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monstersinparadise-saga · 8 months ago

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Crackpots & Flapjacks

Book One, Part Two of Monsters In Paradise

(Read Part One Here)

Paradise, Washington turns out to be not as far away as I thought. By the time the sun has fully risen, I’ve arrived on the crest of a hill. To my left the road continues on roughly the same elevation; I can see a residential area beginning to emerge. They’re nice houses, most of them two-story, painted in a lot of pastel colors that seem more endemic to a beach town than the side of a mountain. Some of them have boats in the driveways alongside pickup trucks and medium-size SUVs and hatchbacks, and most of the hatchbacks have kayaks strapped to the top. Outdoorsy town, I think, although I suppose around here you’d have to be.

Along the right-side path the road descends to follow a river emerging from below, a winding path that is still residential but with houses that aren’t as nice. They’re mostly one-story or ranch style, and gravel instead of driveway. There are a few shops down there too, although most of them still look dark. One eyesore sticks out: a neon sign like you’d see advertising a bowling alley, except instead of pins it depicts a stack of pancakes with a pat of butter on top, and a redundant word, HOTCAKES, above it.

This catches my attention for two reasons. One, any local gathering place is a good way to trawl for information for the three main questions I need to urgently solve: who I am, how I died, and how I’m now walking around. I don’t expect a diner to be a place I can get much traction on question number three, but it’s a start in the right direction.

Two, I am undeniably starving. So starving that I am completely unwilling to contemplate how I have no heartbeat but still need food. Chalk that up to the list of mysteries for after pancakes.

As I go to make my descent, the unmistakable sound of an engine comes up from behind me. I keep my head low, but a large navy-blue van rolls to a stop beside me anyway.

“Hey there, stranger!”

The speaker is another man, young, with wild-looking hazel eyes and curly blonde hair that is mostly shoved into a grayish baseball cap. He’s got a toothy grin, minus one tooth on the right side of his mouth. “Fancy seein’ you again! You out for a jog?”

Oh God, we’ve met. He’s as unfamiliar as everything else, but he’s the best chance I’ve gotten so far to figure anything out. “Oh, uh… yeah. Just getting a workout in, you know.”

“How’s the t-shirt treatin’ ya?”

He can’t mean the worn-out AC/DC t-shirt I stole from a morgue locker, can he? Did he give me a t-shirt? Does he sell them? “Great,” I say weakly, hoping the response won’t raise suspicion.

“You want a ride down to Flapjack? I’m headed there myself, and no offense man, but you look dead on your feet.”

Fighting the urge to laugh, I accept, and he pops open his passenger-side door. I slide in and try to scan as much as I can for context clues.

It’s an old van, a manual transmission with hand-crank windows. Despite that, it seems to be running fine, as the man putters down the steep hill. Hanging from the rearview mirror is some kind of work badge and something else; a small keychain with what appears to be a small stuffed-animal Bigfoot.

“Those didn’t sell well,” the man says mournfully. “Said it looked too much like a regular gorilla or somethin’. I gottem on sale still if you want one.”

Casting a look behind me, there are racks of clothes built into the interior of the van, along with crates stacked on the bottom. From here I can see a few different designs, paired with bold, all-caps slogans like “I WANT TO BELIEVE” and “RESPECT THE LOCALS”, overlapping creatures’ silhouettes.

Well. That answers a few questions.

I decide to play my odds. “Remind me, what was your name again?”

He flashes that grin as the road levels out, bringing us to the strip of shops along the river. “It’s KP! And you’re – wait, wait, wait, don’t tell me…”

He pulls into a small parking lot right below the neon hotcakes sign and frowns in concentration. I hold my breath, hoping for a lucky break. He sighs. “Dang it. Hold on…” Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a scrap of paper from his pants pocket. “That’s right! Max!” He flashes the piece of paper at me, which has the name and a ten-digit number scrawled into it.

“Ah, that’s right,” I said, relieved. “I forgot I gave you my cell number.”

“Well I hope it’s not your cell number, man, what use I got for that? Ain’t service out here for miles. This is your hotel number, right?”

“Right. Of course.”

We get out of the van and head into the diner, which I can see from the sign on the door is called Flapjack, depicted in old script like a classic baseball team. A bell rings as we walk in – there aren’t too many people here, but KP waves to a woman at the counter. “Mornin’, Kris.”

“Morning, Kay! Usual?”

“Yes, please, and whatever my new buddy here wants.” He flashes me a grin, adding to me, “Got a big tip on my route this morning.”

Perplexed at how a t-shirt and souvenir salesman has a ‘route’, I just slide into a seat at the counter next to him. The woman comes up to me – she’s probably college age, and not wearing any kind of uniform save for a name-tag that reads Krista. She hands me a laminated menu and pulls a pen and pad out of the back pocket of her light-wash jeans. “Whatcha feeling?”

“Pancakes, please,” I say, scanning the menu briefly.

“Comes in a stack of three. That good with you?”

“Perfect.”

“Bacon or sausage with that?”

Automatically I say, “Sausage.” Somewhere in the back of my mind I feel another wave of relief – it’s almost the first real thing I know about myself outside my name, and that I’m not from here. Max, whoever he is, likes sausage over bacon.

“Sure thing. Coffee?”

“Please.” Before she walks away, I think to ask one more thing. “Oh, hey – I uh, got a little bit turned around this morning, and for the life of me I can’t remember which hotel I’m staying at. Do you recognize this number?” I nod at KP and he fishes the note out of his pocket again, showing it to Krista.

She looks at me quizzically, but takes it anyway. “Sure; I mean, if you’re staying in town there really aren’t that many options.” She pulls out a small booklet from underneath the counter, which looks like some kind of recommendation list for tourists: local trails, activities, and presumably, lodging. It’s a very thin booklet. “Yeah, this is the number for Paradise Inn. It’s right next to the welcome center; you can’t miss it.”

I thank her and she returns to the kitchen to place our orders. I’m tempted to go running to the hotel right now, abandoning KP and pancakes to go investigate my room, but hunger and politeness get the better of me. Beside me, KP chatters. I’m able to gather from the chatter that at the very least he’s lived in Paradise a long time, and he carries on a number of odd jobs alongside hawking cryptozoological souvenirs, one of which is delivering weekly copies of the Cascadia Spectator newspaper to its subscribers in the nearby area. After checking in on a few other customers dining in the booths, Krista comes back to chat, too, setting down two coffees in front of us in heavy ceramic mugs. I take a sip – it’s bitter enough that even if pre-death Max didn’t take cream in his coffee, I decide he does now.

