#And the towns under the city's purview

[radiates-confusion]

When you're sat here slowly but surely planning an underground organisation, realising either you're gonna be up way later than is appropriate for having work in around 12 hours, or you're not gonna have enough time to finish this before you're onto 3 days for a daily prompt instead of two

(All the Day 3:Agent related stuff is apparently in the tags..... This was not initially intentional.)

[thatonebirdwrites]

Sneak peak from my as yet unreleased fic, Shattered but Whole (this is an excerpt)

EXCERPT (from second part - Unravels. There is also Lena's Tale from The Event and Kara's Tale also in Unravels. A third part Integration is still being written. I'll post full fic at end of month hopefully):

Sam's Tale

Sam places the soup on the coffee table. The lack of sleep burns behind her eyes, partly due to Rory's tendency to wander. She sits down on the sofa and manages a smile for the huddled form under the pile of blankets.

Stubborn and unflinching like steel, Rory has failed to eat more than a few sips of broth for the past day. Frustration boils in Sam, but what can she do? She can't let that emotion show.

So she takes a deep breath to calm herself. Pictures the tidal pools, where her, Ruby, and Lena used to walk on weekends before Lex's escape and carefully crafted lies and manipulations that strangled the leadership of two countries and nearly killed them all.

Sam remembers the fires that raged from the satellite weapon. One blast had incinerated parts of Kansas, burning wheat fields, and destroying the town of Smallville. Then another blast had ripped through downtown Metropolis, obliterating one of the news stations and its neighboring buildings.

At the time, Sam had been making dinner when the flash of red swept across the sky. Next came the booms and the brief quake, then the horrid silence before the sirens started up. Most channels in town had gone off-air, but those from one state over functioned fine. It relayed images of the destruction, and how the Claymore satellite turned toward space again. Sam had started packing immediately, while she did everything she could to keep Ruby distracted.

Then hours later, Lena had called.

Sam won't ever forget how her voice whispered Sam's name over and over in a pained, panicked way, as if Sam was the rope she held tightly to keep from falling. In the background, she had heard booms and white noise. At first, she feared Lena had been near the epicenter, only to learn she was instead on the other side of the country. And the booms were just thunder.

Sam runs a hand through her hair. Stress and anxiety hangs like a shawl, the intense rush to reach National City still sizzling in her limbs. She should have returned sooner, before this tragedy.

“Rory,” Sam says gently. Grief coils in her chest when Lena's face turns to her, only for Rory's wide green-blue eyes to meet hers. As always, the haunted expression breaks Sam’s heart a little more. “It’s okay. I’m not angry. I’m just worried. Eating will help you feel better. So how about a few bites?”

Tentatively, Rory reaches out to prod the spoon in the bowl. It swirls the ingredients in little whirlpools.

For Rory to front this long? Without any sign of Kieran or Lena? Worry joins Sam's grief and exhaustion. It's been two — possibly three if she counts the night of Supergirl’s rescue— days with no sign of the others.

“We had to. We had to end the cycle.” Lena's words said so brokenly.

Sam isn’t a fool. Lena/Kieran killed Lex and burned the evidence. She still doesn't know how this came about or why it transpired in Northern California.

Will burning it all be good enough? Should she devise alibis just in case? This really isn’t her purview — Lena is the strategist or Jack. Sam is more of the ‘wild ideas and toss at wall to see if they stick’ person.

Advice definitely needed, but who to call?

Sam taps her fingers against her knee and teases her mind for solutions. How would Jack or Lena approach this? Systematically. Sam is decent with math, but she's never been able to keep up with those science geniuses.

Systematic she can do. She unlocks her phone to peruse her options.

Alex Danvers, FBI agent, who likely knows what they need for alibis. Can Sam trust Alex not to align with her job and bring in Lena?

The news this morning documented Supergirl's fight with Lex and the liberation of the alien power plant. Catco released the first part of a three-part article that exposes of Lex's megalomania and genocidal plans. Kara really outdid herself with that piece.

The tide favoring Lex shifts slowly. No, she can't trust anyone associated with the government. Not until Sam has definitive evidence they won't turn on Lena or Supergirl still.

Fine, whose next?

Kelly Olsen, Lena's therapist. Or soon to be ex-therapist due to Kelly dating Alex Danvers now. Due to Lex's brief reign of terror, Kelly and Lena — as far as Sam knows — hadn't had time to find a suitable replacement to continue Lena's work on integration.

Kara Danvers then? A rather naive journalist, who apparently is Supergirl's alter ego. Or maybe Supergirl is Kara's alter ego. That stormy night Supergirl rescued Lena confirmed they are one and the same.

Lena adores Kara, but her words that stormy night: “Did you know Kara is an alien?” had held a layer of pain.

Sam sighs and rubs her temple. The only other number she has is for James Olsen, who she doesn't trust farther than she can spit. He may have dated Lena, but he'd never truly let go of Lena's last name. Sam wishes she'd never pushed Lena to try, but that was before she understood the depth of Lena's feelings for Kara.

The clink of a spoon echoes softly in the sterile apartment. Rory still hasn't attempted food. Only swirls and swirls, the whirlpools sink into the depths of the cup and reveal bits and pieces of vegetables.

Sam watches and blinks back tears. Jack would have known what to do. He'd likely be mobilizing alibis and lawyers already, but he lay in a coma, trapped since the nanite catastrophe that destroyed Spheerical Industries. A memory Sam tries to avoid. Kieran and Rory had fronted for weeks after that disaster.

“Lena,” Sam whispers, “I know you're in there.” She reaches out to brush black hair from Rory's face. “How would you or Kieran handle this?”

Rory glances at her, her eyebrows scrunched as if in thought. Her other hand lifts from under the blankets and forms the sign for ‘endure.'

Yes, Sam knows Rory is the one that endures. Helplessness seeps through her limbs. She looks down at her phone and flips through the contacts again with her thumb. One by one names trickle by until she stops at Kara Danver's name.

“I’m going to make a phone call,” she tells Rory. “When I get back, I want at least some of this soup eaten. Then we can watch your favorite show. Or maybe play a game?”

Rory tilts her head, and her face contorts — wrinkles in forehead, scrunched eyebrows, flared nostrils, slight grimace, and sucked in cheeks — a sign of a possible switch.

Sam holds her breath in hope.

The expression fades, and Rory tugs blankets tighter around her body. One hand grips the spoon again and forms the whirlpools once more.

Sam lets out her breath. “Promise me, you'll eat? Otherwise, no games later.”

Rory narrows her eyes but reluctantly nods. Sam will take that as progress.

Standing, she glances at her daughter, who sits curled up in the armchair by the sofa. Her latest book — a science fiction novella about nonbinary monks and robots — lays open in her lap. Ruby's fingers crinkle the page right before she turns it.

Sam marvels for the millionth time how much Ruby looks like her. Only her nose and thicker build gives any hint of the worthless father.

Her baby, the reason for much of what Sam does. Today, Ruby's hair curls down past her shoulders, still damp from a shower, and her brown eyes scan the pages of her book. She looks up at Sam, her eyebrows furrowed in worry.

“Keep an eye on her, Rubes. I’ll be on the balcony.”

Ruby gives her a thumbs-up. She knows the drill. In a way, she and Rory act as sisters, which puts Sam in the weird-ass role of mother figure when Rory fronts.

So very different from the best friend role Sam holds for Lena, and the nebulous more than friend role for Kieran. All aspects that leaves Sam in a strange limbo of not able to ever confess her feelings.

Outside, the wind blows cool, the taste of salt off the ocean. Sam leans against the railing and struggles to hold back her tears. Is this disaster the one that finally breaks her best friend?

Sam had promised herself long ago to make sure Lena was never alone wih Lex, and yet, three days ago that exact scenario played out while Sam was stuck in Metropolis. She'd been there for the past three months fixing a major production and accounting mishap, which meant Ruby temporarily enrolling in the school in the interim.

Convenient that such a mishap happened just when Lex strolls back into Lena's life. Sam rubs her eyes and slumps against the railing. The mishap she repaired had been sabotage, that Sam knows, but she can't scrounge up enough evidence to confirm by whom.

Even though in her heart she's positive it was Lex's way to separate her and Lena.

To isolate Lena slowly. Like he always does.

Sam can't ever forget the moment she learns of his abuse. During the initial merger, years ago, Lena had been sitting in her office after a meeting with Lex. Sam only came by to drop off her report, but what she found alarmed her. Lena's expression had been twisted in what looked like pain. Her red, chafed skin and the red mark on her left cheek ignited a deep need to protect in Sam.

Yet she'd failed. All their work to free Lena from the Luthors shredded by Lex. The urge to scream and rip apart the world seethes in Sam.

At least Lex is dead. The fucking bastard. But it should have been her hands that did it. Not Lena's.

She rubs away her angry tears and pulls out her phone. Thumbs through the unlock and hovers over Kara's name. A number she's had since the worldkiller crisis ten months ago. That time of horror is where Sam finally understood viscerally the amnesiac episodes.

***

Sam stands in an alley. Her boots are muddy, and her head stuffed with cotton. Her breath catches in her throat, her lungs raw. Her body feels not her own, like a puppet on strings. She looks down at her hands, the grime under her nails unfamiliar. Her stomach twists in knots, her head aches, and she wants to curl up and weep.

How did she get here? Where is she?

Fog coils in her mind and sizzles with lightning. The air charged with apprehension despite the cloudless night glaring down at her.

Memories seep through slowly: She was skating on a rink with Ruby, who easily kept pace with her. Sam had turned to skate backward and make faces at her daughter. Typical pre-teen response of rolled eyes, but the hint of a smile gave away Ruby's amusement.

She'd just turned to skate forward again when a ringing started in her ears. Ruby passed her, while Sam's vision fogged over. Whispers crept into her ears: let go, let go.

Dark woods loomed then, while the fog tugs her from the fluorescent lights of the indoor rink. Bare branches curved like hands that reach for her, until darkness coats her mind and body. Freezing cold slithers through her.

Only to wake here, in an alleyway, alone.

Terror ignites.

Ruby.

Where is Ruby? She digs through her pockets but finds nothing. No phone.

Wait, why is she in khakis and navy blue button-down shirt? Where is her jeans and T-shirt she'd been wearing skating?

Why is one of her sleeves caked with blood? But she has no wounds.

Ruby. Her feet jerk into motion, and she sprints from the alley.

Car engines and horns assault her ears. She’s a block from L-corp. Definitely phones there to borrow. She dodges through the slow, meandering traffic, and ignores the driver's curses and car horns.

She bursts through L-corp’s doors. To the left is the security desk, where a lone guard reads a magazine, his only light a small lamp. The rest of the building is dark except for the fluorescent lights near the elevators and stairs. Sounds of traffic fade into a faint roar, only interrupted by the crinkle of pages.

Shadows stalk across the foyer, like the woods of her nightmares. One shadow forms the figure of a woman, red eyes aglow. She takes a step backward, her breath caught in her throat and her stomach bubbling with nausea.

“Ms. Arias?” the voice cuts through her frozen terror. The figure vanishes.

Sam turns to see a plump, older man at the security desk. His hazel eyes look up from his book, his mouth in a confused grimace.

“Are you all right?”

No, she most definitely is not. She can't let it show. Breathe, she tells herself. Four, eight, twelve, sixteen, twenty… she counts until her hands stop shaking. “Bill," she asks, slowly, "can I use your phone?”

“Uh, sure.” He turns his desk phone around to face her.

Sam dials Lena’s number. Her fingers tremble despite her attempts to calm down.

To her relief, Lena picks up after one ring. “This is Ms. Luthor speaking.”

“Lena, oh thank god you answered," she clutches the phone, almost in tears at her familiar voice. "Please, where are you? Where is Ruby?”

“Sam?” Relief floods Lena’s voice. “Sam, I’m at the office. Where are you? I can—”

“I’m coming upstairs.” Sam hangs up and sprints for the elevator. As the elevator ascends, she paces back and forth, terrified and nauseated. Her body aches from head to toe as if she’d been in a fight, but she has no memory of the past few hours — days?

It's been two months of horrific nightmares and amnesiac episodes. One month of trying to hide it all under a veneer of practiced poise.

Shadows play across the elevator walls, and one sneers like a face of a demon. She jerks backward, her back hitting the wall. Whispers in a language she can't quite distinguish sinks into the dark. Strange symbols form on her arms, and she tries to rub them away to no avail.

The metal of the elevator forms a face with red eyes.

No. No, no! She hits the buttons on the elevator desperate to escape. The elevator shivers and clanks. Horror stalks her.

"Four, eight, twelve," she says, out loud, desperate to calm herself. "Sixteen, twenty…"

The elevator doors open to darkness, except for a red light at the end of the hall. No, she can't enter that. The doors shut, and she slumps to the ground, her arms around herself. The doors open three more times, and each time she's met with a gloom so deep, she swears she can hear the creaking of branches.

She’s never been more terrified in her life. For these episodes to increase in severity, for them to now impact her daughter? Sam wants to scream and rip herself to shreds.

The fourth time the doors open, light cascades into the room. She throws herself into the precious light. Scrambling to her feet, her boots pound against the tiles as she sprints down the hallway, past a conference room, past Jess' empty desk, and finally to the door of her office.

She tugs open the door, her breaths sharp and agonized.

A figure sits at the desk, the glow of a tablet across her porcelain features and glossy black hair. A fluffy scarf wraps around the woman's neck, her jacket open to show a shiny red shirt that is far too reminiscent of blood.

Recognition sparks. Lena. It's only Lena. Relief stops her mad dash. “Where’s Ruby?”

“Sam! Thank god you’re okay.” Lena sweeps to her feet, her Irish accent faint, which means it’s Lena fronting. Kieran always has a heavy Irish brogue. She takes a few hesitant steps around the desk, but pauses a few feet away. Her concern etched into her perfect features. “Ruby called me right away. I took her home. I — I thought I’d check the office again in hope you’d return here. Like you had the other times.”

“Oh my god.” Sam turns away and presses her hand to her forehead. “How could I do this to her?” She throws her hand down and starts to pace. “What if I’d been driving at the time?”

Her imagination unhelpfully provides a vivid image of a crash and a bloodied body. Bile rises in Sam's throat.

Lena holds up her hands as if to placate her. “She’s safe, Sam. She did the right thing by calling for help.”

Right, help. Good. Emergency plan enacted. Yet Ruby never should have needed it.

Sam takes a deep breath and turns back to Lena. “Was she scared?”

Lena’s shoulders droop then, but the tension in her body shows in her creased brows “Yes. We all are.” Cautiously, Lena approaches her, one hand still upheld. “Do — do you remember anything?”

Sam shakes her head. Whispers, shadowed woods, and fog provides no clues. “No. No, I don’t. Same as always.”

Lena tugs at her fingers. “Ruby told me about the other times.”

Sam stares at her, unable to fathom at first Lena's meaning. “She doesn’t know,” she says, finally. “I — I haven’t told her yet.”

“She’s a smart kid. Had a time-line of dates, times, and places —”

“You told a twelve year old that her mother is sick with a illness no one can diagnose?” A coiling horror mixed with anger shudders through her body. No, Ruby can't know. “Seriously?”

“Sam, she already knew.” Lena holds up her hands again, as if to ward off Sam’s anger. “I simply reassured her that you didn’t abandon her. That we’re looking into this.”

“Si—”

The world sears in sudden frigid cold. It weaves into her bones, as dark grey fog coils. Let go, a whisper curls into her ears. A face forms in the mists, skull with no eyes, and hands reach up from the ground.

Bare branches leer over her like clawed hands. She staggers backward, only to hit the desk.

She’s back in the office. “What — what…” Bile burns her throat.

Lena stands on the other side of her, her arms around herself, and a haunted look in her eyes. She blinks and drops her hands to her side. “Sam? Are — are you back?”

Sam slowly backs up until her legs hit a chair. She lowers herself, shaken.

“Sam? Did you just have a blackout?”

Terror throttles her breathing, her gasps sharp and pained. Nodding, she shivers and grips the chair.

Lena holds up her hands as if to calm her down. “You don’t remember anything you just said?”

