#BLAT! Pack

[sleepnoises]

what i did on my vacation: walked 18 miles over three days (3->12->3), filtered water from creeks, read like 500k words of fanfiction on my phone, ate a reconstituted freeze dried creme brulee

[jpbjazz]

LÉGENDES DU JAZZ

CHICO FREEMAN, L’EXPLORATEUR

"My goal is to explore new worlds, and I don't want to be limited by categories. I don't want to be told that I can't go into other categories. The only limitations I place on myself are the limitations I place on my own imagination. And within that realm, there are none."

- Chico Freeman

Né le 17 juillet 1949 à Chicago, dans les Illinois, Earl Lavon ‘’Chico’’ Freeman Jr. est issu d’une famille de musiciens. Fils du légendaire saxophoniste ténor Von Freeman, Freeman est aussi le neveu du guitariste George Freeman et du batteur Bruz Freeman. Chico avait d’abord commencé par prendre des cours de piano lorsque son frère Everett avait découvert une série d’instruments au sous-sol de la maison familiale, dont une trompette. Freeman expliquait: ‘’One time, my brother and I went searching in the basement through my dad’s old Navy stuff that he’d packed away. We found a trumpet and a saxophone. My brother took the saxophone and I took the trumpet. When my dad told the story he would say the sounds we made were “bleep” and “blat” because we were trying to play something. Anyway, he came down and saw the mess we made. Because of that, I ended up joining the school band on trumpet. At the same time I was singing in groups, trying to sound like the Drifters and Motown, things like that. The Temptations were my all-time favorite group, so I kept joining singing groups all through grammar and high school.’’

Décrivant ses débuts dans la musique, Freeman avait poursuivi:

‘’When I was young we had lots of kids on my block. We had one family with fifteen kids, which was great because you hardly had to leave the block to play. During summer, my dad would have rehearsals. He had the piano in the living room, so when on the front porch you could sit and actually look inside the house through the window and see the piano. I remember seeing people like Leroy Vinnegar, Malachi Favors and Andrew Hill. Other Chicago musicians would come and play with the Freeman Brothers band. The band included my uncle George on guitar and my uncle Bruz on drums. They’d set up in the living room and have a rehearsal. We’d have all the windows open because we didn’t have air conditioning and they would start playing. Within minutes, the front porch was filled with kids; we’d have a big party outside with all my friends. The funny thing is, Richard Davis, the bass player, lived across the street from us, and down the street was Frank Leslie, whose auntie was Abbey Lincoln from Chicago. There was always somebody famous hanging around the house. I was just used to musicians coming over. It was really fun. They were just people that I knew as a kid, with my brother and two sisters at the time. That’s what my dad did. My mom took me to the Regal Theater when I was five––it was kind of like the Apollo of Chicago. She took me to see my dad play with Miles Davis, and that was the band with Coltrane, “Cannonball” and Paul Chambers. I remember him standing next to Miles and Coltrane, playing. I’ll never forget that; I can see it clear as day. Ironically, John Coltrane died on my birthday, so there’s kind of a connection there that’s really unique.’’

Inspiré par l’oeuvre de Miles Davis, et plus particulièrement par l’album Kind of Blue (1959), Freeman avait commencé à apprendre la trompette. Freeman explique comment il avait découvert Davis:

‘’Then I got excited when I discovered Miles’ Kind of Blue album. I thought it was great and remember taking the record to the classical trumpet player. I thought he’d be thrilled about it, but he was a harsh critic of Miles and said, “Oh, he doesn’t play in tune; he’s cracking a lot of notes.��� You know, for him, Miles wasn’t “great”—I was crushed. [laughs] I did like this guy, but I couldn’t get Miles out of my head as far as the trumpet. His sound and his choice of notes just got to me. It was going to be very hard for me to be original, because there were no other trumpet players I found on a high enough level for me. So, instead, for two weeks I practiced tenor sax. That was it for me––I realized I should’ve been playing the saxophone years earlier.’’

Son père achetant très peu de disques car il ne désirait pas que son fils soit trop influencé et puisse développer son propre style, Freeman avait poursuivi son apprentissage avec un de ses amis. Il poursuivait:

‘’Then I went to one of my friend’s, Soji Adebayo (Anthony Porter’s) house––his father had an incredible wall-to-wall jazz collection in his living room. The funny thing was, this introduced me to the music of Charles Mingus, Eric Dolphy and guys like that. Later on I was introduced to Coltrane’s music, even though I already knew of Coltrane when I saw my dad playing with him. But it was Soji and his father who really pulled me to the records, because my dad didn’t have a lot of records––he was practicing all of the time and not really listening to music. When you’re growing up listening and learning to play and really getting into it, you do a lot of listening. But once you start playing and the artist in you kicks in, you do less listening because you’re trying to be original and don’t want to be too overly influenced. I think that’s where my dad was at that point. I’m sure he kept up with what things people were doing, but he was about being an original, so he didn’t buy a lot of records. I didn’t grow up in my house listening to them. The audience has the time to sit back and listen to those kinds of recordings. Artists have to shape their craft and forge their voice.’’

On ignore souvent qu’avant d’adopter le saxophone, Freeman avait d’abord voulu être chanteur. Il précisait: ‘’Having all this music around me did create a desire to be in the industry, but at first I wanted to do it as a singer. In grammar school, I was always in the talent shows and school plays and concerts, and I sang in the choir. I started taking piano lessons when I was five.’’ Très bon à l’école, Freeman avait décroché une bourse pour aller étudier les mathématiques à l’Université Northwestern en 1967. Décrivant son séjour à Northwestern, Freeman avait précisé:

‘’I received a scholarship to Northwestern in mathematics because I was good at math. That’s how I got into Northwestern. My life took a big change when I got there. I joined the marching band. They wanted you to have some kind of athletic endeavor and, surprisingly, the marching band was considered athletic, so I joined. The other interesting thing was I played basketball. In the marching band I played trumpet, and because it was a Big Ten school and I got to do a lot of traveling. We’d march during halftime at football games, so that was fun! Then I decided I was going to go into computer programing as well. They gave you two directions you could go in mathematics: the more practical direction as an engineer or a similar career, or a more theoretical route. I got excited over the theoretical things because that was stuff that ultimately shaped the future of space travel and other things. Mathematics is far ahead of science. Science discovers areas that will become future uses for mathematics, but science is still behind math. I was actually recruited by the space program. They wanted me to come down and join them at Cape Canaveral and work when I graduated. Because I was in programing, IBM tried to recruit me as well, and another company at that time, Data Control. Three companies were romancing me.’’

En plus d’avoir joué de la trompette dans le groupe de jazz de l’université, Freeman s’était joint aux jam sessions de son père au club Betty Lou's de Chicago. Freeman avait commencé à s’intéresser au saxophone ténor durant son année junior à l’université. Passionné par son nouvel instrument, Freeman avait commencé à pratiquer de huit à dix heures par jour jusqu’à ce qu’il soit suffisamment sûr de ses capacités pour occuper une place dans la section des saxophones. Après avoir assuré son poste avec le groupe, Freeman avait abandonné ses études en mathématiques et s’était inscrit au programme de musique. Freeman avait obtenu un diplôme en musique 1972, avec une spécialisation en saxophone, en trompette et en piano. Freeman explique comment il avait décidé d’abandonner les mathématiques en faveur de la musique:

‘’The music bug bit me. And with Fred’s encouragement, I decided to go into the music school. I joined the band on trumpet—a concert band, not the marching band. I wanted to transfer into the School of Music at Northwestern, but I did keep a minor in mathematics. In music education, you had to learn something about each instrument so you could teach it. I was in the woodwind class. I picked the alto saxophone because it was available. One-quarter of the class was playing the alto just to learn about it, and I really liked it. I had to give the horn back at the end of the class, and when I was putting it back in the closet I saw a tenor saxophone in there. It was spring break, so I asked the teacher if I could take the tenor home for the next two weeks and play it. Everyone else in the class was going to Florida, but I decided to stay in Evanston and practice ten to twelve hours every day. The tenor sax just seemed like it was my voice.’’

Déterminer à faire carrière comme saxophoniste, Freeman était allé voir le directeur du groupe de l’université et lui avait demandé la permission de laisser tomber la trompette pour le saxophone. Freeman poursuivait:

‘’After the two weeks I went to the concert band director and said, “I’d like to join the concert band.” His name was Tex Suthers—he was from Texas or something—and looked at me like I was crazy. He said, “You’re already in the band.” I said, “Yeah, but I want to join the band on saxophone.” He looked at me again and said, “How long have you been playing saxophone?” I said, “Two weeks.” He got really angry! He said, “Are you crazy? This is Northwestern University—these people have been playing for years and you think you can come here in two weeks…?!”  And blah, blah, blah. Oh, he just really went off on me. I wasn’t sure if he was angry or maybe he had a little racism in him, but he wasn’t happy. I told him, “You’re right, but the truth is you have to give me an audition. You can say no, but you can’t deny me the audition.”  He agreed and I auditioned. And, to his surprise, I passed the audition. He was shocked, and I joined the band on tenor saxophone. Of course, now I’m in the school and my instrument is saxophone, so I have to join a saxophone quartet. I studied with a teacher named Fred Hemke—great guy. Rico even named a reed after him: the Hemke Reed for soprano. So I began playing classical music on tenor and then one day I went down to see my dad.’’ (à l’époque, Von ne savait pas encore que son fils avait abandonné la trompette pour le saxophone).

C’est durant ses études à Northwestern que Freeman était entré en contact avec l’Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians (AACM) pour la première fois. Freeman expliquait:

‘’After I graduated, Fred told Adegoke and me about Muhal, so we went down to join the AACM. I started attending the AACM School of Music and studying composition and music with Muhal. I became a part of his big band and met George Lewis, Anthony Braxton, Amina Claudine Meyers, Gerald Donovan, Donald Myrick, Louis Satterfield and Michael Harris, who ultimately became the horn section for Earth, Wind & Fire. I got involved playing blues, fusion with Kestutis Stanciauskas, who led the band Street Dancer. I was playing everything I could. I met Buddy Guy and played with Jesus Wayne, and we opened for Earth, Wind & and Fire. I was having a great time. I was also finishing up my degree at Northwestern in music education and had to choose where to do my student teaching. Willie Pickens was teaching at Phillips High School, so I went down there and became his student. I watched my dad play with Willie and his friends, Jodie Christian and John Young.’’

Dans une autre entrevue, Freeman avait précisé:

‘’It’s interesting, because that’s the time I met Fred Anderson. Adegoke Steve Colson, Neil Tesser and I were in school together at Northwestern. Adegoke and I met Fred, and he sort of took us under his wing there in Evanston. He started a chapter of the AACM up there, and that’s how I met Billy Brimfield, Hamid Drake and Gene Anderson, Fred’s son. We used to hang at Fred’s and he’d play Charlie Parker records. Sometimes we would spend the night and sleep on the floor after listening to music, playing and practicing on the weekends or whenever. The three of us started a band, Life and Death Situation, and we had a drummer named Anthony (Tony) Boykins. Adegoke was on piano and I was playing trumpet, but I also began playing saxophone at that time. I was starting to take trips to the South Side to hang with my dad at the jam sessions. I’d just go down there and listen to Clifford Jordan, Sonny Rollins and John Stubblefield. They would come into the Jazz Showcase, and if they had time they’d hang out with my dad at the jam sessions. I met a lot of people down there and would hang out at the sessions with Jesse Taylor and Jordan, you know, Chicago guys who were in town. That’s when I started really getting into it.’’

Parallèlement à ses études, Freeman avait également joué avec des groupes de blues, de R & B et de pop. Il avait également étudié la composition avec le pianiste d’avant-garde Muhal Richard Abrams. C’est en travaillant avec Abrams que Freeman avait décidé de former ses propres groupes. Freeman ecpliquait:

‘’Muhal encouraged it. I studied composition with Muhal; I also took Composition at Northwestern. I had Music Theory with this guy Carlin–– Neil Tesser was in that class. I always had an interest in writing my own music, even when I was studying piano. I made some attempts––I wrote one song for this girl I had a crush on. I was a romantic! [laughs]. Muhal had a strong influence on me. I studied with him at AACM and I’d also go to his house where he had a piano in the basement. That’s when he introduced me to the music of historical people like James P. Johnson and others. I didn’t know anything about those guys. They were very influential to Muhal, so it was amazing for me to hear them. He did a lot of what Fred did for me—taking me back to Charlie Parker. But Muhal took me back and showed me compositions and how they wrote them. He had his own system of writing, which I adopted. I had music that I wanted to play so I would start my own band. The best way to get your music played was to create your own group and circumstances. It’s always been my way, even when I got to New York.’’

Après avoir décroché son diplôme à Northwestern, Freeman était devenu professeur à l’école de l’AACM. Le rôle de l’école était d’aider les jeunes musiciens à présenter et à faire la promotion de leur propre musique en empruntant des moyens non traditionnels. Tout en enseignant au niveau élémentaire et intermédiaire, Freeman avait poursuivi ses propres études à la Governor's State University où il avait obtenu une maîtrise en composition et en théorie musicale. Freeman se produisait avec le Governor's State Jazz Band dans le cadre de l’Intercollegiate Jazz Festival à South Bend, en Indiana, lorsqu’il avait remporté les prix de meilleur soliste et de meilleur saxophoniste. Sa victoire lui avait également donné la chance de faire une tournée au Brésil avec le groupe gagnant du festival en 1976.

DÉBUTS DE CARRIÈRE

Même s’il avait été exposé au jazz dès son plus jeune âge, Freeman avait amorcé sa carrière dans les clubs de Chicago en accompagnant des artistes de blues comme Memphis Slim et Lucky Carmichael. Freeman avait fait ses débuts sur disque en avril 1975 sur Rising, le second album du groupe Streetdancer, dirigé par le bassiste Kestutis Stanciauskas.

En septembre 1976, Freeman avait publié un premier album comme leader intitulé Morning Prayer. L’album avait été enregistré avec un septet comprenant Freeman au saxophone ténor et soprano, à la flûte et à la flûte de pan, Henry Threadgill au saxophone alto et baryton et à la flûte, Douglas Ewart à la flûte, Muhal Richard Abrams au piano, Cecil McBee à la contrebasse, Steve McCall à la batterie et Ben Montgomery aux percussions. L’album comprenait trois compositions de Freeman: ‘’Morning Prayer’’, ’’Pepe's Samba’’ et ‘’Like The Kind Of Peace It Is.’’

Freeman s’était installé à New York en 1977. Il précisait:

‘’I had a little bit of preparation. After I graduated school I went to a concert/club in Evanston, Illinois where Charles Mingus was playing. I remember seeing Charles and he had Don Pullen in his band, Danny Richmond on drums, Jack Walrath on trumpet and George Adams on saxophone. Mingus was one of the first people my friend had introduced me to so I went there and just wanted to play with Mingus. I went up to Charles and said, “Mr. Mingus, could I please sit in with you?” He said, “Yes, it’s okay with me, but you have to ask George.” I thought, You know. He’s respectful, I was impressed. I went up to George Adams and said, “Mr. Adams, sir. Could I please sit in with you? Mr. Mingus said it’s okay if it’s alright with you.” George said, “Yeah, sure, come on.” I get in there and I’m hoping that Mingus is going to play the blues or something. He pulls out one of his compositions, which seems like it spans five music stands. [laughs] Afterwards, I was happy and thanked George and went to talk to Mingus. He was sitting in his chair and I said, “Thank you, Mr. Mingus. I really appreciate it,” I started to walk away and he said, “Hey. You should come to New York. We play Boomers every Saturday. When you get there, look me up.” That gave me a little bit of courage for the future.’’

Décrivant ses débuts à New York, Freeman avait commenté:

‘’I had great success in New York. I played with Sun Ra, then joined Elvin Jones and recorded with him. I also played with Jack DeJohnette’s Special Edition for five years. I played with McCoy Tyner as well for 5 years. Elvin gave me my first record. I then met Bob Cummings with India Navigation, and then hooked up with Don Pullen again and became part of Don Pullen’s band, Warriors. I later started the band The Leaders, and Don Pullen was the first piano player of that band, along with Don Cherry on trumpet, Arthur Blythe on alto saxophone, Cecil McBee on bass and Famadou Don Moye on drums. I got a chance to work with all my heroes, of the John Coltrane Quartet including Reggie Workman. The only person I didn’t get to work with was Jimmy Garrison because he had already passed away.’’

Freeman avait été très influencé par Jones ainsi que par le pianiste McCoy Tyner. Il précisait:

‘’Elvin was a great influence, and to this day he’s my favorite all-time drummer. The way he plays behind the beat is so relaxed. He never rehearsed, so it was a completely different thing. In Chicago, the guys were always rehearsing. When I got to Elvin I was thinking, Man, we should be rehearsing. I even tried to influence Elvin and asked him when we were going to have rehearsal. He just looked at me and I thought I was going to get fired. [rires] Elvin taught me a lot and shocked me and changed my viewpoint about things, and so did McCoy.’’