“Any sightings this week, KP?” She asks, waggling her eyebrows conspiratorially.

He shakes his head. “Naw. Some guy over in Lewis County tried to sell me that he seen a flyin’ saucer the other day, though. Swore up and down, til I pulled up the NASA reports and showed him it was just some space junk fallin’ outta orbit.”

“How’d he take it?”

KP snorts. “Guy kept insisting. Anyway, he got real mad when I didn’t pay him.”

Krista turns to me. “KP offers rewards for reports on sightings of weird stuff,” she explains. “UFOs, Bigfoots, stuff like that.”

“It’s just Bigfoot, Kris. It’s the singular collective, like how lots of fish is still fish.”

I smile. Suddenly I like KP a lot. “Got a high burden of proof, KP?”

“Sure do! I mean, anybody’ll do anything for a buck, you know? But folks still need motivation to come forward with stuff; they’re used to bein’ laughed at by the cops, or they’ve been intimidated by the Men In Black. But a fifty-buck reward will grease a lotta wheels.”

Krista disappears into the kitchen and returns with two steaming plates. She sets pancakes and sausage down in front of me, and a big omelette stuffed full of mushrooms, cheese, and peppers in front of KP, along with toast. KP takes a bottle of ketchup and squirts it liberally in a zigzag over his eggs, while I lather my breakfast with warm maple syrup.

“KP runs a blog,” Krista says helpfully. “The Watcher.”

“Been thinkin’ about a re-name,” KP says, mid-chew. “Not great SEO, if I’m bein’ honest.” He swallows, pointing his fork at a rack by the door. “Kris here’s probably the biggest fan; keeps printouts of articles by the door.”

While they talk, I try to eat as calmly as I can, but God in heaven these are good pancakes. Fluffy and tender and they taste like butter and a hundred-year-old griddle pan that someone’s been taking care of their whole life.

“It’s good for business,” Kris shrugs, though it’s clear from her expression that her interest isn’t purely pragmatic. “The more people come around looking for weird stuff, the more omelettes we sell. Besides, a lot more people like The Watcher than just me.”

“Just not people around here,” KP says under his breath.

I tilt my head between bites. “Locals aren’t a fan of you?”

“Naw. But it’s not their fault. This town was supposed to get a big leisure industry; there were plans for a big resort until not too long ago. But it all went belly-up.”

“Why’s that?”

“Protected species. Big population of – what was it, Kris?”

“White-tailed Ptarmigan,” Kris supplies. “It’s a kind of bird that makes its nest in the ground, and populations were found too close to the building site. In fact,” she adds, “It’s probably gonna stop damn near anything from being built around here for a long time.”

I nod slowly. “So people are sour about that?”

“Big-time,” says KP, now attacking his toast. “But I don’t care none. I looked up pictures of them birds; they’re cute – I’d rather have a Ptarmigan than a resort, anyway.”

Kris hums her agreement as the door swings open again. A dark-skinned young woman with her hair in long braids walks in, wearing a hoodie over what appear to be scrubs, paired with chunky sneakers. She walks behind the counter, giving a kiss on the cheek to Kris before pouring herself a mug of coffee.

“Hey, sugar. Long shift?” Kris asks.

The woman nods wearily. “Not too intense. Just a couple hiking accidents, mostly. And that flu going around.”

“You should really sleep before you study, you know,” Kris says, sliding her arm around the woman’s waist and giving her coffee a well-practiced stink-eye.

The woman doesn’t respond, just raises the mug to her lips – but she stops before she gets there, because she makes eye contact with me, and freezes.

Her recognition shocks me to my core. There’s something in her face; some combination of confusion, fear, and anger present on her face, though I can’t estimate how much of each.

There’s a big problem here, I can tell; and it’s one I can’t deal with until I know more about myself and why I’m here. I react, standing up quickly, leaving behind a quarter of a plate of pancakes and half a sausage link. “Thanks for breakfast,” I say to KP, before giving a short wave goodbye and setting off out the door, exhaling deeply as I leave the Flapjack Diner behind. A quick scan shows me that the welcome center, marked by a large flag, is up another small hill towards the mountain.

As I climb, the I see the silhouette of the Paradise Inn. A two-story, log-cabin-looking affair, it’s the picture of a quaint countryside hotel. There’s a parking lot with around eighteen spots, but only two of them are full. At the front desk, there’s a bald man with glasses leaning back in a swivel chair.

“Erm… hello. I seem to have misplaced my… room key,” I say awkwardly.

The desk guy raises an eyebrow. “Room number?”

“Uh…. Lost that too.”

“ID?”

“…You’ll never guess.” I smile weakly. “Left my wallet in the room.” God, I’m getting so tired of guessing and lying.

He snorts. “Mountain air got to your head, did it?”

“Actually, I took a fall on my run this morning. I’m fine, but, you know. A little fuzzy.”

“Well, I trust you know your name, at least,” the desk guy says, firing up an ancient-looking computer on the desk.

“Yeah. Max.”

“That’s right. Max. Paid cash.” He doesn’t ask a last name. Maybe it’s a small-town thing. “Right; you checked in a week ago. Room 12 – down the hall on the right.” He pulls a fresh key card from the scanner. “Try not to lose this one.”

I grimace. “Understood.”

The room, once I find it, has a Do Not Disturb sign on the door. “Guess I don’t like visitors,” I mumble to myself, before pressing the keycard to the lock and swinging the door open.

It’s spare in there – no television or anything; just a bed, a desk, a lamp on a small side table, and an old armchair. There’s a duffel bag on the bed, and again I’m disappointed as it fails to evoke any recognition. The clothes inside are basic – jeans, some plaid button-ups, the usual unmentionables.

The bed is mildly slept-in, but other than that, there isn’t much to go on. There’s an empty bottle of water and a crumbled wrapper from a gas-station sandwich in the trash can, but that’s it. As I’m about to tear my hair out in frustration, I realize – the drawer on the bed-side table is slightly ajar. I pull it open, and if I needed to breathe, the sight would have taken knocked the wind out of me.