Tears blur her vision. She shakes her head. “I need help,” she whispers. Something more than therapy, more than Alex’s MRI and CT tests. Something that can dig deep into why these episodes happen when it’s never happened prior.

“Sam, do you trust me?” Lena drops to one knee next to Sam’s chair, and gently grasps her hands.

Sam clings to Lena’s warm and grounding touch and nods.

“Let me run some tests. You’ll have to stay in the basement lab for the night.” Lena bites her lip and looks down at their hands. “If I’m right about this, you’re in grave danger.”

Dread weighs heavy on Sam. “Whatever is needed, do it.” If anyone can find what’s wrong, it’d be her best friend. The person who understands amnesiac episodes, the one who is a genius with biology and engineering — the person Sam trusts and loves more than anyone else in the universe. “You’ll watch Ruby?”

“Of course. She’s in a safe place right now, and with someone I trust to keep an eye on her.”

Her words help only marginally; Sam can’t help but worry for her daughter. To not be able to see her? Out of fear of what she might do in an episode? The tears escape despite all her attempts to hold them at bay.

“I promise you I’ll figure this out. We’ll find the cure together.” Lena wraps an arm around her shoulder, while her other hand rubs her thumb over Sam’s knuckles. Exactly the same way Sam does during Lena’s panic attacks or amnesiac episodes. Oh, how the tables have turned.

True to her word, Lena sets her up in a medical bed in the basement lab and runs the battery of tests. Her best friend says very little, her entire focus on her work — like always when she hyperfocuses.

Needles used shimmer with a hint of green and leave a weird ache after. Hum of machines scan her insides, and the tool to scrape a sample from inside her mouth feels cold and unnerving. The only words spoken are gentle but short explanations of each procedure.

She knows Lena does it to try to calm her.

Nothing will calm her. Not until they know the truth.

Sam wonders if feeling shattered or scared is how Lena is all the time. If so, how does she cope? Admiration for Lena’s strength and resiliency floods Sam. Lena’s spent a life like this, while Sam falls apart after only a few months.

“This last test relies on you sleeping.” Lena stands a few feet away, her hands clasped in front of her. Her accent has stayed faint these last few hours, which means Kieran hasn’t fronted once. “Do you think you can sleep?”

Sam rubs her eyes. “Maybe. I’m exhausted enough.”

For a moment, Lena stands silently, her expression contorts almost in pain. She takes in a sharp breath, and her shoulders straighten, her posture rigid. A switch.

“Then rest.” Her best friend steps up to the bed, her accent a thick Irish brogue, where each word is pronounced slowly as if she tastes each one. That signals this is now Kieran. “We will watch over you.” She gently kisses Sam’s forehead and smooths back her hair.

Sam aches to hold her and be held in turn. Instead, she grasps Kieran’s hand. “Can — can you really cure this?”

“Not me, luv,” Kieran says, tenderly. “Lena can. She has a plan. We just need more data.” Her hand continues to stroke Sam’s hair, her other tightly holding Sam’s left. “Close your eyes now, and I shall sing you to sleep.”

Of Lena’s many parts, Kieran is the only one that can hold a tune, and she sings an Irish ballad. It ripples over Sam and encases her in warmth. She finally drifts to a dreamless sleep.

When she wakes, her head aches, her vision blurry, and her shoulder hurts. She reaches up and realizes there’s a device there, but she can’t quite see what it is.

“Lena? Kieran?” She’s not sure who is fronting for her friend.

“It's Lena.” Lena looks up from the desk, where several papers are scattered along with a tablet and a laptop. She gives her a faint smile. Dark circles line her eyes. Likely barely slept. Typical of her. “How do you feel?”

“Achey. What — what is this?” She taps the device.

“Precaution.” Lena stands and walks closer, only to stop a few feet away. “I — I have good and bad news.”

“Surely not as bad as the world ending?” Sam jokes.

Lena doesn’t laugh nor does she smile. Her eyes narrow instead. “I reviewed our data and the timeline of your episodes.”

The seriousness in Lena’s stance, the faint wisp of her accent, and the pain in her tone makes it clear that Sam isn’t going to like her next words. She braces herself.

“Your episodes align with when Reign appears.”

Sam jolts upright in shock. “No. That’s crazy.”

Lena frowns. “The data I’ve taken has provided proof. I suspect when you left on your trip ‘to find your origins,’ you were possessed. The time and date of that correlates to the timing of Reign’s cult leader escaping prison.”

Sam shakes her head. There’s no way.

“Let me show you then.” She picks up a remote and turns on the television. It plays a segment from a news report of a murder. “Two months ago you report a black out. Reign appears and kills three robbers and leaves an odd symbol all over National City. The same symbol the cultist gave Kara during her interview exactly two weeks before your ‘trip’ happened.”

Sam can’t believe her ears. She shakes her head again.

“A week later, you have another black out.” She hits the remote and another news segment appears. “Seven people killed at a warehouse. Their bodies mutilated.”

“Lena, why are you doing this?” Sam stumbles out of the bed. “You — you can’t— I get squeamish whenever Ruby asks me to kill a spider. Why — how — there’s no way I’d ever kill those people!”

Lena sighs. “I don’t think you did.”

“So what, I’m like you? Split personality now?” She snaps as she starts to pace. A weird energy tingles through her, and the area where the device is aches.

Lena takes a shuddering breath. “Sam, that’s —” She turns away and fiddles with her tablet. “Is that really what you think of us?” she asks quietly.

“No!” Sam put her head in her hands. “No, it’s not at all. I — I don’t know why I said that. You’re absolutely lovely. All of you.”

“Sure.” The flat tone to her voice hurts to hear.

“Lena, I mean it!” Sam drops onto the bed. “I’m not thinking straight. My body feels weird, and my head hurts, and — and I’m scared. Do — do you have dreams of dark forests with mists that whisper frightening things when you switch?”

Lena’s head shoots up, and she stares at Sam.”No, I don’t. I thought you said you don’t remember anything.”

“I don’t. But when — when I got angry at you at the office, I — I was briefly there, and, god, it sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”

“No, it doesn’t.” Lena picks up the tablet and types something into it. “That’s valuable information.”

“Do you know what’s wrong then?” Sam needs answers. Some sort of tangible goal, not this nebulous grey.

“I think Reign is possessing you,” Lena says, bluntly. “When she fronts, you lose all awareness. Your DNA essentially rewrites itself. None of my alters rewrite my DNA. Believe me, I tested myself to verify. It’s likely the Reign cultists targeted you, but what they used to cause this, I’m still researching.”

Sam stares at her, shocked.

“Please, Sam, understand, I wouldn’t tell you this if I wasn’t sure.” Lena’s words are sharp, firm, but her hands tremble, her eyes red-lined as if she’s been crying.

“This is ridiculous.” Sam starts to pace. Her body vibrates with energy, and she feels ill. Like her stomach’s acid eats through her intestines. Looking at the TV makes it worse. “I’m going home to Ruby.” She turns and walks straight into a wall. Startled, she stumbles backward. There’s nothing there.

She reaches out, tentatively, and her fingers bounce against an invisible field. “Lena, what the hell? Let me out!”

Lena shakes her head. Tears shine in her eyes. “I — I can’t. You asked me to help you. This is the only safe way.”

“No!” Sam slams her hand against the field. “Let me out, Lena. I want to see my daughter.”

“Until I find a cure, no.” Her voice shakes, but she holds her chin defiantly.

“So this is how it is?” She has the urge to lash out, to draw blood. Energy jolts through her, and her vision blurs further. Whispers of a fog curls around her mind and body. “Lena Luthor holds her best friend hostage —”

Lena breathes in sharply. “Sam, you asked me to help you.”

“I didn’t ask to be held in a cage!” Sam shoots back. “This was supposed to be just tests.”

Lena closes her eyes and turns away. Her shoulders shake, and her expression contorts. A sure sign she’s fighting against a switch. “I need to check on Ruby.” She takes the tablet and leaves.

The door clangs shut behind her. Silence envelops Sam, and with it, shadows plague her periphery. The light flickers. Fear swiftly replaces her frustration.

The TV still plays news segments. A desk with a monitor and keyboard sits under it. Distract. Must distract, otherwise the shadows creep closer, and the eerie sense of being watched looms larger.

She switches off the TV and settles in the chair. Clicking the start menu, she finds only generic games and a word processor. No internet connection and the clock is hidden. Meaning, she has no clue of the date or time.

Turning, she slams her fists against the forcefield, but it doesn’t budge. She grabs her chair and hits it against it again and again, but still nothing. It stays firmly there. Trapped.

A scream erupts from her throat, and she throws her body at the field, only to slide to the ground in a fit of panicked weeping. Claustrophobia claws through her, and she desperately wraps her arms around herself. Taps her shoulders again and again until the soft beat of her hands transforms the panic into a quiet, anxious simmer.

She thinks through all the years she’s known Lena, and nothing implies a trajectory to this situation. Her blackouts is the new data-point, which means, Lena doesn’t trust her as long as she has them.

Sam doesn't trust herself as long as they keep happening.

She rubs away her tears. Decides to focus on Aikido exercises to pass the time. Thinking about her situation only induces more panic, and she needs to try to stay calm for when Lena returns.

Hours pass. Or maybe minutes. Time flows unsteadily, the buzz of monitors her only sound. When her muscles tire, she plays solitaire and later a generic racing game. Finally, sleep slithers up her spine, and she manages a nap.

When she wakes, Lena sits at the desk again. This time a picture frame lays on the desk by her tablet. “Good morning,” she says with her boardroom voice, a carefully modulated and emotionless tone. “Have you thought about what I’ve told you?”

“Lena, please, don’t play games with me,” Sam pleads. Being alone messes with her mind, and she fears the silence. “Let me go home. I told you, if I killed people, I’d remember.”

Her fingers tap against the tablet. “Amnesiac episodes would not allow you to remember such things.”

“Then give me a better explanation than, ‘hey, you’re a supervillain in your spare time,’” Sam snaps. “Aren’t we family, Lena? Locking me up like this isn’t cool.” Frustration tingles through her limbs, and the urge to lash out bubbles through her. “I guess the saying is right,” she says.

“What saying?” Lena frowns.

“Ask an oncologist what's wrong, they'll say cancer. Ask a pulmonologist, they'll say asthma. Ask a Luthor…” The words freeze on her tongue. What is she saying?

No, no, she can't finish that thought.

Fury radiates from Lena’s eyes, her fists clenched, and her accent is nearly nonexistent. “They'll say Supervillain?” she finishes for Sam. “Maybe on some deep level you do know.” Her voice is cold, deadly almost, as the most unnerving alter of all comes to the front.

Sam shakes her head. “No, no, I didn't mean —”

“Let’s take a look, shall we? How about Morgan Edge, the bastard who tried to poison a city for profit.” Angry Lena walks back and forth by the edge of the forcefield, while her thumb punches the remote.

The television turns on behind Sam to a news segment of the attack on Morgan Edge.

“What I wouldn’t give to see how that played out.” The sneer on Lena's face looks foreign.

Sam scrambles to her feet and backs away, only to hit the other side of the forcefield. “What — what — no.”

“Or what about Supergirl? What did it feel like to connect your fist with something that solid? That powerful?” Another news segment appeared on the screen, where Supergirl falls motionless from a great height. “Or those men?” A third one flashes into view that depicts entrails and mangled bodies. “You tore those men apart. Ripped their limbs from their bodies.” The fury in her voice accents each verb with deadly accuracy. “Did you delight in their deaths?” Angry Lena steps closer, her stormy eyes boring into Sam.

“No!” Sam clenches her fists. Her whole body vibrates, and she feels like she’s about to explode. “Stop this! I just want to go home to my daughter!”

“As if I’d let you near Ruby again,” Angry Lena snarls. “How did it feel living in that house with her day in and day out? When you could easily snap her in half with your bare hands?”

“Stop this!” The energy rattles through her bones, rises up toward her head, and she feels frantic. Something terrible looms, and she can’t stop it.

When Angry Lena speaks again, Sam fails to comprehend. Her words trigger a flare of pain that rips through Sam’s body, catapults her mind into a frigid, grey fog.

Her feet slide on rocky soil.

Branches creak but there is no wind.

Shadows coil in her periphery, whispers caress her ears. Let go. Let go.

Misty hands brush against her ankles. She kicks them away and staggers backward, only for her hand to hit something soft and moist. She screams and jolts her hand away. Her feet slip on the gravelly soil, and she tumbles into a ravine. She curls up with her hands above her head and whimpers.

“Four, eight, twelve,” she counts, just like she did many times with Lena, “sixteen, twenty...”

The coldness abates, the fog fades, and light warms her eyelids. Pain burns through her body. She gasps and opens her eyes to find herself flat on her back.

Around her, the bed has been torn in half. The desk shredded. The monitor is ripped apart, and the television swings back and forth on its cords. A video plays. She watches the last bit of Angry Lena's cruel words, then the monstrous change ripples through Sam's body.

Not-Sam unleashes heat vision and tears apart the room with her bare hands.

Terror freezes her, her eyes wide. Metal snaps off the bed and hurls at the force field. It shimmers brightly. Lena ducks behind her desk in the video, and that sours Sam's mouth with bile.

She leaps forward to stab at the TV’s buttons in desperation. “Turn it off, turn it off!”

The television goes silent.

“We — we needed you to see it for yourself.” Lena’s voice whispers, pain in her voice. “And we didn’t know how else to do it. You — you weren’t listening. I’m sorry, Sam.”

“All those people…” Sam crumples and breaks into tears. Her hands are coated in blood. How can she ever face her daughter again?

The forcefield flickers and drops on one side, while Lena springs to her side. “Sam, Sam, it wasn’t your fault.” She wraps her arms tightly around her shoulders and presses her forehead against Sam's. “You weren’t in control. When Reign fronted, I got samples of her DNA, okay? And knowledge is power. We’re going to get you through this, okay?”

Sobs cascade through her body. She doesn’t know for how long she cries, but Lena rocks her gently. Kisses her temple, and strokes her hair.

Her voice changes to the thicker Irish brogue of Kieran. “It’s okay, luv. It’s okay. You’re not alone in this. We understand. We can cure this. Lena has a plan, and I’m sorry we spoke so harshly. It won’t ever happen again.”

Sam clings to such frail hope. Slowly, her sobs slow. She shivers and pulls back. “Kieran, you — you can’t be in here with me then. Not — not if I could turn into Reign.”

Kieran brushes hair from Sam’s face and cups her cheek, her eyes a turquoise color instead of Lena's usual emerald. “We know the risk.” She pulls out a phone and gently places it in Sam’s hands. “Call your daughter. We’ll clean up.” She kisses Sam on the forehead, and stands with a sad smile.

The affection in Kieran's voice takes the breath from Sam. For a moment, she stares up at her best friend, the part that has stayed fiercely loyal to Sam, and always touches her with such reverence.

Kieran doesn’t just love her as a friend, but perhaps more than one.

But Sam can never act on this realization, not with her complex roles in Lena’s life — Lena’s best friend, this nebulous more than friends with Kieran, the almost motherly role for Rory, and the grounding role for Angry Lena.

Her current state mars her roles, darkens her impact, threatens to sever their connection. The hurtful words they hurled at each other fade to a dull ache. Instead, Sam holds back a sob of grief. Her roles in Lena's and Ruby's lives define her.

Without them, who is she? How can she be useful to anyone?

She looks down at the phone and sags against the wall.

Kieran pushes out the shattered bed and desk. Sweeps away the glass and metal. A new bed she rolls into the enclosure.

As she works, Sam unlocks her phone and stares at the number for Ruby’s emergency phone. What does she even say? Grief lances through her, her heart charred by the horrors.

Her best friend finishes and pauses at Sam’s side. “Call,” she says, quietly. “You need to hear her voice as much as she needs yours.” The thicker accent is gone, and Lena’s deep emerald eyes meet Sam’s. She reaches out to gently trail her fingers along Sam’s right temple. “I’ll be just outside the enclosure, okay?”

Sam nods. She waits until the hum of the forcefield activates before she finally speaks. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I shouldn’t have said what I did earlier.”

