH MY GOD BREA HAS JUST BEEN TRYING TO BRUTE FORCE THE PUZZLE THIS ENTIRE TIME

She’s just been trying different combinations and writing down what doesn’t work.

Brea: “‘Thra’s true balance will be found when the natural order is sound’… but there is no natural order because no clan is above any of the others! It isn’t a puzzle! It’s a lie!”

Good job overcoming your prejudices, Brea!

Also, apparently refusing to rank the clans was the correct answer. This puzzle room is smart.

Hey what. Hey um what. There’s this stone dinosaur now what.

Its kind of cute.

YODA????

IS THAT YODA???

So the rock creature is named Lore and it has like… rock grooved cylinders and a rock phonograph pick and like a recorded Yoda voice that drops exposition 

Yoda: “Lore has imprinted on you. He is now your guardian and will protect you on your journey to the Circle of the SUns. There you will find the key to free Gelfing from Skeksis power forever.”

Oh.

Wait, who put this here? If the All-Maudra is NOW deeply in the Skeksis’ pockets then who and when put a secret room under her throne? And who knew enough to put a rock puppy in a secret room with a prerecorded message that the Skeksis were up to nooooo good. If someone knew all along that the Skeksis were jerks, why bury a message about it instead of doing something?

And then Seladon shows up and is like “THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE”

I’m not sure what the Gelfling guards were going to do to a rock monster with little spears anyway.

And now Rian has wandered into the Podling village. Hopefully he manages to be less racist than everyone else (except Deet) that interacts with them.

Wait, is that Rian? Then who is the other hooded gelfling and why are there ominous scare strings?

Podlings just love to party. They’re the Michelangelo of Thra’s races.

-Podling picks up entire keg and sprays it into another Podling’s mouth-

Rian gets a free drink because an old lady Podling wants to flirt at him across the room.

But his heart is too tender after losing the love of his life and I’m sure he won’t have room for a new love anytime soon.

Gurjin’s sister is hardcore. Shows up and puts Rian at knifepoint to ransom him off to get Gurjin back.

Oh and Cool Sister Tavra also shows up to also try to capture Rian for murdering a member of the Vapra (which he didn’t).

Oh Cool Sister Tavra, why’d you have to be racist at the Drunchens?

Rian: “Will someone just please fucking dreamfast with me so we can resolve this damn plot?”

Entirely new character Kylan: “Yeah I’m game” “The Skeksis may rule the land, but they do not rule my heart.”

Damn, entirely new character Kylan, you’re dope.

Tavra also decides that if entirely new character Kylan is going to do it, then she’s going to do it too.

And Gurjin’s sister gets peer pressured into doing it too.

FINALLY dreamfasting does what it was designed to do and shortcut past doubt and suspicion so we can get on with it.

Oh hey, Rian’s dad wanders in (geez Rian is bad at hiding if everyone found him at the same time) and also gets in on this dreamfast.

It feels a little weirder though because he gets in when it was already ongoing and its like weird because everyone else consented to the dreamfast and he just invited himself in.

But hey it lets Rian make up with his dad so, sure.

Dreamfasting also apparently can create- oh dreametching. Yeah they did mention that could happen.

So now Rian, entirely new character Kylan, and Dadrian are going to the All-Maudra to get her to rally the Gelflings against the Skeksis.

And Gurjin’s sister Naia and Tavra are going to the castle to free Gurjin.

I caaaaan’t help but feeeeeel that if Tavra went with Rian’s group they’d be able to convince the All-Maudra more easily but surrrrrrrrrre do whateverrrrrr

Unless you get captured and killed, Tavra and Naia. I’d be disgruntled at that.

Its kind of weird you have this group of plucky youths and also Rian’s dad who is like the wizened old man compared to them.

Wait, where IS Kylan? Did he go with the castle group after all?

Wait, shouldn’t Rian dad go on the castle mission since he’s the boss guard? And would make it easier for them  to-

Oh, I see. He has to be killed by the Hunter to show how serious the situation is.

Sorry, RIan’s dad. You’re the sacrificial lamb.

I mean, it hasn’t happened yet, but I bet it will-

OH HI DEET!

Deet and Rian just barely cross each other’s paths again. Its a small world after all.

Rian: “Do you remember [father-son bonding activity]?”

Rian Dad: “Ahhh I see how that memory we both share would be useful here.”

HOLY SHIT the Hunter can book. All the other Skeksis are like lumbering around and feeling old and he’s jumping in trees. Maybe fresh air IS good for you.

And he’s a puppet or a costume or a costume puppet so holy shit.

Rian tries to sword fight the Hunter but like…. The weight advantage is very much the Hunter’s. He’s just easily pushing the Gelfling around

HOLY SHIT HIS TWO EXTRA ARMS AREN'T ATROPHIED HE’S SKEKSIS GENERAL GRIEVOUS

Hunter: “You have heart…. I’ll take that too.”