There’s a wallet there, sure, but more pressingly – a sleek black handgun, and a badge with credentials.

FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION

SPECIAL AGENT MAX VALLER

“Oh, fuck.”

I pick up the badge, the weight of at least one mystery finally off my back. This is me. I have a last name, a job, a damn badge number. I could use the hotel phone and call the number listed right here and someone who knows me would arrange for me to get out of here, back to wherever I’m from, back to whoever might be missing me. I have a life, somewhere, and it’s right here in my hands.

Except.

Except I’m very dead.

I’m dead, but I’m not, and no one can know, or I’ll be stuck in a facility to be tested until whatever spark of life still within me is pulled out with tweezers. And then I’ll really be dead.

I’m sure of almost nothing, except for the fact that I really really don’t want to be really dead.

I shove the credentials back in the drawer and shut it. No one knows I’m dead, and it needs to stay that way.

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of crackling behind me.

“Hands up. Turn around. Real slow.”

I comply, as still as I can. It’s the woman with the braids from the diner, standing in the door that I stupidly left ajar in my fervor for answers. She’s holding a taser, and the look on her face tells me she’ll use it.

“You want to tell me what the fuck,” she says fiercely, “a corpse I put on a slab not three hours ago is doing walking around town?”

(Read Part Three)

#monsters in paradise #creative writing #original fiction #oc #original character #short story #bigfoot #cryptids #cryptozoology #monster of the week

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saolatoursvietnam · 4 months ago

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Explore the Wild Heart of Vietnam: A Journey into Its Biodiversity

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#tour operator #vietnamese tour

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scotianostra · 3 years ago

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On January 30th 1886 Elizabeth ‘Betty’ Mouat set sail from Grutness to Lerwick, on the Shetland Isles.

This is a great wee story about survival against all odds.

In 1886 the unmarried Betty Mouat was 59 years old. She supported herself by knitting and she lived with her half-brother’s family in the tiny hamlet of Scatness near the southern tip of the main island of the Shetlands, one of the most remote inhabited locations in the British Isles.

Her background was a tragic one – her father had died six months before her birth when the whaler he was serving on disappeared in the Arctic. Her poor luck continued – a cartwheel broke her leg, and she was once shot in the head by a man hunting rabbits. She herself had suffered a stroke in her late 50’s and it was probably for treatment of this she set out for the doctors surgery 25 miles away that January morning on the Columbine, a small cutter-rigged sailing craft that carried mail and passengers, on the journey she was bringing some forty hand-crafted shawls with her for sale on behalf of herself and neighbours. weather was deteriorating and the Columbine’s captain warned Miss Mouat that a rough passage could be expected. He advised that she might better wait. She was quite adamant however – sail in the Columbine she would. She came on board with her merchandise and with two pints of milk and two biscuits for refreshment during the expected three or four- hour passage. She went down into the small cabin and settled herself.

Disaster struck within half an hour of departure. The main sheet broke, allowing the boom to swing free and in the process of securing it the captain was thrown overboard. The craft carried two deckhands and now – with the Columbine unable to manoeuvre due to the unavailability of the mainsail – they too the decision to launch the vessel’s single row-boat and go to the captain’s rescue. Given the weather conditions it seems remarkable that they expected to get back to the Columbine. The captain could not be found but by the time they realised that their search was futile the Columbine had been driven too far off to reach. She was carrying Miss Mouat, the only passenger, with her. The two deckhands were successful in reaching shore and raising the alarm but given the communications of the time the response could not be immediate. It’s now I will hand you over to the great Tragedian Scottish poet William McGonagall, with a a contemporary account of the events, in his own inimitable style!

The Wreck of the “Columbine” Kind Christians, all pay attention to me, And Miss Mouat’s sufferings I’ll relate to ye; While on board the Columbine, on the merciless sea, Tossing about in the darkness of night in the storm helplessly.

She left her home (Scatness), on Saturday morning, bound for Lerwick, Thinking to get cured by a man she knew, as she was very sick; But for eight days she was tossed about on the stormy main, By a severe storm of wind, hail, and rain.

The waves washed o’er the little craft, and the wind loudly roared, And the Skipper, by a big wave, was washed overboard; Then the crew launched the small boat on the stormy main, Thinking to rescue the Skipper, but it was all in vain.

Nevertheless, the crew struggled hard his life to save, But alas! the Skipper sank, and found a watery grave; And the white crested waves madly did roar, Still the crew, thank God, landed safe on shore.

As soon as Miss Mouat found she was alone, Her mind became absorbed about her friends at home; As her terrible situation presented itself to her mind, And her native place being quickly left far behind.

And as the big waves lashed the deck with fearful shocks, Miss Mouat thought the vessel had struck upon a reef of rocks; And she thought the crew had gone to get help from land, While she held to a rope fastened to the cabin roof by her right hand.

And there the poor creature was in danger of being thrown to the floor, Whilst the heavy showers of spray were blown against the cabin door, And the loosened sail was reduced to tatters and flapping with the wind, And the noise thereof caused strange fears to arise in her mind.

And after some hours of darkness had set in, The table capsized with a lurch of the sea which made a fearful din, Which helped to put the poor creature in a terrible fright, To hear the drawers of the table rolling about all the night.

And there the noble heroine sat looking very woe-begone, With hands uplifted to God making her moan, Praying to God above to send her relief, While in frantic screams she gave vent to her pent up grief.

And loud and earnestly to God the noble heroine did cry, And the poor invalid’s bosom heaved many a sigh; Oh! heaven, hard was the fate of this woman of sixty years of age, Tossing about on the briny deep, while the storm fiend did rage.

Oh! think of the poor soul crouched in the cabin below, With her heart full of fear, cold, hunger, and woe, And the pitiless storm of rain, hail, and snow, Tossing about her tiny craft to and fro.

And when the morning came she felt very sick, And she expected the voyage would be about three hours to Lerwick, And her stock of provisions was but very small, Only two half-penny biscuits and a quart bottle of milk in all

Still the heavy snow kept falling, and the sky was obscured, And on Sabbath morning she made her first meal on board, And this she confined to a little drop of milk and half a biscuit, Which she wisely considered was most fit.

And to the rope fastened to the cabin roof she still held on Until her hands began to blister, and she felt woe-begone, But by standing on a chest she could look out of the hatchway, And spend a little time in casting her eyes o’er the sea each day.