“It’s okay, Sam. We’re sorry too.” Lena sits down on the other side, her tablet on the ground next to her. “We understand how scary this is. But a cure is possible. Whatever the cultists did, we can undo, okay?”

Sam shudders and tries to believe Lena, but her hope is fragile. Her mind keeps spinning back to the news segments, to the deaths by her hands — even if she wasn’t the one fronting. Images of entrails clog her thoughts.

No. Think of anything else. She takes a shaky breath and lets it out slowly. Thinks instead of the softness of Lena's hands against her face.

And the smile of her daughter as she eagerly shares a story from school.

Precious grounding moments.

She finally hits the dial button.

“Mom?” Ruby's voice shakes at first but then steadies. “Is it you?”

“Hey Rubes, it’s me. I wanted to check in on you.” She doesn’t dare tell her where she really is. In case it puts her in danger.

“Mom, are you okay? Is Aunt Lena with you?”

“Yes, she is. And the truth is, I am sick, so I have to stay in the hospital for a little while longer. But I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“Can I come see you? I miss you.”

“Oh baby, I miss you too.” The tears flow harder, and she chokes back a sob. “But you can’t. It may be contagious, and I can’t risk you. Aunt Lena will be by to check on you, okay? And I’ll be home as soon as I’m better.”

It feels so futile. So banal of a promise. She can’t bring herself to lie further.

“But Mom, can't I just put on one of Lena's special hazmat suits? I'll be good!” Tears mangle part of her words, but Sam understands.

“No, you need to do what Aunt Lena says is best. She's good at what she does, okay? She's helping me too. I promise you, we'll get through this, okay?”

Ruby's sobs echo in Sam's ears. “Mom… I love you, okay? And maybe we can do a video call instead?”

No. No, she can't let Ruby see her in this state. “We'll see. I love you, Rubes. Love you so much. Be good for your Aunt Lena.” She hangs up before Ruby can say another word.

Lena speaks then. “Don’t worry about Ruby. I’ll take her to —”

“Don’t tell me where she is,” Sam interjects with a strangled sob. She looks up to see Lena fighting tears too. “Not until I’m cured.”

Lena nods as a few tears escape. That Sam can’t bear. To be the cause of it? She hides her face against her knees and curls up against the wall. Sobs broil down her body.

Behind her, Kieran’s Irish brogue sings a haunting tune that wraps around Sam, soothes her pain, until her sobs fade to ragged breathing and counting in multiples of four.

The next few weeks is torturous. Sam's hold on reality untethers as her sense of time and space evaporates into a haze of pain and fear. A war of fluorescent lights versus seething grey fog. They learn that the place Sam's mind goes is an alternate dimension related to the possession.

Waking from that dimension leaves Sam in a cold sweat. She leans against the forcefield with Lena leaning against the otherside. "How do you deal with this daily?" Sam wipes away her tears. "I — I don't know how to move forward. Not with — with that monster inside me."

"Acceptance of the truth is the first step," Lena admits. "I always had Kieran. They wrote in our shared journal and signed the entries. But to learn of new alters? Practice acceptance. You're already good at it."

"How can I accept that a blood-thirsty killer is inside me?" Sam whispers. "I never want to hurt anyone."

"It's not about accepting their actions, Sam. It's about accepting that they exist. You don't have to nor should you accept what they do." Lena shifts to press her hand against the forcefield. "Look at me, hun."

Sam turns and meets Lena's green eyes.

"My alters are me," she says, quietly. "We may have split into separate parts, each of unique in a way, but they are still me. But Reign is not you. Reign was forced on you. Accept she exists, but resist her control. This is your body."

"How do I do that?" Sam presses her hand over Lena's, the forcefield separating them from feeling the other's touch.

"You do it with me often. Ground oneself in the present. For you, ground yourself in your body. In your senses." Lena taps her ears and above her eyes. "It may feel like a fight, but you are strong." She taps her leg and tilts her head, her accent still the light one of Lena. "Since you go to that other dimension, try focusing on your body and how it feels. Imagine each sense, the height and weight, and clothes. Imagination is a powerful tool."

Sam ponders Lena's advice and wonders if she can pull it off while terrified out of her mind. Maybe if she practiced enough? "Can we go through this as an exercise? To practice?"

Lena smiles, faintly. "Sure."

They spend the next two hours practicing, and make it part of their daily activities. Each practice session, Sam feels a little stronger, more like she might actually be able to pull it off if she gets trapped in the other realm.

A week later, Lena attempts to capture data during Sam's times in the alternate dimension. One day she accidentally causes both Sam and Reign to manifest in that terrifying forest.

Branches curl toward her, and whispers coil around her. Shivering, she turns and freezes. An exact copy of herself stands a few feet away, clad in black, except her eyes are red. They shine in the dark fog.

She dives behind a tree.

“Sam, do you truly think you can resist me?” the words slide off the other's tongue like poisoned honey.

One second Reign is several trees away, and the next she's at Sam's side. Her hands reach for Sam's shoulder.

Sam throws herself backward. “Don't touch me.” She strives for bravado. Grabbing a stick, she swings it desperately.

Reign stalks her, moving unnaturally fast. One moment on Sam's left, the next on her right. Fog billows around her like monstrous wings, and the air charged with sparks of black lightning. Trees creak despite no wind. The cold leeches away Sam's energy.

Stay focused. Sam adapts her breathing to her Aikido training, her stance to a loose defensive one. This time her swing hits Reign in the chest.

Reign snaps the branch like a twig, and darts forward to snag Sam's throat. She's slammed against a tree. Red eyes bore into her. Whispers from the broiling fog chant, let go, let go.

No! She can’t leave Ruby. Or Lena.

She knees Reign in the stomach. The grip loosens enough for her to twist and perform a throw. Gasping in air, she stumbles backward. Her body — she needs to imagine what her body feels like. As she runs from Reign, who is staggering to her feet still, she pictures how her legs feel while running in the real world. How her muscles pump, how the fabric of her clothes rub against her skin, the way her hair falls across her neck and back, and the sweat that dampens her hair's roots.

She trips and falls through the ground and into the soft blankets of the medical bed. She's back in the forcefield room, far from Reign. Sam weeps and curls up, the fire in her veins pulses from the device on her shoulder. “No, no, don't do that again, Lena.”

“What happened?” Lena presses her hand against the forcefield, but she doesn't lower it or come closer.

“I was there with Reign.” Sam shudders. “God, that monster. You got to stop her, Lena. Please.”

“Oh crap.” Lena drops her hand to her side. “I — I got a sample of the enzyme causing the change just now. While you were passed out. I think I can synthesize a cure from it.”

Sam clings to the first good news in weeks. But like all good things, the very next day, the world erupts into chaos.

Two aliens rip apart concrete and metal and break into Lena’s lab. Seconds later, Supergirl and three others teleport into the room in a flash of red light. In the ensuing fight, Sam loses control.

She crashes into the nightmare realm. Mists seethe over her, and this time she can’t find her way back to her own body. Claw-like branches leer over her, whispers to let go tug at her ears, and the ground heaves like it breathes.

Desperate, she stumbles to her feet. Faces form in the mists and dive at her. She ducks and runs.

She trips over something soft. Turning, she gasps and jerks her leg off the body. A Korean woman lies there, her face locked in a silent scream.

Sam gasps and scrambles backward. Slipping, she tumbles down a ravine and into a cavern. Flickering blue light shimmers in its depths. One hand against the wall, she stumbles forward.

Turning a corner, she stops in shock. Black woman carves words into the sandstone rock. Names, places, but other words make no sense. Over and over, she carves and mutters incoherently.

"Hello?" Sam tries, but the woman doesn't respond. She only carves and shivers.

That’s when Sam sees firsthand how this realm eats away memories. Tears down the mind, until there is nothing left but to die.

She doesn’t know how long she’s there. But soon the whispers and growing pain starts to eat into her too. Her mind grows foggy, her memories slither away like oil.

She keeps the other woman company but struggles to remember why. Finds her own sharp rock and carves her name, Ruby's, and Lena’s along with anything else she can remember.

Faces form in the mists, and whispers slither like hands across her shoulders. She shivers and carves until her hands and arms ache.

The woman coughs, shakes, and freezes with glassy eyes. Sam watches in horror as the woman ceases to breath and tips over as if frozen solid. Mists coil over the body, faces form in the shadows, and mist hands sweep over the body.

Horror spikes, and Sam scrambles deeper into the cave. Near bubbling pools, one clear and one muddy. The walls of the cave close in on her.

Sobbing, she carves the names over and over. Figures coalesce, familiar until their faces twist into snarls, their eyes empty sockets. She huddles closer to the rock wall, ducks her head, and digs her rock deeper into the sandstone.

Her nails start to bleed, her palm raw. Still she carves.

A voice calls out her name. An almost familiar one. “Sam?”

She keeps carving. It’s another phantom. Another to distract her from her task.

“Sam. Sam, it’s me.” Gentle hands turn her face.

She looks into emerald eyes. “No — not real…” She tries to tug free, but this one is solid unlike the others. Fear curdles through her. She’s too weak too fight. Now they’ll kill her like the others.

“Sam, please, I really am here.” The green-eyed lady strokes her cheek in a familiar, almost calming way. “Count with me, okay? Four, eight, twelve, sixteen…”

“Twenty, twenty-four, twenty-eight…” Sam murmurs. Slowly, a memory surfaces of her doing exactly this with someone she loves. The name peels back. “Lena. You’re Lena.”

“Yes.” Lena embraces her. “Yes, it’s me.”

“But you — you’re not real.” Sam clings to her and a sob clogs her throat.

“I am. I really am.” Lena cards her fingers through Sam’s hair. “Supergirl and her friends helped me reach this place. She’s here with me, see?” She turns to look back, her arm still tight around Sam’s shoulders.

Two people stand behind Lena. One in a red cape with a red and blue suit. The other dressed in black with red hair cut short. Both familiar but the names escape Sam.

“Hey Sam,” the red-head says. “Remember me? We hang out a lot with your daughter. Gone clubbing a few times. You can drink me under the table.”

“Alex.” More names and memories bubble through the fog. “Supergirl?” She looks at the caped hero.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Supergirl smiles sadly. “Lena found a way to help you, but we need to find Reign first. We got to capture her. Go back to your body and signal us.”

“I — I don’t know how.”

“Hun, you do,” Lena says fiercely. “Just like you’ve always done for me when I’m lost in the fog.”

“Fog…” Sam struggles to remember, but the memories dance just out of reach. “What — what did I do for you?”

Lena breathes in sharply. She gently brushes Sam’s hair from her face. “I’ll teach you like you taught me. Count and breathe with me. Feel your body, use all of your senses.” She resumes counting. “Thirty-two, thirty-six, forty…”

Sam closes her eyes and leans her forehead against Lena’s shoulder. “Forty-four, forty-eight, fifty-two…” The multiples of four ground her, centers her breaths, and she feels a faint tug in her mind. She smells the air, feels Lena's touch against her skin, the weight of clothes on her body. As she continues to count with Lena, that tug grows stronger until it broils over.

She breaths in sharply and finds herself in a large cavern. On either side of her, two woman clad in a grey and black suit similar to her own chant in an unfamiliar language. Beyond them stands two people dressed in black robes with hoods, but they stand silent, eyes closed.

Energy seethes from the Reign-like women’s hands and her own. More sparks fly into the well in the center of the room. To her horror, with each pulse, the well burrows deeper, the bottom almost out of sight.

Quakes shimmer outward from the well, but the energy roots them. Meanwhile, the cavern itself shakes at each pulse, and a few stones fall near the hooded figures. Behind her, she sees a control panel with a blue crystal glowing in the center of it.

A memory surges through the simmering fog in her mind. That’s the same crystal she’d found when she went to speak to her adopted mother. It came from a pod in her mother's garage. Attackers had descended on them like rabid coyotes. She'd defended her mother, until a song ensnared her with pain. A dark fog blinded all her senses. She’d been trapped in a shroud of whispers, until she woke the next day in her bed at home.

Fury ignites. Lena is right yet again. Cultists did something, and it relates to that damn crystal.

It takes all of her strength to jerk herself out of the energy circle. Sparks sear across her skin.

She throws herself at the control panel, just as the two hooded figures call out in anger. She tugs it free. The energy currents flicker and go dark. She smashes the crystal against the console.

Howls of fury screech behind her. She’s ripped away from the panel, thrown across the cavern, and slams into stone. She stumbles to her feet, angry and desperate to stay in control.

The other two aliens attack, and she blocks their punches. Falls into her defensive stance. Throws one with a breath throw, and the other she dodges. Beyond them, the hooded figures start to chant, a harsh discordant melody. Black fog rises from the ground.

Sam knows she’s running out of time, but if she’s to get the signal out, she has to take out these assholes first.

She blocks their punches and tosses one of the Reign-like woman into the console. Strength beyond what she's ever felt burns through her, and she rips apart a rock to slam into the first Reign-like woman. She slumps against the broken console.

The second one catches her by surprise and slams a fist into her head. Sam stumbles, only to get another punch in the gut. She gasps and falls to her knees.

Dark fog curls around her legs.

But her body is still in the transformed state. She lets out a roar and ignites the heat vision. It slices through the cavern’s roof, burning through to the sky above.

The other Reign-like being punches her, and she skids across the ground. Her heat vision sputters to a stop. Another kick spends her spinning, and she lands far too close to the hooded figures. The dark fog coils around her, suffocates her breath, but dammit, if she’s going out, then she’s taking them with her.

She hurls herself into the hooded figures. One raises a hand, and she bounces against a shield.

Their feet still connect with the earth though. She digs her fingers deep and tugs upward with all her strength. The ground splits and the hooded figures shout. One tumbles into the pit, and the other snags a rock, holding on for dear life.

A chant sounds behind her. The remaining Reign-like asshole and sings a grating melody that bleeds into Sam's consciousness, like a worms burrowing into her flesh.

She can feel her consciousness start to slip away. She’s running out of time.

Desperate, she gathers the last vestiges of her will and rips up the ground and hurls it into the pit. The remaining figure falls screaming. Energy shoots upward, and the cavern shakes. Rocks slam down atop her. Her vision blackens.

She tumbles through the earth and hits the misty cavern of the nightmare realm. But no one is there. Lena and the others are gone. Shadows leer, lights flicker like sparks, and the pools behind her broil with wisps of light.

Terror threatens, but Sam grabs a rock and slams it against the sandstone. Ruby needs her. Lena needs her. She must hold tight to hope. Let it fuel her and burn away the memory-consuming fog.

She resumes her carving, and hours — days? — later violet energy sears into the ground around her. Pain rockets through her, and she screams in agony. Her cells rip and reform.

She’s thrown backward, through the earth, and slams into cold tile. There she shudders against the ground, spent.

“Sam?” Lena’s sweet voice, the one with the wisp of an accent, breaks through her exhaustion.

A warm blanket falls across her body. Sam blinks upward to see Lena holding a beaker stained with a black liquid. Relief surges at the sight of her beautiful face and emerald eyes.

“Do — do you have some Tylenol?” Sam manages a faint smile.

Lena drops to her side in relief, the beaker falls, and rolls under a half destroyed table. All around her lies the remains of a wrecked laboratory, and there, seated crosslegged near them is a cape-less Supergirl. She sights Alex and two others she doesn’t recognize sorting through the rubble.

“Sam.” Lena wraps her arms around her. Her warmth a balm to the cold that still clings to her from the nightmare realm. “God, I’m so glad you’re back.”

“You did it then?” She feels weak, shaky, but whole. Like a massive weight been lifted from her shoulders. “Destroyed Reign?”

“Obliterated her to dust,” Supergirl says, softly. “All thanks to Lena’s genius and a fancy, magical rock that hurt like hell to touch.”

“We couldn’t have done it without you, Sam,” Lena protests. “That signal you sent worked.”

“You stopped the cultists too,” Supergirl says, proudly. “Found them unconscious in that energy well. And you knocked out Reign. Made capturing her easy.”

“She did get feisty during the administering of the antidote,” Lena adds. She smiles tentatively, but her eyes still shine with a deep worry and sadness. “but we handled it.”