À New York, Freeman s’était produit avec de grands noms du jazz comme Elvin Jones, Sun Ra, Jack DeJohnette, le big band de Sam Rivers, Mickey Bass, John Stubblefield, Cecil McBee et Don Pullen. Il avait également dirigé ses propres groupes, ce qui l’avait aidé à développer son propre style.

L’année 1977 avait une année très productive pour Freeman et avait donné lieu à la publication de quatre albums. Il avait d’abord enregistré Chico, un album plutôt ambitieux qui comprenait essentiellement une suite en trois mouvements de vingt-quatre minutes intitulée ‘’Moments’’, un duo avec le contrebassiste Cecil McBee et une improvisation de seize minutes intitulée Merger qui mettait en vedette McBeee, Abrams, McCall et le percussionniste Tito Sampa. En juin de la même année, Freeman avait publié l’album No Time Left avec un quartet qui comprenait Jay Hoggard au vibraphone, Rick Rozie à la basse et Don Moye à la batterie. On retrouvait sur l’album deux autres compositions de longue durée: No Time Left et Uhmla. Le même mois, Freeman avait publié Beyond the Rain, avec un quintet qui incluait Hilton Ruiz au piabo et Elvin Jones à la batterie. Enfin, en septembre 1977, Freeman avait publié ce qui était sans doute un de ses meilleurs albums, Kings of Mali, avec un quintet qui comprenait Hoggard au vibraphone, Anthony Davis au piano, McBee à la contrebasse et Moye à la batterie. Fidèle à son habitude, l’album comprenait quatre longues compositions de Freeman. Poursuivant sur sa lancée, Freeman avait publié l’album The Outside Within en 1978, qui comprenait une longue composition de dix-neuf minutes de McBee intitulée ‘’The Undercurrent.’’ L’album avait été enregistré avec un quartet formé de John Hicks au piano, de McBee à la contrebasse et de Jack De Johnette à la batterie. L’album avait remporté le prix de l’album de l’année décervé par le magazine Stereo Review. Freeman avait enchaîné en octobre de la même année avec Spirit Sensitive, un album de ballades qui avait été enregistré avec un quartet composé de Hicks, McBee et Moye.

L’interaction entre la couleur et la mélodie était le thème de l’album Peaceful Heart Gentle Spirit. Publié en mars 1980, l’album avait été enregistré avec un octet comprenant James Newton à la flûte, Kenny Kirkland au piano, Jay Hoggard au vibraphone, au violoncelle et à la contrebasse. On retrouvait sur l’album d’anciennes compositions de Freeman en plus de ses nouvelles créations Peaceful Heart Gentle Spirit et Nina's Song Dance.

Adoptant une approche néo-traditionnaliste, Freeman avait publié en juin 1980 l’album The Search avec un groupe composé du pianiste Kenny Barron, de McBee à la contrebasse, de Hoggard au vibaphone, de Billy Hart à la batterie, de Nana Vasconcelos aux percussions et de Val Eley au chant. Publié en octobre 1981, l’album Destiny's Dance mettait en vedette le trompettiste Wynton Marsalis et le vibraphoniste Bobby Hutcherson. L’album avait été suivi par Tradition in Transition (septembre 1982), Tangents (en janvier 1984 avec le chanteur Bobby McFerrin, les saxophonistes John Purcell et Steve Coleman) et The Pied Piper (en septembre 1984 avec de nouveau Purcell au saxophone et Elvin Jones à la batterie). En octobre 1987, Freeman avait également publié Lord Riff And Me, un album en quintet mettant en vedette George Cables au piano, McBee à la contrebasse et Billy Hart à la batterie.

Freeman, qui est aussi professeur, avait fait des lectures pour Jazz in the Classroom  de 1980 à 1989. Freeman a aussi donné des cours d’improvisation dans le cadre du programme de jazz et de musique contemporaine de la New School University de New York en 1999.

Il a également siégé sur des comités du National Endowment for the Arts de 1979 à 1982. En juin 1982, Freeman avait également participé à un concert au Lincoln Center avec les The Young Lions, un groupe qui comprenait plusieurs artistes émergents des années 1980 comme Wynton Marsalis, Paquito D'Rivera, Kevin Eubanks, Bobby McFerrin et Anthony Davis. Le groupe avait éventuellement enregistré un album qui comprenait une composition de quatorze minutes de Freeman intitulée "Whatever Happened to the Dream Deferred.’’

En 1989, Freeman avait formé un groupe tout-étoile appelé The Leaders. Le sextet comprenait des musiciens sommités du jazz comme Kirk Lightsey au piano, Lester Bowie à la trompette, Arthur Blythe au saxophone alto, l’incontournable Cecil McBee à la contrebasse et Famadou Don Moye à la batterie et aux percussions. Dans le cadre du concert, Freeman avait joué du saxophone ténor, du saxophone soprano et de la clarinette. Freeman avait enregistré cinq albums avec le groupe: Mudfoot (juin 1986), Out Here Like This (février 1987), Unforeseen Blessings (décembre 1988), Slipping and Sliding (1994) et Spirits Alike (2007).

Toujours en 1989, Freeman avait formé un groupe de jazz-fusion appelé Brainstorm. Symbiose de pop-jazz, de musique du monde et de hip hop, le groupe, qui était composé de Delmar Brown aux claviers et au chant,  de Chris Walker à la basse, de Norman Hedman aux percussions et d’Archie Walker à la batterie, avait enregistré trois albums: The Mystical Dreamer (mai 1989), Sweet Explosion (avril 1990) et Threshold (1993). 

ÉVOLUTION RÉCENTE

Au début des années 1990, Freeman avait participé à plusieurs publicités télévisées, notamment pour les entreprises Burger King et Polaroid.

Dans le cadre du 150e anniversaire de l’invention du saxophone par Adolphe Sax en 1991, Freeman avait également fait partie du groupe Roots, qui regroupait d’autres saxophonistes émérites comme Nathan Davis, Benny Golson, Sam Rivers, Arthur Blythe. La section rythmique était composée de Don Pullen au piano, de Buster Williams à la contrebasse et de Winard Harper à la batterie. Le groupe avait enregistré quatre albums: Salutes the Saxophone, un hommage à John Coltrane, Dexter Gordon, Sonny Rollins et Lester Young (octobre 1991), Stablemates (décembre 1992), Say Something (1995) et For Diz & Bird (2000). Le meilleur album de Freeman dans les années 1990 était probablement Focus (mai 1994), qui avait été enregistré avec un quintet composé de George Cables au piano et d’Arthur Blythe au saxophone alto.

En 1998, Freeman avait également entrepris une carrière de producteur en collaborant à la publication de l’album NightSong d’Arthur Blythe. Il avait aussi travaillé sur des pièces de théâtre avec le dramaturge Ntozake Shange et le danseur de claquettes Savion Glover.

Au début des années 2000, Freeman s’était installé en Europe et avait commencé à expérimenter avec différents musiciens et avec différentes cultures. Comme Freeman l’avait expliqué lui-même: “As much as I’ve travelled and on the road playing with such masters as McCoy Tyner, Elvin Jones, Jack DeJohnette, Sam Rivers, Sun Ra, Dizzy Gillespie and so many jazz greats, as well as leading my own groups including founding “The Leaders” and the group “Roots,” an inner voice was telling me, you need to go to another level both musically and personally. You need to work with other musicians from different cultures and create new avenues of expression.’’

En 2002, Freeman avait été choisi parmi plus de deux cents candidats et était devenu un des vingt artistes à participer à la création d’une installation multimédia à Engine 27, une salle de concert expérimentale de  New York. Durant la même période, Freeman avait également formé le groupe Guataca, un ensemble afro-cubain qui jouait une musique influencée par les rythmes latins, les traditions africaines et le  hip-hop. Le groupe était composé de Hilton Ruiz au piano, de Ruben Rodriguez à la basse, de Yoron Israel à la batterie et de Giovanni Hidalgo aux congas et aux percussions. Le groupe avait publié l’album Oh, By the Way en 2001. Comme on pouvait le lire sur le site officiel de Freeman, "What I did with this album is utilize elements of jazz, R&B, and hip-hop on an Afro-Cuban basis, with a flamenco and middle-eastern flavor.’’

Après avoir passé près de douze ans en Europe, Freeman était retourné à New York anxieux de reprendre sa collaboration avec des musiciens américains. Il expliquait:

‘’I lived in Europe approximately twelve years––went to Greece then moved to Switzerland. Even though I am back in the States and living in New York, I still have my place in Switzerland, but my main focus is being in New York. I moved back because I wanted to bring all of the playing and traveling experiences I’ve had over the years back to the States with me and get back to my roots and incorporate it all together into my playing again. I also miss playing with American musicians. I really wanted to play again with American drummers, bass players, rhythm sections and wanted to reconnect with the blues and some of the other cultural staples music here has given to the world. I felt it was time to come back to my roots again. Since I’ve been back, the changes I’ve noticed in the music scene are good, particularly with the musicians themselves. I’ve noticed there are more females in music that can really play. I’ve also noticed musicians are more inclusive in general—black and white players are playing together much more than they did before I left. I also see so many gifted young players. We’ve lost a lot of great musicians and I just find it unfortunate because some of the young musicians won’t have the opportunity to apprentice from the bandstand like I was able to do with Elvin Jones, McCoy Tyner, Art Blakey and others. I hope I can supply some part of that by being back home.’’

En 2010, Freeman avait publié l’album The Essence of Silence, qui avait été suivi en 2012 d’une collaboration avec le batteur Elvin Jones intitulée Elvin: The Elvin Jones Project. Ce dernier album avait été enregistré avec une section rythmique composée de George Cables au piano, de Lonnie Plaxico à la contrebasse et de Winard Harper à la batterie. Le saxophoniste Joe Lovano avait également participé à deux pièces de l’album. Le groupe interprétait un répertoire souvent associé à Jones. Le batteur avait commencé à collaborer avec Freeman peu après qu’il se soit installé à New York en 1976. En 1978, Jones avait également produit le troisième album de Freeman comme leader, Beyond The Rain sur étiquette Contemporary Records. 

Freeman a enregistré une douzaine d’albums sous son nom au cours de sa carrière, dont Morning Prayer (1976), The Outside Within (1978), Spirit Sensitive (1979), No Time Left (1979), Peaceful Heart Gentle Spirit (1980), Freeman & Freeman (enregistré avec son père Von en 1981), Destiny's Dance (1981), Tradition in Transition (1982) et The Search (1982). Le dernier album de Freeman intitulé Spoken Into Existence (2015) explorait différents styles musicaux du hip hop au funk en passant par le  le bebop, le blues et intégrait même des mélodies d’origine africaine et asiatique. Il expliquait:

“First comes expression, and when you find yourself in need of being able to express more, you develop the technique in order to accomplish that objective.” Très influencé par le saxophoniste ténor Gene Ammons, Freeman avait ajouté: ‘’One of my favorite saxophone players is Gene Ammons. Boy, he can play a slow blues. Everybody could play slow blues in Chicago back then, and so could I, but I had never recorded a slow blues. I thought, Wow. I can’t believe I never did that. I didn’t realize this at first. So, all the other things were kind of personal things I wanted to do and say with Spoken Into Existence. That’s kind of the significance of the title.’’

Musicien polyvalent et très éclectique, Freeman s’est produit et a enregistré dans une grande variété de styles, de la musique latine au jazz traditionnel en passant par le bebop, le hard bop, le free jazz, le R & B, le jazz-fusion et le blues. Comme Freeman l’avait expliqué sur son internet: "My goal is to explore new worlds, and I don't want to be limited by categories. I don't want to be told that I can't go into other categories. The only limitations I place on myself are the limitations I place on my own imagination. And within that realm, there are none." Éternel explorateur, Freeman avait aussi fait plusieurs tournéesen Europe, au Japon, en Australie, au Moyen-Orient et en Extrême-Orient. Toujours prêt à découvrir de nouvelles réalités et à de nouvelles musiques, Freeman avait précisé:

‘’I wanted to see what it was like to live in a place and see how people are when they don’t know you— when you are a part of the landscape. Sometimes we get special treatment, which is nice and I enjoy it, but I wanted to see what it was like if they don’t know you. I also wanted to experience other kinds of music. I went to Spain and played with gypsy musicians and had the opportunity to play with Paco de Lucia, the great Spanish guitarist. I got to play with Andrea Bocelli and went to North Africa, Morocco and Algeria. In Morocco, I played with Ghanaian musicians and also participated in a festival where everybody played with everybody. I played in Hungary with this great Hungarian gypsy musician, Miklos Lukacs, who played this instrument I had never heard of, the cimbalom, which is incredible. I went to the Baltic countries and heard some of the clarinet players and their folk music. I went to Australia and met some aboriginal musicians.’’

Multi-instrumentiste, Freeman jouait à la fois des saxophones ténor et soprano, de la flûte et de la clarinette basse.

Au cours de sa carrière, Freeman avait enregistré et joué avec les plus grands noms du jazz comme Wynton et Branford Marsalis, Hank Jones, Bobby Hutcherson, Charles Mingus, Dizzy Gillespie, Cecil McBee, Lester Bowie, Kirk Lightsey, John Hicks, Mal Waldron, Famadou Don Moye, Arthur Blythe, Billy Hart, Chucho Valdes, Freddie Cole, Joe Henderson, Chaka Khan, Tomasz Stanko, Art Blakey, Celia Cruz, Paquito D'Rivera, Roy Haynes, Kevin Eubanks, Paco de Lucia, Jack DeJohnette, McCoy Tyner, Elvin Jones, Bobby McFerrin, son père Von Freeman, Anthony Davis, Sun Ra, Sam Rivers, Don Pullen, Arturo Sandoval, Machito, Celia Cruz, Giovanni Hidalgo, Paulinho DaCosta, Nana Vasconcelos, Ray Barretto, Eddie Palmieri, Paquito D’Rivera et Tito Puente. Il avait aussi accompagné de grandes vedettes de la musique pop comme Earth, Wind & Fire, The Eurythmics, Michael Jackson, Jackie Wilson, The Temptations, The Isley Brothers, The Four Tops et Sting.

Père de cinq filles, Freeman avait composé une chanson pour chacune d’entre elles.

©-2024, tous droits réservés, Les Productions de l’Imaginaire historique.

 SOURCES:

‘’Chico Freeman.’’ All About Jazz, 2023.

‘’Chico Freeman.’’ Wikipedia, 2023.

‘’Chico Freeman Biography.’’ Net Industries, 2023.

‘’Chico Freeman in his own words.’’ Chicago Jazz Magazine, 2023.

SCARUFFI, Piero. ‘’Chico Freeman.’’ Piero Scaruffi, 2006.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Blood and sand - Chapter Sixteen

In the weeks since Luke had come here, this number of onlookers had never come to watch, and those who did were clearly between shifts—often drunk, always rowdy. Not these people. Not today.

>>>>READ ON AO3 OR BELOW<<<<

----------

Chapter Sixteen: John

At breakfast, the King declared all current remaining warriors “finalists.” There would be no wagons of new combatants today.

“Battle Royale,” announced Dennis, who seemed to know something was going on, and eyed Luke’s little group suspiciously. “And as it’s a true fight to the end, you’ll be facing the King’s champion.” For all the talk about Charlie Dowd, Luke had not yet seen him. Now, he would.

Luke knew exactly what this was: he was being given a shot. One shot to make this compromise work. He’d never felt so determined in his life.

“Battle Royale,” said John, low. “Athur, stick with me.”

“I can do this,” Arthur said, slamming his fork down and baring his teeth.

“We will do this,” John growled.

“I can help,” Arthur snapped.

“You will,” said John. “By helping Luke.”

Arthur didn’t want to help Luke. He didn’t have to verbalize it. “I can do more than that!”

“Not now, you can’t,” John growled. “Fucking fill your role.”

Arthur clenched his fists.

“We’re almost done,” said Luke, who didn’t know how to fix this, who had no idea how to calm them down. “It’ll work.”

“Dowd,” Arthur said, low.

“He’ll be free. We all will,” said Luke, who for once in his life, lied. They would be free. He licked his lips. “Take Parker with you.”

Arthur stiffened. “What?”

“If something happens to me,” said Luke.

“If something happens to you,” said John, “Parker won’t—”

“Be dead anymore,” Arthur broke in. “Yes. I know.” His voice was rough.

John growled.

Arthur bared his teeth again. “This is what’s happening. Deal with it!” he hissed.

John growled again. “A life-debt is dangerous.”

“This will satisfy requirements,” said Luke, drawing the phrase from some long-past overheard adult conversation. “I’m certain.”

Arthur snorted, then suddenly laughed. “Sure,” he said. “All right. Satisfy requirements. All right.”

The warning trumpet sounded, loud and blatting.

Luke stood and immediately had to brace on the table. His legs felt weak, his knees useless. It was fear, plain and simple. Nothing was physically wrong.

This would work because it had to. That was all. “Come on.” He headed for the door.

#

The arena was different today.

Longer, somehow, though not wider; the sand was pristine, white, gleaming, casting tiny sparkles back at the double suns. The stands were, for once, occupied, if not packed; all the guests were there, but also the entire staff of this place, from nurses to cooks, and they didn’t quite behave as sports fans might be expected. They were largely silent, muttering, and watching very hard.