When Wednesday morning came the weather was very fine, And the sun in the heavens brightly did shine, And continued so all the live long day; Then Miss Mouat guessed that land to the norward lay.

Then the poor creature sat down to her last meal on board, And with heartfelt thanks she praised the Lord; But when Thursday morning came no more food could be had, Then she mounted a box about seven o’clock while her heart felt sad.

And she took her usual gaze o’er the sea with a wistful eye, Hoping that some passing vessel she might descry, And to the westward she espied a bright red light, But as the little craft passed on it vanished from her sight.

But alas; no vessel could she see around anywhere, And at last the poor soul began to despair, And there the lonely woman sat looking out to the heavens above, Praying to God for succour with her heart full of love.

At last the Columbine began to strike on submerged rocks, And with the rise and fall of the sea she received some dreadful shocks, And notwithstanding that the vessel was still rolling among the rocks, Still the noble heroine contrived once more to raise herself upon the box.

On 7th February 1886 the Columbine was washed ashore on a beach at Lepsøy, near Ålesund, in Norway. When local villagers arrived on the scene they found Betty Mouat alive and well, after nine days living on a single bottle of milk and some ship’s biscuits. Betty was repatriated to Edinburgh, and finally arrived in Lerwick on board the steamer St Clair in late March.

She became an immediate celebrity and an appeal for public subscriptions to help her attracted a letter and a donation of £20 from Queen Victoria.

Betty Mouat lived to be 93 and on her death in 1918 was buried at Dunrossness Churchyard. The bay where she came ashore in Norway is now called Columbinebukta or “Columbine Bay”: on 17th May 1986 a plaque was unveiled there commemorating the event. The croft in which Betty Mouat spent most of her life has now been extended to become Betty Mouat’s Böd, a camping böd close to Sumburgh Airport.

#Scotland #scottish #shetland #shetlander #Northern Isles #Norway #survival #history

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thescribblingtourist · 2 years ago

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Prince Edward Island: Riding the Red Roads

Prince Edward Island on two wheels is a thrill.

Point the bike west from Antigonish, gas up and deal with the first question: ferry or bridge? When it comes to making decisions, I have trouble deciding which cereal to eat for breakfast, so the brain cramps at logistical quagmires like this. I’ll wait until I approach Exit 22 to Pictou and Caribou. Then it’s fish or cut bait.

Summer traffic is fast on the TransCanada; I’m being passed constantly. Speedometer reads 115km/h, plenty fast enough for me. On a Saturday in August, can we really be in that of a hurry? To go where?

Two huge logging trucks, fully loaded, pass me. Glad the bike is 800+ pounds, and cuts through the buffeting, breath-sucking blasts of wind like it’s not even there. Monster trucks make me nervous. And truckers would rather bikers give them a wide berth. They can’t see us half the time. Dumb bikers who dart behind and in front of the big rigs are trying to cash cheques their bodies can’t cash. I like to keep the shiny side up, so I don’t mess with trucks.

Onto the Cobequid Pass. At the toll booth the woman with a snarl on her face says “Do you have a pass, where’s your pass?” No, I have a five though. “This is the pass lane only. You’re supposed to be over there.” She snapped the five out of my leather glove and handed me a loonie. I love the Pass, with its long sweeping curves, New Brunswick dead ahead, PEI over to the right. On a clear day, as you crest the highest hill, if your eyes are good, you can see the Confederation Bridge off in the distance.

Quick gas stop in Amherst, then the short ride to the bridge. Gear down, speed limit is 80 km/h. I’ve been busted here before. Mountie pulled over our little Dodge Neon on our first day of vacation years back. Even pulled a U-ball on the bridge to get me. Not this time, as I join a steady stream of cars, 5th wheels and motorhomes heading to the Island.

The Strait is shimmering blue. A few fishing boats chugging along and Led Zeppelin’s Kashmir pumps out of the speakers:

‘Oh let the sun beat down upon my face, stars to fill my dream. I am a traveler of both time and space, to be where I have been. To sit with elders of the gentle race, this world has seldom seen. They talk of days for which they sit and wait and all will be revealed.’

Fantastic scenery and very little traffic along Route 20 on the Island’s north shore.

Life is good. Riding now past potato blossoms on one side of the highway as far as the eye can see. Hay on the other side. The mammoth McCains french fry plant is shuttered, up for sale. Yard sale signs abound. I can smell the warm Island breeze. My lower legs are starting to feel very warm from the heat of the engine. Still, no regrets about wearing leather chaps. Safety first.

Into Kensington, where locals and tourists set out chairs for the annual parade. Buy six mouth-watering cinnamon buns at Mary’s Bakery, guzzle a cold bottle of water. Find motorcycle-only parking spots next to the old train station (in the shade – bonus!) and order a Sir John A draft from the Island Stone Pub. Feeling sorry for the PEI couple that ended up as listening posts for two wealthy Americans who want anyone in hearing range to hear how lovely their retirement has been since selling their own multi-million dollar farm in Arkansas. “I keep tellin’ Merle, really honey, do y’all still need to be buyin’ another combine?” The young bartender rolls her eyes.

Heading north now on the Irishtown Road, just in time to pull up behind a long line of tractors that were in the parade. They’re clearly in no hurry. The first one I pass is vintage 1940. The old guy at the wheel is dressed up as…can it be…yes, like Anna from Frozen. That warrants a blast from my horn.

Grandson Emmett geared up for the road.

In Seaview I find son Adam and the Pickering family on the beach on one of those days that make you want to move here for good.Grandson Emmett looks pretty good on two wheels.

A quick dip in the ocean and on to surprise my sister who is staying with a lifelong friend at the Twin Shores campground. My mother’s Uncle Lloyd sold this land in the early 1960s. It’s a goldmine now. There are so many families with kids here, that they celebrate Christmas in July, and tonight it’s Halloween. Kids know that trailers showing off balloons offer treats.

Impromptu camping at Twin Shores with sister Charlene

Our agenda for the evening is simple: laugh, drink coolers, switch to Bud Light when the coolers run out, laugh some more, eat fried wieners and potatoes, more Bud, campfire with fart jokes until midnight and then into the tent with my sister. Sister Charlene and I prepare to bunk for the night. Or was this the morning after? The sun sets over Twin Shores.