The tears in Lena’s eyes hurt to see. To know that Sam — even if it was some creepy alien possession using her body — caused that hurt? How much did it hurt her daughter too? How will they recover?

She wants to go home and hug Ruby, to reassure her that she’s back for good this time. To return to being just a CFO for Lena’s company. Back to her singleton self — as Lena often calls her.

But first, she wants to wipe away that worry from her best friend’s face.

“What can I say?” Sam jokes. “I just got that killing punch.” Her joke falls flat, and she ends up in tears instead. Who is she kidding? She can’t ever go back to the way things were after this. Her hands are stained now, even if it was another entity that used them for evil.

Lena holds her, gently rocking her. “Let it out, Sam. You’re safe now.”

“I’m so sorry,” Sam whispers. She clings to Lena and huddles under the warmth of the red cape. “All this horror? All those people dead?”

“Hey, that wasn’t you.” Lena strokes her hair. “Don’t take on the crimes of another.”

“She’s right,” Supergirl says, gently. “Reign was forced onto you against your will. You are a victim. A survivor in this. And in time, you will heal. Take it in steps.”

Sam takes a shuddering breath. Those words are ones she’s often said to Lena. What had once been abstract prior, now blossoms into a deep understanding. Lena may not be trapped in a nightmare realm when other alters front, but the pain and fear that amnesiac moments cause? Sam understands now.

And now she can do better. For herself, Lena, and Ruby. To find a new path forward.

[panickedpenguin]

Okay so Neil Hargrove was an armorer for a prevailing city, now on the run from bad rumor and maybe the law, when he takes up the job once more at the tiny town of Hawkins. He has his eldest child assist him as his wife and daughter take up mending and dying of cloth. In the big city, the eldest, Billy Hargrove, was able to assist a cohort of armorers all working under the guild, but in this tiny town of horse shit and rotting teeth Billy is forced to live completely under his father's thumb. This brings him daily torment and abuse, along with public shaming when Neil's mediocre work begins to show.

Philip, Duke of Harrington and owner of all the lands for miles to see, goes to visit this new addition to the town. He is pleased to have such a practiced specialist among his small town, deciding to bring along his newly eligible son to watch how his business is done.

And so the Harrington men go the Hargrove armory. Neil trips over himself to prove his worth to the Duke, displaying his best work and repeatedly smacking his son aside with a small hammer. The Duke barely speaks as he witnesses all this, only purviewing the work being done, until he interrupts the armorer's rambling to ask:

"Is the boy for sale?"

A frozen moment of shock passes over the four men present before Neil quickly denies the question and states he could never sell his own blood!

The Duke nods before asserting his need for a personal attendant, as his previous one had aged out, and he couldn't help but notice how strong the boy was while doing nothing but hindering Mr. Hargrove's work. Being the attendant of a Duke is certainly profitable and owed a favor or two, he goes on to say, while Neil is tight lipped and fuming.

Billy himself has staggered back a step and trained his eyes instead on the Duke's horse, tied to the post behind them. He is horrified to realize all too soon that his father would absolutely sell him for a pretty penny, let alone for ample employment to his benefit. He is angry and hurting and wondering if he has anything to even pack.

Stephen Harrington, the Duke's only son and beloved heir to the land, is horrified himself at his father's words, for the absolute insolence of proposing slavery but also for the mere thought of bringing such a strapping young beast to his doorstep, to have the opportunity for Steve to drool over those curls and biceps and thighs every single day??? What an atrocity!

[inposterumcumgaudio]

penelope snug!

So officially, it seems Penelope Snug is supervisor of motilene infrastructure while Jim Watt is in charge of motilene acquisition. However, we have communications between Jim and the boys in the Barrow Holm hatch, who would seem to fall under Penelope's purview if that were true. (See my theory about early motilene distribution and why Barrow Holm has motilene at all). Jubilator operation and maintenance also seems to be run out of the Motilene Control HQ, even though you would think that would fall more under the Doctors' oversight since Jubilators were invented to relieve them of corpse collection duties. Very tangled system of duties and obligations.

Penelope also maintains an office in the Parade District Document Control, oddly enough. Perhaps this means her position is higher than implied, that she oversees broader civil engineering and not just motilene.

In her office, she has three bowler hats.

Imagine! A lady in a council worker's uniform topped off with a bowler hat. That's a look! I eagerly await the fanart concepts.

I think this is one of those things that evolved and got muddy over time, that Penelope might have been meant to be in charge of one thing and kept getting subbed in to others. Penelope also makes me think a lot of BioShock 2's "Big Kate" O'Malley, who is also a supervisor of civic works in Rapture and the first person you find an audio diary from in that game. Parallels are often drawn between We Happy Few and BioShock but I would almost think Penelope could have been an homage.

A thing I think is interesting in comparing the two though is that Rapture did not set out with a specific intent of gender equality but ended up with it by selectively choosing the best people in every field regardless of it. In Wellington Wells, however, that women are able to achieve such high positions in the town is due to its inability to choose from only men. The town suffers shortages in nearly every way, but this also presents opportunity for those who would otherwise be overlooked.

Her correspondence with Verloc shows that the two of them are on a first name basis (Anton, though, not Tony). He even invites her and her husband Richard (whose name he knows and remembers) to dinner, which tells us he can cook. I rather would have liked to think that anyway, since cooking is just chemistry in another room, but he wouldn't be inviting people over if he couldn't.

Funnily enough, the one note we have from Penelope to Victoria lacks both a greeting and a signature, but Penelope does know specifically that Prudence Holmes is on holiday. So it means either Penelope and Victoria are so friendly as to dispense with formalities in their coorespondance... or Penelope considers this to be an interdepartmental memo... to a subordinate. Which, if she's in charge of document control as well might make sense.

The government hierarchy tree in How to be Happy is actually more of an inbred circle so make what you want of that.

Lastly, Penelope's note to Thomas Horner gives us a bit of nuance as to how she runs her crew.

So Thomas is running Jubilator Jousting tournaments on the off hours, which is a misuse of city property that perhaps Penelope was overlooking (and participating in) because it's good for morale. There's a lot of other morale initiatives happening in the Motilene Control HQ so this would seemingly fall under her interests and as long as it's not hurting anyone or getting out and making her look bad...

The problem occurs when Peter Thump loses during the Grand Derby and won't settle his unpaid debts. And this is interesting because in this scene, you're supposed to sympathize with Peter, right? He's being chased by a maniac in a Jubilator, of course he's in the right. But with the knowledge that he's ratted Thomas out not because he owes him money, but because he's not being allowed to bet further until he pays up... It's such a small side story, but it's very indicative of my larger point I'm always trying to make here, that what you're told is never exactly as one side presents it.

Anyway, so Peter rats Thomas out to Penelope and now that there's notes about it, it has become a problem. So Penelope does the only face-saving thing to be done, which is promote Peter to shut him up and tell Thomas to quit with the tournaments.

So Peter has not only fucked Thomas out the money he already owed, but also out of further profits from the tournaments, and presumably a pay raise that would have come along with his missed promotion.

He is a rotten swot, honestly.

And this puts Penelope in an unfortunate situation too because she knows what the actual haps is probably, but this is the bind they are in now. Whether she wants to side with Thomas on this or not, her hands are tied. And what's funny too is, Peter is lying about not being involved with the jousting at all - it's "Other people's money, I mean. I never bet myself." - so Thomas can only lie about being completely innocent of hosting the tournaments in the first place. To which Penelope replies that "If you persist in proclaiming your innocence, then I suppose I don't owe you 10 quid for the Grand Derby, do I?"

Thomas also lets us in on a bit of the discussion had about this:

"Come on! Let's have a "conversation." I'm sorry, no, a constructive, let's have a "constructive conversation." Has my work been "slipping"? Oh no? It's just that I've "failed to improve as much as we would have hoped"? Who the hell is "we" anyways? Have you got an invisible friend, or are you now the Queen of the bloody Pipes?"

Penelope is at home placing wagers on the destruction of her work equipment along with her crewman, but is also fluent in euphemistic (if a bit anachronistically modern) corporate-speak.

I do think the record-keeping is the thing here. If not for Wellington Wells' dependence on written notes, Penelope might have gotten away with firing Peter or transferring him to another department due to "poor culture fit".

[underwentrpg]

SHIFTERS

This earth that has loaned her inhabitants the gift of life itself comes to gift another boon. There are some on this plane who had been blessed with the ability of wearing another guise. The earth, ever-wise in her dealings, have made it so that the person given unto the gift of shifting could only have a guise suitable to their local ecology. Gulch City, having been desert, is home to a sizeable population of shifters whose guises run the gamut of rattlesnakes, coyotes, foxes, wolves, falcons, and other such species endemic to the lands of Nuwuvi people.

VAMPIRES

Before the Fall, the vampires of Gulch City had been subject to the constraints of their physiology, their activities mostly restricted in the nighttime hours. Yet, with the City submerged into an eternal dark, the only lights remaining those powered by steam and early electricity, the vampires found themselves able to flourish more freely in this new environment. Yet with this newfound freedom comes a bane: the cover of eternal night has seemingly made some of their number more brazen, with more and more corpses turning up drained of their blood. Soon, it will reach a breaking point. Soon, questions will have to be asked. For now, however, there is no greater feeling than the unravelling of oneself, at long last.

UNDEAD

Deep beneath the earth, with the city under the careful purview of the Haunted Ones, there are more things in heaven and earth than can be conceived of in one's philosophies. It wasn't too obvious at first. What flukes happened could have been chalked up to miraculous recoveries, a wrong diagnosis by an over-earnest doctor, or perhaps just a miracle one ought not to question too deeply. Yet it kept happening and happening and happening, until people were finally forced to accept this incredible truth: the dead don't remain dead and come back to life — if you can call this twisted, liminal sort of existence life.

WIXENFOLK

There have always been strange magics at work ever since the beginning of man, always carefully hidden by folks who knew to keep their heads down and mind their own business. Some say they have been in this town since the very beginning, for surely the exponential rate of growth and development that the city's experienced couldn't be anything less than magical. Yet, whatever their reasons for hiding, they all now stand as one, having stepped into the light and being the first of the supernaturals to announce to this strange city that there was more to it than meets the eye.

[abrasiveengineers]

Shaping the Infrastructure of Our World: The Essential Field of Civil Construction work

Within the broad realm of construction, civil construction is an essential discipline that shapes the infrastructure that sustains our everyday existence. One of the top providers of civil construction work in India, AEPL (Abrasive Engineers Pvt. Ltd.), is essential in turning designs into the concrete buildings that characterize our towns and cities. This article examines the importance of civil construction under AEPL, emphasizing their knowledge, dedication to quality, and important roles in creating a better society.

Why the Civil Construction work of AEPL is famous 

Laying the Groundwork for Progress: Civil construction work is the planning, designing, and building of the many facilities that support our society. Building the infrastructure necessary for development and connectivity, civil construction is in charge of creating everything from highways, bridges, and railroads to airports, water reservoirs, and sewage networks.  With its vast experience and knowledge, AEPL is essential to the building of these important structures.

Professionalism and Expertise: Because of these qualities, AEPL is a well-known and respected name in the civil construction industry. The organization is proud of its highly qualified engineering team, which is proficient in several areas such as architectural and conceptual design, project management, interior design, repairs, and restoration. Every project is handled with accuracy and attention to detail because to AEPL's thorough approach and dedication to excellence.

Comprehensive Services: A wide range of tasks fall under the purview of AEPL's civil construction work .The business manages every step of the building process, including engineering, designing, drawing, implementing, operating, and maintaining. AEPL's all-inclusive services encompass all necessary elements to realize a project, guaranteeing a smooth and effective construction process for its patrons.

Collaborative Approach: AEPL values cooperation and keeps a close relationship with its clients. Taking into account the client's vision, needs, and preferences, the organization actively involves them throughout the project. This collaborative approach fosters a sense of ownership and satisfaction by guaranteeing that the final product meets the client's expectations. AEPL distinguishes itself as an industry leader by comprehending and incorporating client needs.

Innovation and Quality: AEPL consistently aims to provide innovative and high-quality civil construction work projects. The organization strives to remain innovative by utilizing state-of-the-art technologies, contemporary building methods, and environmentally friendly practices to provide outstanding outcomes. In addition to guaranteeing effective building procedures, AEPL's dedication to innovation helps to create long-lasting constructions.

Safety and Compliance: At AEPL, we take great pride in providing a safe working environment for our stakeholders and employees. Safety is a major priority in the field of civil construction work. The organization follows tight safety guidelines and rules, putting in place stringent controls to reduce risks and dangers. AEPL establishes a safe environment where projects may be finished without sacrificing quality or the well-being of workers by placing a high priority on safety and compliance.

Contributing to the Future: Beyond building actual structures, AEPL's role in civil construction work is about influencing the course of history. By their initiatives, AEPL helps to build infrastructure that is resilient, sustainable, and well-designed to satisfy the demands of both the present and the future generations. By emphasizing eco-friendly methods and utilizing new technology, AEPL contributes significantly to creating a better world for everybody.

Conclusion 

In conclusion, civil construction work is an essential sector that shapes our world's infrastructure, and AEPL is a specialist in it. AEPL creates institutions that unite communities and promote progress by means of their professionalism, experience, all-inclusive services, and cooperative approach. AEPL remains dedicated to fostering a future in which the built environment and the natural world coexist peacefully, via its commitment to innovation, quality, safety, and sustainability. The influence AEPL has had in the civil construction industry is evidence of their commitment to creating a better future for everybody.

[currenthunt]

Supreme Court has approved the Shimla Development Plan 2041

Supreme Court has approved the Shimla Development Plan 2041 that is aimed at regulating construction activities in Himachal Pradesh’s capital city, terming it Sustainable. Shimla Development Plan 2041 - The draft Development Plan for the Shimla Planning Area 2041 was published in February 2022. - The development plan has been prepared by the Town and Country Planning Department of Himachal Pradesh under the AMRUT (Atal Mission for Rejuvenation and Urban Transformation) sub-scheme of the Government of India. - The plan is GIS (Geographic Information System)-based. It covers Shimla Municipal Corporation and its adjoining areas under the provisions of the Himachal Pradesh Town and Country Planning Act, 1977. - The plan states that “town planning does not come under the purview of NGT”. Background of Legal Battles - The initial approval for the plan was granted by the previous state government in February 2022. - However, the National Green Tribunal (NGT) intervened and issued stay orders in May 2022, terming the plan illegal and in conflict with earlier orders passed in 2017. - The NGT’s 2017 verdict had prohibited construction on buildings above two floors and the attic floor in the Shimla planning area. - The NGT found the scheme violated the ban by allowing more floors and new constructions in restricted areas. The NGT warned of damage to law, environment and public safety if the state continued. - The state government appealed to the Supreme Court, and in May 2023, the Supreme Court directed the government to address objections to the draft development plan and issue a final plan within six weeks. Supreme Court’s Ruling - In January, 2024, the SC gave its approval to the Shimla Development Plan 2041, setting aside the previous orders of the NGT, stating that it was beyond the jurisdiction of the tribunal to direct the state government on how to formulate the development plan. - The court mentioned that the NGT cannot dictate the state government's formulation of the plan but can scrutinize the plan on its merits. - The court acknowledged that the 2041 development plan appears to be balanced and sustainable, but it emphasized that parties are still open to challenging specific aspects of the plan on their merits. National Green Tribunal - It is a specialized body set up under the National Green Tribunal Act (2010) for effective and expeditious disposal of cases relating to environmental protection and conservation of forests and other natural resources. - With the establishment of the NGT, India became the third country in the world to set up a specialized environmental tribunal, only after Australia and New Zealand, and the first developing country to do so. - The NGT Act provided a specialized role to the tribunal to act on issues where a dispute arose under seven specified laws (mentioned in Schedule I of the Act): The Water Act 1974, The Water Cess Act 1977, The Forest Conservation Act 1980, Air Act 1981 , Environment Protection Act 1986, Public Liability Insurance Act 1991 and the Biological Diversity Act 2002. - NGT is mandated to make disposal of applications or appeals finally within 6 months of filing the same. - The NGT has five places of sittings, New Delhi is the Principal place of sitting and Bhopal, Pune, Kolkata and Chennai are the other four. - The Tribunal is headed by the Chairperson who sits in the Principal Bench and has at least ten but not more than twenty judicial members and at least ten but not more than twenty expert members. - Decisions of the Tribunal are binding. The Tribunal has powers to review its own decisions. If this fails, the decision can be challenged before the Supreme Court within ninety days. Read the full article