In the weeks since Luke had come here, this number of onlookers had never come to watch, and those who did were clearly between shifts—often drunk, always rowdy. Not these people. Not today.

Whatever was going on might genuinely be a one-off. This was it. Their one chance.

Luke stayed at the back with his new partners. “Right. Everyone know their timing?”

“Yes,” said John.

“Yes,” said Arthur a moment later.

“You sure you can do this?” said John.

Luke hesitated. “I can get most of them,” he said. “I don’t know if I can get everyone, but I can get a lot. Then…”

“We’ll take care of the rest,” Arthur said grimly.

“And then we’re making our wish,” said John.

“Don’t you try to be a bitch about this,” said Arthur.

Luke had to trust them to be grownups. “Get ready.”

“Fuck me, there he is,” said John.

Luke peered. At the far, far end of the arena, guarding the only exit door, stood a nude man. He was muscled; tattooed runes circled his biceps, reached around his calves, covered his stomach. He carried two enormous, spiked maces, and he wore a mask—smooth and white like Hastur’s, mouthless. Two black eye-holes stared at them.

“What?” whispered Arthur. "He’s here? How does he look? Is he okay?”

“He’s… I don’t know,” said John. “He’s wearing that pallid mask.”

“Fuck,” said Arthur, low. “Luke, he’s going to see what you’re doing.”

“What I’m doing?”

“Casting magic. We’re going to have to be very careful about this.”

“Hey,” said John. “That’s an idea. I wonder if you could see with the mask on now.”

“No,” said Arthur.

“But Arthur—”

“No. I might be about to die, and I won’t with that fucking thing on my face.”

John’s many limbs sagged a little, as if Arthur's hatred of the mask—the handiwork of the King—hurt John personally.

Hastur had assumed John wanted nothing to do with him, but that wasn’t the vibe at all. John had reacted badly to news that Hastur wanted to die, too, though he hadn’t exactly gone running to prevent it. This was complicated.

The second trumpet blasted, and the horde attacked itself. Attacked itself (Luke couldn’t help thinking) the way a really sick body did, going after its own cells with its own defense systems. Some held back, like Arthur and John and Luke, waiting to see who was left standing, but most did not.

A few, however, did make a run for that exit. They didn’t last long.

Luke hadn’t expected Dowd to be so fast. His bare feet dug into the sand as if he’d been born to it, and he swung his maces so quickly they were black blurs.

Luke gasped, pressed back against the wall.

Blood, brains, bone spattered the sand, the arena. Dowd calmed again, waiting, stationed in front of that door.

John grunted.

“What?” said Arthur.

“He moves like a monster,” John mumbled. “I don’t know how he’s been enhanced, but he has. Arthur… we have to do Luke’s plan. I don’t see how we can beat him without killing him.”

“We were already going to do it,” Arthur snapped.

Without warning, the horns-all-over guy—the one with multiple heads who had exploded fake Dennis—suddenly turned and ran at them.

“Watch it!” John bellowed. Arthur and John may not share a body anymore, but they moved as one, even though Arthur couldn’t see. Arthur grabbed Luke and pulled him back, and John moved in the way, meeting the oncoming charge with so much power that he grabbed, hefted, and slammed the enemy down with a bone-aching crack.

The attacker lay still.

Luke looked. Not dead. Very thoroughly concussed. Luke resisted the urge to heal, to help; he had to save every drop of everything he had for the key moment. Still, it was hard to resist.

The eerily quiet stands, the intensity of Hastur’s presence, the weirdness of Dowd’s presence—all of it combined to make insanity, to add a strange desperation to everyone there, as if… of course. Luke hadn’t been the only person to figure out that new people kept being brought in, and that this was maybe the only chance to actually win that wish. Desperation didn’t cover this mood, didn’t even come close. These beings were fighting for so much more than their lives today. They fought for that one wish.

Above the arena, above Dowd, the King in Yellow loomed, his robe billowing, brighter than both suns.

Luke steeled himself. “Steady.”

“Fuck!” said John, grabbing Luke, grabbing Arthur (“Hey!”), and taking off at a run.

The spell hit where they’d been, sizzling the white sand gray, hissing and spitting.

Luke cried out.

“What the fuck, John?” Arthur cried, tucked under numerous arms.

“Curses,” said John. “Someone’s throwing them.”

“How-ma-ny-peo-ple-are-left?” Luke said, voice unsteady as he bounced with every step.

“Too many,” snarled John, and kept moving.

Held as he was, Luke couldn’t see; he was facing the sand. The breath kept leaving him as John leaped and landed, and bodies—injured, screaming, unconscious—filled the space around John’s tentacle-feet.

Luke resisted. Closed his eyes tightly. Resisted the urge to heal.

“Almost there,” muttered John, and then suddenly dropped them both into the sand. Luke shouted as something launched over him, something John grabbed and deflected and rolled away with, snarling.

Arthur reached for Luke, and Luke grabbed him. “Stay down!” Arthur snapped, and pulled Luke close enough to shield him.

“We have to get closer to the front!” Luke shouted, closing his eyes again as booted feet spat sand in their direction in passing.

Arthur began crawling, keeping low, holding Luke to his chest.

“Left!” Luke shouted, and Arthur dodged. A hammer came down where they’d been, spraying more sand.

John came out of nowhere and ate the hammer-guy.

Ate him. Just grabbed with many limbs, held him in the air, and then… John’s hood fell back. He had a white mask like Hastur’s, exactly the same, except chipped, and beneath it opened a maw that would haunt Luke’s dreams for years to come. John bit the guy in half. Gulp.

Arthur was moving again.

Luke’s breath felt high and wheezy. Never again, he’d never fight again—

“Dowd!” warned John, and Arthur suddenly changed direction.

Luke stared up to see Charlie Dowd coming for them. His eyes behind his mask were insane, wide, bloodshot. He didn’t seem aware of his nudity, or much else, except that Arthur had come too close to the door.

There was no time left. Luke used his spell.

It was like lifting an elephant, like holding back a cargo ship with will alone, like controlling a vast and terrible storm with his hands. It reached into every single body on the arena floor, into their brains, into their circulation. Searching and finding a universal need for oxygen, though it varied; major arteries weren’t all in the same places, and oxygen requirements varied by species.

But he didn’t need specifics. He knew how to increase oxygen to the brain, to ensure extra help. So now, he cut it off.

It took precious seconds. Everything seemed to slow down, or maybe he was just skipping moments, tied to his heart beat. Blink: everyone frozen, blood drops hovering in the air. Blink: bodies falling, eyes rolled back, faces turning bad colors. Blink: the entire arena of warriors was down, scattered, gasping, most already unconscious.

They had a little air. Luke would not kill unnecessarily. And it hadn't been precise. Arthur was unconscious, too, because Luke hadn't been able to aim it, and fuck a grown man was heavier than Luke realized.

John was still conscious. That had been a gamble; he was a god, and he may breathe, but he could resist this human spell. Unfortunately, thanks to Hastur, so could Charlie Dowd.

Luke wriggled, shifted, dug his heels into the sand and struggled out from under Arthur Lester (who was snoring again). His head felt like a thousand little hooks had found it, each one sharp and yanking. He had to keep everyone unconscious. Had to.

John was doing everything in his power to just… stop Dowd from doing more damage. Luke tried to look, and his gaze and his power slid off; whatever protections Dowd had, Luke could not take him down. But looking like that, Luke could see tendrils, dark gold magic, reaching down from the King. There was no quarter given. They had to win this, for real.

Dowd got his arm loose again and swung the mace.

John took the hit, then took the mace.

Dowd growled like an animal and fully focused on John, and Luke couldn’t see what he did, but ichor flew. John bellowed in pain.

Luke stood, his head a thousand pounds, and walked toward them.

John roared. In the mostly asleep arena, it rumbled, rattled, shocked. Dowd screeched like some kind of ancient dinosaur.

Those tendrils—

Luke had one shot, and he took it. He gathered himself, ran, and leaped.

John startled badly as Luke climbed him, using those many uncountable limbs as hand and footholds, over John’s asymmetrical shoulder, until he came face-to-face with Charlie Dowd.

Luke was quick. He’d always been quick.

Dowd was quick, and wrenched his other arm free and raised his mace.

Luke was quicker, and pulled off Dowd’s mask.

Under it, Dowd was pale, gray, ragged. His lips were cracked, and his nose had been broken and not set right. His eyes—wide and insane, then wide and horrified—looked like they belonged to a man who hadn’t slept in a year.

Luke hit him with the spell.

Dowd went down like a chump, eyes rolled back.

John panted, shaking.

“Down,” hissed Luke. “They’re stirring. Get down, damn it!”

John hesitated. Looked toward Arthur.

“Down!” said Luke.

John sighed. “Don’t fuck it up,” he muttered, plucked Luke off, placed him on the sand, and then dramatically and with much flailing flopped onto his back.

And just like that Luke was the last one standing.

The arena broke into howls.

Luke turned, panting, inundated by a thousand thousand voices, and looking directly at the King in Yellow, held the mask up over his head.

[chapter seventeen] [masterpost]

[abellinthecupboard]

Abecedarian Western

Ate stew, shot a man, Bandy body spraddled, so full of lead Cabrón can't even walk uphill Derringer spit out of bullets Empty as a gutted steer Found a soiled dove, Got me some cash roll for a night. Hacienda next dawn, Indian scalps round my neck. Jacal shack full of hunched men Kicked that hut down, Limped them with shots, Morning to scalp them, Noontime, sang. Offal yarned in one satchel saddle Prairie oyster in the other, Quit the flats, into town Raises on prunes and proverbs Scorched a church Threw down a priest hiding Under mesquite shrub and blatting woolies, Vaquero packs me with iron, Wastes me easy as if X marked my vest plain as Yucca country. Zanjero digs a ditch.

— Cathy Park Hong, Engine Empire (2012)

[godblooded]

“Alana, darling,” says Margarethe. Then there’s static and a blat of the car horn. “Schjitgodverdamme! No, Anastasia, don’t—oh, for the love of—Alana, your daughter has just given the middle finger to a man in an enormous truck, and now—“

“You did too!”

“Your children are going to be the death of me. Listen, we’re just on our way home now. Remove the dogs from the front hall or I will be very angry with you.”

Drisella, interrupting: “The lady at the restaurant said she packed something special for you, Dad.”

“Yes, and I’ve no clue,” Margarethe says, “perhaps it’s a medal for being their best customer. She never gives anything special to me.”

“That’s ‘cos you’re rude, Mumma.”

“Do you hear your children, Alana? Do you hear them?” The voicemail ends with a click.

sometimes the good doctor needs a minute. or five. or ten. or twenty. or an hour. okay, so sometimes she feels like she fell out a window, and acts like she fell out a window, and her body says just that: it fell out a window. and some days she’s frankly exhausted. of course the thing about this is her wife and children will stop at nothing to be sure alana is perfectly comfortable.

dad, do you want something? we can pick something up! drisella and then anastasia’s bright, oh, can we get—

‘your daughter’ is somehow not only reserved for when they misbehave. it makes her smile regardless. she looks at the phone as all three very shrill voices she loves so much have had their turn — ‘remove’ the dogs from the front hall. the doctor can’t help but smile about it — there’s a certain charm to margarethe most people don’t understand ( yes, she will come to blows that she thinks margarethe is charming ) — and she thinks it might be the decisively her nature of who she is.

alana could, without a doubt, at any time they’ve known one another, pick her out in a crowd. could tell you the woman with her eyes closed, her ears stuffed, her senses dulled to nothing. it’s captivating in its volume — the only word that can be used. ‘ volume ‘.

all thoughts she has while she’s shepherding the pack out to the mud room. the dogs take to their spot and alana carefully clicks that little gate in place — it’s not as if they’ll even disobey, but it exists there, a half-swinging door she’s had built to corral the pups. her aptitude when it comes to the mutts is practically professional. little nails click as five sets of paws thud to respect spots, scattered cushions in the secluded hall just beside the exit to the yard.

she’s opening the front door, cane clicking as she goes — even on her most tired day alana’s chronically trying to help carry this or that. it’s just her nature.

“ how do you properly pronounce shjitgodverdamme? what does that mean? ”

she asks the very moment margarethe is out of the car.

[full-of-mercy]

Tempted as he is, Wolfwood does not cast a lambent glance back at Vash's silhouette in the open doorway. He advances effortlessly and with clear purpose through the darkness of the hall, rounding the corner to disappear into the kitchenette and beyond.

The sleeping quarters are still redolent with their scent. The musk of life overlays everything else, and he pauses to breathe slow and deep. In his crouch to locate his trousers, he lingers with Vash's coat, picking it up off of the floor. A scrunch of the texture of red fabric, and he nestles his nose into the tall collar. Inhale, exhale.

Steady, steadying. Grounding.

He does not have time to unpack why he is on such a tightly-wound hair-trigger, why he feels so ready to bare his fangs at the slightest provocation, this bone-deep urge to protect. It was there before. It was always there. Maybe it just... wasn't so honest back then. And then, he thinks, at least he didn't go off. Maybe people can change. Maybe those changes stick. Fundamentally, in matter and in mind. Maybe he can cut himself the tiniest bit of slack.

Slacks. Right. There are other distractions prickling at the base of his neck and the base of his spine with his face buried in carmine cloth. He stands, drapes the garment over the back of the tiny reading table chair, then clothes himself. From the waist down, anyway. What Vash is wearing hasn't escaped him.

Belt belted and boots tied, just in time for the clatter-BANG rumble-BLAT of engines rounding closer. Ah. That sounds unpleasant. Scrubbing his tongue over his teeth and his fingers over the blue-black bristles at his nape, he lopes back out, acquiring yet another cigarette in passing. 

Seems that Vash has things well in control, enough to smooth over ruffled feathers. Distraction beckons. Compels. And Nicholas is but a simple man with a pair of hungry eyes and a whole feast right here. Snaking a hand out for a sneaky squeeze at a pale buttock hidden by the button-down hem, he looks on and across the parking quadrant, brows aloft, mouth quirked as if butter won't melt. No sunglasses to be had at the moment, his eyes are narrow and gleaming.

"Yeah, don't sound like they're on their last legs, but if you keep pushing 'em like this..." He tuts. "You might be able to survive off what you're carrying and the grace of God, but it'll be a hell of a hike if the worms don't getcha."

Repositioning the Punisher is a one-handed affair, corded muscle and a graceful twist; he feeds it back through the door frame and props it up against the wall. Gone is the immediate threat, now it's just the implication as he adopts a calmer tone, smoke-rasped, resonant, casual.

"And if you haul up to the big building at the top of the hill like a pack of raiders, well. Let's just say the guardians of the house are a crack shot from a few hundred yards. Ms. Melanie at the orphanage might have some petty cash to spare for treats for the kids."

That almost feels like too much, but he is trying. Lots of mouths to feed could always make do with supplies they don't have to drive out to get. A glance to Vash. He quirks a smirk- more of a smile- and then saunters out to get to work on those engines, hands open, explaining what he’s about as he goes about it.

Ginger caravanner still reels, but not enough to say no.

Rough-riding from the steamer port across the debris-strewn sands has done a number on them, but fortunately this is just a matter of ill-seated spark plugs and some gaskets that need bent back into shape. Nicholas has no qualms with getting his hands dirty and, despite his gripes in the past, he is no stranger to manual labor.

It makes him miss Angelina.

Vash rumbles, basso and quiet for a second, maybe less as Wolfwood tenses into his hand. Enough for Wolfwood to hear, for the trader to blink and tweak a pinky in his right ear with a puzzled scrunch. The ginger top trader does not have his full attention when Nicholas’s breath gusts over his ear, warm, hair-raising with proximity.

Options, options. Vash has an idea of what Wolfwood might be planning for breakfast. Packing away the sausage is a good start. As before, where Wolfwood goes, Vash’s eyes follow. This time, however, they linger on the tattoo emblazoned between his shoulders in the fading light of day.

He isn’t the only one who would have to be careful from this point on. There would be time to discuss it later: what little he knew of regarding official policy federal and Earth alike towards the Eye of Michael and its remnants. 

For now, their worries are simpler. He’s busy making vague calculations with their funds when Vash notices the tradesman mouthing surreptitiously at him.

Safe? Vash blinks, uncomprehending before realization dawns and he flippantly waves away any concerns for his well being with a laugh and a wagging hand. “Oh! Sorry about that. He’s been sleeping like the dead lately. He’s…Actually, he’s normally like that, but I promise he’s got a warm and fuzzy chest!” Vash’s expression blanks for a moment, crossing into an unknown combination of mortified and disbelieving, and he clears his throat. “Fuzzy heart. We’re working through it. He has a point about your ride, though.”

Vash glances down at the money in his hands.

Twenty…forty…fifty-six…They could get everything off Wolfwood’s list with this amount. Vash smooths and folds the stack neatly after he finishes carding through the bills.  

“Right! So, this is all we have.”

“Uh, but I haven’t–”

“Well, you’re sticking around so we can help you out, right? Maybe…we can get a discount too?” Vash asks with wide, hopeful eyes. “I was wondering if we could get fruit if you have any. Apples, oranges. I’ll even take lemons! Any kind of meat would be amazing. Even canned. Whatever fifty-six double dollars will get us.” 