Morning brings toast, farewell hugs with our hosts Paul and Noella Richard, and a splendid ride home. The Goldwing has found her sweet spot – 105 km/h at 3,200 rpm and the wheels are floating on air.

The big touring bike purrs as we turn into the driveway. Odometer reads 805.2 kilometres since yesterday. Ignition off, I tap one of the hot cylinder heads as a gesture of thanks. When can we do this again, I wonder? September is just around the corner.

#PEI #Prince Edward Island #honda #goldwing #motorcycle #tourism

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anonsally · 2 years ago

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Days 3-5 of Australia vacation: Hobart

On Day 3, we got up early and discovered (to my utter amazement) that showing up at the airport just over an hour before departure for a domestic flight in Australia left ample time for shopping in the terminal even after we had some difficulty with self-checking our luggage.

I enjoyed having free wifi and snacks on the short flight, too, and I loved the view out the window during the descent. Tasmania is gorgeous from above!

We landed in Hobart mid-morning. The airport was a bit of a zoo, but we eventually set out in a giant rental car (to fit the four of us and all our luggage).

The vacation rental was a fairly spacious apartment with inadequate towels and pillows as well as bathrooms that were in desperate need of being redone.

We left our luggage and then drove into town, where we ate lunch sitting outside at a cafe. Despite the urban surroundings, I spotted a bird on a wire and, after looking at it in my binoculars, ascertained that it was a Green Rosella. Not only was this a new bird for me, but it's endemic to Tasmania--it can't be seen anywhere else! So that was an auspicious start to my Tasmanian birdwatching.

Brother-In-Law gave me a ride partway up the mountain on the edge of town (kunanyi/Mt. Wellington) to the trailhead for Fern Glade Track; then he went back to town to hang out with Wife and Sister-In-Law. I had a really nice little hike. I was on the trail for nearly 3 hours, but only went a little over 2 miles. My stated goal was to find a pink robin, but I despaired of that fairly soon as I wasn't familiar with any of the local birds yet and didn't even really know where to look, just that this was the right sort of habitat. I had studied their song and at one point thought perhaps I heard one, but I couldn't locate it. Still, it was a nice hike, and I spotted wallabies a couple of times. I also did see a few birds: a yellow wattlebird, several Tasmanian scrubwrens, a black currawong (which makes a hilarious and distinctive sound), a (probable) scrubtit, and a (probable) Tasmanian thornbill--all of which are endemic! And I heard forest ravens but didn't spot them. Actually, I heard a lot of birdsong but couldn't find the birds, and was extremely disappointed to discover that Merlin's sound ID function doesn't work in Australia.

I rushed back to the road in time to catch the once-per-hour bus back to town. I did not have the correct change for the fare, but the driver just let me ride anyway. Phew.

I met the others at a restaurant on the water and we had drinks and dinner there.

On Day 4, Wife and I had slept really poorly and were too tired to go through with the original plan, so my in-laws went wine tasting and then visited Port Arthur without us. Wife and I took a little walk along the water and saw some sea anemones. And later, I did manage to do a very productive 2-mile, 2.5-hour bird walk around the beach and park near the flat. I spotted lots of new birds: some masked lapwings with their adorable fledglings, a little wattlebird, musk lorikeets, eastern rosellas, sulphur-crested cockatoos (some of which were playing acrobatically in the wind, including flipping upside down), a long-billed corella, galahs, a black-faced cormorant, kelp gulls (Tasmania only has 3 kinds of gull and they're sufficiently different that I was able to identify all of them), and --less excitingly-- some Eurasian blackbirds.

Eventually we all went for a delicious dinner together at an Asian fusion restaurant, and then went to an ice cream boat (Van Diemens Land Creamery) for dessert. We stood under an awning to eat our ice creams in the rain.

On Day 5, we visited the Salamanca Markets in the morning. It was very crowded (Hobart was busy because it was high tourist season in general (holidays, summer) and because the Sydney-Hobart yacht race was going on or possibly ending), but there were some interesting things for sale and also some fun food. I enjoyed a fried potato helix on a stick, which Brother-In-Law informed me was very standard outdoor festival food!

Then we drove to MONA, the Museum of Old and New Art. This is... a very weird museum. The very eccentric owner David Walsh (a mathematician who used his skills to win a lot of money at casinos?) had it built to show his private art collection. We were there for several hours and didn't see all of it, but there was a lot of interesting stuff and the architecture was also good. It's mostly underground. There was a huge exhibition of works by Tomás Saraceno, an artist whose work I've seen some of before. These included a few about air pollution, of which I liked "We Do Not All Breathe The Same Air" best, and an installation called "A Thermodynamic Imaginary" which was astronomy-inspired. In the permanent collection, my favorite was perhaps "Kryptos" by Brigita Ozolins.

There was also a piece called "4PM" by Dean Stevenson, which was a performance; he's a composer and every day he has to compose something because a quartet is going to perform at 4pm whatever he wrote that day. It might be short, but it has to be something!

We were pretty exhausted after that. We had seen Tasmanian nativehens (another endemic!) in the adjacent vineyards when we arrived, and saw them again when we left. We went back home to have some downtime (and a cocktail) before returning to MONA for an outdoor music festival for New Year's Eve. That was pretty fun. We were lucky that it was unusually warm that day and evening. The music was mixed--my favorite band was actually the punk band (Liquid Nails?) that played around midnight--but the setting was nice. It was not too crowded yet also felt like we were out doing something for New Year's Eve, which I don't often do. We ate, had a few drinks, admired the stars, lounged about, explored a little. There was a playground, and I found that swinging on a swing while tipsy was very fun. But there's no denying that it felt really weird to be out so late!

#personal #travel #birdwatching #food

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vaguely-concerned · 4 years ago

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The Mandalorian Chapter 11; the rewatch edition

I have found a bit more enthusiasm for this one on the rewatch, so here goes!