Oh no I was wrong! Rian Dad wasn’t the sacrificial lamb! He was the heroic sacrifice!

He tackled the Hunter into a pit of angry earth and the Hunter seems pretty okay with that as long as he takes someone with him. What an enigmatic guy.

Oh. never mind. Hunter is still alive. He’s too angry and spry for the ground to eat.

I was about to say what a shame it was to introduce the guy and immediately get him eaten by the ground.

And also Riandad’s sacrifice was pointless because the Hunter immediately captures Rian and absconds with him.

Deet and Hup must be very confused coming into this plot branch with no context.

[earpdearp]

just coffee

Wherein Waverly and Nicole try to make good on being just friends following the spat in Nicole’s cruiser in episode 1x09.

Sort of an AU? But more like a filler? …It can be both! And all fluff. That’s all I write, really: fluff.

Also on AO3. Approximately 3,486 words.

Other friends fic: just another tuesday (Topic: Waverly’s birthday)

“…Well maybe… just friends…”

“Yea, sure, Waverly. Whatever you want.”

Coffee. They agreed to coffee. Shorty’s Saloon. 3:00PM. Between lunch and dinner when the bar was closed. Waverly didn’t feel like setting up for the night alone and Nicole had a few hours between her first and second shifts.

Easy. No pressure. Familiar spot.

Easy.

Nicole Haught stood outside the diamond-shaped windows of Shorty’s front doors. She shifted the duffle bag in her hand, a change of clothes she hadn’t had time for at the station. She also held her white Stetson respectfully to her chest.

Instead of eagerness, Nicole’s heart felt heavy.

It was all too familiar.

High school. College. The academy. Lather, rinse, repeat, Friends. Once in a blue moon did the cycle break. Just not this time, apparently.

It had been stupid to think this was gonna end any differently. All those little breadcrumbs of hope Nicole had been feeding on, those little smiles and glances and touches…

Stupid stupid stupid. I blew it.

If only she hadn’t been distracted outside the station the other day. If only she had been listening to what Waverly was trying to confess, instead of frustrated about Purgatory being its weird Purgatory self. She did get the chance to apologize, but the damage was already done. And here Nicole was. Standing outside Shorty’s to hang out with her Just Friend, Waverly Earp.

God. Damn. It.

Taking a deep breath, Nicole pressed into the heavy doors but they didn’t budge. She rapped a knuckle against the window and waited. After a few seconds, she heard the click-chunk of a deadbolt. Enough time to smooth her frown into an easy-going smile.

Waverly poked her head out, relief etched in her features. She twisted at a white bar towel in her hands. “Oh thank God,” she chirped with a broad smile. “I was afraid you weren’t gonna show.” Waverly held the heavy door open for Nicole to slip in before relocking the deadbolt behind them.

“Promise is a promise,” Nicole replied, hopefully managing to mask her bitterness. She held up her duffle. “Mind if I change? Hoping to squeeze in a run before evening shift. Gotta be fresh for all that paperwork.” She shot Waverly a mock-serious look and was rewarded with a smile.

“Of course!” Another chirp as Waverly tossed the bar towel over her left shoulder. She pointed at the back “Staff” door. “I’m almost done cleaning the coffee machine. How do you take yours?”

“I’ve heard good things about that Shorty’s cappuccino. Two sugars?”

A sunshine smile with a finger-gun. “You got it,” Waverly replied as she swept behind the bar over to a partly disassembled machine, chrome pieces glistening from a recent rinse.

The Staff room was hardly more than an over-sized closet with a safe for cash, an old computer for inventory, and a cracked window with an ashtray on the sill for smoke breaks. A shitty toilet latch secured the door, enough privacy for Nicole to peel off/fold her uniform shirt and khakis and swap over to running shoes, blue-striped pants, and a long-sleeve Purgatory Sheriff’s Department henley.

Threading fingers through long red hair, Nicole pulled out the French braid and snapped a hair tie to her wrist as she exited the break room.

Back at the bar, Waverly was struggling to kneel on an unstable bar stool to reach a high cabinet. A tan wrist barely crested the edge, fingers feeling blindly as Waverly’s tongue stuck out the side of her mouth in concentration. Her hockey-style Shorty’s shirt rode up higher than normal, Nicole noticed, before dismissing that thought immediately.

“Just friends.”

Nicole strode up as she finished binding her hair in a simple ponytail. “Need some help?”

Hazel eyes lit up in response. “Could you? The lunch crew likes to hide the espresso grounds in the back to screw with me. Still as hilarious now as it was three years ago.” Waverly rolled her eyes before spinning playfully on the bar stool on her knees.