[tjmondigo]

ISRAEL VS PALESTINE

So first let's talk about what is happening between israel vs palestine

Early in October 2023, Israel and Hamas, the militant Islamist organization in charge of Gaza since 2006, went to war. Along with murdering and injuring hundreds of soldiers and civilians, Hamas fighters invaded southern Israeli cities and villages across the Gaza Strip border and fired rockets into Israel. They also took scores of hostages. Israel was caught off guard by the strike, but it soon launched a lethal counterattack. The Israeli cabinet officially declared war on Hamas the day after the attack on October 7, and the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) were then given orders by the defense minister to impose a "complete siege" on Gaza. Since then, Israel has ordered the evacuation of over a million Palestinian inhabitants, and the two sides have engaged in regular rocket exchanges.

https://www.cfr.org/global-conflict-tracker/conflict/israeli-palestinian-conflict

Religion

ISRAEL

As of 2018, the vast majority of Israelis (74.3%) identify as Jewish, with Muslims (17.8%), Christians (1.9%), Druze (1.6%), and people of other religions (4.4%) following closely behind. Israel is the only nation where the majority of people identify as Jewish. Israel is home to a variety of Christian and Jewish faiths, while the majority of Muslims identify with the Sunni tradition. Israel is home to about 41% of the world's Jewish population. It is rare for members of Israel's major religions to convert; instead, individuals who identify as Jews, Muslims, Christians, or Druze almost always stick with the faith they were raised in.

https://culturalatlas.sbs.com.au/israeli-culture/israeli-culture-religion

PALESTINE

All Palestinians, including those who reside abroad, are Muslims. On an identification card issued by the Israeli government, every resident of the Palestinian Territories must indicate their religion. This document states that 98% of Palestinians identify as Sunni Muslims.1 Christianity is the main minority religion, with an estimated 52,000 Palestinian Christians thought to have resided in the occupied territories as of 2013.2 It is also believed that the number of religiously unaffiliated Palestinians (i.e. atheist or agnostic) in the West Bank and Gaza is very small.

https://culturalatlas.sbs.com.au/palestinian-culture/palestinian-culture-religion

BORDER

ISRAEL / PALESTINE

The Green Line, which technically divides Israel from the West Bank and was also established during the 1949 Rhodes Armistice Talks, which were held between Israel and Jordan, is commonly viewed as the default border between Israel and a future Palestinian state. The border, which was the first official political division of land between the Jordan River and the Mediterranean Sea, was superimposed onto the landscape and reflected the outcome of the war. Some adjustments were also made, particularly in the Wadi Ara region to allow Israel to maintain a territorial link between the coastal towns and Afula.

https://fathomjournal.org/demarcating-the-israeli-palestinian-border/

TERRITORY

ISRAEL

The West Bank, East Jerusalem, and the Gaza Strip are included in the Occupied Territories, which are under the legal control of Israel and the Palestinian Authority (PA), with much of the region being under both parties' purview. Violence between Palestinians and Israeli security forces continued in Israel, Jerusalem, Gaza and the West Bank. The PA Basic Law, which serves as an interim constitution, declares Islam as the official religion but asks for respect of "all other divine religions." In the course of the year, attacks outside the Green Line in Jerusalem, Gaza, and the West Bank claimed the lives of 91 Palestinians and eight Israelis.

https://www.state.gov/reports/2016-report-on-international-religious-freedom/israel-and-the-occupied-territories/israel-and-the-occupied-territories-the-occupied-territories/

PALESTINE

The West Bank, which includes East Jerusalem, and Gaza make up the OPT. In the OPT, there are about 4.5 million Palestinians (2.7 million in the West Bank and 1.8 million in Gaza). In order for a two-state solution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict to be realized, a sovereign and unified Palestinian state based on the pre-June 1967 lines (the borders that existed before Israel occupied the West Bank and Gaza in June 1967) would be established on this territory, with East Jerusalem serving as its capital.

https://ecfr.eu/special/mapping_palestinian_politics/opt/

RESOURCES

ISRAEL

Potash, bromine, and magnesium are examples of mineral resources; the latter two come from the Dead Sea's waters. Phosphates and trace amounts of gypsum are found in the Negev, copper ore is found in the arava, and minor marble is found in Galilee. Small oil resources have been discovered in the northern Negev and south of Tel Aviv since Israel started limited petroleum exploration in the 1950s. In addition, the nation has natural gas reserves offshore in the Mediterranean and in the northern Negev, northeast of Beersheba.

https://www.britannica.com/place/Israel/Economy

PALESTINE

Natural resources abound throughout historic Palestine, including fresh and ground water, arable land, and wildlife. land and, more recently, natural gas and oil. Seven decades have passed since Israel's founding as a nation. These resources have been misused and corrupted in a number of ways. These include common Land theft by the Palestinians during the ongoing Nakba, water exploitation as a result of failed negotiations, and a When gas or oil is discovered in or under occupied land, finders-keepers law applies.

ORIGIN OF THE PEOPLE

ISRAEL

Abraham founded the idea that there is just one God, the universe's creator, which is where the people of Israel (also known as the "Jewish People") derive from (see Torah). The patriarchs of the Israelites are described as Abraham, his son Yitshak (Isaac), and his great-grandson Jacob (Israel).

https://www.science.co.il/israel-history/#:~:text=The%20people%20of%20Israel%20(also,the%20patriarchs%20of%20the%20Israelites.

PALESTINE

The enormous political changes and battles that brought this tiny territory to the attention of the world have had a significant impact on the social geography of modern Palestine, particularly the region west of the Jordan River. Israeli Jews made up nearly half of the population west of the Jordan at the beginning of the twenty-first century, with Palestinian Arabs (Muslim, Christian, and Druze) and other smaller minorities making up the remainder. Despite the fact that millions of immigrants have come since the State of Israel's inception in 1948, the Jewish population is becoming more and more made up of people who were born in Israel. The majority of the Arab population is descended from Arabs who resided in the region for many centuries before the mandate period and during it.

https://www.britannica.com/place/Palestine

NOVA MUSIC FESTIVAL

One of the initial targets of the historic Hamas ground invasion into Israel was the music festival. It might also be the most lethal. Israel's search and rescue group estimated that there had been at least 260 fatalities.

Additionally, militants carried out raids on neighboring settlements, killing and kidnapping locals—in some cases, entire families—while moving from house to house. More than a full day after the assault started on Sunday afternoon, the Israeli force was still fighting Gaza militants in various locations. Seven hundred people lost their lives in Israel, and more than three hundred more were left critically or badly injured. Israeli airstrikes on Gaza has resulted in about 400 Palestinian deaths.

https://www.newyorker.com/news/dispatch/when-massacre-came-to-a-music-festival-in-israel

ARE YOU A PRO ISRAEL OR PRO PALESTINE?

I'm a pro israel because first of all hamas people are the one who attached first and there are many theories that hamas or other militant people at palestine are kidnapping people specially girls to undergo terrible experience such as rape, abuse and many more.

[little-pisces-dreaming]

i posted a little of this earlier. i was struggling with the style of this chapter because it felt distancing and i didn't want that for taisei. and then i had a breakthrough. this voice is absolutely wrong for taisei but it's perfect for lígē and given that the second half of the chapter is alda it really sets up their dynamic well.

.

There were passages beneath the city, and which formed a particularly tight knot of tunnels under what had once been the town of Ashley. The grassland of its namesake now suffocated under a dozen feet of concrete. A perfect haven for criminals, had any found their way to it. There were many things which fell under Taisei's purview. This would be the jewel in his crown, but the pride was Lígē's.

He followed six perfect paces behind his father, dark eyes scanning long shadows. It had been some time since he had last been in this city and though his efforts to keep the passages concealed were myriad and exacting, he knew better than to be led astray by assumptions. At one thousand, nine hundred and sixty seven years old, he had earned his confidence and cunning, and was near enough in age to the man to feel able to do his duty.

[chikucabllp]

Business Touring In Noida with Cab Services!

Table of Content

Introduction

The Best Way to Get around Town for Business Trips is in a Luxury Rental Car

Local Places to Visit in Noida

Conclusion

Introduction

The city of Noida is located in the state of Uttar Pradesh, in the district of Meerut. One of India's most dynamic urban areas. In particular, it is impacted by the growth of India's IT industry. The National Capital Region, which includes Delhi, is the primary reason for the city's rapid and extensive renovation. A large portion of Haryana and Uttar Pradesh fall under the purview of the NCR, and Noida is one of such cities. Since this is one of the most important business hubs in India, cab services in Noida for business trips makes a lot of sense.

The Best Way to Get around Town for Business Trips is in a Luxury Rental Car

Numerous multinational corporations have set up shop in Noida because of the city's proximity to the nation's capital and the booming IT industry there. Given the city's consistent influx of high-ranking officials, a reliable corporate taxi service in Noida is an absolute necessity. The car rental in Gurgaonbetween Noida and Delhi International Airport is excellent. Plus, it's only about 35 kilometres (km) away from Delhi. The rapid development of Noida has raised the standard of living for locals and attracted new residents from all around India. It's possible that city life is ideal, what with its conveniences and relative lack of stress. Recently, Noida has expanded its infrastructure by opening new schools, universities, hospitals, parks, and more.

When people think of India, they think of Noida. The town's population boom and rising level of living have spurred rapid growth, however, and the area has changed dramatically in recent decades. Moreover, modern-day Noida is home to a plethora of exciting attractions that are sure to please any visitors. And it would be easy to get around the city with the help of the local cab service in Noida for business trips. It is possible to hire a car from every major city in India at any time, making it ideal for a business trip there.

Local Places To Visit In Noida

You can hire taxi service in Noida and cruise around the city, taking in the city's many high-rise, architecturally stunning structures, whether you are just visiting the city or are a new resident. You might also visit destinations such as DLF Mall India, which has emerged as a popular destination for tourists in recent years. Additionally, you and your loved ones are welcome to accompany you when you visit "Worlds of Wonders." During the city tour, this is a wonderful area to go to unwind and take it easy. In addition to the two locations mentioned above, you could also visit the ISKON temple, the Okhla Bird Sanctuary, Kids Zania, and a great deal of other places.

Conclusion

In addition, Noida residents commonly visit Delhi, a popular weekend destination located only 50 kilometers away. You can rent a cab service in Noida and drive to Delhi, where you'll have a fantastic day exploring the city. Chiku Cab is a great option for organising a weekend vacation to Agra or Mathura. We are a reliable taxi service with clean cars and courteous drivers. When you book with us, you won't have to spend much time on the booking or the payment process.

[fansplaining]

A Note from Fansplaining

If you’re subscribed to Fansplaining on iTunes or another podcatcher, you’ve probably seen that we put out a short statement this week in lieu of a new episode. Because we’re committed to making all audio we release fully accessible, we’ll transcribe the clip at the bottom of this post, below the cut. But fwiw, it’s mostly just explaining what’s in this post:  

Black lives matter. We condemn white supremacy in all its forms. We believe the police should be defunded and dismantled. And we want to make sure everyone who listens to our podcast knows about ways they can contribute to this fight, and ways they can support the Black community (please note that these are U.S.-centric). We’ll be back with a new episode soon, but this is more important than anything we could say right now.

Places to donate

If you’re out of work or have lost hours in the past few months, you may not have money to spare. But even small donations—$5, $10—add up. A few organizations we recommend: 

House of GG, a Black-led organization, is fundraising to build a permanent home in Little Rock, Arkansas where trans and gender-nonconforming people can both be housed and receive leadership training.

G.L.I.T.S. is fundraising to buy two buildings to create a permanent place to house and support Black trans people in New York City, as well as sign leases for space to use in the interim.

Sista Afya, a Chicago-based organization, is fundraising to keep its therapeutic services, social events, and wellness experiences under $15 and to hold large scale events like a free arts festival.

For a larger crowdsourced list, see suggestions here.

Ways to get involved if you can’t physically or monetarily participate

If, like us, you live in New York City, here’s a great resource for actionable things you can do from home. Here’s a national list, though for more granular detail for your town/city/region, you should search social media. Some great google doc action happening right now!! 

As a reminder, when contacting elected officials: 

Always write your own email, rather than use a form. People who work or have worked in these offices strongly advise this, and report that form emails are regularly filtered out, often directly into the trash. 

Always write a postcard rather than a letter. Letters are scanned for things like anthrax and can get held up for days; postcards go straight through.

Ensure you know the official’s position on whatever you’re asking about before you call or write. If they’re already supporting or sponsoring a specific piece of legislation, call them anyway and thank them. They use constituent numbers to show that their positions have a lot of public support. 

Particularly for white and non-BIPOC: reach out to your family members, as much as you feel safe doing so, and speak with them about Black Lives Matter and the issues of the day. If you have language barriers with your family members, or just need a place to start, Letters For Black Lives is a great resource that includes material in many languages.

Stream this video—all ad revenue will go to bail funds, families of victims of racist police brutality, and other Black-led organizations.

Resources on anti-Blackness and racism in fandom

Because we are a fandom podcast, we encourage white fans in particular to continue to listen to Black fans and other fans of color when it comes to racism in fandom. If you’re new to the podcast or haven’t dug into the full back catalogue, we recommend prioritizing: 

Our pair of episodes on race and racism in fandom—especially anti-Blackness in fandom—featured eight different guests. Episodes 22A and B: “Race and Fandom Part 1” and “Race and Fandom Part 2.”

Ebony Elizabeth Thomas was one of our earliest and one of our most recent repeat guests. You can listen to her talk about race, children’s literature, and fandom in episode 7, “The Dark Fantastic” and episode 120, “Ebony Elizabeth Thomas.” Once you’ve listened to these episodes, buy or request that your library purchase a copy of her book, The Dark Fantastic.

Tanya DePass is the founder of I Need Diverse Games. In episode 42, “Fresh Out of Tokens,” she discussed fan/creator interaction and intersectionality in the context of games specifically. 

Rukmini Pande is a well-known scholar of race and fandom. She first joined us in episode 29, “Shipping and Activism,” to talk about the ways that ships intersect with politics; then, she returned in episode 89, “Rukmini Pande,” and discussed her academic work. Once you’ve listened to these episodes, buy or request that your library purchase a copy of her book, Squee From the Margins.

In episode 48, “Con or Bust,” we interviewed Diana Pho and Mark Oshiro, two board members of Con or Bust, an organization that raises money to help fans of color attend conventions.

For further reading, Fan Studies Network North America has put together a great list of resources.

Transcript

[Intro music: “Awel” by stefsax]

Flourish Klink: Hi, Elizabeth.

Elizabeth Minkel: Hi, Flourish.

FK: Welcome to not an episode of Fansplaining. Um, we almost completely canceled recording at all, but we decided that we wanted to record a short thing, because we know some people only receive us through their podcatcher or whatever and don’t ever go to our website or our social media. So it felt important that we actually record something short today.

ELM: All right. So, just off the bat, at the risk of sounding like a terrible brand black .jpg with white letters, I think it should be obvious to everybody right now but it’s always worth restating—Black Lives Matter. We strongly support everything that is happening right now. We both strongly believe that the police should be…what word are we gonna use? Dismantled?

FK: Yes.

ELM: Dismantled. Like, we, like, you know—and like, strongly condemn white supremacy, which is the foundation of our country and much of the world.

FK: Right. So… 

ELM: Very broad statement here, but like, you know, it’s definitely worth stating in explicit terms and not couching it around, you know, just to outright state support for Black people and the fight that is going on right now.

FK: Completely. And we really struggled with whether or not to record an episode because, on the one hand, there’s a lot of topics that we think would be really good to talk about that are within the purview of this podcast—stuff like the way people are using social media to organize, stuff like the entire conversation around K-pop fandom and the way that’s been going down. There’s like five things.

ELM: Spoiler, spoiler: It’s been going down poorly.