- din snapping ‘I’m trying my best here!’ in a vaguely annoyed tone as his entire ship is going up in flames around him because he mostly doesn’t get angry as much as sulky... the height of cinema

- I love frog husband’s clothes, because they’re in a very similar style and colour scheme to frog lady’s but also incorporate the knitwear we see on the people of trask, so it both underlines his belonging with her and implies that he’s been on this moon for quite a while, they may have been apart for some time

especially his scarf is a darling detail and there’s a bit of contrast in texture to it next to his wife’s, it’s nice. he’s wearing a similar kind of vest to what we see on the fishermen later, too

- I think my favourite part of this entire episode (well second after din cradling the baby against him after nearly drowning) is just the design and Vibe of the planet and especially this harbour

for one I LOVE that it’s shown that even in the middle of the day it’s dark enough that the electric lights are still on when it’s overcast (it reminds me a bit of norway during the winter, actually, when dawn just never quite breaks and then slinks off in embarrassment before it’s even noon). and there’s also the... sails? nets? hanging around looking almost like flags, which are very Aesthetic but god knows what they’re for. maybe for drying fish on in the summer?

I think the building in the distance behind frog husband’s back here is a lighthouse? or it could be one of those towers for loading you see when they scout out the empire ship too, I suppose!

and one for my strange obsession with Texture on this show: these fabric-covered crates!!! they look exactly as dingy and moldy as you’d expect them to be in this climate, I wonder what they’re for (& I vaguely want to touch them)

- from the sound of it din’s vibroknife is uh ‘on’ when he pokes the squid thing, and he also goes for the tentacle the furthest away from the baby <3

proof the calamari flan have been scratched up a bit during all that time in din’s pockets! (the attention to detail in this show sometimes istg)

- this is 100% me reading too much into things again, call the overthinking police I’ll do my time meekly lol, but the boat looks a little bit like the mudhorn signet from this angle:

again din keeps his hand on or sooo close to his blaster in this entire scene, he knows this is sketch as all hell

a) once again I want to praise the effects team for how GOOD the aliens look in this episode holy shit and b) the hell is this dude wearing on the straps of his overalls tho

- the dude mando (axe woves) uses his little... wrist launcher thing to shoot with to finish two off the fishermen, so my theory that they can be loaded with other things than the whistling birds for slightly less effective use (maybe without the level of honing we’ve seen din’s be able to do?) is looking good!

- din actually has quite good form when diving into the water, I’m guessing he can swim at least tolerably when not in full armour, being stabbed at from all directions, having just had his son eaten by a sea monster and also being trapped in with said sea monster (I’m a strong swimmer and I can tell you that there’s a reason they make you swim with clothes on from time to time to see how hard it is, it sucks. with metal plates strapped all over you as well? yeah good luck) people don’t tend to hit the water that gracefully without some kind of training in my experience lol. might be some of the training with the jet pack has carried over too, considering he throws himself off that cliff in chapter 12 with similar confidence?

it’s interesting that they’re once again showing us a threat where the armour doesn’t help and even hinders him. we’re so used to the ways it can make him near-invincible, but it can also drag him down (literally, in this case. aha ha ha. well if I’m not here for my own entertainment then what am I here for honestly)

- din’s voice sounding like he’s just on the verge of crying as he cradles the baby (and the sound he makes as he realizes the baby’s alive) is my kryptonite, turns out. fucking breaks my heart into tiny pieces every time, I would die for this man and he wouldn’t let me

- in support of din’s paranoia: so far this season we haven’t been able to go five minutes without someone talking about peeling the precious beskar off a mandalorian corpse, I can see why his mind was primed to move in one particular way there

- I think the fabric of din’s cape has been treated with something that makes it waterproof; the water seems to pearl on top of it rather than soak in! can you imagine how heavy it would get if it did absorb water tho christ

(a bit hard to see at this size but that’s what it looked like to me close up anyway! could also be that it’s wool and that’s why it looks that way but I prefer an elaborate sci-fi explanation here, because it doesn’t look particularly weighed down afterwards) might also explain why he doesn’t seem worried about it catching on fire when he uses the jetpack haha, maybe this is something the mandos do with fabric they’re going to use for a long time

I also enjoy part of the gambeson/undersuit thing poking up from under the shoulder pauldron and cape; I think this is about as disheveled as we’ve seen him since immediately post-mudhorn

- the sound mixing in this scene, where din’s breathing is layered a bit over everything else so you almost feel like you’re in the helmet with him listening to what the others are saying........ oh my GOD, it embeds you so deeply in his POV but so subtly

- not to be biased or anything... but din and the armorer’s armour design is so vastly superior to these guys it shouldn’t even be a competition lol

din looks like an honest to god knight in shining armour except also sci-fi western and the armorer looks like a fucking war goddess from a time beyond memory; the clone wars mandos look like high end cosplayers (eh maybe it’s just my dislike for the boobplates that has me so 😒 lol. also a lot of dudes were very shitty about that whole thing and I don’t say anything but the ‘vaguely-concerned will remember this’ telltale message pops up in the corner every time)

moment of saltiness over: I do like the differentiation between their individual character designs

the differences in body type and helmet design is nice! they look like a unified team, but with individuality. I suspect the ladies have those belts and their armour plates on the hips instead of the front of the thighs to emphasize the ‘female’ silhouette, which. okay fine whatever

- bo katan looks very pointedly down at the baby after saying ‘a group of religious zealots who want to return to the ancient ways’ which makes me VERY nervous for reasons I can’t quite articulate

- the mournful guitar version of the mando theme as din watches the sunset...... hmmmmngh (this might be some Symbolism happening to us folks strap in for the identity crisis he still hasn’t processed)

- I Cannot get over din being so unimpressed by and uninterested in bo katan’s ‘retake mandalore’ sales pitch from literally the first moment dfhasdkjfhsad sorry lady kryze this man just does not do main quest shit, he’s all side quests all the time and that’s why I love him

- as someone who after chapter 8 wrote a whole-ass fic that was wholly & exclusively about din telling the baby he’ll always come back for him... some of the shit he’s been saying this season does feel like it’s been written to mercilessly victimize me, personally and specifically

- guessing this structure in the background is the traffic control tower! doesn’t really matter, I just thought it was neat

- this part of the soundtrack is called ‘ship o hoj, mandalorians!’, which I found incredibly charming haha (it’s ‘ship ahoy’ except how you write it in swedish, good one herr göranson)

- bo katan is vague about who exactly the new mand’alor would be if they took back mandalore to begin with, she doesn’t specify she is planning to be the ruler until she’s already got din on the ship and in no position to refuse to help. gotta respect the grift at least lol