Was this some sort of twisted take on good cop bad cop? Dazed, the caravanner nods and turns on his heel. He wanders off without even counting the double dollars that Vash pushed into his hands before stopping suddenly and looking back. “Oh, I didn’t get your name. Mister, uh–”

Vash’s answer of ‘Vash the Stampede!’ is immediately lost behind a series of firecracker pops and bangs as the train of vehicles moves closer to the storefront. Evidently, the drivers saw money exchanging hands and took that as their signal to start moving. 

Probably better that way.  Keeping a low profile is the best course of action when you’re a wanted Plant. 

The flush-faced trader is already talking with the other members of the band. He points at various canisters, then back at Vash every so often as hands go about gathering goods and woven baskets to place them in. 

[shizukasmack]

If you didn’t hear, my brother James Gardin landed a recording deal with ILLECT Recordings at the start 2017. And that, he also dropped some fresh new “label deal” sounds with as well produced by Terem. I actually made the first version of the single cover (which I’ll add below) but they decided to go with something but it’s no big. 

[nightingaelic]

Reactions to a vampire courier? Companions plus Benny, Ulysses, Graham, House, Caesar, and Yes Man. (sorry if that's too many :x)

TW: Blood (maybe obviously)

Also I don't normally feel some type of way about AUs but the idea of Joshua Graham encountering a vampire courier is giving me shivers

The courier was a little... strange. Not in any way that stood out to the average wastelander just by looking at them, everyone in the Mojave had their quirks and the courier was no exception. Hell, you get shot in the head and come back, you're bound to have a screw or two loose. They were unquestionably a night owl, but so were half the people on the Strip, who only started to wake up after the sun had gone down and the slot machines were singing their loudest. They usually had bags under their bloodshot eyes, but every caravan driver from here to the Hub was short on sleep.

On the other hand, the courier had some habits that were a little beyond surface-level eccentricities. For one, no one had ever seen them eating, not once. Even when the King laid out a spread of pre-war snacks and liquor or when the buffet at the Tops was refreshed, they politely declined and took a swig from the canteen that they never offered to anyone else. They were also rather odd about bathrooms, insisting that anyone accompanying them remain outside on watch and let no one else through the door until they were finished. But the undeniable moment of oddity came one night in October, when their companion rounded a corner in Freeside after a trip to the Atomic Wrangler and discovered the courier behind a rusted dumpster, holding a man against a brick wall with their teeth buried in his neck.

The courier drew back at the interruption, blood smeared across their face. "I'm not- it's not what- he- oh, fuck."

Arcade Gannon: Arcade stared open-mouthed for a moment, before snapping violently back into the present. "Is he dead?"

"Umm..." The courier glanced at the man they were holding, whose head was lolling against the bricks. "Yes? Mostly."

With no patient to resuscitate, Arcade rounded on them. "Six, what in the ever-loving fuck are you doing?"

The courier tried to wipe away the blood that was dribbling from their chin, but they only succeeded in spreading it up their jawline. "Well, I, um, I was trying to..."

Whatever excuse they were searching for eluded them, so they dropped the pretense. "I was feeding, Arcade."

"Feeding? What, like some kind of-" Arcade's eyes widened and he cut his sentence off early in realization. "No. No way. That's not- vampires aren't real!"

That earned him a look of intense skepticism. "Arcade, we've fought off plant monsters and rattlesnake-coyote hybrids together. I have a gun in my pack that lets me teleport."

"Oh, okay, so you have some kind of iron deficiency and you're delusional." Arcade laughed, the sound high and harsh in the quiet alley. "Great. Fuck."

Craig Boone: Rather than engage in an abandoned alley, Boone immediately backtracked to a busier street. He was unsurprised when the courier didn't follow him: Even in Freeside, someone covered in blood was sure to be noticed and questioned.

Boone left town that night and made for Novac. He was pretty sure the courier would follow him, but he didn't know where else to go. At least he knew they were coming. A few people in Novac asked about where he'd been, what the courier was up to, but eventually they stopped asking.

A couple of weeks went by. Boone was on the night shift again when the door into the dinosaur swung open to reveal the courier. He'd heard someone coming, their feet on the stairs, and he already had his gun pointed in their face. "We will never work together again," he said, before they could open their mouth.

"Boone, can you just-"

"I don't want an explanation." Boone shook his head. "I don't need one. I already did you a favor, leaving New Vegas without putting you back in your grave. This is over."

The courier took a deep breath. "71."

"What?"

"71. I've killed 71 Legion soldiers and left their bodies empty under the Mojave sky." They looked down and shuffled their feet. "I've tasted their fear. They're more scared of me than the Burned Man, now."

Boone studied them. Ever so slowly, he lowered his gun.

Lily Bowen: "Put him down, dearie," Lily chastised them. "You're playing too roughly with that man. And watch your language around your grandma!"

The courier looked down at their victim, at their torn throat and limp limbs. "He tried to mug me, Lily. It wasn't pretty."

"He looks like he's had enough," Lily insisted. "Set him down. Gently."

With a sigh, the courier obliged and lowered the man to the ground. "I'm sorry, Lily. I should have told you earlier. I don't mean to be rude when I turn down your cooking, I just... I can't seem to..."

"Hush, now." Lily produced her enormous handkerchief and gathered the courier up in her arms, dabbing at the blood on their face with a corner of the cloth. "You've gotten it all over yourself, haven't you? We can clean that right up, but it looks like Grandma's going to have to do a load of laundry. You made the mess, so you get to help."

Raul Alfonso Tejada: Raul swallowed nervously, something he'd noticed he was increasingly doing around the courier. "You know, we get murciélagos down in Arizona that do the same thing. They won't leave the brahmin alone."

The courier took in his anxious stance and sighed. "Raul, I'm not going to hurt you. Prometo. It's okay."

"Sure boss, but I don't think the hair on the back of my neck is going down anytime soon." Raul smiled, but it was more of a grimace. "Or it wouldn't, if I still had any. Como..?"

"No clue." The courier shrugged and held their hands up, letting the corpse they'd been holding slide to the ground. "I think it had something to do with me surviving Benny's best attempts to do me in, but a bullet is a bullet and I don't remember if I was like this before, or..."

"Or only after." Raul chuckled. "Jesucristo, and here I am thinking I'll outlive you like most everyone else I've known."

"Yep."

"Should I start calling you el chupacabra?"

The courier grinned, a bloody smile with sharp teeth.

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: "Fuck," Cass echoed, scrambling to pull her shotgun from its holster. "Knew I had too much, can't even- who are you and what've you done with the courier? Some kind of cannibal, wearing their skin? Alien? Shapeshifter? I'll blow a hole in your liver to match mine!"

"Whoa, Cass, it's me, it's me!" The courier dropped the man they were holding and held their blood-stained hands up. "Same old Six, just... maybe I wasn't straight with you about why I don't order anything at bars."

"Goddamn right you weren't straight with me!" Cass gestured at the body on the ground with the barrel of her gun. "Who's the fucker on the floor and why are you two pints in on him?"

"Just trying to get my drink on," the courier muttered.

Cass repaid this facetiousness with a jab of her shotgun, and they raised their hands higher. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry! You tell me, how do you tactfully tell someone that you're a creature of the night and you need to drink blood to survive?"

"Creature of the night? You're fucking loopy." Cass' eyes narrowed. "There's plenty of critters in the Mojave that only come out when it's dark, but most of them don't tear into..."

She trailed off into curses when she realized she was wrong. The courier smiled hesitantly and lowered their hands an inch. "Hey. Let me chuck this failed mugger in the dumpster and we can talk about it like a pair of civilized folks?"

Veronica Santangelo: Veronica squeaked and fell back a few steps, banging her elbow against the edge of the dumpster. A jolt of confused pain shot up her arm, and the Scribe couldn't help giggling harshly at the sudden assault on her funny bone.

"Not- laughing... at murder," she managed to get out between hisses of pain. "Oh, for the love of... right, you're not getting out of explaining what you are, exactly, just because I'm indis-indisposed!"

The courier couldn't help laughing at the squirming Scribe, but they did their best to stifle it. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I um... I guess I don't really know... what I am?"

"There's books!" Veronica burst out, pointing at the courier and their victim wildly. "I've seen them, in old libraries. Creatures that feed on blood, only come out at night, don't show up in... in mirrors, of course, no wonder you're weird about bathrooms, I should test... Dracula! That's it, you're a Dracula!"

"A Dracula?" The courier held their hands up, as if seeing them anew. "Never heard of them. Are they... bad?"

"Well, traditionally, yes." Veronica made a face and rubbed her elbow. "Black cloaks, sleeping in coffins, seducing and manipulating everyone around them... and people don't like it when you take their blood, in my experience."

"Whose blood have you taken?"

"This isn't about me, Six!"

ED-E: The eyebot bobbed wildly and made noises of concern, blips and blats and a flat burst of trumpets from some old jazz tune.

"I was hungry," the courier protested. "And this asshole pulled a knife on me and wanted all of my caps. Probably more than that, if we're being honest. He wasn't doing the world any good, but he did me some, for sure."

ED-E flipped between old clips of a Silver Shroud radio show. "Well, isn't this a deep, dark <static> secret? <static> In a situation such as this, the best anyone can do is <static> try to control it!" The robot added some more concerned beeps for good measure.

"I'm trying," the courier said with a sigh, looking down at the dead man they were holding. "You know I wouldn't hurt some random person, ED-E. Not if I could help it. The Mojave's full of bad people, enough to keep me going if I'm careful."

Rex: The hair on Rex's spine stood up, and he let out a long, low growl. The courier froze for a moment, before realizing that he was growling not at them but at the man they were holding.

"He's dead, Rex," they reassured the cyberdog, lowering the corpse to the floor for inspection.

Rex sniffed the body over, taking in the copper scent of his blood and the Freeside stink on his clothes. He sniffed the courier too, each of their hands they held out to him and the thick headiness of adrenaline. He whined and wagged his tail twice.

"Good boy," the courier said, straightening up. "It's about time I turned in, anyway. Let's dump this guy and split."

Benny Gecko: Benny crossed his arms. "You know, Six, if you're dead set on getting your kicks in Freeside every now and then, you might want to ease up on the passions with the next greaser you snag. This one's torn all to pieces."

"I wasn't- what kind of-" The courier dropped the man they were holding and sputtered. "Christ, only you could make a midnight murder awkward, Benny."

"Murder?" Benny raised his eyebrows and looked from side to side theatrically. "Who said anything about a murder? All I saw was some dreamboat and the best apple butterer of New Vegas playing back alley bingo, officer."

The courier's eyes narrowed. "Not gonna rat me out? Tell the King or somebody that I'm..."

"What, taking a page out of the White Glove Society's book?" Benny held his hands up. "None of my business. Well, if you ever come for me with that look in your eyes, though, that'll be a different story."

"Not much you'd be able to do," the courier pointed out. "You already tried and failed to kill me once."

Ulysses: Rather than react like any normal wastelander might've upon encountering someone attacking a man with their teeth, Ulysses just stood there, taking the scene in. "Heard tales of a tribe like you. East, farther east than even I've walked... a coven hiding in tunnels, emerging only when their hungers grow too strong to ignore, strong enough to pull blood from the veins of the world around them."

"Well, I don't hide in tunnels." The courier grimaced and heaved their victim up over their shoulder, depositing them unceremoniously in the dumpster. "Unless some disgruntled Frumentarius sends me out to hunt mutants under Hopeville."

"Perhaps you have more in common with those predators than I assumed," Ulysses admitted. "But then, your path has always run red. Blood of the Old World, blood of the new, blood of the Bull and the Bear..."

The courier rolled their eyes as they peeled off their red-stained coat and tossed it in the dumpster as well. "Don't talk to me about blood. I know you've seen just as much as me, but it doesn't mean the same thing when I look at it."

Ulysses cracked a hint of a smile. "You see life where I see death. Two sides, courier."

"Yeah, yeah. If you're not going to try to kill me, come on. You can wax poetic and lecture me about which road I'm walking while I take a shower."

Joshua Graham: "A creature far from God," Graham said in his most reproachful tone. "Forever damned for the souls of the innocent they've taken from the earth. Aren't we a pair, courier."

"You can fuck right off with that attitude." The courier dropped the man they were holding and wiped their hands on their coat. "He tried to kill me first. For some caps."

"The crimes of others do not absolve you of your own sins, courier," Graham continued, leisurely retrieving his gun from its holster. He held it up in the muted neon light that filtered through the alley, turning the weapon this way and that. "Though I confess I am also looking for absolution in this way."

"Are you going to kill me?" the courier asked, eyeing the gun as well.

"I've no doubt it would leave this world better than when you walked it," Graham replied. "But my own opinions are not enough to seal your fate. Perhaps we should find this man's family and hear their feelings on the matter."

The courier took a step forward, then another, until their chest was right up against the pistol's muzzle, pressed against the fabric of their shirt. "Go ahead. Try."

And though Joshua Graham was sorely tempted to pull the trigger, though the courier made no move to stop him, something in their eyes... some faraway pain, older than the desert itself, fresh as the blood on the ground, stayed his hand.

He lowered the gun, chastised, and the courier walked away.

Robert House: The Securitron that bore Robert House's face on its screen leveled a minigun at the courier. "Whoa!" the courier protested, dropping their victim and putting their hands out. "Can't we talk about this?"

"And what have we to discuss?" House sounded absolutely disgusted. "I believe you're familiar with my contract with the White Glove Society. If they wish to continue their current prosperity in New Vegas, cannibalism is strictly forbidden. You are subject to the same terms and conditions, as one of my employees."

"Terms and condi- hold on, hold on, you never asked me whether I was a cannibal," the courier replied. "Are you talking about that document you had me sign, way back when I agreed to help you fight the NCR and the Legion?"

"The very same."

"How is that fair? That thing was over 200 pages long, I didn't grow up in the 21st century, I don't have a degree in... okay, okay." The courier waved their hands. "Cannibalism is a no-go. This isn't cannibalism, this is vampirism."

"Which falls under the definition of cannibalism," House replied, his annoyed tone still detectable over the sound of the minigun spinning up. "Section 3.65, subsection F. Next time, read the fine print."

Caesar: The Legion's great leader pivoted in an instant from surprise to quiet anger. "Clean yourself up, courier. I expect to see you in my quarters within the hour."

He turned and left the alley swiftly, letting his powerful stride and swinging cloak cover his shaken confidence. The people of Freeside cowered as he passed, shrinking into the shadows as he made his way back to the Strip, but the fear in their eyes was not enough to erase the image of the courier bent over in bloodlust, holding their victim in total subjugation.

The courier found him on the top floor of the Lucky 38, gazing out over the city he had conquered and named his Rome. "Leave us," Caesar bid his Praetorian Guard. They bowed and departed the room without question.

"You asked to see me," the courier said nervously, shifting their weight from foot to foot. They had changed clothes, and no trace of blood remained on them.

"I did." Caesar beckoned them to the window next to him. They stood in silence for a moment, watching the lights wink below.

"I'm a well-read man, courier," Caesar said finally. "I know the legends of the Old World, and I recognize the marks of one of their nightmares in you. I order you to tell me the truth: Do you fit the full definition of the creature they called 'vampire,' or do you simply mimic the things to add to your fearsome affect?"

The courier didn't answer right away. When they did, their voice was soft. "I pretend to be nothing. I am what I am."

"And everything that comes with it?" Caesar pressed. "Darkness, the blood of the innocent, eternity?"

"Yes."

Caesar turned to face them fully. "Then I, Almighty Caesar, command you to make me as you are."

Yes Man: "Now that's a twist I didn't see coming!" Yes Man said, his happy tone only slightly tempered with uncertainty. "Boy, am I glad I don't have a circulatory system right now!"

The courier shushed the Securitron and looked around the alley surreptitiously. "Yes Man, I swear to god, if you blow my cover I'm disassembling you."

"As I've told you before, I can't technically die!" Yes Man reassured them. "And I certainly wouldn't want to endanger you and your hobbies, but my volume mixer is tied to my enthusiasm simulator and I can't adjust it! You'll just have to hope any passersby aren't interested in following my friendly voice into an alley!"

"Then go back to the Lucky 38 and we'll talk later," the courier insisted, through gritted teeth.

"I technically never left! But if you mean this Securitron, sure thing!" Yes Man zoomed away on his single wheel, whistling the whole way back to the casino where the rest of his consciousness was housed. He kept whistling as he ran probability algorithms, only pausing when the courier returned after a few hours and crossed their arms in front of his main screen.

"Hi there!" he said joyfully. "I've just been cross-checking Mr. House's records on noteworthy disappearances in the Strip, and I've flagged eight of them as potentially being connected to you! I don't want to assume your intentions, but if you don't want to be found out, I've developed a plan for choosing your next victims that will help you remain undetected in New Vegas for 184 years! Give or take a few!"

The courier put their head in their hand and sighed.

[pretchatta]

prompt: holiday

dave said it's my turn to write a moons of rion fic

rating: teen; kanan jarrus/hera syndulla; 2.4k words

---

The Outer Rim planet of Rion was a tropical paradise. Beaches, bars and breathtaking views covered its surface, and the sight of the planet in the forward viewport made Kanan sigh with longing. So close, and yet so far.