“Three years, huh?” Nicole asked, light and conversational. She dropped her gym bag and Stetson on the counter then flipped the small wooden divider to reach the inside of the horseshoe-shaped bar.

Where the shorter Earp needed a stool, the Officer stood up on tip-toes before her fingers wrapped around a crinkling bag of coffee in the cabinet. When she turned, Nicole could have sworn she saw Waverly’s gaze… somewhere else. For just a second.

“Just friends?”

“Since I was 18.” Waverly accepted the bag (which smelled of a rich dark roast) then measured out a few cups into the coffee machine. The device fired up with a steaming hiss accompanied by warm bubbling sounds.

Turning back to Nicole, Waverly started counting on her fingers. “Before here, I worked at JD’s Restaurant down the street. Didn’t pay as well, but more time to read. I bagged groceries at Safeway before that. And I delivered pizza for one shitty week when I was 16. Hated that job. And in between, I taught some summer gymnastics and dance classes at the rec center for really little kids. That was fun.”

“Busy and popular girl,” Nicole remarked as she leaned her backside against the bar. It was strange being on this side of the counter, like she didn’t belong. Like they were equals instead of customer/server.

Like… friends?

As she started steaming the milk, Waverly shrugged off the compliment. She shot Nicole a curious look. “What about you? What did Pre-Officer Nicole Haught do?” There was a strain to Waverly’s smile, like it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Not as rich a life, I’m afraid.”

“Try me.” There it was. That warm smile returned as Waverly scooped sugar into a coffee mug.

“Well,” Nicole started, her hands running along the counter edge behind her. “I worked at Tim Horton’s almost every weekend from high school through university. …Not the same one. Transferred to a different store when I went away for college. But the same routine. Still remember all the menu numbers by heart.” She smirked at another memory. “I was also a lifeguard for a miserable summer when I was 16.”

Long hair swept over a shoulder as Waverly looked over at Nicole. “Ooo! How was that? I always wanted to lifeguard but the pool is too far away.”

Reaching up, Nicole pulled at her ponytail and to show Waverly. “You see this red hair, right? I spent more time bathing myself in sunscreen than I did watching the pool. When one sunburn ended, another would begin. But I was trying to buy a car so I had to stick it out.” She tossed the red strands back over her shoulder and shook her head. “I’m just happy I didn’t get skin cancer… that I know of.” She shot Waverly a theatrical, fearful look.

The smile on Waverly’s face was hard to read. It was a soft, thoughtful crinkle. And just as a faint red started to touch her cheeks, she turned back to the coffee machine. Waverly deftly mixed the espresso into the cup before topping it with foam. She started to slide the mug over to Nicole, but suddenly thought better of it. Waverly snapped her fingers and started digging around under the bar.

Nicole leaned over to reach for the cup, but a hand appeared from below to gently slap her knuckle.

“Just a second! I keep forgetting I bought these.” Waverly appeared a second later with a small container of cocoa powder and a couple of round stencils with simple designs. She offered the metal, paddle-like set to Nicole. “I saw ‘em on Etsy. …I tried the foam pouring trick from YouTube, but I couldn’t even do like a basic heart.” She sighed and rolled the cocoa powder cylinder between her palms.

It was hard for Nicole to hide an endearing smile. Because she had just pictured Waverly hovering at the bar, making cup after cup of espresso and trying to artfully pour milk in. It also made her select a stencil without thinking it through.

Nicole held up the flat metal stencil of a heart, then had to bite her lip to keep the blush from spreading. The choice was not lost on Waverly, whose eyes widened.

Scrunching up her face, Nicole tried to hide the stencil behind her back. “Sorry. I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to—I just thought since you said you had trouble doing a heart the other way… this could count as a success.” She closed her eyes and gave a deep sigh.

God. Damn. It.

Waverly’s voice was soft and small, but confident. “Okay.”

Nicole’s eyes shot open. The other woman wasn’t awkward or blushing. She just held out her hand and offered that crinkling smile. “…okay?” Nicole repeated.

“The customer is always—mostly—right… right? And I said I owed you a coffee, right?” Waverly made a grabby motion with her hand.

“Fair enough,” Nicole said with a small clearing of her throat.

With that, Waverly turned and dusted a (slightly lopsided) heart over the top of the steaming cappuccino. She presented it back with a dramatic flourish. “And thus, the debt is repaid.”

Nicole nodded her thanks and took a sip. She could feel the foam coat her upper lip, but it was hard to take her eyes off Waverly, who stared back intently.

“So? How is it?”

Warm. The cocoa powder adds a nice flavor. Sugar cuts the acid of the espresso. All in all, solid.

“Pretty good,” Nicole said with a nonchalant shrug. She allowed herself another deep sip before swiping her thumb over her lips.