I do love her voice, though, it reminds me a bit of jennifer hale as shepard

- “I need to get back to my ship, with the foundling” your honor I uh love him so fucking much

- frog lady stroking the baby’s back a bit as she holds her hand behind him to make sure he doesn’t fall backwards while playing with the tadpole ;___________;

and also frog husband and frog lady reaching out to hold hands and frog smooching as din and yodito leave ;____________________________________________;

- when din says the exasperated “mon calamari. unbelievable” line, the baby makes that little blowing a raspberry sound he does as if to agree ‘uh-huh unbelu -- unbelly -- unbelievable dad smh’ and it is very very adorable

- there’s quite a bit of Stuff in the concept art that didn’t make it in this time around; I wonder if maybe they cut some stuff for pacing or whatever and that’s why this episode is so short? water leaking into the cockpit of the razor crest, something that looked a bit like whaling going on on the docks and more spaceships taking off (maybe there were originally meant to be some smaller ships defending the big empire one?), there’s quite a bit here

#star wars #the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian meta

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undertalethingems · 5 years ago

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Bark at the Moon Chapter 16: Troubled Present, Troubled Past

Or read on my Ao3>

Rating, Setting: Gen, Pre-canon

Chapter Warnings: None

Chapter Summary: The brothers seek Alphys' help--but that means revisiting bad memories.

Papyrus stretched to his full length, neck straight, arms extended, tail flicking out behind him. All in all, he was easily twice as long as his couch--he didn't remember this form being so long, but then, perhaps he'd grown since those days in the lab years ago. Refreshed, he stood back up, shook out his bones, and gave a short huff. He had to focus. He was going to try something he'd nearly given up on, and he could only hope the time away had renewed his ability to do so. He focused inward, feeling out the vibrant flux of energy within him that gave him life and strength. If he could just nudge the right bit into place...

The door clattered open and Undyne bustled in, bags of fresh groceries looped over her arms. "Heya, Papyrus! I got you all the stuff on the list, I figured I'd have an easier time carrying it than you."

Papyrus snapped his eyes open. "Ah, thank you Undyne! I'm sure I could have managed, but that's very thoughtful of you. Sans will be happy to hear he's restocked on ketchup, no doubt!"

"Oh yeah. They had a sale on the big ones, so he should be good for a while," Undyne replied with a laugh.

"Oh no--I never get those for him, he sees it as an excuse to go through them too fast! Oh well, I suppose we'll count it as a treat."

Undyne laughed again. "Wow, you know, I think you guys are the only people I know of who run out of something because you get more of it than you need."

"It is ridiculous, isn't it?" Papyrus agreed. "But, that's just how Sans is."

"How's he doing? Any more nightmares?"

"No, thankfully. I finally got him to sleep in his room again--he's napping now."

"That's good," Undyne said, joining him in the living room now that she'd set things down. "What's the plan for today? You up for doing puzzle maintenance yet?"

Papyrus frowned, flexing his hands. "Maybe inspection, but unfortunately, I don't think my fingers are quite up to the task! They're much better than they were, but I still haven't been able to manage writing again, much less the dexterity of an expert puzzle engineer... Like I used to be..."

Undyne patted his shoulder. "Hey, you'll get it, you just gotta keep working right? Actually, that reminds me--I've been meaning to ask you guys... I've been wondering if maybe Doctor Alphys could help figure out why you're stuck. I dunno how much she'll be able to tell you, but she's super smart and it's gotta be better than nothing."

Papyrus mulled over the suggestion. "It's worth a try! I was actually trying to change back before you came in."

"Oh geez, sorry if I interrupted..."

"Well, you did, but I don't think it was working anyway," Papyrus said with a huff. "I really don't understand why it's so stubborn!"

"Then let's go see Alphys!" Undyne said cheerfully. "I was actually messaging her about it earlier, and she said she's free, so if you're ready I don't see why we should wait any longer."

He leapt to his feet. "Then let's go! Oh, I suppose it'll interrupt Sans' nap... Well! He can sleep later! This is important!"

Papyrus charged upstairs, excited by the prospect of making a breakthrough. While he'd grown to be comfortable in his beastly form, there was still much he missed about the other shape he could assume. If nothing else, he just wanted to know how to shift between the two again, and Undyne was right--trying to figure it out on their own hadn't worked. It was time to call in another brilliant mind.

"Sans! Sans, wake up--"

He got a weary growl in response.

"I know, I'm sorry--but listen! Doctor Alphys wants to help us figure out why we're stuck, and I'm not waiting a moment longer! I know it's not a priority for you, but..."

At this, Sans opened both eyes to look at him, then pushed himself up and shook before lumbering out of bed. Ever since they'd gotten him back--really gotten him back--he'd been making more of an effort to accompany him in whatever he was doing, even if he didn't participate. Papyrus was just happy to see him up and about, and he supposed that was why Sans did it--but he seemed better for it, and it meant he shuffled after him as he lead the way back downstairs.

It was a short jaunt to the Riverperson, who looked them over before muttering something about wearing more pants. They shifted to make room as the trio clambered in, and in moments the boat was speeding to Hotland. Papyrus hadn't taken the ferry in ages--it was thrilling to watch the water whip past and feel the wind weave through his bones. Sans seemed to be enjoying it too, laying with his head on the boat's rim and watching the world--their tiny corner of it, anyway--go by.

Hotland's warmth could be felt long before they reached the dock. Undyne dipped her arms into the river, splashing water over her face and fins in preparation before they disembarked. They bid farewell to the Riverperson, then headed for the stairs. Papyrus winced--he'd forgotten how strongly it smelled of sulfur here, and there were other scents as well--sharp, metallic, the essence of molten rock.

It was the first thing he'd smelled after escaping the lab.

The lab.

It was at the top of those stairs. It was where the Royal Scientist worked. Where things got made. Tested. Broken.

Papyrus continued walking, ignoring the pit of dread that lay between his ribs. He knew that Alphys would never hurt them. She was a brilliant scientist, but also a good person who'd given him a puzzle for his route despite barely knowing him only a few months ago. He knew this. She was friends with Undyne, and he trusted Undyne would never befriend a cruel person. It would be fine. They would be fine.

They crested the top of the stairs, and the lab loomed. Papyrus tried not to stare up at the structure as they approached, its plain white walls tinted pink by the glowing lava roiling below. White, white walls...