It felt like he and Hera had been working non-stop for the past year. Between keeping the Ghost in fuel, the galley stocked, and working other (less well-paid, but Hera would argue more important) jobs, Kanan would like nothing more than to spend a few hours relaxing somewhere – anywhere – with Hera. They were something now; more than simply captain and crew, but exactly what that was Kanan hadn’t had time to find out.

He wouldn’t any time soon, either. This mission wasn’t even taking them to Rion itself, but to one of its moons. A quick pickup and then they’d fly straight back to Lothal to deliver it, get paid, and then move onto the next job.

Kanan sighed. “Remind me what the cargo is for this one?”

“I don’t know,” Hera replied absently as she steered the Ghost in an orbital path around Rion. Their destination appeared from behind the planet, the oceanic moon a deep blue colour dotted with small green-and-white islands. Just beyond it, its populated twin was also visible. “Vizago paid extra for discretion, but he didn’t offer me the dangerous goods fee, so I assume it’s at least safe.”

Kanan grimaced. “We’re relying on the integrity of a smuggler. I feel so reassured.”

“We need the credits, love. We’ve barely got enough fuel to make this delivery.” Hera gave the fuel gauge a worried look as the Ghost entered the moon’s atmosphere and they began their descent. Below them, taking up most of one of the smaller islands, Kanan could see a landing platform growing larger.

Hera touched the Ghost down with barely a bump. Had Kanan not realised months ago that his days of drifting were behind him, he knew he would find it very difficult to return to his old lifestyle. There were several comforts that came from crewing on the Ghost, the smooth landings being just one.

“Alright, let’s load up and get going.” Hera hit the ramp controls and led the way out of the cockpit.

Spaceport was a generous term for what greeted them outside. The battered landing platform was barely large enough for two ships, even though it took up most of the solid ground on the island, and the only permanent structure was a dilapidated single-storey hut. It looked like it was cobbled together from scrap, with the exception of the shiny solar panels stretched over the roof and the comm dish mounted haphazardly on one wall.

There were no windows, but the front door stuttered open as Kanan and Hera emerged from the Ghost. An ancient-looking prototype droid emerged, hobbling out towards them with slow, fitful steps.

“Welcome to landing site R-M2-S04,” it called out to them. Its mechanical voice was decidedly tinny. “I am C0-R4, the overseer droid for this location. Thank you for leaving your transponder on. Your ship has been identified as the Ghost.”

Droid-supervised transactions weren’t uncommon in their line of work. The handoffs were usually in remote locations like this one, and it was much cheaper to leave a droid to wait around than an organic being.

“We’re here to pick up Vizago’s shipment,” Hera told the droid.

“That is correct.” C0-R4 gave a jerky nod. “Your cargo will arrive in two days.”

“What?” Hera exclaimed. “Two days! We were told to come today, and that this job was time-critical!”

“Cikatro Vizago apologises for the unavoidable delay, but he understands that you have a fast ship.”

Hera glared at the droid, though Kanan knew her ire was in fact directed at their unreliable employer. “And what exactly are we supposed to do for the next two days?”

“I am not programmed for leisure itinerary planning,” it replied in its monotone. “I will be in low power mode until the shipment arrives. Good day.”

With that, the protocol droid turned and hobbled back into its hut. Hera stared after it in disbelief. Kanan, meanwhile, felt hope blooming in his chest.

“I know you’d rather get on with the job,” he said slowly, trying to keep his voice neutral, “but given our fuel situation, it looks like we’re staying in this system for the next two days. And since Rion’s right there…”

She turned to him with one eyebrow raised. His face must have shown more than he realised, because her eyes softened with sympathy.

“Kanan, I’d love to spend a few days on Rion with you, but we don’t have enough fuel to get there,” she said apologetically. “We barely have enough to take off and make it back to Lothal.”

Kanan was not deterred. “Okay, what about the Phantom? It has a separate fuel tank – we could take it to one of the resorts, stay for a few days and be back in time for the pickup.”

Hera shook her head. “I should probably siphon the Phantom’s fuel into the Ghost. We’re going to need it if we want the extra speed to make Vizago’s deadline.”

Kanan sighed. The captain's decision was final. “Fine. I guess we’re sitting here for two days eating stale rations. Hopefully the Ghost’s water purifier can handle the seawater.”

“Wait, rations? Don’t we have enough food?”

“We might have a couple dehydrated meal packs, but I was going to stock up when we got back to Lothal.”

Hera frowned. “I guess this is going to be a long two days.”

“It doesn’t have to be…” Kanan’s mind was racing as a new idea formed in his head. “Could you leave just enough fuel in the Phantom to make one trip to the other moon? It’s populated, and it’ll take less fuel to take off from because of the lower gravity. And right now it’s closer than Rion itself. I still have a few credits – not enough for fuel, but we could pick up some supplies, and then spend the next two days just relaxing here. It’s not exactly a luxury resort getaway, but it’s better than nothing.”

Hera looked unconvinced. “I don’t know…”

“Come on, Hera, we’ll still be able to make the delivery,” he pleaded. “And this way we can enjoy a few days of downtime! We’ve got nothing else to do, and it’s not like we’re going to get any trouble from the Empire out here.”

He could see her resolve wavering, and then–

“Okay, fine.”

Kanan resisted the urge to punch the air as she turned to walk back up the Ghost’s ramp.

“Chopper,” she called up to the cockpit, “work out the best course to the other moon, and be nice to the navicomputer this time! Then I want you to initiate a fuel transfer from the Phantom to the Ghost. Leave enough to make the trip to the other moon, Kanan and I will be going on a supply run when we get back.”

The old astromech blatted a question back at her from somewhere above them. Hera looked back at Kanan.

“We’re going for a walk,” she replied. “You’d hate it, you’d just get sand in your joints.”

Chopper made a rude noise, which Hera ignored.

“A romantic stroll along the beach, huh?” Kanan said, putting an arm around her waist.

“If we’re doing this, I should at least try to relax, and it seems like a good start.” Her arms snaked over his shoulders and around his neck, allowing him to pull her closer. Their noses brushed, lips an inch apart, but Kanan turned his head at the last moment to kiss her cheek instead.

“In that case…” he murmured against her earcone, and then dropped to his knees in front of her and gently lifted one of her knees. Hera complied, allowing him to raise her foot and slip her boot off it.

“You’re overdressed,” he continued. “Unlike Chopper, we can enjoy the feeling of sand between our toes.”

He finished removing her other boot, and looked up to see her smiling fondly down at him. He quickly shed his own boots, leaving both pairs just inside the cargo hold, and as an afterthought added his gloves. Hera did the same, allowing Kanan to take her bare hand and lead them back outside.

The beach was only a few steps away, and they strolled leisurely over the sun-warmed sand towards the brilliant blue water. Above, the odd fluffy white cloud floated in the teal-blue sky as the late afternoon sun shone down on the island. A faint breeze blew in from the sea, cooling the air and bringing with it the smell of salt.

Kanan ran his thumb over the back of Hera’s hand as a sense of calmness washed through him. Hera was right; the walk was a great idea. The sand was soft under his feet and with every step he could feel his body relaxing.

They stopped at the water’s edge, letting the waves lap at their toes. The water wasn’t exactly warm, but neither was it cold. They stood there for a few moments in comfortable silence, enjoying the tranquility.

Hera bumped her shoulder against Kanan’s. “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t think I would have let myself have a break if I’d been on my own, but… I needed this.”

He raised his eyebrows in mock astonishment. “Are you saying what I think you're saying?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “You were right, dear.”

He smirked, and then leaned down to kiss her. She rose onto her toes to meet him. As with every time their lips met, Kanan felt a jolt of electricity through his stomach; he didn’t think he’d ever get used to kissing Hera Syndulla.

They resumed their walk, following the coastline. Doing a full circuit of the island wouldn’t take long. As far as Kanan could tell, there was no wildlife on this moon, but the lapping of the waves and the slide of their feet over the sand made for a perfect soundtrack.

“So, do you have anything in particular you want to pick up on this supply run?” Hera asked him.

“I thought we could get some fancy caf,” he replied, “y’know, since we're on holiday. And then something simple to eat that we could have on the beach.”

“That sounds good to me.”

He turned to give her a look. “We may be on a budget, but I like to eat out.”

She only managed to keep a straight face for a few seconds before laughing.

They were distracted from further conversation by a wide rock formation on the far side of the landing platform. Several meters tall at its highest point, it looked like it was made up of numerous pillars of dark stone, jutting upwards out of the ground and ending in flat, irregular shapes. The lower ones around the edge held small pools of water from the last high tide, but they were taller towards the middle and beyond a certain point the tops were smooth and dry. The beach continued around the edge, the sand stretching between the rocks and the sea, but the Ghost and the overseer droid’s hut were hidden from view.

They approached the rocks with interest. Kanan was only half-aware of Hera’s hand slipping out of his as he went to examine one of the rockpools and so didn't notice the mischievous look that had come over her face. By the time he realised she was no longer beside him, she had already removed the outer layer of her flight suit and folded neatly atop one of the dry pillars. He could only watch, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, as she quickly and methodically worked on the rest of her clothing.

Hera carefully added her cap and goggles to the pile she had formed and then looked up at him. His heart beat faster at the sight of so much bare green skin. With a coy smile, she held his gaze as she slipped her underwear off and let it join the rest of her clothes.

“Fancy a swim?”

She didn’t wait for an answer; Kanan wasn’t sure he was capable of giving one. She turned and ran over the beach, lekku streaming behind her, splashing into the water until it was up to her neck.

She turned back to him and yelled “Well? Are you coming?”

It was enough to jolt him out of his shock. He’d left his armour behind today, so his shirt came off easily. The rest of his clothes followed in a somewhat messier pile than Hera’s, but creases weren’t on the forefront of his mind at that moment.

Kanan took off at a sprint towards the sea. When he was about halfway to the water he leapt, giving himself an extra push that made it higher and further than a leap any ordinary human should have been able to make. Tucking his knees into his chest in mid-air, he hit the surface with a splash, sending a wall of water over Hera. The cool water enveloped his body with swirls of white and blue. He kicked at the sandy sea bed to surface next to Hera, who was sputtering in protest.

Kanan wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.

“You did invite me in,” he reminded her. His sodden hair was slicked back against his head and water dripped from the end of his nose. Further droplets ran over Hera's bare head and down her lekku, adding to the patterns already there.

“I didn’t ask for a tsu–”

He cut off her complaints with a wet kiss. She relaxed in his arms a second later, though he knew he had’t gotten away with it; she’d be planning her payback for later. He smiled against her lips and felt her mouth curve upwards in response. It really had been too long since they’d been able to just let go like this, to enjoy their time together and not have any pressing worries or responsibilities.

The kiss deepened, and Hera’s legs wound around his waist. Whoever's idea this had been, he thought to himself, it was definitely a good one.

[nekoannie-chan]

Cookies

Pairing: Brock Rumlow X Reader. 

Word count: 1082 words. 

Summary: Brock did something wrong, no one mess with your stuff.

Warnings: some smut references, not very explicit.

A/N: This is my entry to the @yikeswtfmate ‘s Ellie’s 700 follower celebration with the dialogue prompt #9:

“Damn right I’m pretty.” 

“I said petty”.

And my entry to the @buckyssoul ‘s Rae Hit 1K Marvel Writing with the quote prompt #17:

“What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is also mine”. 

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

You opened the cupboard and smiled at the see that there was a closed box of your boyfriend's favorite cookies, you took it, opened it and started eating them, and it was going to be an act of revenge that you were ultimately planning on enjoying.  

You turned on the TV and eating the cookies, you knew that Brock would soon arrive at the house, but you would try to run them out before he came back, even though you didn't care if he caught you, so he'd understand he shouldn't mess with your stuff.

He went out with his friends, who you didn't seem to like, it wasn't something you cared about, he loved you and you knew it, so everything was fine. Yes, you knew what they were saying about you, everyone seemed like a very weird couple because you were completely the opposite; he is serious, cold and calculating, you are always smiling and affectionate, you radiated an air of innocence, you were always in a good mood, on the contrary, he always seemed to be badass, but what no one knew was that you knew each other so well, that you knew the weaknesses of the other, what liked and other things.

You couldn't say for sure how it had happened, but somehow you fell in love with each other, so you didn't care what they said about you.  

To avoid any kind of trouble he went out with his friends when he wanted and you with yours, you trusted each other so there was no problem.

You put your favorite horror movie and opened another one of the packs that brought the box, one by one, savoring every bite, a part of you blat fully wanted Brock to come in at that moment and see you, another not so much, rather you thought you were outdoing yourself.

By the time the movie was over, there were no more cookies in the box, you got up and took the trash out of the house to take it to the dumpster, so there was no longer any evidence that instilled in you, but you were planning something better as revenge.  

You lay down on the couch to watch the next movie, but you fell asleep, so you didn't notice or hear when Brock arrived, when he saw you there he took you to bed and tucked you in.  

The next morning when you woke up you thought you'd continue your revenge, you started preparing breakfast, and Brock came down and opened the cupboard looking for something

"Baby girl, what about my cookies?" he asked.

"I don't know, it should be in the cupboard," you replied.  

You didn't take your eyes off what you were cooking while you were trying to contain your laughter, you didn't want to give yourself away, and you were glad to see him ‘suffer.’  

"Y/N" Brock called you.

"Brock."

"Where are my cookies?" he asked again.

"I told you, they must be in the cupboard, if you probably ate them and you're so old so you don't remember what you do," you made fun of him.

"You ate them, didn't you?" he questioned.

He went to where you were, turned off the stove, and took you off your shoulders to turn around and keep you in front of him.  

"You ate all my favorite chocolates," you complained. 

"I apologized and bought you another one," he replied.

"And? That wasn't enough, I had to get even," you counterattacked. 

"Seriously, you hid them, didn't you?" he inquired.  

You weren't cruel or vindictive with him, so I thought you were joking and hid them somewhere in the house.  

"No, I didn't lie to you, I ate them, all the ones in the box, one by one, they tasted delicious," you replied with malice.

You were enjoying what was going on.  

"Why did you eat them? I replenished your chocolates, we were okay," he complained.  

"No, we weren't, you just replenished it because I complained, not on your initiative or because you regretted it," you clarified. 

"I can't believe it, Y/N.”

“What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is also mine”

You smiled, he knew, you didn't even care if you were behaving childishly anymore.

“Petty” muttered between grumpy teeth.

“Damn right I’m pretty,” you said by spanking your ass yourself and smiling.

“I said petty,” he said again.

He walked away from you and kept looking in the cupboard, he was still hoping that you were joking, after a few seconds he lost it. He was so focused he didn't even notice when you approached him.  

"But you love me,” you murmured in his ear.

You squeezed one of his biceps and with your other arm you hugged his back, he knew what you were going to try to do, but he wasn't going to let himself be convinced so easily, now it was his time to get revenge.  

"Y/N's not going to work for you," he said firmly in an annoying voice. 

"When I go to the supermarket I replenish them, I promise you," you answered in a childish voice

You started stroking his arm and kissing her neck.  

"I hope this doesn't affect me that you promised me to adopt a puppy," you whispered. 

"Y/N..."  

He walked away to stay in front of you.

"You promised me" you reminded him of trying to give little jumps to kiss his beard; he was taller than you.  

“Yes, if anything, you'll have your puppy, because I promised you, but you're not going to disgruntled me so easily,” he alleged.

You thwarted your lips that seemed more of a challenge.  

"You know I love you very much, don't you?" you said as a finger you stroked the muscles of your pecs above the shirt.  

He let go of a growl, he was pretending to play hardball, but he had always found it impossible to resist you.

"And I love you because you are very strong and sexy in all S.H.I.E.L.D.,” you continue.

You kissed his arm and carried on to the neck, while with one hand you kept stroking his chest and the other was coming down.  

"Forgive me, babe, I didn't think you'd get so angry, I just wanted you to feel the same way I felt," you explained without stopping your actions.

He was already reaching the limit of his attempt to resist, if you continued he could not contain himself.  

"To hell, you need punishment," he bluffed.  

"As you wish, Commander,” you said, laughing.  

He lifted you on his shoulder to take you to the bedroom, breakfast could wait another bit, now I had to teach you a lesson. 

[ameryth74]

Louis **** Title Generator Tool

** **** it 

LOL.... go!