Waverly scowled. “’Pretty good?’ That’s it?” She crossed her arms over the bold SHORTY’S type on her jersey.

Well, we are just friends… Friends can be honest, right?

Nicole tried to soften with a lilting question. “I’ve had better?”

An offended (if good-natured) scoffing noise. “Your gratitude is overwhelming.”

“I’m kidding. It is really good. A good pick-me-up before my run. Thank you, Waverly.” A pause. “…I have had better, though. If I’m being completely honest.” Nicole allowed herself a teasing smile.

Waverly poured herself the rest of the espresso, unruffled by the critique. “Where at?” She wrinkled her nose in thought with one eye skyward. “I think the best coffee I’ve had is in the city at the fancy hotel we had for Prom. So good with like homemade whip cream and everything.”

“There’s this amazing café in Las Vegas where…”

Oh.

No, we are not going into that right now. Not on a first—er, not on a chill friends hangout between friends and only friends.

Nicole cleared her throat. “…well, they made a mean mocha cappuccino.”

“Did it have a fancy—?” Waverly trailed off as she made a gesture over the top of Nicole’s coffee.

“…It did. The logo of the café with lots of swirls.”

That faux-scowl returned. “Damn it. I knew it. Back to YouTube, I guess.” A smile curled across Waverly’s cheek as she patted the cocoa container over her own coffee, this time a sprinkled star on top. She settled in next to Nicole, mirroring her lean against the bar counter. They were just far apart to not be touching.

“I’ve never been to Vegas,” Waverly said thoughtfully with a loud sip. “Never left the Ghost River Triangle, actually. Been here my whole life.”

“Not even for, like, a family vacation? Or a school trip?”

A derisive laugh in reply. Waverly’s nose wrinkled with the barest hint of a scowl. “Just to the city. School trips to the museum or the stockyard for 4H stuff. And no family vacations. Daddy died when I was 6 and Aunt Gus and Uncle Curtis were too busy with Shorty’s or their farm to bother with something like that. Though now with Uncle Curtis gone…” She trailed off, long hair slipping over her cheeks as her head tilted down.

Reaching out, Nicole gently touched Waverly’s wrist. She was slow and careful, trying to avoid the awkwardness that happened in her cruiser. Two soft strokes before the hand returned to Nicole’s coffee mug.

We should go somewhere, Nicole wanted to say. She could even mean it in a friendly way… sort of. Mostly. Maybe.

“I never did much as a kid either,” Nicole said instead. “Didn’t start seeing any of the world til I graduated college. And that was mostly training camps and emergency management excursions sponsored by the government.”

After a few moments in silence, Nicole nudged Waverly’s side with a gentle elbow. “Well, I’m glad you stuck around Purgatory.”

Waverly gave a small sniff as she reached up to push her hair back. “Me too” was barely audible past a soft smile.

An alarm on Nicole’s phone chimed, a reminder to start her workout soon so she’d have time to return to the station to shower before paperwork. But she wasn’t quite ready to leave just yet.

“Gotta go?”

“…I’ve got time.” Nicole took a slow sip, smiling into the cup. “So, what is a day in the life of Waverly Earp?”

Chuckling, Waverly stroked her chin. “With Wynonna? I don’t even know anymore.”

“Hard to plan around?”

“Impossible,” Waverly confirmed with a sigh. “Used to just be yoga, study, Shorty’s, sleep. And occasionally I’d go out with—well…”

Another nose wrinkle and tight smile. Waverly certainly did that a lot, each with a different meaning. This one seemed a mix between embarrassment and a scowl.

…Champ. Of course.

Waverly did not elaborate. Instead, she took a deep sip of her coffee before continuing. “…but with Wynonna and Dolls and their coming and going all hours of the day and night… Some days I’m grateful I make it to work, if only for the familiar routine.” Her face fell as she glanced behind them.

Nicole followed her gaze to an empty booth near the door with a large spread of paperwork. Official looking documents were arranged in haphazard stacks.

“Anyway.” Waverly cleared her throat and pushed up from the counter. “I’m keeping you from your run.” A tired, evasive smile as Waverly busied herself with stowing the cocoa and stencils back under the bar.

Rumbling out an “Okay,” Nicole relinquished her empty coffee mug to the busy woman. As she started to gather her duffle and Stetson, a snapping noise turned Nicole’s attention.

“Hey! What are you doing for dinner?” Waverly stood with her arms crossed, hip thrust out, expression neutral.

Oh!

It was hard for Nicole not to stare back, heart stuck in her throat. “I—I was… I don’t—“

Waving a menu, Waverly skipped over to Nicole. “You’ll probably be hungry after a run, yea? I could ask Martin to fire up the grill early so you could take something back to the station?”

Oh…

“Oh. That would be… really great, actually. Lunch was forever ago.”

Not as great as—well.