FK: Yeah.

ELM: Wait, side note: just anyone, please please please, cause I know a lot of people listen to this podcast and are in fandom but are not in K-pop fandom, if an article that you’re sharing about K-pop fans mobilizing doesn’t acknowledge the, like, rampant anti-Blackness happening within those spaces right now, they haven’t done enough research.

FK: Correct. And also, it’s both that and also if you see the narrative that K-pop fans are only bots, that’s also the other flip bad side of the coin.

ELM: Well, we should—now we’re gettin’ right into it. We’re not actually doing an episode. We’re not actually doing an episode. Yes.

FK: We’re actually gonna talk about this at some point in the future. Right now it feels like, you know, just being two white women talking about this stuff feels like not the thing to do right now? And we also don’t want to right now ask Black people to come on to our podcast and talk about things in a deeply traumatic and horrible moment. So we’re going to put a pin in the podcast and we’re gonna come back with all of those topics and a bunch of guests and basically begin to address this stuff, hopefully in a moment that’s less fraught. Is it ever gonna get less fraught? I don’t know if it’s gonna get less fraught.

ELM: That being said, let’s play it by ear! Because I could not tell you what’s gonna happen two weeks from now, but like… 

FK: [sighs] Yeah, I really don’t know either.

ELM: Just, we’ll see. So in the meantime, we are going to put a post on Tumblr so it’ll be shareable, and we are going to include resources—places to donate, in particular places that aren’t getting as much attention. More grassroots stuff that we’re seeking out right now. And also ways to be active and involved for people who don’t have the money or physical ability to be protesting right now, because I am very aware of the narrative of “You should be in the streets! And if not then you should donate!” And it’s like, well, what happens if you are unemployed and also physically unable to get out there? There are so many ways that you can really be, actively lend your support right now. 

So we’ll put those in there, and then also, we shared on Twitter a thread of great resources about anti-Blackness and racism in fandom, and since this is a fandom podcast we’ll be sharing some of those in that post as well, because it’s all connected.

FK: Absolutely. All right, everyone out there, stay safe, stay strong, if you’re in the streets stay in the streets, and we’ll be back when we can.

ELM: OK, bye Flourish!

FK: Bye, Elizabeth.

[Outro music: “Awel” by stefsax]

[sanders-signs]

Intro Post

(Currently on a bus, but I’ll probably fix this up a bit better once I’m at my laptop again)

Welcome to Galatea! The region boasts a thriving Coordination scene, a robust Ranger presence, and the world’s current largest mountain city. Though lacking in unique standard Pokemon, Galatea has one of the largest groups of Legendaries and pseudo-Legendaries.

The Guardian Trio of Hunt, Harvest, and Hearth helped guide and protect the first towns of the region, as well as inspiring the region‘s spirit of cooperation. On the flip side are The Muses (or Patrons depending on the speaker’s views): a loose group of eight powerful ghost types who spend their time hunting talent and spreading their arts. Much like the fae, they occasionally steal away their favorite; unlike the fae, they have great PR. The seven pseudo-Legendaries technically fall under the purview of The Muses, but many have spent generations mingling with their human neighbors and grown more protective.

[oss-crime]

Chapter 2-Project “Ma” –Eve–; Scene 6

Original Sin Story: Crime, pages 56-69

One of the cities that made up the Twelve Royal Capitals was the city of Asmouse.

This town, managed by senate member Ceci Vaju, was the place where the historical backing of the Twelve Royal Capitals was most pronounced.

The people who had once began the excavation of the god’s legacy in this area—Senator Vaju was a descendant of theirs, and he was also a very passionate researcher of artifacts.

Fumbling for a way to more effectively utilize these artifacts, Senator Vaju founded the Royal Research Institute in Asmouse with permission from the previous queen. He entrusted the position of first director to a friend who shared his passion, Horus Solntse.

As their initial goal implied, the Royal Research Institute’s research wound up contributing greatly to the development of Leviantan engineering, weaponry, and living wares. The artifacts could be made to work with magical power, but Horus and the other researchers progressively discovered more effective operating procedures, and brought yet more glory to the Magic Kingdom.

Meanwhile, Senator Vaju and Horus also used the institute to pursue a different avenue of research.

That was “to deliberately create people who have strong magical abilities”. In other words, it was to make a candidate for the next queen be born under the domain of Senator Vaju, and was also necessary research for him to obtain the position of the next senate head.

But that research had proved to be much rougher going than anticipated, and Horus had passed away from illness before they could achieve any results.

Horus had an adopted son named Adam, and he was, too, a skilled scientist. For that reason he was hired on by Senator Vaju as the new head of the institute, and he also inherited their research—the “Next Queen Project”.

--That “Next Queen Project” had now changed its name to “Project Ma”, and was proceeding under the supervision of Head Senator Miroku.

.

…Most of that was inconsequential to Eve.

The important thing was the fact that Eve was, at present, the strongest candidate they had for “Ma”.

Not having much interest in science herself, Eve could only conclude that the Royal Research Institute was a cold, unappealing place.

“Wish I could have had a more comfortable chair.”

Adam gave a slightly troubled smile at Eve’s complaint, handing her a cup with a liquid in it.

“We’ll give that a fix the next time we’re making a device to test magical ability. But for right now this is all we’ve got…Well, anyway, give this is a drink if you like.”

“…What’s this?”

“It’s a drink called coffee. It’s not spread much outside the capital, so it’s understandable if you’ve never heard of it.”

With Eve’s mood souring more under the impression that she was being made fun of as a country hick, she brought the brown liquid to her lips.

“—It smells good. But it’s a little bitter.”

“It’s got a lot of milk and sugar in it. Drinking it should help you calm down a bit.”

“I think I’d be a lot calmer if I could get these wires off my arms and legs.”

“We need them to get an accurate reading of your magic. …It’ll take a little bit of time, so please try to be patient.”

The measuring device they’d used in the village of Nemu was a simpler, portable model.

Though, it wasn’t the fault of that device that they hadn’t gotten an accurate result back then.

“That spoon…is also extremely curious to me, as a scientist,” Adam said, brandishing the blue spoon that Eve used instead of a staff.

“At a glance it looks like a normal, bland item….But it can increase or decrease the magical ability of its owner at will. In other words it can amplify magic and also temporarily put a seal on it—”

“My mother gave it to me.”

“Did she make it?”

“I don’t know. I never learned that.”

“This might also be a legacy piece…Well, we’ll deal with that later.”

Adam set the spoon on a nearby table, and then drew closer to a large box that was next to the chair Eve was sitting in.

“Well, let’s get started.”

He pushed up a lever that was attached to the box.

Suddenly feeling slightly dizzy, Eve fell back a bit in the chair.

“I’m…a bit nauseous.”

“It’ll go away. We have to check to see if that powerful spell you used in the forest…was because of the spoon, or your own magical ability.”

“How…long will it take?”

“Hmm…About an hour, I think.”

“That long!?”

“It’s not like you have to keep perfectly still the whole time. Though you can’t leave the chair. You can drink coffee, or if you’re hungry I can bring you something to eat.”

“Then—” After looking up at the ceiling for a moment, Eve continued, “Can I talk?”

“With me? …Of course, I don’t mind.”

“Then…I want you to tell me something.”

“What is it?”

“About the ‘Witch of Merrigod’.”

Adam’s expression stiffened. “Why would you want to—”

“She’s the one who murdered the father who raised me. Isn’t it only natural that I would want to know about her?”

“What will you do with this information?”

“…Not sure.”

Eve herself didn’t know the answer to that question.

But—

“I can’t just go on not knowing.”

“…”

“Assuming I’ll become queen someday, I mean.”

“…I see. Yes, perhaps…so.” After gazing fixedly at Eve’s face, Adam steeled himself and then started to talk. “The ‘Witch of Merrigod’—Meta Salmhofer was originally an ‘Ma’ candidate.”

“You told me that earlier. But you said she was discarded for being cruel?”

“Yes. If you go southeast of the capital—far, far further east than the village of Nemu where you live, there is a place called Merrigod Plateau. That area is a dangerous region, used as a stronghold by a certain group.”

“…You mean the ‘red devotees’?”

“No, to be accurate those are little more than a single unit of this group. The name for them as a whole—is ‘Apocalypse’. There are some people who say they’re a simple crew of bandits, and there are others who caution that they’re an anti-social organization that seeks to overthrow the kingdom.”

According to Adam, not even the royal capital’s information bureau knew the true situation.

“What we do know is that the leader of Apocalypse is named ‘Pale Noel’. And that he and Meta are lovers.”

“Pale Noel…”

“His age, his appearance…all of it is unknown. Actually, we don’t even know if he’s really a man. Whatever the case, she’s this person’s girlfriend. We needed to exercise extreme caution even to go see them.”

At the time, Adam, Seth, and a few other researchers had gone to Merrigod Plateau with a peacekeeping force led by Gammon following along.

“But…that was a mistake.”

Adam heaved a great sigh.

“We just ended up provoking them. As a result…a small war broke out on Merrigod Plateau. Though that wasn’t what we scientists had intended at all.”

“But that wasn’t the case with the peacekeeping force and Apocalypse…Right?”

“Indeed. Gammon is always looking for glory. It’s like he’s a big bundle of ambition. Even more so after he became the head of the peacekeeping forces. He likely figured he could use his position as bodyguard to crush Apocalypse.”

But his plan ended in failure.

“Meta is an ‘Inheritor of Gilles’. She controlled the soldiers of the peacekeeping force with her power, and they all started firing at each other. Even us researchers, who they were supposed to be guarding, got caught up in it….We had heavy losses. That’s why the institute is still completely understaffed.”

Eve had come along to the institute with Adam, but now that he mentioned it she realized that she hadn’t seen anyone else up to coming to this room.

“How…many scientists survived?”

Adam spread his arms in a grandiose gesture and replied, “Don’t be surprised. Just me and Seth! Though this facility wasn’t very heavily staffed to begin with.”

“I see…How awful.”

Eve had the home where she’d lived destroyed by Meta.

But Adam too had had his friends murdered.

“Yes…Some of them I got along with quite well, and some I frankly didn’t much care for. But none of them deserved to die like that.”

On seeing Adam’s bitter expression, Eve was reminded of her own grief.

“Hey…Just what is an ‘Inheritor of Gilles’ exactly?” she asked, trying to change the mood.

“R-right…An ‘inheritor’ is, well…To put it simply, it’s someone with ‘supernatural powers’.”

“’Supernatural powers’? Unlike magic?”

“In this country there are people who possess ‘special powers’ different from magical power. For example…the white army. We know from our reports that clan has the power of ‘Inheritors of Salem’, able to wield fire.”

“I see…So that was it.”

Eve had always thought that the white army’s usage of fire was through magic, but it appeared this wasn’t the case.

“Among the white army there are people who are magically impotent—that is, they were born without any ability to use magic at all. And yet despite that they are able to use their fire powers just the same as their fellows. …Though I’ve heard that research into the fundamental theory behind it hasn’t progressed very far at present.”

“Is that research conducted here?”

“No. Research into ‘inheritors’ is the purview of Lighwatch Temple. Sir Yegor Asayev, the head priest, is the expert on it.”

“Wow…”

“So, honestly I don’t actually know that much about ‘Inheritors’. Just that they’re divided up into categories by ability, like ‘Gilles’ and ‘Salem’, and that those are based on the names of the god kin—”

At that moment, the box set next to Eve—the magical ability measuring device, started to faintly shake.

“Hey…Is this working okay?”

Eve pointed to the box.

“Hm? …Oh, that’s fine,” Adam replied, gazing at the symbols that popped up onto the box’s screen. “Would you like some more coffee?” he asked her, turning around and noticing that Eve’s cup was empty.

It was a peculiar drink; Eve didn’t find it all that tasty, and yet she kept bringing it to her lips for some reason.

“Yes, please…But before that, one more question.”

“What is it?”

“…Why did Meta go after my father?”

“…That I don’t know.”

His eyes looked somewhat shifty.

Still, Eve couldn’t tell if Adam was playing dumb or not.

“Well then, a different question.”

“You’ve quite a lot of those. I actually have a lot of things I want to ask you, you know.”

“What does the royal capital…or rather, the military, plan to do about Apocalypse?”

“What do you me—”

“They’ve killed a lot of people, right? The people of the village of Nemu, and the people from this institute…’Sin must be punished’…Even I know the laws of this country.”

“…”

Adam took the cup from Eve and left the room without a word.

--In hardly any time at all, he had returned once more with a cup full of fresh coffee.

“Here you go. I put in more milk than last time.”

“Thanks.”

“…They are to keep careful watch over Apocalypse—That is what the military…or rather, the senate, decided.”

“--! Why!?”

“At present, Apocalypse has done no damage to the Twelve Royal Capitals. For the kingdom, the white army and the others are little more than barbarians at their border. The capital’s protection would be imperiled if they moved their security forces against them any further than they have.”

“So you’re saying that as long as the royal capital is alright, it doesn’t matter what happens to the others?”

“…I’m just a mere scientist. What I’ve told you now is just what I’ve heard from Gammon.”

Even if he was involved in a project of great importance to the country, he wasn’t in any position to say much more on the government outside of that—That’s likely what he meant.

Eve could tell that.

She could, but…

“That’s unreasonable. The ruler of a country needs to understand the suffering of its people…I think now I understand why my father hated politics,” Eve muttered, frustrated.

“…”

Adam looked upon Eve in silence for a short while, but eventually he shifted his gaze to the measuring device.            

Then he took up the piece of paper and quill set on the desk and started to write something down.

--Midway through his work, Adam said, still not looking at Eve, “In that case…You should become the ruler.”

“…”

“It seems you have the qualifications for it.”

“So you mean…I can become queen? Has it come up with a result?”

“No, it’s still measuring, but…At this point I’m already seeing some impressive numbers. I think…your magical ability is much higher than that of your father.”

Even so.

No matter how gifted she was, Eve was still just a simple girl who knew nothing of governance.

Would anything change by someone like her becoming queen?

--Appearing to sense her anxiety, Adam set down the paper and quill and drew close to her.

“It’ll be fine, I know it.”

“…”

“I’m sure you can do it.”

“Can I do anything alone?”

“You’re not alone.”

“My father is dead. And the people of my village are gone. I don’t have anyone—"

“—You have me.”

Adam clasped Eve’s hands in his own.

…She couldn’t bring herself to brush aside the warmth in them.

“Do you dislike me?” Adam asked.

“…If I did, I wouldn’t be cooperating with all this…But, what about you?”

Adam had gotten close with Eve just because she might have had strong magic.

She was just a candidate for queen to him.

That was surely the reason for him being so kind to her like this—

“I wouldn’t be trying to have someone I disliked selected as queen,” Adam said plainly. “You’re an enchanting woman. I’ve thought so since the first time I met you.”

“…Didn’t you stab at me with a sword at first?”

Adam burst out laughing at Eve’s reply. “Pfff…Ah haha, that’s true. Please forgive me for that. I was desperate back then.”

“Are you good with a sword?”

“I’ve only learned enough to defend myself…Ah yes, speaking of swords.”

Adam shifted his gaze to a sword that sat in the corner of the room.

“We ended up bringing that over here.”

It was Raisa’s sword, the one that Gammon had thrown to him in the forest.

“It’s an unusual shape…Its current owner is currently in prison. Not much point in returning it.”

“Raisa is…alive?”

“Just barely. Though even if her wounds are healed, thinking on what she’s done…She’s not likely to avoid an execution.”

“…”

It wasn’t just Raisa.

The Witch of Merrigod Meta, and Pale Noel.

In this world, so much—

Evil had spread.

Even if Eve continued to fire lightning as the “Witch of the Forest”, she could never get rid of it all.

It was impossible for one person.

She would need—much more power.

And for that…

Eve chewed her lip.

.

--As though to mock the resolve that had begun to sprout in Eve’s heart, several days later something happened.

Raisa, the white fiend of Jakoku, escaped from prison.

There was no way that she could have accomplished this herself, being near death.

It was likely that an outside person with influence had pulled some strings.

.

Meanwhile, the magical potential measurement result…was suitable for queen candidacy, just as Adam had predicted.