Two letter words:

There are 107 acceptable 2-letter words listed in the Official Scrabble Players Dictionary, 6th Edition and the Official Tournament and Club Word List:

AA, AB, AD, AE, AG, AH, AI, AL, AM, AN, AR, AS, AT, AW, AX, AY, BA, BE, BI, BO, BY, DA, DE, DO, ED, EF, EH, EL, EM, EN, ER, ES, ET, EW, EX, FA, FE, GI, GO, HA, HE, HI, HO, ID, IF, IN, IS, IT, JO, JU, JY, JZ, KA, KI, KO, LA, LI, LO, MA, ME, MI, MM, MO, MU, MY, NA, NE, NO, NU, OD, OE, OF, OH, OI, OK, OM, ON, OP, OR, OS, OW, OX, PA, PE, PI, PO, QI, RE, SH, SI, SO, TA, TE, TI, TO, UH, UM, UN, UP, US, UT, WE, WO, XI, XU, YA, YE, YO, ZA

Two letter contractions: I’m, I’d

Four letter verbs:

abet, abut, abye/aby, ache, alit, ally, ante, arch, aver, avow (10).

baby,  bach, back, bade, baff, bail, bait, bake, bald, bale, balk, ball, band, bang, bank, bant, barb, bard, bare, barf, bark, base, bash, bask, bate, bath, bauk, bawl, bead, beam, bean, bear,    beat, beck, bede, beef, been, beep, bell, belt, bend, bent, bere, best, bias, bide(archaic usage), biff, bike, bilk, bill, bind, bird, birl, birr, bite, bitt, blab, blat, blaw, bled, blet, blew, blip, blob, blot, blow, blub, blue, blur, boak, boat, bode, body, boff(vulgar usage), boil, boke, bomb, bond, bone, bong, bonk, boob, book, boom, boot, bore, born, boss, boun, bowl, brad, brag, bray, bred, brew, brim, buck, buff, bulk, bull, bump, bung, bunk, bunt, buoy, burl, burn, burp, burr, bury, bush, busk, buss, bust, busy, butt, buzz (117).

ca-ca, cage, cake, calk, call, calm, came, camp, cane, cant, card, care, carp, cart, case, cash, cast, cave, cede, cere, chap, char, chat, chaw, chid, chin, chip, chop, chow, chug, chum, cite, clad, clam, clap, claw, clay, clew, clip, clog, clop, clot, cloy, club, clue, coal, coat, coax, cock, code, coif, coil, coin, coke, comb, come, comp, cone, conk, conn, cook, cool, coop, cope, copy, cord, core, cork, corn, cosh, cost, coup, cove, cowl, crab, cram, crap, crew, crib, crop, crow, cube, cuff, cull, curb, curd, cure, curl, curr, cuss (90).

dado, daff, damn, damp, dang, dare, dark, darn, dart, dash, date, daub, dawn, daze, deal, deck, deed, deem, defy, deke, dele, demo, dent, deny, dial, dice, died, diet, dike, dine, ding, ding, dint, dirk, disc, dish, disk, diss, dive, dock, doff, dole, dome, done, doom, dope, dose, doss, dote, dove, down, doze, drab, drag, draw, dray, dree, drew, drip, drop, drub, drug, drum, duck, duel, duet, dull, dumb, dump, dung, dunk, dupe, dusk, dust, dyke (75).

earn, ease, echo, eddy, edge, edit, emit, envy, espy, etch, even, exit (12).

face, fade, fail, fake, fall, fame, fard, fare, farm, fart, fash, fast, fate, fawn, faze, fear, feed, feel, fell, felt, fend, fess, fete, feud, file, fill, film, find, fine, fink, fire, firm, fish, fist, fizz, flag, flap, flat, flaw, flay, fled, flee, flew, flex, flip, flit, flog, flop, flow, flub, flux, foal, foam, foil, foin, fold, fond, fool, foot, ford, fork, form, foul, fowl, frag, frap, fray, free, fret, frig, frit, fuel, full, fume, fund, funk, furl, fuse, fuss, futz, fuze, fuzz (82).

gaff, gage, gain, gait, gall, game, gang, gaol, gape, garb, gash, gasp, gast(obsolete), gate, gaum(US), gave, gawk, gawp, gaze, gear, geld, gibe, gift, gild, gill, gimp, gird, girt, give, glad(archaic), glom, glow, glue, glug, glut, gnar, gnaw, go by, go on, goad, golf, gone, gong, goof, gore, gown, grab, gray, grew, grey, grid, grin, grip, grit, grow, grub, gulf, gull, gulp, gush, gust, gybe, gyre, gyve (64).

hack, haft, hail, hale, halo, halt, hand, hang, hare, hark, harm, harp, hash, hasp, hast, hate, hath(archaic), haul, have, hawk, haze, head, heal, heap, hear, heat, heed, heel, heft, held, helm, help, hent(obsolete), herd, hewn, hide, hike, hill, hint, hire, hiss, hive, hoax, hock, hoke(slang), hold, hole, home, hone, honk, hood, hoof, hook, hoop, hoot, hope, horn, hose, host, hove, howl, huff, hulk, hull, hump, hung, hunt, hurl, hurt, hush, husk, hymn, hype, hypo (74).

idle, inch, iris, iron, isle, itch (6).

jack, jade, jail, jape, jazz, jeep, jeer, jell, jerk, jest, jibe, jilt, jink, jinx, jive, join, joke, jolt, josh, juke, jump, junk (22).

kayo, keek(Scots), keel, keen, keep, kept, kern, kick, kill, kiln, kilt, kink, kiss, kite, knap, knew, knit, knot, know (19).

lace, lack, laid, lain, lair, lake, lamb, lame, land, lard, lark, lase, lash, last, lath, laud, lave, laze, lazy, lead, leaf, leak, lean, leap, lech, leer, left, lend, lens, lent, levy, lick, lift, like, lilt, limb, lime, limn, limp, line, link, lisp, list, live, load, loaf, loan, lock, loft, loll, long, look, loom, loop, loot, lope, lord, lose, lost, loup(Scots), lour, lout, love, lube, luck, luff, luge, lull, lump, lure, lurk, lust, lute, lyse (74).

mace, made, mail, maim, make, mall, malt, mark, marl, mart, mash, mask, mass, mast, mate, maul, maze, mean, meet, meld, mell, melt, mend, meow, mesh, mess, mete, mewl, miff, milk, mill, mime, mind, mine, mint, mire, miss, mist, moan, moat, mock, moil, mold, molt, moon, moor, moot, mope, moss, move, muck, muff, mull, mump, muse, mush, muss, must, mute (59).

nail, name, near, neck, need, nest, nick, nigh, nill(obsolete), nock, nose, nosh, note, nuke, null, numb (16).

obey, ogle, oink, okay, omen, omit, ooze, open, oust, over (10).

pace, pack, page, pain, pair, pale, pall, palm, pang, pant, pare, park, part, pash(Austral), pass, pave, pawn, peak, peal, peck, peek, peel, peen, peep, peer, pelt, pend, perk, perm, pick, pike, pile, pill, pimp, pine, ping, pink, pipe, piss(vulgar), pith, pity, plan, plat, play, plod, plop, plot, plow, plug, pock, poke, pole, poll, pond, pool, pore, port, pose, post, pour, pout, pray, pree, prep, prey, prim, prod, prog, prop, puff, puke, pule, pull, pulp, pump, punt, purl, purr, push, putt (80).

quad, quip, quit, quiz (4).

race, rack, raft, rage, raid, rail, rain, rake, ramp, rang, rank, rant, rape, rase, rasp, rate, rave, raze, razz, read, ream, reap, rear, reck, redd(dialect), rede(archaic), redo, reed, reef, reek, reel, rein, rely, rend, rent, rest, re-up, rice, rick, ride, riff, rift, rile, rill, rime(archaic)/rhyme, ring, riot, rise, risk, rive, roam, roar, robe, rock, rode, roil, rolf, roll, romp, roof, rook, room, root, rope, rose, rout, rove, ruck, ruff, ruin, rule, rush, rust (73).

sack, said, sail, sale, salt, sand, sass, sate, save, sawn, scab, scam, scan, scar, scat, scud, scum, seal, seam, sear, seat, seed, seek, seel, seem, seen, seep, sell, send, sent, sewn, shag, sham, shed, shim, shin, ship, shit, shoe, shog, shoo, shop, shot, show, shun, shut, sick, side, sift, sigh, sign, silk, silt, sing, sink, sire, site, size, skew, skid, skim, skin, skip, slab, slag, slam, slap, slat, slay, sled, slew, slid, slim, slip, slit, slog, slop, slot, slow, slub, slue, slug, slum, slur, smut, snag, snap, snip, snow, snub, snug, soak, soap, soar, sock, soil, sold, sole, solo, soot, sorb, sort, soup, sour, sown, spae(scottish), spam, span, spar, spat, spay, spec, sped, spew, spin, spit, spot, spud, spur, spurn, stab, stag, star, stay, stem, step, stet, stew, stir, stop, stow, stub, stud, stun, suck, suds, suit, sulk, sung, sunk, surf, swab, swag, swam, swan(brit), swap, swat, sway, swig, swim, swob, swop(brit)/swap, swot, swum, sync (155).

tabu, tack, tail, take, talc, talk, tame, tamp, tang, tank, tape, tare, task, taut, taxi, team, tear, teem, tell, tend, tent, term, test, text, thaw, thin, thud, tick, tide, tidy, tier, tiff, tile, till, tilt, time, tine, ting, tint, tire, toil, toke, told, tole, toll, tomb, tone, tong, took, tool, toot, tope, tore, torn, toss, tote, tour, tout, tram, trap, tree, trek, trim, trip, trod, trot, trow(archaic), true, tube, tuck, tuft, tune, turf, turn, tusk, twig(Brit), twin, twit, type (79).

undo, urge (2).

vade, vail(archaic), vamp, vary, veal, veer, veil, vein, vend, vent, vest, veto, vide, view, vine, visa, vise, void, vote (19).

wade, waft, wage, wail, wait, wake, wale, walk, wall, wane, want, ward, ware(archaic), warm, warn, warp, wash, waul, wave, wawl, wean, wear, weed, ween, weep, weet, weld, well, welt, wend, went, wept, were, wert(archaic), wham, whap, whet, whid(Scottish), whip, whir, whiz, whop, wick, wile, will, wilt, wind, wine, wing, wink, wipe, wire, wise, wish, wisp, wist, wite, wive, woke, wolf, wont, wood, woof, word, wore, work, worm, worn, wove, wrap, writ(archaic) (71).

x-ray (1).

yack, yank, yard, yarn, yaup, yawn, yawp, yean, yell, yelp, yerk, yeuk, yock, yoke, yowl, yo-yo(informal), yuck (17).

zero, zest, zinc, zing, zone, zonk, zoom (7).

IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT

(yes there are 28 ITs)

[tracksterman]

After a quick, local 45km blat this morning to test the rear hub, I decided to look inside the front hub this afternoon - and was pleasantly surprised. This is the cheap, poorly sealed cup’n’cone job that originally came with the CAAD8 Sora. I’d serviced it early on, predicting it wouldn’t last long, then promptly forgotten about it. It’s still in acceptable nick so, after a thorough degrease and clean-up, I loaded the bearings back in with new grease (pic above, right). What do I take away from this? Maybe my perception of loose bearings is coloured by my MTBing experience of the early 1990s, constantly servicing gritty hubs, headsets and pedals to stop them seizing up. It seems even cheap modern hubs with loose ball bearings can last if you grease them adequately before extended use. I now wish I’d done that with the rear Tiagra hub and, in the unlikely event of my buying a cup’n’cone hub again, the first thing I’ll be doing before I put it on the bike is open it up and pack it full of heavy duty marine grease.

[cathy360atx]

There is literally no way to pick one favorite flavor from The Chicken Salad Shoppe. I tried this weekend! I love them all, but Texan and BLAT are tied for first! I cannot recommend this place enough. Grab a sampler pack and a loaf of bread for the perfect picnic! Also, try their vanilla bean lemonade. Regular lemonade will never measure up!! (This is not an ad, I'm just a HUGE fan) https://www.instagram.com/p/CF8Vc8llxzg/?igshid=1d0djq67rfvm7

[wireslide]

Losing

In which a spy becomes a shaman on accident (which sort of goes with the art challenge for day 2?) and loses his tiny metal son.

@doitsuki psst it ya boi

When the Legion ships dropped the reavers on Draenor, he knew he was going to die there. It didn't matter that he'd successfully infiltrated one of the small communities outside the well-colonized area of Karabor, it didn't matter that he'd made certain to send all of his reports on time despite the considerable risk of being caught. His masters, the Man'ari, Lords of the Burning Legion, had left their spy to die. When the world started breaking under the direct fire of the ships, he heard some screams louder than others. The force of them split his head, sent him running from the little town he'd settled into with his fingernails digging through his scalp and blood running into his eyes. Deafened by the screams, blinded by his own blue blood, he neither saw nor heard the blacksmith who had taken him in run after him and dissolve in a stream of overbright green light. He tripped on the rising fracture of land beneath his hooves, stumbled, found solid earth beneath him and kept running. His head felt like it was bursting, the screaming was louder and he was starting to recognize individual traits in each voice; the dizzying shriek of a whirlwind, the deafening crack of shattering stone, the piercing shrill of a fire burning too hot, the bone-jarring thunder of crashing waves. He stumbled again, vomiting, and tasted blood and acid. He forced himself to his hooves again, not so much running as fumbling forward at as fast a pace as he could manage. He felt like his bones were breaking; a glance down at his hand told him he might not be wrong, but closing one into a fist did not hurt nearly so much as the screaming in his head; one hoof split and he felt the fracture tear it way up his leg, but he kept going, kept trying to escape. The Legion and its many deaths did not frighten him as much as those primal voices, the breaking of his body didn't hurt like the pain they shared with him. Draenor was dying, they screamed as they neared him, but damned if they would die with it.