Waverly smiled broadly. “And you could save the trip to your car and just pick your stuff up when you get back, right?”

Finally regaining her composure, Nicole managed a smile of her own. “You just want an excuse to try on my hat.”

“Maaaaaybe,” Waverly returned with a singsong. She walked her fingertips over to the white cowboy hat. But instead of trying it on, she stowed both under the bar in a clean, safe spot. “…not while you’re looking, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Surveying the menu, Nicole asked, “Which is your favorite?”

“Oh! Hmmm!” Her long hair swayed with her head-tilt. “Probably the nachos, though only because it’s like the only vegetarian thing on there.” A nose wrinkle and a shrug.

Vegetarian. Noted.

“Pass,” Nicole replied with a grin. She pointed at an item under SANDWICHES. “How’s the chicken salad?”

“I’m told it’s great. I’ll get Marty on it when he’s up from his nap.”

Pulling her wallet from her pocket, Nicole waved a $10 bill.

Waverly shrugged it off. “On the house. I know the manager.” She winked and flicked a towel at Nicole to vacate the bar. “Get going, Haught! No rest for the wicked!” And just like that, Waverly pushed through the double doors to the kitchen and was gone.

Folding the bill, Nicole tucked it into the large glass (empty) tip jar before pulling her wireless ear buds from a zippered side pocket. A hard guitar riff started up in her playlist, “Bury Me With My Guns On” escorting Nicole down the Purgatory street.

Nicole rapped on the glass once more, out of breath and feeling the chill of the air through her henley. She smiled broadly at the sound of the deadbolt. That smile froze on Nicole’s face when she was greeted not by Waverly, but a stern older woman.

“Mrs. MacCready.”

“Officer Haught,” the woman returned cooly, dark eyes hard. She did allow Nicole entrance, but with sharp, abrupt movements. Gus called for Waverly, who was apparently in the kitchen.

There was an awkward silence as Gus headed to the closest booth, paperwork waiting at the table. She continued writing for a few moments, allowing Nicole to quietly catch her breath and rub the chill from her arms.

“So.”

“Yes, ma’am?” Nicole replied with respect, stretching out her calves on the wooden steps. She smiled awkwardly.

Gus did not return her smile. “You know, Champ used to come around. Begging for freebies. Free food. Free booze.” It was a loaded, simple statement. She glanced over at Nicole significantly before returning to her papers.

Defensiveness burned in Nicole’s chest. “I’m not Champ, ma’am. I offered to pay. Waverly wouldn’t let me.” She gestured to the tips jar, her folded $10 bill from earlier balanced upright.

Gus’s dark eyes flicked over to the jar, an impressed pull at her cheeks before her stoic expression took over. “Hm.”

The comparison was not lost on Nicole. And it felt like she’d just passed a test of some sort. Especially since this was the longest conversation she’d ever had with the matron of Shorty’s.

A shout drew Nicole’s attention to the kitchen. “You’re back!” Waverly grinned wide, holding a styrofoam container in triumph. “Perfect timing! Just pulled the fries from the deep fryer.” A plastic bag rustled at her wrist as she bagged the container with a few packets of ketchup.

With Gus watching, Nicole pushed away the temptation to go back to the familiarity behind the bar. She fixed a smile to her cheeks and met Waverly at the apex of the horseshoe counter. Nicole’s duffle and Stetson were already waiting for her.

“Have a good run?” Waverly asked.

No. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I ran away so hard from this place that I was out of breath for 10 minutes… then I had to run all the way back.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

“It was fine, thank you. Everything okay here?”

Waverly���s voice was a warm chirp. “Perfect! Thanks for keeping me company earlier.” She patted Nicole’s collection and pushed it over. “Good luck with all that paperwork tonight!”

“Thank you, Waverly,” Nicole said warmly. “For—well—everything.” Her fingertips accidentally brushed Waverly’s wrist, but the woman didn’t flinch. In fact, she smiled wider.

Setting her Stetson on her head, Nicole tipped it at Gus MacCready as she padded up the steps. The woman’s chin raised in acknowledgement, but she returned to her documents.

Outside in her cruiser, Nicole opened the passenger door to stow her food and duffle. A flash of pink caught Nicole’s attention out of the corner of her eye. Inside the bag stuck to the Styrofoam container was a post-it note. On it was Waverly’s SnapChat handle with a doodle of a cowboy hat.

Nicole smiled and settled into the driver’s seat before pulling out her phone. Tapping into her own app, she added a “Waverly95” and sent an invite from “NHaught.”

Nicole turned on the cruiser on and angled towards the municipal building (a quick 5 minute ride a few streets over). She would have plenty of time for a shower and change before starting on her evening work. The day off tomorrow would be a welcome distraction from… all of this.

Except her phone pinged as she pulled into the private lot. New SnapChat from “Waverly95.”