Her M count was over 350…Eve didn’t know how much exactly, but at the very least it was more than enough to secure the agreement of both Adam and the senate.

And with that result, Eve could smoothly become queen—or so she had thought.

<<prev------directory------next>>

[doggernaut]

The Impossible Dream. Josh Groban

To fight for the right Without question or pause To be willing to march, march into Hell For that Heavenly cause

This is a very dramatic, bombastic anthem that makes me think of a group of people fighting against a more powerful adversary. Or, in this case, the people fighting against The Man.

I’m thinking an AU that borrows a plot from Parks and Recreation. Jack is a newly hired city manager who has come to the sleepy, down-on-its-luck town of Samwell to repair the damage years of mismanagement have caused. Bitty is the city’s director of parks and recreation and also a member of SMH -- the Samwell Municipal Hockey League.

The Samwell Municipal Hockey League is a bunch of guys who get together once a week and play hockey. SMH is not a good hockey team, but they have fun and that’s what matters, right? Bitty was a figure skater in high school, a few played hockey as kids. Holster got pretty far in juniors. Their goalie, Chris Chow, actually played for an NCAA team and is their only player who could be considered to have actual talent. The rest are varying degrees of average, and Bitty can’t even take a check. SMH plays against other nearby leagues and hasn’t won a game in years. In addition, the city-owned rink that falls under the parks and rec department’s purview is in dire need of updating and has lost business since the richer neighboring town opened its new, state-of-the-art rink. 

Jack immediately hones in on this rink and targets it for demolition. A developer wants to buy the land from the city. He plans to raze the rink and build a mixed-use shopping and residential center. It will create jobs and generate much-needed tax revenue for the city. (”Over my dead body are they putting a Container Store and a Chipotle in my rink!”) Selling it is a no-brainer, and he tells Bitty this.

(”Mr. Zimmermann, that rink is the lifeblood of the city. Generations of children have learned to skate there. I learned to skate there!”

“Kids will learn to skate in Eagleton.”

“This rink keeps kids off the street!”

Jack looks at the rink. The only people on it are Shitty, Nursey, Ransom, and Holster, who are doing some sort of relay race that involves pushing each other into the goalie net and seeing if Chowder can block them.

“The only people I see there are five grown men.”

“Exactly! This rink keeps them from doing that in the street!”)

Bitty really hates that Jack has to be so damn attractive while crushing his dreams. Maybe Jack secretly thinks Bitty is good at his job because he cares about people and his town, and Jack has not cared about things in so long, but he thinks he could care about Bitty.

Bitty proposes that Jack consider letting them buy the land from the city instead of selling it to the developer. Jack agrees, and gives him theee months to come up with the money. Maybe he’s softening just a little, but mostly he thinks there’s no way in hell Bitty can pull this off. Also, maybe just a little bit of him also dies inside when he thinks about a Bath and Body Works taking the place of a community ice rink.

Bitty’s first money-raising effort: a bake sale.

(”Really, Bittle? How many pies do you think you need to sell in order to buy this land? Go ahead, give me an estimate.”

“I will have you know, Mr. Zimmermann, that my apple pie has won first prize in the annual Samwell Harvest Fest for eight years running. At $15 a pie I only need to sell ... You know what, you’re the numbers guy. You tell me how many pies I need to sell.”)

I mean, we all see where this is going, right? Bitty and his band of merry morons have a lot of heart and are very enthusiastic, but they absolutely cannot raise the money they need to buy the land from the city. Lardo sells a painting of Shitty as a centaur. Nursey self-publishes some poetry chapbooks, but Samwellians are not known for their poetry appreciation. He sells one copy, to the erotic bookstore owner. Bitty’s bake sale actually does very well (maybe Jack is the one buying all the mini apple pies, who cares?) but doesn’t bring in nearly the amount of money they need to save their rink.

But that’s okay, because by this time Jack and Bitty have fallen in love. And another investor, an NHL Hall of Famer named Bad Bob Zimmermann, has heard a lot about this guy and this town who have stolen his son’s heart, and he makes a bid to buy the land and build a brand new ice complex.

[moteltrogir]

Kamalapur Railway Station in Dhaka

Architectural Optimism of Bangladesh

Saša Šimpraga, 2021.

Adnan Zillur Morshed is an architect and architectural historian with focus on history and theory of modern architecture and urbanism; global history; urban poverty and spatiality; water and architectural historiography; and ecological urbanism in developing countries. He received his Ph.D. and Master’s in architecture from MIT and completed his pre-doctoral studies at the Center for Advanced Study in the Visual Arts at the National Gallery of Art and postdoctoral under Verville Fellowship at the National Air and Space Museum in Washington, DC. 

Morshed is the author of several books among other: Impossible Heights: Skyscrapers, Flight, and the Master Builder which examines the American fascination with the skyscraper and the airplane as part of a widely shared cultural phenomenon--the aesthetics of ascension--that characterized the interwar period. His books also include DAC, Dhaka through Twenty-Five Buildings. 

He is a professor at the School of Architecture and Planning of the Catholic University of America in Washington, D.C.  

Adnan Morshed is also involved with local and international intiatives on preservation of modernist architectural heritage of Bangladesh. We talk to him on the occasion of current international appeal to save the Kamalapur Railway Station in Dhaka from demolition.

SŠ: A gem of the Modern Movement in South Asia, The Kamalapur Railway Station in Dhaka, designed by Daniel Dunham and Robert Boughey in the 1960s is threatened due to the an urban expansion plan of the Dhaka Metro Rail's Line that includes its demolition and replacement by a new infrastructure, rather than its adaptation. What is the significance of the building and its current status?

Adnan Morshed: Kamalapur Railway Station is a rare modern train station in South Asia. It adopts an aesthetic vocabulary of tropical modernism for a public building in ways that have not been seen before in the region. The station’s modernist architecture breaks with colonial precedents both in the imperial center and on the subcontinent. In London, St. Pancras Station (1863–76) encapsulated modern values of mobility and exchange, while the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus (formerly Victoria Terminus; built in 1888 and now a UNESCO World Heritage) in Mumbai and Howrah Station (1906) in Kolkata functioned as symbols of imperial hegemony.

The histories of colonialism and train infrastructure are deeply intertwined in South Asia. In 1862, the Eastern Bengal Railway Company opened the first railway line in the region from which it took its name. Connecting Kolkata with the western Bangladeshi town of Kushtia, this expansion of train services signaled a new phase in the growth of East Bengal’s colonial economy. Due to geographical challenges posed by Bengal's deltaic terrain, the railway did not arrive in Dhaka until the following century, after the city’s economic profile had risen and it was subsequently made, in 1947, the provincial capital of then-East Pakistan. In 1958, the government approved the creation of a new railway depot, which was inaugurated a decade later as Kamalapur Railway Station. Not only was it one of the largest modern railway stations in South Asia, but it also embodied changing conceptions of modernity, from the bracing mobility of 19th-century railways to the soaring modernism that defined the 1960s.

Kamalapur Railway Station, Photo by Anik Sarker/ Wikipedia

SŠ: Also in danger of demolition is the Dhaka University Teacher-Student Center Building by Greek architect Constantinos Doxiadis (the mastermind behind planning the city of Islamabad) from early 1960s. The structure exemplifies a modernist architectural sensitivity toward spatial needs for tropical climatic conditions. TSC's dome-shaped structure with empty spaces around is considered an iconic landmark not only inside Dhaka Uiversity campus, but in the broader cityscape of Dhaka. How optimistic are you about its future? And what is the general status of modernist architectural heritage of Bangladesh?

Adnan Morshed: I am concerned about the mid-20th-century buildings in Bangladesh because of the ways the notion of development is taking precedence over environment, history, and, generally, human wellbeing. Many buildings are about to face the wrecking ball. These buildings include the Teacher-Student Center or TSC. Located at the historic heart of the University of Dhaka, TSC exemplifies a type of tropical modernism that blends local architectural traditions of space-making—particularly the indoor-outdoor continuum and generation of space around courtyards—with the abstract idiom of the International Style. The complex of buildings was designed by the Greek architect, planner, and theoretician Constantinos Apostolos Doxiadis (1913–1975) in the early 1960s. This was a turbulent time marked by conflicting currents of political tension and architectural optimism in what was then East Pakistan, now Bangladesh. On the one hand, the two wings of postcolonial Pakistan were at loggerheads because of the political domination of East Pakistan by the military junta based in West Pakistan. On the other hand, many architectural opportunities arose in East Pakistan, which benefitted from American technical assistance. The United States allied with Pakistan as part of its Cold War-era foreign policy to create a geostrategic buffer against the socialist milieu of the Soviet Union–India axis in South Asia. Under the purview of a technical assistance program, the United States Agency for International Development and the Ford Foundation provided support for building educational and civic institutions in East Pakistan. Since there was a dearth of experienced architects in East Pakistan, the government sought the services of American and European architects for a host of buildings that were constructed during the 1960s. Doxiadis was among them.

 TSC, Photo by Fasiha Binte Zaman/ Wikipedia

TSC is also a demonstration of Doxiadis’s idea of ekistics, by which he meant an objective, comprehensive, and integrative approach to all principles and theories of human settlements. Criticizing the top-down planning model which he viewed as a central problem associated with modernism, Doxiadis employed the notion of ekistics to promote a multidisciplinary, inclusive, and bottom-up approach. He hoped that such a method would create a synergy of local and global influences, by which one could successfully meld a data-driven theorization of planning, universal values of harmonious living, and place-based cultural inflections.

In this vein, Doxiadis aligned the TSC’s ensemble of buildings on an east-west axis, to take advantage of the prevailing breeze from the south or north. The three-story Student Union Building features a “double roof” that minimizes heat gain by allowing cool breezes to pass in between the two canopies. The ingenious solution proved to be a trendsetting feature, but it was just one of the complex’s many innovations. Doxiadis covered the auditorium with a reinforced concrete parabolic vault, a pioneering construction technique that had yet to be tested in the country. Covered walkways, supported on steel columns, weave together the major buildings and green spaces, serving as the social spine of the entire complex. In the post-Independence period, TSC became the epicenter of political agitation within Bangladesh, serving as a backdrop to political demonstrations.

SŠ: Pioneer od modernist architecture in Bangladesh, Muzharul Islam, began hes career in the 1950s. Born in 1923, he went to study architecture in the United States, and then returned to Bangladesh. Along with his teacher Louis Kahn, he also brought Paul Rudolph and Stanley Tigerman to work in Bangladesh, and three of them came to be known as the American Trio. Apart from the Trio, it was Islam's style that dominated Bangladesh architecture from 1950s onwards. What is his legacy in architectural history of Dhaka?

Adnan Morshed: Not only was architect Muzharul Islam Bangladesh's pioneering modernist architect, he was also an activist designer who viewed architecture as an effective medium for social transformation. His early work shows how architecture was deeply embedded in post-Partition politics.

Consider his “master piece,” the Faculty of Fine Arts (1953-56) at Shahbagh in Dhaka. At first encounter, the building presents the image of an international-style building, with a quiet and dignified attention to the architectural demands of tropical Bengal. Closer inspection, however, hinders the Eurocentric tendency to measure the building's “modernity” exclusively through a “Western” lens. A host of nuanced architectural modulations and environmental adaptations reveals how Muzharul Islam's work cross-pollinates a humanising, modernist architectural language with conscious considerations of climatic needs and local building materials.

Faculty of Fine Arts, Photo by Rossi101/ Wikipedia

The literature on South Asian modern architecture usually identifies the Faculty of Fine Arts as the harbinger of a Bengali modernism, synthesising a modern architectural vocabulary with climate-responsive and site-conscious design programmes. What has not been examined in this iconic building is how Islam's work also provides a window into the ways his architectural experiments with modernist aesthetics were part of his inquiries into the ongoing politics of Bengali nationalist activism.

Muzharul Islam interpreted the prevailing political conditions in his homeland as a fateful conflict between the secular humanist ethos of Bengal and an alien Islamist identity imposed by the Urdu-speaking ruling class in West Pakistan. The turbulent politics in which he found himself influenced his worldview as well as his fledgling professional career. The young architect began his design career in a context of bitterly divided notions of national origin and destiny, and his architectural work would reflect this political debate. He felt the need to articulate his homeland's identity on ethno-cultural grounds, rather than on a supra-religious foundation, championed by West Pakistani power-wielders. Muzharul Islam's Faculty of Fine Arts embodied these beliefs.

With his iconoclastic building, Islam sought to achieve two distinctive goals. First, the building introduced the aesthetic tenets of modern architecture to East Pakistan. For many, its design signalled a radical break from the country's prevailing architectural language for civic buildings. These buildings were designed either in an architectural hybrid of Mughal and British colonial traditions, popularly known as Indo-Saracenic, or as utilitarian corridor-and-room building boxes, delivered by the provincial government's Department of Communications, Buildings, and Irrigation (CBI). The Faculty of Fine Arts was an unambiguous departure from the colonial-era Curzon Hall (1904–1908) at the Dhaka University, within walking distance of Islam's building, and the Holy Family Hospital (1953; now Holy Family Red Crescent Medical College Hospital).

Faculty of Fine Arts, Photo: Wikipedia

Second, the Faculty of Fine Arts' modernist minimalism—rejecting all ornamental references to Mughal and Indo-Saracenic architecture—was a conscious critique of the politicised version of Islam that had become a state apparatus for fashioning a particular religion-based image of postcolonial Pakistan. By abstracting his design through a modernist visual expression, Muzharul Islam sought to purge architecture of what he viewed as the political associations of instrumental religion.

SŠ: Internationally, perhaps the most known modernist structure in Bangladesh is the National Parliament Complex, designed by Louis Kahn and associates. Its construction began in 1964, in what is now known as the Decade of Development for Bangladesh and time when Dhaka was the second capital of Pakistan. When talking about architecture in general, Muzharul Islam stated that  „practical aspects of architecture are measurable – such as, the practical requirements, climatic judgments, the advantages and limitations of the site etc. – but the humanistic aspects are not measurable.“ Those aspects come when the architect leaves and building starts its life. How did that highly acclaimed complex came to be a part of the national identity and how its architecture influences culture in a broader sence?  

National Parliament Complex in Dhaka, Photo: Yes, Louis Kahn

Adnan Morshed: The American architect Louis Isadore Kahn's Parliament building in Dhaka is considered one of the architectural icons of the twentieth century. Intriguingly, Kahn was not the first choice for the project. After two masters, Le Corbusier and Alvar Aalto, had turned down the invitation from the government of Pakistan, the megaproject went to the architect from Philadelphia. After multiple design iterations and many bureaucratic entanglements, the construction of the Parliament building began in October 1964, at Sher-e-Bangla Nagar.

Kahn first visited Dhaka in early March of 1963, after he had received the commission to plan the Parliament complex of East Pakistan. Five years earlier, the commander-in-chief of the Pakistani army, Mohammad Ayub Khan, took control of the government through a military coup and imposed martial law in October 1958. In 1960, the military man was “elected” to a five-year presidency. Pakistan's new constitution of 1962 called for a “democratic” election to be held in 1965. The decade of the 1960s was a politically tumultuous period in East Pakistan. Bengalis felt exploited and ignored by West Pakistan's military regime and, consequently, dreamed of independence from the doomed political geography of a nation with two units separated by over 1,000 miles. Aware of the political and economic disparity between the two halves of Pakistan and concerned about his own re-election bid, Ayub Khan's administration came up with a political strategy to mitigate the grievance of the Bengalis.

National Parliament Complex in Dhaka, Photo: Yes, Louis Kahn

The idea of a “second capital” for East Pakistan was born in this context. This showcase capital would, it was hoped, “bind East Pakistan more firmly to the nation by conducting the nation's business for half of each year.” The political drama that ensued from then on explains how the Parliament building, first conceived as a “bribe” for the Bengalis, gradually took on a whole new identity as a symbol of the people's struggle for self-rule. With rudimentary construction tools and bamboo scaffolding tied with crude jute ropes, approximately 2,000 lungi-clad construction workers erected a monumental government building. Slowly but steadily, they unwittingly portrayed the broader resilience of a nation revolting against economic and social injustice. If the Shahid Minar symbolised the language movement during the 1950s, the Parliament building portrayed the rise of the independence-minded Bengalis during the 1960s.