He lost count of how many times he fell and got back up, didn't even realize when he couldn't and just kept crawling, but the survivors were inevitable, and as he watched his shattered, swollen hands clutch feebly for purchase on the ground in front of him, he knew they had arrived. They slammed into him with force; terrified refugees throwing themselves at a lifepod that was too broken to take flight. He felt every cell in his body simultaneously explode and crystallize, and thought a wistful goodbye to his life as everything turned black and green around him. _______________________________________________ The sound of tiny pistons woke him, the light clatter of mechanical feet pushing pebbles about made him groan. Or try to. Everything hurt, and he could find no strength to push air through his vocal chords. He was no longer entirely sure he even had them; he felt as though his body had burned and crumbled away already. Cool, sweet juice touched his lips, and suddenly he was pristinely aware of every break in his bones, every torn bit of skin. Three of his organs were ruptured, a quiet burble in the back of his mind informed him, and he would be best served by not moving. He swallowed the juice out of reflex, and the cool liquid soothed his throat on its way through. He couldn't see, but after a brief moment of panic, he realized there was a damp scrap of cloth over his eyes. As soon as the flow of the juice stopped, he drifted off again in a sea of pain. _______________________________________________ It had been years, the timepiece on the tiny reaver told him, years since Draenor had broken beneath the Legion, years since he'd gone further out of his cave than to fish or gather lakefruit. Years since he'd seen another living soul. He glanced down at the tiny reaver, reaching down to pat its head and soothe the soul of the child powering it. As usual, it wanted no comfort, and threw a rock at him. He chuckled. "They need a living world, Masher," he told the tiny machine gently, "and the Portal is open now. I will find a way to sneak through, and perhaps they will leave me to rest peacefully. Wind keeps waking me up at odd hours to stand on hilltops and it's gotten really annoying." He grinned when the tiny construct blatted out an agreement. "What does it bother you, little one? You don't sleep." Masher threw another pebble at him, then pointed northeast and stomped one foot. The earth beneath it puffed up dust and cracked slightly, and he reached down to smooth the crack back together with his thumb. "I'm going, little one," he assured, smiling, "are you ready to go?" He gestured to the carry pouch they'd managed to put together from poorly-tanned hydra hides and lake weeds. "I know you hate it, but it'll be a much longer walk if you go afoot. I don't know how to repair your rocket boosters." Or anything that had broken or worn down on the tiny killing machine, he lamented, but it was probably for the best since Masher probably wouldn't have saved him had it been at peak performance. Beeping and blatting in protest, the tiny reaver climbed into the pouch, and he pulled it onto his back. His head rocked forward as Masher struck him the instant he was in range. "I know, I know," he laughed, "you hate me and you wouldn't have saved me if you'd known I couldn't fix you." He picked up his walking staff--giving the large, raw blue diamond embedded in it a quick glance--and set off towards the Dark Portal with a sigh of resignation. "Remind me again why we live in a cave in a giant swamp?" He winced when Masher struck him again, feeling for each step in front of him with the end of his staff. "That's great, Ubaati, complain to the metal-bodied creature about the damp conditions you live in. Good job." _____________________________________________ The Portal was well-guarded, but not by servants of the Legion as he was expecting. There were strange pink and tan--and some purple!--skinned bipeds holding back the demons from the large steps leading up to the swirling green-edged aperture. They were accompanied by large, furred creatures with an apex predator's paws and broad wings. Their beaks looked as though they could have torn armor from a world reaver, and their screams alone drove hesitation onto the faces of at least one entire company of dreadlords that he could see from where he hid. He nodded, watching. Clearly the bipeds served these fierce predators. He even caught a glimpse of several of them helping set and heal the wing of one, off behind the large tents they had set atop the stairs. He would have to find a way to appeal to these massive killers, and his fish stock was running low. He slid off his pack, letting Masher free itself and stomp around a little. "I'm going to bring them some fresh kill," he whispered to the little reaver, "stay here and make sure they don't fly away." He headed back east, to where he had seen boars rooting around in the thin dirt. It might exhaust him to cleanse the fel from their flesh, but if it bought him transport, it would be energy well spent. He felt a roil of resentment within him and internally told the Water hiding in his flesh to shut up. Fire let out a curl of amusement, and Earth backed it up with a rumble of its own. He smiled faintly. They tended to side with him. There--a boar grunting as it nosed broken clay aside in search of a half-bared root. He lifted a hand and called to Earth; a spike of clay, hardened to steel-density by the force of his will, shot upward and buried itself in the boar's skull. It barely had time to start its death scream before it fell to it knees, held up by the rock jutting from its head. He approached it cautiously--he had learned quickly upon coming to this land of red clay and fel curse that the animals here knew how to play dead victim--but once he was assured of its demise, he settled a hand on its side and reached out to Water. And reached. And reached, until Water had no way to continue eluding him and he grabbed hold of it, yanking it down his arm and shoving it into the dead boar, pushing the fel contamination out of it until he could pull the creature off the now fel-soaked spike that killed it and give it a good once over. He sighed. He could easily fit his fingers between the ribs clearly jutting out under the thin skin. He was going to need at least five of these to make a decent meal for one of the majestic predators. Damn the fel for making things seem so much larger than they actually were. He stood back up--the dead boar lifted on a crackling column of air behind him, and he sent the element a quiet thought of gratitude, which only earned him the elemental equivalent of a noncommittal shrug. Air informed him that his success meant their freedom, so it was in all the elements' best interests to help him. He squinted to see if he could get an idea of where to find another boar--and dove forward, lashing out with Earth and Fire, as a huge gust of backdraft pushed him forward. The biped on the back of the predator yelled, pulling it safely out of the way of the wild shot, before bringing it down for a landing and holding up both hands. It said something incomprehensible, frowned, spoke again in another tongue, then sighed and pointed to the boar floating behind him. It then pointed down at the head of the majestic creature allowing it to sit astride the tawny shoulders, then back to the boar. Air moved the offering forward, but still just behind Ubaati as the exile gestured to himself, then pointed towards the Portal. Slowly, the biped nodded. Air settled the boar gently down before the predator's hungry beak. It tipped its head at the offering, separated one hind leg from the corpse, then tore into its meal. The biped slid down, dragging the leg away and looking at Ubaati again. It settled a thick fingered hand on the beard covering its chest. "Talgrin," it offered, then rubbed its hands together and held them over the haunch, looking at him questioningly. The exile sighed, touching his fingertips to his chest. "Ubaati," he responded in kind, then offered the shorter biped a  crystal blade with which to skin the leg. He gestured to the meat when Talgrin stared blankly at the knife, then sighed again and set about dressing their meal. "Just because we live in the wild does not mean we eat like barbarians," he informed the smaller person brusquely, stripping the skin off in a swift motion after working the edges free. He reached out to Earth, who made a pit with a large, flat stone on it, then Fire, who heated the stone. He settled the leg on the stone and rubbed his bloody hands with dust. Talgrin grunted something and stumped over to plop down beside him to wait for their meal to cook. He took a long drink from a flask, then offered it. Ubaati took a slight sip, grimaced, and handed it back to the hairy biped's obvious laughter. "Alcoholic drink will dehydrate you faster than just going without water," he told the creature stiffly, "and out here, kill you faster than the Legion." He let Talgrin's laughter die and simply turned the meat over to prevent it from burning. When it was done, they ate, with the massive predator half-bird watching over them and punctuating their silence with the cracking of boar bones. Earth buried the remains, and Talgrin pointed him into the saddle, while the tiny biped sat in front of him on bare fur. "Gryphon," Talgrin told him seriously, patting the pristine white feathers on the creature's neck. "Gryphon," Ubaati repeated obediently, gripping the large, stylized saddle horn pressing into his gut. Gryphon launched into a run, sending him slamming back against the too-short saddleback and nearly breaking his spine. The ground speed was intimidating; when the massive wings spread and they began to leave the ground, he almost threw up on Talgrin's head. Air lifted them with concentrated precision, and the huge predator glanced over the length of its back as if to pass on thanks. He was definitely heavier than Gryphon's usual, diminutive load. They wheeled over the dusty valley, then headed straight for the Portal. Ubaati grabbed Talgrin's arm, pointing down to where he'd left Masher. The hairy biped nodded, pressing Gryphon's neck lightly with the reins. They began to turn. He saw the fist from the World Reaver as if in slow motion; his mouth wouldn't move fast enough to warn Talgrin or Gryphon. The smaller biped slipped from Gryphon's neck and Ubaati's hands closed on air behind him. Gryphon's scream of pain lasted hours. He felt his leg shatter and knew that the beautiful creature's ribs had also crumpled beneath the blow. He leaned over the saddlehorn and grabbed fistfuls of feathers, turning Gryphon back toward the Portal directly. Masher would be okay, he told himself, Masher is Legion technology and they would repair the little reaver properly. Or scrap him entirely, the voice that whispered the thought belonged neither to himself nor any of the elements, so he tried to shove it aside. Gryphon screeched again as one wing folded; without the structural support of his ribcage, the wing did no good. He spiraled downward, heading for the great stone steps at alarming speed. Ubaati begged Air, releasing the saddlehorn to hold both palms forward. They slowed. Not enough. Gryphon's neck snapped as he struck the stairs; the exile tumbled off his back, tail over horns, and stopped under the heavy weight of a tawny, clawed foot. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was another small, hairy biped with yellow-pink skin.

[thathomestar]

“Hey Zavala, wanna know what a transmat zone on the Dreadnaught looks like?” “You landed a Guardian on the Dreadnaught without authorization?!” “Oh right. Can I have authorization?”

Destiny is a first person shooter crossed with MMO elements made by former Halo developer Bungie and released in 2014 by Activision. While Destiny had a shallow launch and a lukewarm reception in it’s first year, it’s since had two mission packs and two full fledged expansions that have really helped the game come into it’s own. If you passed Destiny by on it’s launch, or dropped it within the first year, maybe it’s time to give it another chance!

BEFORE WE BEGIN...

There’s two things you ought to know before I lay down what Destiny is about. The first is that Destiny requires an online connection to play, and also requires a paid subscription to Microsoft’s Xbox Live or Sony’s Playstation Plus to play any of the online/matchmaking content, like co-op Strikes and Crucible PvP. The second is that the Xbox 360 and Playstation 3 versions of Destiny have stopped receiving support and updates since August 2016. However, you can transfer your save file to the next-gen version of your respective platform (but not across different platforms), and keep your characters and progress.

This can be a dealbreaker for some, especially the always online thing. It’s just how the game is. If you buy the game new physically, it typically comes with a free 30 day online trial though.

With that out of the way, let’s get into this proper.

EYES UP, GUARDIAN

You have been dead for centuries.

Long after the the collapse of humanity from their Golden Age, a small diamond-shaped drone floats around the remains of Old Russia, searching for something. For someone. As luck would have it, that someone is you. As the curious robot resurrects you from death, it bestows you with Light and explains that it is a Ghost, born from the Traveler’s dying sacrifice to protect humanity from those who seek to destroy it.

You make your way to The Last City, and begin your journey to fight against the biggest threats mankind has ever known.

At it’s absolute core, Destiny is a fairly standard modern first person shooter. It kinda controls like a slower-paced Call of Duty, what with the aim-down-sights and the sprinting and all that. That’s not to say it’s a bog-standard controlling game, far from it. If you played Halo 3 or Halo Reach, then you already know that Bungie are the masters of high quality core mechanics. Destiny’s gunplay feels effin’ great. Running and jumping has a good weight to it, and the many, many guns are all fun to shoot for the most part.

Where Destiny really starts to come into it’s own is with the different classes. While they don’t play that differently at a core level, the three classes wield their Light in different ways, in the form of three unique subclasses that only they can use. Each subclass based off of the elemental damage types in the game. Arc is Lightning, Solar is Fire, and Void is Gravity/Dark Energy.

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HUNTER

Armor: Medium

Recovery: Low

Agility: High

Jump Type: Double Jump

Class Item: Cloak

Hunters are scouts, exploring the wilderness and carving their own path. Quick but relatively fragile, Hunters are generally all about either staying back and picking off targets from afar, or jumping in, doing damage, and getting out before retaliation comes. The Hunter subclasses are:

Gunslinger (Solar): Summon your Golden Gun, a three-shot revolver, and rain fire on your enemies

Bladedancer (Arc): Wield the Arc Blade and cut down any who stand before you

Nightstalker (Void): Fire the Shadowshot bow and tether your foes to weaken them and restrict their movement

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TITAN

Armor: High

Recovery: Medium

Agility: Low

Jump Type: Lift

Class Item: Mark (butt towel)

Titans are the defenders of the Last City, patrolling the Wall and stomping out anything that might pose a threat to humanity. Titans can typically take more punishment than the other classes, so more often than not just jumping in the fray and drawing attention (or outright killing the enemy) is a good strategy. The Titan subclasses are:

Striker (Arc): Slam the ground with Fists of Havoc, wiping out everything surrounding you

Defender (Void): Spawn your Ward of Dawn, a protective bubble shield that provides your allies with various buffs

Sunbreaker (Solar): Throw the Hammers of Sol at your foes, causing them to erupt into flames

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WARLOCK

Armor: Low

Recovery: High

Agility: Medium

Jump Type: Glide

Class Item: Bond (bicep band)

Warlocks have dedicated themselves to understanding the true potential of their Light. Kinda like cross between a scholar and a mad scientist. Warlocks are kind of in the middle of the Hunter and Titan as far as playstyle goes, but the sheer power of their abilities give them an edge above others. The Warlock subclasses are:

Voidwalker (Void): Hurl your Nova Bomb to obliterate any enemy caught in it’s blast

Sunsinger (Solar): Fill yourself with Radiance, greatly reducing your grenade cooldown time and, fully upgraded, allows you to resurrect yourself after death

Stormcaller (Arc): Activate Stormtrance and become Emperor Palpatine, shooting lightning from your fingertips

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While different classes can’t wear each other’s armor, weapons aren’t tied to classes outside of a small handful of specific ones, so no worries on missing out on those. Obviously there’s more to the subclasses than just their super abilities. Each subclass gets a choice between three grenade types, three jump augments, three melee augments, etc. With this system, there’s quite a few ways to play a single subclass!

When you initially begin the game for the first time, you’ll be prompted to pick a class and create a character. You can choose between the Human, Awoken, and Exo races. Humans are, well, human. Awoken are humans who underwent a strange transformation while trying to escape the Collapse, for unknown reasons. Exos are sapient war machines, constructed for a long forgotten conflict during the Golden Age.

Aside from race, you can also choose your face shape, skin color, eye color, hair and hair color, and various markings. Be aware that you cannot change your class or appearance after finalizing your choices, so make sure you’re happy with what you have!

In Destiny, there’s two different levels you have to keep track of: your Character Level and your Light Level.

As you kill enemies, complete quests, or turn in bounties, you gain experience. Gain enough experience, and you can level up your Character Level. Leveling up doesn’t honestly do a whole lot in Destiny outside of letting you wear better gear and access more difficult missions, as the gaining of experience itself is what levels up your subclasses and gear perks. The Character Level cap is at 40.

Your Light Level, AKA your gear level, is determined by the average of the various Attack and Defense scores of your gear. While you’re still leveling up your Character Level, your Light Level doesn’t matter as much, as you can just equip whatever has a bigger number. After you hit the Character Level cap though, your Light Level is what determines how much damage you can deal and how much damage you can take. The Light Level cap is at 400.

So how do you get better gear? The main way is through these curious shapes called Engrams. Occasionally when you kill an enemy, an engram will fall out of them for the taking. While you’re able to see what equipment slot the engram will be for, what’s actually inside is a complete mystery until brought to a Cryptarch. When given to one, they will decode it, turning it into a piece of gear, and give it back to you. The quality of engrams goes like this:

White - Common

Green - Uncommon

Blue - Rare

Purple - Legendary

Gold - Exotic

Of course, there’s other ways of getting gear, but this is the main method. If you have some form of colorblindness, there are options in the game that color these things and other HUD elements differently to help you out.

WEAPONS OF LIGHT

With the general gameplay, this is what you’ll be seeing for the most part. Your health/shields are at the top, and there’s a motion tracker at the top left. The bottom left has your more critical information, like your current ammo and your ability cooldown timers.

I’m not gonna go over what buttons do what, considering the game’s first mission is also a tutorial that goes over all that, but I will tell you how to switch between your three weapons, since I don’t think the game ever outright tells you. Switching between your first and second weapons only requires a single press of the Triangle/Y button, but switching between those and your third weapon requires you to hold down the button.

Pressing the select/back/whatever Xbox calls that button or the touchpad on PS4 brings out your Ghost. Doing so lets you view your current objective, view any quests or bounties you’re tracking, return to orbit, or summon your Sparrow (a speeder bike type of vehicle).

I suppose I ought to go over the kinds of weapons you’ll get to use in Destiny as well. Weapons are separated into three categories: Primary, Secondary, and Heavy.

PRIMARY

Auto Rifle: Pretty standard assault rifle. Hold the trigger, and it’ll keep firing.

Scout Rifle: Semi-auto. Fires one shot per trigger pull.

Pulse Rifle: Fires in three round bursts per trigger pull.

Hand Cannon: More than enough to kill anything that moves. The amount of rounds in the chamber isn’t just limited to six shots either!

SECONDARY

Shotgun: Close range, large spread. Most shotguns are pump-action, though a few specific ones can be fired rapidly.

Sniper Rifle: Long range, big scope. Aim for the head.

Fusion Rifle: They’re kind of like a close-medium range shotgun that you have to hold the trigger to charge up.

Sidearm: SPACE GLOCK BLAT BLAT BLAT

HEAVY

Machine Gun: Hold the trigger, lay waste to anything in your vision.

Rocket Launcher: Good for clearing groups. Watch out for the splash damage.

Sword: SWISH SWISH SWOOSH

Different “archetypes” exist for the various weapons. An example of this would be one Auto Rifle having a high fire rate, a large magazine size, but low impact, and another Auto Rifle having a low fire rate, a small magazine size, but higher impact.

Like I mentioned in the image above, unlocking gear perks requires you to just go out and gain experience. Once unlocked, you need to slot in some materials and money to actually acquire the perk for the weapon. Planetary materials are found on the various planets, either as a raw collectable out in the wild or in chests that randomly appear in the various zones. You can also get them as rewards for completing specific events or bounties.

KEEP YOUR FRIENDS CLOSE

Let’s talk about your allies as well. You have friends out in the world, eager to help supply your crusade.

THE TOWER

Watching over the Last City is The Tower: home of the Guardians. This is will be your main base of operations. Many different factions and vendors reside in The Tower, supplying Guardians with the tools they need to fight against the hordes of Darkness.

The Vanguard are the main coordinators of efforts against the various things that threaten mankind. Commander Zavala, the Titan Vanguard, is the main leader of the group, with Warlock Vanguard Ikora Rey and Hunter Vanguard Cayde-6 supporting him and offering their consultations. Together, they help train new Guardians, sell class specific gear, and offer radio support during some missions.

Complete bounties and patrol missions, and you’ll rank up with the Vanguard, which scores you a free faction package full of Vanguard-flavored goodies.

Lord Shaxx rules over The Crucible, a warground that pits Guardians against each other as a way to train them and test their mettle. Shaxx sells Crucible-styled gear and offers Weekly Crucible bounties. He also personally acts as the Crucible’s announcer for all matches, and is known for being very... enthusiastic. Many legends have risen by making a name for themselves in The Crucible, and rising in the ranks yourself can earn you Crucible Packages, as well as gear that can only be obtained as an end-of-match reward.

Resident Gunsmith Banshee-44 aims to keep Guardians supplied with the arms they need. Alongside selling guns, he also sells upgrade materials and ammo packages, offers special weapon orders, and has a field-testing program. Field test enough guns, and Banshee will offer you a Gunsmith Package as a reward.

Xander 99-40 is the Bounty Tracker for the Tower. Accepting and completing the daily bounties are an essential way to make money, gain experience, and get faction reputation. Initially you only have Vanguard and Crucible bounties to pick from, but after getting to the higher Light Levels, Elite Vanguard bounties also become available. Check back every day for more bounties to complete!

Aside from the Vanguard, in which you are automatically enrolled into, there exist three joinable factions for you to choose between. They each have their own political agenda, and they each offer their members exclusive gear you can’t get anywhere else. You can only be a member of one of them at a time, though you can leave and join them without any consequences. You can only change factions once a week.

The New Monarchy aims to bring back the lost glory of the Golden Age, and seek to establish the leadership that will do so. They are fiercely loyal to the City, almost to a fault. Their colors are Red and White.

The Future War Cult believe that all-out warfare with The Darkness is an inevitability that must be faced, and seeks to arm any who decide to pledge their allegiance. At least, that’s what they say. Their colors are a deep Purple, with stripes of Gold, White, and Red.

Dead Orbit believes that humanity must abandon Earth and The Traveler, and find another planet to inhabit altogether. They believe that the Darkness can be escaped, and that hiding beneath the Traveler will doom them all. Their colors are Black and White.