A series of images streamed onto Nicole’s phone. All of Waverly at Shorty’s in her Stetson.

Waverly at the piano pretending to play.

Waverly making a face next to the grainy image of Wyatt Earp, her finger a pretend-moustache.

Waverly with an arm around Gus, who looked to be mid-conversation and confused by the phone in her face.

Waverly pursing her lips with the hat tilted over one eye.

Waverly pretending to talk to a beer mug wearing the Stetson, a fake laugh frozen on her face.

Wait.

Wait wait wait.

…What?! What was that second to last one?!

But it was gone, the app timer ticked down to zero.

God. Damn. It.

[the-dangerous-mute-lunatic]

[My portal hype has returned so I decided to write a thing. This is what I was listening to when writing this: [LINK]]

Chell hadn’t seen the little metal ball since he crashed her into the facilities tests and halls.

The chambers that she had traversed what only felt like yesterday, were crumbling and covered in organic life. Sunlight, the natural stuff, streamed in from holes in the panels. She was so far down, but not far enough that the sky wasn’t visible. The blue was there. Barely.

Wheatley had told her to find a gun. With her previous knowledge of these tests and how portals worked in accordance with this facility, it didn’t take her long to get her hands on an ASHPD. One portal color only. Hopefully it’d last her long enough to get through this god forsaken place. These rooms did not bring back fond memories. Memories of walking through, barely surviving bullet fire while snarky remarks echoed out from hidden speakers.

The little ball didn’t show back up, but that didn’t slow Chell down. It wasn’t like there were many places to go down here. Most of the hallways were blocked off by debris. Holes and un-jumpable gaps were plenty. Slowly, she made her way through, recognizing the scenery, despite its decay. Luckily, some of the power was still there and she made her way through rusted doorways and eventually caught sight of something. This hallway had been a bit chilling to come upon the first time she was here. Now that it was dark and silent, it was even more terrifying. The hall held one viewing room of windows which looked out over a hazy gap. In the center, a cylinder rose from the mist, towering above the dots that were the testing chambers. HER chamber. Chell knew all too well that the AI was dead, but the flicker of fear was still present. Wheatley said there was an escape route or something. It has to be there. There was only one way in. A long, collapsing bridge that passed over to it.

Wishing that her little companion was still around, she started walking tenderly across to the massive chamber. While she never spoke herself, she had been surrounded by some sort of noise most of the time. Whether it be snarky remarks, jazzy music, or just the gentle hum of the facility, there was always some sort of background noise. Now, there wasn’t even the sound of birds. Just occasional creaks of collapsing and bending metal. Then silence.

Chell got halfway across the bridge before stopping for a moment. She hoped Wheatley was okay. Sure, he could run his mouth, but at least he was company in here. Looking down where she had come, she looked for blue or a flash of moving metal. Yet there was nothing. Not a voice, not a movement. Sighing, Chell turned back to the opposite end of the hall where the entrance to GLaDOS’s chamber was….

to see a woman.

She looked transparent and that gave Chell the conclusion that she was probably going mad from lack of other humans. Yet that didn’t stop her from sprinting to the figure. As she approached, the figure, a woman from the looks of it, turned to the closed door yet didn’t leave. When she reached the door, Chell slowed to look at the person there. They hadn’t disappeared yet, which was odd. It had to be some form of hallucination.

The woman turned to smile gently. She still appeared transparent, but her features were clear. Long brown hair, chestnut eyes, a red and white scarf tied around her neck and a pristine white dress. It was as white as the panels once were.

“….Hello Chell.”

Chells light blue eyes shot to the other woman’s face and she jumped back in shock. Her mouth opened, but the question never came out.

“Yes, I do know your name. I know quite a bit about you actually…but we should head in. This bridge is unstable.”

The woman moved forward, the sensors not picking her up. Yet she didn’t slow, phasing right through the metal of the door. To make sure that she did not lose sight of this person, Chell ran after her, glad that the facility could still open the automatic doors. The person was still there, walking towards the debris in the center of the massive chamber. Even without approaching, Chell could see the outline of a faceplate, wires streaming out of the connecting metal. Yet the optic was black. She was off.

Swallowing any fear that had risen in her throat, Chell entered the chamber, moving to stand beside the woman. She had stopped in front of the massive AI, staring at it sadly.

“….The Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System. GLaDOS. …did you know that She’s actually not an artificial intelligence? She was human once. A human ripped from their own body and stuffed into a machine.”

Chell stared at the other person, frowning slightly at what was spoken. It was just a hallucination, yet it could speak and move and think for itself.  Maybe it was a ghost or something. She wished she could speak, to ask who this person was. Why they were down in a place like this, void of life and humanity.