Kahn searched for inspirations from the Bengal delta, its rivers, green pastoral, expansive landscape, raised homesteads, and land-water geography. Soon after he had first arrived in Dhaka, he went on a boat ride on the Buriganga River and sketched scenes to understand life in this tropical land. He didn't have any problems in blending Bengali vernacular impressions with those of classical Greco-Roman and Egyptian architecture he had studied during the 1950s. As the war broke out in 1971, Kahn's field office in East Pakistan quickly closed and construction work discontinued. During the liberation war, an ironic story persisted that Pakistani pilots didn't bomb the building assuming that it was a ruin! That “ruin” eventually became an emblem of the country, adorning national currency, stamps, rickshaw decorations, advertisements, official brochures, and so on. When it was more or less completed in 1983—more than a decade after East Pakistan (later Bangladesh) emerged as a new nation-state and 9 years after Kahn's unexpected death in New York City—the Parliament complex emblematised the political odyssey of a people to statehood.

National Parliament Complex in Dhaka, Photo: Yes, Louis Kahn

Kahn searched for inspirations from the Bengal delta, its rivers, green pastoral, expansive landscape, raised homesteads, and land-water geography. Soon after he had first arrived in Dhaka, he went on a boat ride on the Buriganga River and sketched scenes to understand life in this tropical land. He didn't have any problems in blending Bengali vernacular impressions with those of classical Greco-Roman and Egyptian architecture he had studied during the 1950s. As the war broke out in 1971, Kahn's field office in East Pakistan quickly closed and construction work discontinued. During the liberation war, an ironic story persisted that Pakistani pilots didn't bomb the building assuming that it was a ruin! That “ruin” eventually became an emblem of the country, adorning national currency, stamps, rickshaw decorations, advertisements, official brochures, and so on. When it was more or less completed in 1983—more than a decade after East Pakistan (later Bangladesh) emerged as a new nation-state and 9 years after Kahn's unexpected death in New York City—the Parliament complex emblematised the political odyssey of a people to statehood.

National Parliament Complex in Dhaka, Photo: Yes, Louis Kahn

SŠ: Transformation of Dhaka today is intensive. What would be some of the significant architectural achievements in contemporary Dhaka and Bangladesh?

Adnan Morshed: The architectural scene in Bangladesh has been thriving with a “new” energy over the past two decades or so. Bangladeshi architects have been experimenting with form, material, aesthetics, and, most importantly, the idea of how architecture relates to history, society, and the land. Their various experiments bring to the fore a collective feeling that something has been going on in this crowded South Asian country. One is not quite sure about what drives this restless energy! Is it the growing economy? The rise of a new middle class with deeper pockets? Is it an aesthetic expression of a society in transition? Is it aesthetics meeting the politics of development?

Whatever it is, an engaged observer may call this an open-ended search for some kind of “local” modernity. Bangladeshi architects have been winning architectural accolades from around the world for a variety of architectural projects. High-profile national architectural competitions have created a new type of design entrepreneurship, yielding intriguing edifices. Architects have also been expanding the notion of architectural practice by engaging with low-income communities and producing cost-effective shelters for the disenfranchised. Traditionally trained to design stand-alone buildings, architects seem increasingly concerned with the challenges of creating liveable cities.

No doubt it is an exciting time in Bangladesh, architecturally speaking, even if the roads in the country's big cities are paralysed by traffic congestion and a pervasive atmosphere of urban chaos. In the midst of infernal urbanisation across the country, an architectural culture has been taking roots with both promises and perils, introducing contentious debates about its origin, nature, and future.

Architecturally, the 1980s was an interesting time, as divergent ideas began to permeate architectural thinking in the country. Three stories should be mentioned. An “avant-garde” architectural study group named Chetona (meaning awareness) sought to introduce critical thinking as an essential part of architectural practice. Many architects, senior and junior— disillusioned with the prevalent role of architecture as primarily a professional practice without broader social visions and engagement with history and culture—gravitated toward Chetona, meeting at Muzharul Islam's architectural office, Bastukalabid, at Poribagh. The iconoclasm of the study group revolved around reading critical writings in architecture, criticism of current methods of architectural pedagogy, and reasoned questioning of architecture as a technical discipline. The group's reading list ranged from Rabindranath Tagore to the Franco-Swiss architect Le Corbusier to the Norwegian architectural theorist Christian Norberg-Schulz.

The influence of the Aga Khan Award for Architecture (AKAA), an architectural prize established by Aga Khan IV in 1977, was also felt strongly during the 1980s. The award sought to champion regional, place-based and culture-sensitive architectural impetuses in Islamic societies. Awardees included projects in contemporary design, social housing, community development, restoration, adaptive reuse, and landscape design. Architects were inspired to look for a “spirit of place.” Regionalism was in vogue.

The Aga Khan Award for Architecture's flagship magazine, Mimar: Architecture in Development, first published in 1981, influenced many Bangladeshi architects and architecture students in thinking beyond western modernism and the aesthetic conventions it allegedly created. At its inception, Mimar was the sole international architecture magazine focusing on architecture in the developing world. In many ways, the magazine's celebration of “local” expanded the scope of architectural practice in the country and gave rise to new aspirations among architects, who were willing to search for organic roots in architecture.

Bait Ur Rouf Mosque in Dhaka by Marina Tabassum, 2016 Aga Khan Award Recipient

The new architectural aspirations coincided with the rapid urbanisation of Bangladesh and the rise of an urban middle class that spawned a flourishing culture of architectural patronage. A historically agrarian country, Bangladesh began to urbanise rapidly from the late 1980s. The country's total urban population rose from a modest 7.7 percent in 1970 to 31.1 percent in 2010. Impoverished rural migrants began to flock to major cities, particularly the capital, Dhaka, in search of employment and better lives. Its population skyrocketed from 1.8 million in 1974 to more than 6 million in 1991 and to nearly 18 million today. The capital city's massive population boom created an unsustainable demand on urban land, and in return, land values increased.

During this transitional period, real estate developers emerged as powerful economic actors in Dhaka and beyond, playing a key role in replacing traditional single-family houses with multi-story apartment complexes. Meanwhile, public-sector housing failed to meet the demand, and in this vacuum, private real estate companies flourished rapidly. As private developers became key actors in the city's housing market, a trade association was needed to regulate the real estate sector and to ensure fair competition among its members. The stratospheric rise of private real-estate developers suggested that there was a robust market for high-density, multifamily apartments, even though affordability remained a major hurdle. Many architects experimented with material, form, spatial organisation, construction, aesthetic expression, and the individual plot's urban relationship to the neighbourhood.

A burgeoning class of urban entrepreneurs—who made their fortunes in the country's export-oriented ready-made garments industry, manufacturing and transportation sectors, construction industry, and consumer market—emerged as a new generation of architectural patrons, investing hefty amounts of money to build their signature single-family houses and other projects, including apartment complexes, hospitals, shopping malls, private schools and universities, factories, spaces of worship, etc.

And, happily, architects began to find work abundantly from the mid-1990s. Design consultancy until the early 1990s was limited to a handful of architectural firms. But soon thereafter new, smaller firms, run by younger architects, began to reshape the traditional methods of architectural design practice in the country.

The liberalisation of the market, the emergence of a strong private sector, and rapid urbanisation resulted in the need for a range of building typologies and related architectural design services. In the public sector, government organisations began to evaluate the social and commercial value of aesthetic expression and hired architectural firms to compete in the building market. All of these developments ushered in a vibrant and dynamic opportunity for architectural experiments. The last two decades in Bangladesh witnessed an intense battle of architectural ideas. The earlier attitudes to orthodox modernism or regionalism in architecture dispersed into a more nuanced landscape of aesthetic abstraction.

SŠ: „For most of modern history, cities grew out of wealth. Even in more recently developed countries, such as China and Korea, the flight towards cities has largely been in line with income growth. But recent decades have brought a global trend for “poor-country urbanisation”, in the words of Harvard University economist Edward Glaeser, with the proliferation of low-income megacities.“ Dhaka is an example of such a city that has outpaced develepoment and has grown tremendously. Can planned urbanisation even tackle such a huge task in given circumstaces?  

Adnan Morshed: While architecture rose and prospered as individual plot-based or stand-alone practices, cities—Dhaka as a glaring example—as a whole descended into unbearable chaos. In extreme cases, Taj Mahals coexisted with overflowing dumpsters. Private oases and sumptuous cafes overlooked the ghettoised world of slums. While architects searched for Bengali roots and global gravitas in their work, they mostly failed to promote an “ethical” view of how city should function and treat all its citizens.

While globalisation went on with a cutthroat consumerist and neoliberal agenda, and architecture patronage benefitting from it, social inequality grew manifold. Architects seemed confused as to how architecture could or should also play mitigating roles in addressing the issues of social justice. Slums burned and architects rushed to the site with naïve, superficial aesthetic solutions without trying to understand the exploitative economic and political systems that blight society in the first place. The feeling that “architecture is great but the city rots” sometimes seems overwhelming.

Walking in some of Dhaka's walkable streets fronted with exclusive-looking buildings, an observer might wonder how architecture could showcase the rising stature of a developing country, while failing to play a role in making it socially just.

_

In Croatian: https://vizkultura.hr/intervju-adnan-morshed/

_

Projekt Motel Trogir u 2021. godini podržan je od Ministarstva kulture i medija Republike Hrvatske i Zaklade Kultura nova.

[duskodair]

Anthony Jonah Underwood - A Town Called Danser

'She'll kill me when she finds out about this,' he thinks, gun in hand, back to back with another man before the slowly rising sun. He makes eye contact with his second and tries to push the thought of his sister from his mind.

He has a little trouble with that. He always has done. She is the one that looks forward, he looks back. His sister makes the plans, leading them from town to town, he looks back and keeps an eye on the way they've come.

It is often his job to talk and distract whilst his sister works. Talking Sister Mary Therese into taking him to the unmarked grave of their mother had been half to allow Noel to scout out the nuns' area of the convent and half genuine curiosity.

He had visited it alone as they'd grown up. His sister had no interest in the bare patch of dirt, so he returned alone. The Sisters teach him that their mother was a beacon of sin, unmarried and with child, arriving penniless at their door. They tell all the children this. He does not know his mother's name. But that's ok, he thinks, because he does not truly know his own.

His sister is happy to let him have both names, if he wants them. He chooses Anthony, because it's what Sister Mary Therese calls him and he likes her best. He doesn't mind being a lost thing under St Anthony's purview. His sister is happiest nameless, playing with various names in their quiet games.

When he wants a little quiet, he finds again his mother's grave and imagines who she could have been. He imagines someone kind, someone who loves them. He imagines a woman with flame red hair like theirs and a laugh like his sister's. As he grows older, reality phases through his imaginings and he imagines a woman with red hair and no money, alone and afraid. He thinks to himself, as a child, that one day he will earn enough money that he can buy her a gravestone and make sure that his sister will not end up like her.

They learn about chivalry from the nuns, you see, and Anthony spends months desperate to be a crusading knight. His sister is happy to pretend to be a princess for him to rescue. When he grows up, the fancy leaves him, but the reckless nobility doesn't.

It's what got him here, he thinks, tightening the grip on his gun. The doctor is late, the sun is rising. The man behind him had insulted his sister and the knight from whispered childhood games had risen up to protect her honour.

His sister has always bemoaned his recklessness. He has never been as cautious as her, has never displayed her caution in forming attachments. He interposed himself into the towns they pass through. They spend a couple of years in each, he can't help but grow attached.

Time has often found his sister waiting up for him as he walks lovers' lanes with young ladies at twilight. She waits for him as he rides out on imagined errands with eager young men, laughing over the clatter of hooves as they kick up the afternoon dust. He keeps his love quiet, but he cannot help but love. His sister has always seen through him, watched him grow attached and worried quietly over the kitchen table.

Whenever he begins to get to the point where he thinks he might marry, the swirl of dust and time intercedes. The road calls to them and he leaves them behind. With the road under their feet, they take on new identities and it becomes unsafe to write.

He becomes the only person in the world that refers to him as Anthony. His sister doesn't like names, and she finds it much easier to pretend. But he's her knight, so he puts on new masks as the years drag on and they leave more and more towns behind.

He is thirty now, and tired. Noel has promised that, in the next town, they'll stop. They just need the Lloyd fortune and a bit of distance and they can stop running. He thinks about it almost every day. They just need this con to go well. They need Noel's honour intact. Thus the gun.

The doctor arrives, late, clattering in from the big city. He secures his gun in his hand and takes a breath. There is talk. Anthony is familiar with this ritual. He's seconded for foolish young men before.

Long ago, he watched a man he thought he loved bleed out in his arms over a patch of dead earth. He, rather than Noel, led the running from that town.

He stares at the long shadow that his body casts in the light of the rising sun. He's looking back East. If he imagines hard enough, he can trace the road that they've run down, all the way back to Tennessee.

Soon, he whispers to the ghost of his mother, soon I can send you a grave. It will be novel, he thinks, to have loose change in his pocket. He's never had it before. When they are playing, every purchase is measured and calculated. He cannot buy a gravestone, even if he has the money, without observation.

The shadow before him flickers as he takes his first step.

Money will be an odd thing to have. Sure, they had money enough in the last city to get a trap and some horses for this con. But soon they will have money enough for a house of their own.

It won't be like when they were fourteen, in over patched clothes, sharing what chunks of bread they could afford.

He takes another step.

He thinks of the home they will have, something like his old sweetheart Jane's place. Now that was cozy. Her ma seemed to always have flowers on the table and a song on her lips.

He'll get Noel a music box and they'll dance like children running in the rain again. Like they had when they'd hidden at the convent from the older children.

He can feel the dirt under his boots and the sweat on his palms.

Lord, he wants to see his sister smile again. He wants to hear her laugh when he brings home someone special. He's fed up with running, so he takes another step.

He'd never have thought that of the two of them, Noel would marry first. He can't wait for that next town because then her husband will be dead. He remembers his slimy hands and knowing grin as he'd bartered for his sister like she was a piece of livestock.

He wants that man dead. He tightens the grip of his clammy palm around his gun. He breathes in and out and counts and steps. He reaches the number.

He turns away from the past, away from the East, and the road. He turns to the west for the first time and looks ahead. He stares directly into the rising sun. They're late.

He must shoot. His bullet must go wide. He doesn't see it. He's too busy feeling the impact in his ribs. The world spins as he collapses into his patch of dust.

He catches a glimpse of the man who shot him wheeling about on his horse, fleeing back to the city. The doctor holds a cloth to his side. His lips are moving but he's oddly silent. His second takes one look and goes running.

How odd, thinks Anthony, that the world is ringing. He must blink because suddenly the doctor transforms into Noel. Her long red hair hangs loose and her face is stained with blood and tears. He reaches up for her. She reaches down.

She must be talking, but he can't hear her. Why can't he hear her? She's crying. Noel never cries. Oh. He's made her cry. He tries to wipe her tears away but his arms are filled with lead.

She's so pretty. He wishes she wouldn't cry. He wants to see her laugh again, but he can't remember how to make her. The world blurs and he can hear her. She's calling him Jonah. She's begging him to live.

Why wouldn't he live? He doesn't understand. They've got a con to finish. He has to protect her and buy their mother a gravestone. He can't let her end up all alone. He takes a gasping breath in and the world spins.

Pain rockets through his body. Both he and his sister are crying. He's such a fool. He's leaving her all alone. The final dregs of childish dreams of knighthood slip away. There is no place for dreams out here. He has come from one unmarked patch of dirt to another.

He takes his sister's hand and smiles. His grave will say Jonah Underwood, not Anthony, but that's ok, he'll match their mother. He wants Noel to stay safe. He wants her husband dead. He wants her to get that house and the music box. He wants her to be happy. Really, he thinks, he wants to be able to breathe again and for it not to be so cold.

He looks at his sister. She has such a lovely face. He hopes she never finds out why he duelled. He can't do that to her. Around them the dust swirls and Noel coughs. And like a flame going out in the breeze, Anthony is lost.