Ranking up in the factions is the same as the Vanguard and the Crucible, for the most part. Complete bounties, go on patrol missions, or compete in Crucible matches in their name, and you’ll get their Faction Packages as well.

Amanda Holliday is the local shipwright, performing maintenance on all assortments of Guardian vehicles. She also sells ships and sparrows for you to buy. During the wintertime, she’s the organizer of the Sparrow Racing League, where Guardians compete in high-speed races for prizes and glory.

Once a month, the Iron Banner is brought forth by Lord Saladin. The Iron Banner is a Crucible event that only the strongest will prevail in, and be rewarded with unique gear. What sets it apart from the normal Crucible is that the higher level you are, the more of an advantage you have. This is different from the Crucible, where players of unequal levels can still compete equally against each other. Gain enough reputation during Iron Banner week, and you’ll be able to buy exclusive gear from Saladin.

The Speaker has resided in the Last City long before the first walls were ever formed. He preaches of the Traveler, how it blessed the Guardians with Light, and how protecting it and reviving it are the only hope for The Last City, and all of humanity. Alongside issuing the occasional quest, he also sells Class Items, Ghost Shells, and trades in various special upgrade materials.

These are but a few of the allies you’ll come to know in your journey. The Tower isn’t the only place you’ll get to visit, after all. Know them well, and they will help you through your darkest times.

THE DARKNESS CONSUMES YOU...

Outside of the City’s protective walls, on Earth and throughout the Solar System, is an intensely dangerous environment, crawling with hostile alien forces who all too eager to finally snuff out what remains of humanity.

There are four major alien races in Destiny that you will encounter, each one visually distinct and structurally different from each other.

FALLEN

The Fallen are a race of four-armed pirates and scavengers, ruthless and cutthroat. Different factions, called houses, exist within the Fallen in the Solar System, each one flying different colors. The houses all have different views on how to approach their battles with the other races, and while they can feud with each other, they generally work together to fight for their kind. Fallen typically only really appeared around Earth, but they have since started showing up on other planets around the Solar System as well. The Fallen you encounter will consist of:

Dregs: The low-tier grunt of the Fallen. Small in stature and hardly ever armed with anything more than a pistol and a grenade. The worst they can honestly do is get in your face and try and cut you with a knife. Dregs are hardly ever a problem, and go down very easily.

Shanks: Sometimes the Fallen deploy Shanks, unmanned drones that hover around and generally annoy anyone it fires at. Shanks go down extremely easily, but there are variants to them that can be extremely dangerous if not dealt with.

Vandals: The next tier up in the Fallen chain of command. Vandals take on a variety of roles as far as combat goes, from distant snipers to medium-range foot soldiers to up-close-and-personal with cloaking stealth tech and dual swords. Certainly not a foe to underestimate.

Servitors: Another machine the Fallen deploy, Servitors are big floating spheres that mainly act as support for the other troops, giving them a minor buff and shooting from afar with it’s eye. Servitors are quite tough and take quite a bit of damage to go down.

Captains: The head honchos. Captains lead the charge with a variety of weapons and fearlessly attack any who oppose them. They’re also equipped with a regenerating shield and a short range teleport, so they can be a bit slippery as well. Captains come in various sizes as well, based on their political role within their house. The largest Captains in order of political power are Kells (House Leader), Archons (House Priest), and Barons (House Shipmaster).

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HIVE

The Hive are almost a complete antithesis to Light. They are an ancient race, pre-dating humanity by millions of years. Made of bone and chitin, shrouded by Darkness, and infested with worms, Hive are intensely bloodthirsty and will do anything and everything they can to consume Light. The Hive have almost completely overrun Earth’s moon and carved miles upon miles of underground tunnels into it, and have started assaults on Earth. The Hive you’ll encounter consist of:

Thralls: The cannon fodder of the Hive. Thralls are almost always in large groups and will rush down their enemies to tear them apart with their claws. However, they are extremely brittle and go down with not much effort.

Acolytes: The HIve’s main foot soldiers. They’re a lot like Dregs, honestly, though their weapons are quite a bit more lethal. They go down fairly easily.

Knights: The elite infantry of the Hive. Tall, imposing, and tough as nails. Knights are typically either equipped with a grenade launcher type of weapon or a huge sword. Sometimes, after taking enough damage or seeing a grenade heading their way, they will summon an impenetrable Wall of Darkness to hide behind, which also lets them regenerate a little bit of health. Knights are a force to be reckoned with.

Wizards: The schemers of the Hive. Wizards fly around the battlefield and fire successive blasts of high-damage energy from a distance, as well as lay down clouds of poisonous smoke near them. On top of this, they have a regenerating shield. When their shield depletes, they will flee to cover and wait for it to recharge before coming back out. Wizards are a huge threat, but they are not as tough as Knights.

Ogres: Hulking monstrosity. Ogres are said to be formed from Thrall that have undergone experimentation from Wizards. Regardless, Ogres are huge in size and can take a significantly large amount of damage. Their main way of dealing damage is shooting a rapid fire beam from their giant eye, as well as slamming the ground if you get too close.

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VEX

The Vex appear as bipedal robots for the most part, though their entire race is a hivemind machine. They’re essentially cyborgs: their bodies are all mechanical and are controlled by a brain of liquid mush in the abdomen area. The overall goal of the Vex is to convert everything into the perfect machine. They ritually convert entire planets into machines, for purposes unknown. On top of all this, they also have limited control over the flow of time. The Vex mainly reside on Venus, though they have recently been seen trying to gain a foothold on Mars as well. The Vex you’ll encounter are:

Goblin: The grunt of the Vex. Goblins are typically found in groups and basically act as a distraction away from the more powerful units. They go down easy. Shooting off their heads sends them into a frenzy, and they’ll try and rush you down.

Hobgoblin: The snipers of the Vex. Hobgoblins keep their distance and snipe from afar. If they sustain enough damage they’ll lock themselves down, becoming immune to all damage for a short time. Really annoying to deal with.

Minotaur: The heavy infantry of the Vex. Minotaurs are equipped with grenade launcher type weapons and use short-range teleportation to close the distance between them and their foes. Minotaurs also have no specific weak point you can target for critical damage, unlike most other enemies. They’re protected by a regenerating shield, as well.

Harpy: Quick and speedy, Harpies act as flankers, giving covering fire for the rest of the Vex troops. They are extremely weak and go down very easily. That being said, their shots do quite a bit of damage, so be careful around them.

Hydra: Less common but tough to kill, Hydras are large machines sporting a rapid fire energy bomb launcher and an impenetrable shield that slowly rotates around them. Even in death, their bodies explode with enough force to kill an unaware Guardian.

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CABAL

The Cabal are a race that only knows war and conquest. Their appearance resembles a weird anthropomorphic rhino, but in the shape of a Space Marine from Warhammer 40k. Their culture completely revolves around waging war and conquering territory, to the extent that they are not allowed to return home until they achieve victory. The Cabal are masters of attrition warfare, able to continue fighting long-term conflicts to the bitter end. They’re currently occupying Mars, mining it for resources. The Cabal you will see are:

Legionnaires: The common soldier of the Cabal. Equipped with jump jets and a heavy carbine, Legionnaires are typically front and center, constantly positioning themselves to give their squad an advantage.

Phalanxes: The defense of the Cabal. Phalanxes hold a large shield that they plant in front of them to use as cover while they fire at their targets. They’re more dangerous up close, as Phalanxes can swing their shield at you, more often sending you flying to your death.

Centurions: The leaders of the Cabal. Centurions have the command over their troops, but keep their distance to fire from afar with their launchers. They use their jump jets often, constantly looking for advantageous positions to fire at you from. They have a regenerating shield that protects them, as well.

Colossi: The heavy infantry of the Cabal. Colossi are clad in extremely thick armor that allows them to shrug off even the most damaging of attacks. Not only this, but they’re equipped with heavy machine guns and a backpack that can fire homing missiles. However, all this equipment makes them very slow. These guys are no joke.

Psions: Unlike the other Cabal, Psions are small and agile. While they are fairly weak and attack with a fairly weak weapon, they can employ a shockwave attack that does quite a bit of damage if you get hit with it. The higher rank the Psion, the more damage the shockwave can do.

NO TIME TO EXPLAIN

There are many stories that are told in Destiny. Unfortunately due to the nature of how the game was developed, most of them did not make it into the actual game. Instead, these stories are relegated to Grimoire Cards. The Grimoire is essentially a database of various information in Destiny, whether it’s more mundane stuff like a brief bio on a character or something grand in scale, like the entire written history of an enemy faction.

Unlocking Grimoire is fairly easy: just play the game. Whether it’s getting kills with certain guns, finding Dead Ghosts and reactivating them, or obtaining new pieces of gear, these things typically contribute to some counter that will reward you with a new card. However, Grimoire can only be viewed on Bungie.net (or on the Destiny app), and only after linking your Bnet account to your PSN ID or XBL Gamertag.

Of course, if you want to read these stories without having to unlock all of these (after all, the more interesting ones are often quite a pain to get), there’s many sites online that just have all that information compiled. Is it a shame that this stuff isn’t in the game? Absolutely, it’s one of Destiny’s weaker aspects that the interesting lore and world-building is hidden away outside of the game.

But that doesn’t mean it isn’t there, and that it doesn’t have some influence over the game. There’s a lot of great stories in there, from the diary of the humans who first encountered the Traveler to the philosophical quandaries of the Vex Simulations, from the Faction Wars that waged within the City to Osiris and his heretical ventures to find the truth between the Light and Dark.

There’s also small stories like how Cayde-6 once briefly fought alongside a Fallen Captain against a swarm of Hive, or how Lord Saladin was once thrown like a javelin straight into a Fallen Walker tank. And then there’s stuff like the Fallen’s tale of the Great Whirlwind, the Hive’s Sword-Logic, or the Vex and their Vault of Glass.

It’s all quite interesting if you take your time to sink your teeth into it. But you have to be willing to go out and find it for yourself.

THE AGES OF DESTINY

Destiny first hit the shelves on September 9th, 2014. This game was hyped up to hell and beyond, in that kind of “No Man’s Sky” way that it could have never exceeded expectations. It was billed as this huge, sprawling game where you can go anywhere and do anything.

In reality, the campaign was pretty short, and there wasn’t much to do after that besides grind for better gear. The leveling system and gear level stuff used to be much more convoluted as well (leveling your character level past 20 required gear with higher Light Levels). All in all, Destiny was not so hot on release.

The first event was Queen’s Wrath, which happened a few weeks after Destiny’s release. Petra Venj, an emissary for the Awoken Queen in The Reef, offered special bounties and gear for those willing to give her some of their time. It briefly returned a week before the House of Wolves add-on was released.

The Dark Below came out on December 9th, 2014, just a couple of months after the initial launch. I wouldn’t call it a full expansion, but more of a DLC mission pack kind of thing. A new character, Eris Morn, has escaped the pits of the Hive on the Moon and brings a terrible tale: Crota, the Hive Prince, is coming back. It added a few new missions, a new raid, a new faction, some new gear, a new level cap of 32, and some minor tweaks. A modest add-on, but pretty much just more of the same.

The House of Wolves was released on May 19th, 2015. The Awoken in the Reef have requested the help of Guardians to hunt down Skolas, a Kell who has escaped their Prison of Elders, in new missions and strikes. It introduced the Sidearm genre of weapons, and increased the level cap to 34. This is also where Destiny started to actually develop it’s own personality.

The reclusive Awoken have opened their gates to Guardians, and the Vestian Outpost, a new social area in The Reef, can be accessed. The Prison of Elders itself is now a new wave-based PvE mode that can award huge prizes for those who hold a Treasure Key. Fight four waves in arenas based on the different enemy races, and then fight a final boss!

Alongside this is a weekend-only PvP event called the Trials of Osiris, which pits teams of three against each other. Respawning is disabled, you must be revived by a teammate to jump back into the fray. Kill all three opponents, and the round is yours. Win three rounds, and you win the game. Win nine games without a single loss, and you can gain access to the coveted Lighthouse on Mercury and score some extremely rare gear.

Destiny’s first major expansion, The Taken King, arrived one year after release on September 15th, 2015, and is almost effectively a new game in of itself. Oryx, God-King of the Hive, has heard of the fall of his son Crota, and has traveled to the Solar System to take revenge. Alongside an entirely new campaign of missions, strikes, and a raid, there’s also a new area to explore: Oryx’s Dreadnought.

TTK also brought with it major changes to various mechanics in the game. The new Character Level cap was 40, and Light Level, capped at 320, is now it’s own thing instead of being tied to the Character Level. Three new subclasses were introduced, as were Swords. Also introduced was a proper Quest system, where you can keep track of quests in an actual quest log. Believe it or not, quests were not really a thing in Destiny until TTK came out. Crazy.

However, the main new addition was the Taken, in which all existing enemies now have remixed Taken version of themselves, with entirely new attacks and AI. This essentially doubled the number of different enemies there are to fight in the game. Of course, alongside all of this was a huge slew of new gear to acquire. There’s also a new gear slot called Artifacts, which, I’ll be honest, doesn’t do a whole lot.

Later in October of 2015 was The Festival of the Lost. This Halloween event let players collect and wear masks, as well as complete a new quest. It also returned the following year in 2016, with new masks to collect and a new quest to complete.

During the winter in 2015 was the Sparrow Racing League. Players could race their Sparrows through two tracks, and get prizes like new Sparrow-related racing gear and different Sparrow horns to honk.

The racing itself is based on gates that racers must pass through in order to maintain maximum top speed. Miss a gate, and your overall top speed goes down a notch until you pass through another gate and gain that speed back. Going through gates also gives you more boost energy you can use to sideboost around tight corners or obstacles.

On the week of Valentine’s Day 2016, the Crimson Days event went down. A special 2v2 Crucible playlist could be played, and cute candy-themed Ghost shells could be obtained. This event did not return in 2017.

On April 12th, 2016, an update aptly named The April Update was released. The Light Level cap was raised to 335, and the Prison of Elders got a Taken update. A level 41 version of PoE was introduced, as well as Challenge of the Elders, which requires a special sigil to play. You also no longer need a Treasure Key to access the big treasure chest at the end.

It also introduced new gear called Chroma, which can be outfitted with a neon underglow, and Desolate, which is colored like the Taken are. It also updated some first year Legendary gear to be in line with the new Light Level system. All of this was completely free!

The Rise of Iron expansion came out on September 20th, 2016. Lord Saladin has left his post at the Iron Banner to stop a threat he thought had been long dead. The Fallen have gotten their hands on SIVA, a self-replicating nanotechnology able to consume and rewrite matter extremely quickly, and Saladin has employed Guardians to stop it.

Rise of Iron not only features a new campaign and raid, but a new social area, the Iron Temple. The Cosmodrone area on Earth is now under a thick blanket of snow, and a new area called the Plaguelands can now be accessed as well. New Fallen enemies called Splicers have appeared as well, having infused themselves with SIVA. A huge number of older strikes now have remixed versions of themselves as well.

This expansion also marked the sending off point for last-gen hardware, as the 360 and PS3 versions of Destiny did not get this. It wasn’t quite as big as The Taken King, but it still added quite a bit of stuff to the game.

2016′s winter event was called The Dawning. Alongside a few new little quests and some new gear, the Sparrow Racing League makes a return, featuring two new circuits and loads more Sparrow-themed goodies to get. It also introduced a new currency called Silver Dust, which let you buy all sorts of weird and specific items from the Silver Dust kiosk. Lemme tell you, SRL was a good way to rank up in the Crucible and quickly get good gear.

This finally brings us to Destiny’s final update, the Age of Triumph, which released on March 28th. This introduced new hard mode playlists for story missions, raids, and Challenge of Elders, as well as raid-specific loot to obtain. It also has a giant record book full of challenges and accomplishments to fill out.

SEE YOU STARSIDE

Destiny is one of those games I gave up on originally. I became bored of it a couple of weeks after launch. But when I picked it back up in March of 2016, I was kinda stunned to see how much better the game had become a year and a half later. I legitimately had a hard time putting it down. I eventually got my friends to get back into it as well, and we had a load of fun tackling the more difficult challenges in the game.

I dunno. After being such a dedicated Halo fan up until it changed hands, and after finding both Halo 4 and the original Destiny to be disappointing, I was feeling pretty down about Bungie and their 10 year plan for this new franchise. But I’m glad it bounced back, I’m glad I’m able to say that Destiny is a great game you ought to play, especially if you can find a good group to play the raids with.

If you’re going to buy the game, I’d recommend the “Destiny: The Collection” edition, as it includes all of the game’s content in one bundle. It’s regularly on sale for $40 or less for brand new as well. Buying it used might not be a good idea, as the codes for the expansions will likely have been used, requiring you to buy them digitally for full price.

If you only have a 360 or PS3, the Taken King version of the game comes with everything up until right before Rise of Iron came out and is typically less than $20, especially in Gamestops I’ve noticed. Plus, you can always move your character to the current-gen version of the game if you choose to upgrade in the future.

Regardless, please give Destiny a chance! I know Destiny 2 is on it’s way, but this game is also a good time and worth checking out. Thank you for reading!

[huntinggearsuperstores]

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