Yet, the person moved on before she could even mouth a word. Deciding that she didn’t want to be alone in THIS room, Chell scrambled after her, trying not to trip over collapsed panels and cords. The woman stopped, leaning down to touch the machines face. “….Your core friend is coming this way. He’ll be here shortly.” She stood to look Chell in the face, rather solemnly. “…Please remember something Chell. Stay strong down here. Things may look bad, but you need to stay strong. …and I’m sorry.

…..I don’t hate you.”

The woman moved forward to set her hands on both of Chells cheeks. Despite there being nothing there, Chell could feel faint warmth from the contact. It was…comforting.

“….AH! ELLO LUV! THERE YOU ARE! HEY IT’S ME WHEATLEY!”

Chells head shot in the direction of the core as he rolled in on his management rail for as long as it allowed. He seemed nervous and let out a huge sigh at the sight of GLaDOS. “Oh thank god she’s off! Where were you?! I was looking all over! Only found you cause of some footprints in the dust! Pretty smart of me! Come on. This way! Uh…I’ll need a hand though. Can’t go farther than this.”

Chell nodded and looked back at where the woman had been….

yet she was gone.

[readbookywooks]

The Days Of Imprisonment

The arrival of a second fighting-machine drove us from our peephole into the scullery, for we feared that from his elevation the Martian might see down upon us behind our barrier. At a later date we began to feel less in danger of their eyes, for to an eye in the dazzle of the sunlight outside our refuge must have been blank blackness, but at first the slightest suggestion of approach drove us into the scullery in heart-throbbing retreat. Yet terrible as was the danger we incurred, the attraction of peeping was for both of us irresistible. And I recall now with a sort of wonder that, in spite of the infinite danger in which we were between starvation and a still more terrible death, we could yet struggle bitterly for that horrible privilege of sight. We would race across the kitchen in a grotesque way between eagerness and the dread of making a noise, and strike each other, and thrust add kick, within a few inches of exposure.

The fact is that we had absolutely incompatible dispositions and habits of thought and action, and our danger and isolation only accentuated the incompatibility. At Halliford I had already come to hate the curate's trick of helpless exclamation, his stupid rigidity of mind. His endless muttering monologue vitiated every effort I made to think out a line of action, and drove me at times, thus pent up and intensified, almost to the verge of craziness. He was as lacking in restraint as a silly woman. He would weep for hours together, and I verily believe that to the very end this spoiled child of life thought his weak tears in some way efficacious. And I would sit in the darkness unable to keep my mind off him by reason of his importunities. He ate more than I did, and it was in vain I pointed out that our only chance of life was to stop in the house until the Martians had done with their pit, that in that long patience a time might presently come when we should need food. He ate and drank impulsively in heavy meals at long intervals. He slept little.

As the days wore on, his utter carelessness of any consideration so intensified our distress and danger that I had, much as I loathed doing it, to resort to threats, and at last to blows. That brought him to reason for a time. But he was one of those weak creatures, void of pride, timorous, anaemic, hateful souls, full of shifty cunning, who face neither God nor man, who face not even themselves.

It is disagreeable for me to recall and write these things, but I set them down that my story may lack nothing. Those who have escaped the dark and terrible aspects of life will find my brutality, my flash of rage in our final tragedy, easy enough to blame; for they know what is wrong as well as any, but not what is possible to tortured men. But those who have been under the shadow, who have gone down at last to elemental things, will have a wider charity.

And while within we fought out our dark, dim contest of whispers, snatched food and drink, and gripping hands and blows, without, in the pitiless sunlight of that terrible June, was the strange wonder, the unfamiliar routine of the Martians in the pit. Let me return to those first new experiences of mine. After a long time I ventured back to the peephole, to find that the new-comers had been reinforced by the occupants of no fewer than three of the fighting-machines. These last had brought with them certain fresh appliances that stood in an orderly manner about the cylinder. The second handling-machine was now completed, and was busied in serving one of the novel contrivances the big machine had brought. This was a body resembling a milk can in its general form, above which oscillated a pear-shaped receptacle, and from which a stream of white powder flowed into a circular basin below.

The oscillatory motion was imparted to this by one tentacle of the handling-machine. With two spatulate hands the handling-machine was digging out and flinging masses of clay into the pear-shaped receptacle above, while with another arm it periodically opened a door and removed rusty and blackened clinkers from the middle part of the machine. Another steely tentacle directed the powder from the basin along a ribbed channel towards some receiver that was hidden from me by the mound of bluish dust. From this unseen receiver a little thread of green smoke rose vertically into the quiet air. As I looked, the handling-machine, with a faint and musical clinking, extended, telescopic fashion, a tentacle that had been a moment before a mere blunt projection, until its end was hidden behind the mound of clay. In another second it had lifted a bar of white aluminium into sight, untarnished as yet, and shining dazzlingly, and deposited it in a growing stack of bars that stood at the side of the pit. Between sunset and starlight this dexterous machine must have made more than a hundred such bars out of the crude clay, and the mound of bluish dust rose steadily until it topped the side of the pit.

The contrast between the swift and complex movements of these contrivances and the inert panting clumsiness of their masters was acute, and for days I had to tell myself repeatedly that these latter were indeed the living of the two things.

The curate had possession of the slit when the first men were brought to the pit. I was sitting below, huddled up, listening with all my ears. He made a sudden movement backward, and I, fearful that we were observed, crouched in a spasm of terror. He came sliding down the rubbish and crept beside me in the darkness, inarticulate, gesticulating, and for a moment I shared his panic. His gesture suggested a resignation of the slit, and after a little while my curiosity gave me courage, and I rose up, stepped across him, and clambered up to it. At first I could see no reason for his frantic behaviour. The twilight had now come, the stars were little and faint, but the pit was illuminated by the flickering green fire that came from the aluminium-making. The whole picture was a flickering scheme of green gleams and shifting rusty black shadows, strangely trying to the eyes. Over and through it all went the bats, heeding it not at all. The sprawling Martians were no longer to be seen, the mound of blue-green powder had risen to cover them from sight, and a fighting-machine, with its legs contracted, crumpled, and abbreviated, stood across the corner of the pit. And then, amid the clangour of the machinery, came a drifting suspicion of human voices, that I entertained at first only to dismiss.

I crouched, watching this fighting-machine closely, satisfying myself now for the first time that the hood did indeed contain a Martian. As the green flames lifted I could see the oily gleam of his integument and the brightness of his eyes. And suddenly I heard a yell, and saw a long tentacle reaching over the shoulder of the machine to the little cage that hunched upon its back. Then something--something struggling violently--was lifted high against the sky, a black, vague enigma against the starlight; and as this black object came down again, I saw by the green brightness that it was a man. For an instant he was clearly visible. He was a stout, ruddy, middle-aged man, well dressed; three days before, he must have been walking the world, a man of considerable consequence. I could see his staring eyes and gleams of light on his studs and watch chain. He vanished behind the mound, and for a moment there was silence. And then began a shrieking and a sustained and cheerful hooting from the Martians.

I slid down the rubbish, struggled to my feet, clapped my hands over my ears, and bolted into the scullery. The curate, who had been crouching silently with his arms over his head, looked up as I passed, cried out quite loudly at my desertion of him, and came running after me.

That night, as we lurked in the scullery, balanced between our horror and the terrible fascination this peeping had, although I felt an urgent need of action I tried in vain to conceive some plan of escape; but afterwards, during the second day, I was able to consider our position with great clearness. The curate, I found, was quite incapable of discussion; this new and culminating atrocity had robbed him of all vestiges of reason or forethought. Practically he had already sunk to the level of an animal. But as the saying goes, I gripped myself with both hands. It grew upon my mind, once I could face the facts, that terrible as our position was, there was as yet no justification for absolute despair. Our chief chance lay in the possibility of the Martians making the pit nothing more than a temporary encampment. Or even if they kept it permanently, they might not consider it necessary to guard it, and a chance of escape might be afforded us. I also weighed very carefully the possibility of our digging a way out in a direction away from the pit, but the chances of our emerging within sight of some sentinel fighting-machine seemed at first too great. And I should have had to do all the digging myself. The curate would certainly have failed me.

It was on the third day, if my memory serves me right, that I saw the lad killed. It was the only occasion on which I actually saw the Martians feed. After that experience I avoided the hole in the wall for the better part of a day. I went into the scullery, removed the door, and spent some hours digging with my hatchet as silently as possible; but when I had made a hole about a couple of feet deep the loose earth collapsed noisily, and I did not dare continue. I lost heart, and lay down on the scullery floor for a long time, having no spirit even to move. And after that I abandoned altogether the idea of escaping by excavation.

It says much for the impression the Martians had made upon me that at first I entertained little or no hope of our escape being brought about by their overthrow through any human effort. But on the fourth or fifth night I heard a sound like heavy guns.

It was very late in the night, and the moon was shining brightly. The Martians had taken away the excavating-machine, and, save for a fighting-machine that stood in the remoter bank of the pit and a handling-machine that was buried out of my sight in a corner of the pit immediately beneath my peephole, the place was deserted by them. Except for the pale glow from the handling-machine and the bars and patches of white moonlight the pit was in darkness, and, except for the clinking of the handling-machine, quite still. That night was a beautiful serenity; save for one planet, the moon seemed to have the sky to herself. I heard a dog howling, and that familiar sound it was that made me listen. Then I heard quite distinctly a booming exactly like the sound of great guns. Six distinct reports I counted, and after a long interval six again. And that was all.