They approached the entrance and the door slid open, making him jump. Sans looked over at him, and he pretended not to know what he was curious about. He had to keep it together--he'd wanted this, it'd be silly to go back now! Only Alphys worked here anymore, not him. She was stepping out now, somehow looking happy and nervous at the same time.

"Hiya Alphys!" Undyne greeted brightly--Papyrus noted she was wearing a softer than usual, but no less wide, smile, and tried to focus on that. "We finally made it! It's good to see you."

Alphys smiled, but her hands fidgeted. "Um, yeah, ha ha... it's g-good to see you t-too... Did... you guys have a good ride over...?"

"It was very short!" Papyrus blurted out, unsure whether he'd sounded cheerful. He wasn't going to think about it.

"Yeah, the Riverperson was all like 'whoosh'," Undyne elaborated, striking a pose the Riverperson definitely hadn't. "It's like they knew we're on an important mission!"

Alphys started. "R-right! Important, ah hah... um... So, do you guys... want to come in?"

"Yeah! That's where the magic happens, right?" Undyne said, and Alphys looked like the pink tint to her scales had nothing to do with the lava.

"I-it's, um, science, but... yeah! You're right, um, let's go in... Th-though, I haven't cleaned, I'm sorry, it's a h-hot mess..." she trailed, then added, very softly, "like me."

"Hey, don't worry about it," Undyne dismissed with a grin, "considering our favorite hang-out is a literal dump."

Alphys burst out laughing, covering her mouth. Papyrus was glad she and Undyne were having a good time, but it was all he could do to keep quiet when everything inside him was screaming. He just had to not think about it, not remember how he'd been made in the depths of this very building, then pressed and prodded and isolated and hurt--

The others--even his brother, moved to go inside. Papyrus stayed frozen in place, staring after them. How could Sans be going in, didn't he know, didn't he care, he had to--they had to--

He lunged forward, slipping under his brother to hoist him onto his back. Run! Claws scraping as they dug into the dense basalt, he whipped around and surged forward, across the bridge that led back to Waterfall and heedless of anyone's cries. Get out, get out, run! He could feel Sans shift precariously, kicking to get either his attention or keep his balance--it didn't matter which. Papyrus galloped on, breath ragged as he wove through the tunnels that connected Hotland and Waterfall as fast as his legs would carry him.

Run, keep going, get somewhere safe, get far, far away--a feeling, more than words, spurred him on, even when he felt the weight on his back disappear. A familiar crevice loomed, and without a thought he leapt, vaulting up the walls and scrambling down the narrow passage at the top.

A safe place, a place to rest, a place to hide.

Sans shook himself out, panting; he'd only clipped from his brother's shoulders moments ago, but Papyrus had long since disappeared down the dim passage. His chest was sore where his brother's spines had interlocked with his ribs; while it had held him in place, it was hardly comfortable, and Sans winced as he trotted after his brother, trying to catch his breath. He gave a ragged howl, trying to call him back--they'd been ok, the man was long gone, they didn't have to be afraid anymore...

Sans had noticed his brother was jumpy, on edge since they'd set foot in Hotland--but he hadn't expected him to run like this, and he was worried. Was his brother going to disappear again? Would he be alone? Had all their effort been for nothing...?

He tried to utter another howl, but the call trailed as he staggered to a halt, exhausted. He still hadn't fully recovered from their stint in the forest, and didn't have the strength to keep running. All he could do was sit miserably in a pool of shallow water, trying to breathe and steady the magic racing in his chest. And if he was honest, Waterfall was putting him on edge. It was where the flower had kidnapped him, taken him from his brother when he needed him most, worn him down to instincts and spite, then tried to ruin their lives. He growled at the memory, then shook his head. It was no use dwelling on the past.

Heavy footsteps sounded from the passage behind him, and he turned to see Undyne and Alphys pounding towards him. They caught up, and regrouped.

"You okay?" Undyne asked breathlessly, and he nodded, giving a low hoot as he looked down the passage in the direction his brother had run.

"Gotcha. I guess we just keep looking for him... Any idea why he ran? I thought he was all for this..."

That would be hard to answer. Sans knew what said answer was, but he wasn't about to relay it. He shrugged.

"O-obviously," Alphys wheezed, "s-something about the lab scared him, if he ran."

Undyne sagged, then turned to him. "Do you guys always run from your problems? 'Cause this is getting kinda ridiculous."

Sans sighed. He'd been called out, but usually the running wasn't so literal. It was getting ridiculous at this point.

"Eh, whatever. Hopefully he hasn't gone too far. C'mon."

"Just," Alphys gasped, holding up a finger as she clutched at her chest, "j-just one sec--eep!"

Undyne hefted her up on one shoulder, then looked to Sans. "You need a ride too?"

He narrowed his eyes, chuffing with laughter. Alphys looked like she might faint--Undyne really had swept her off her feet. He was gonna ruin it.

He cut right above Undyne's other shoulder and grinned at the little lizard as he landed, who only squirmed more in embarrassment--but her crush was obvious, and he was always up for some good-natured teasing. Undyne only grunted, clearly weirded out by his sudden appearance even as she braced him with her other hand.

"Ugh, I am never going to get used to that. Okay you nerds, let's go."

She took off, picking up speed and sending up plumes of water as she barreled through puddles and streams. All the while, Sans kept an eye out--he'd never be good for what he'd been made to do, but he still had all the skills. Even as Undyne sped along, his keen vision let him spot important details. Deep scrapes in the mud, a smeared footprint, scattered stones--Papyrus had definitely come through--

And then Undyne skidded as she turned to face the wall--but it wasn't a wall, it was a ravine, and Sans noted the fresh mud that dotted the rock face, leading upwards. If he craned his neck, he could just make out a dark spot some twenty feet up--the entrance to a tunnel. Undyne didn't seem surprised to see it.

"Huh... Hold on guys, this is gonna be tricky with both hands full."

She backed up to take a running start--but Sans did some very fast thinking. The right number flashed in his mind--and they were standing at the top of the cliff, right at the passage entrance. Undyne quivered beneath him--then set them both down as she dropped to her knees.

"O-okay. I... am REALLY never getting used to that," she uttered, looking shaken.

Sans couldn't help but chuff again, and clapped her on the shoulder with a clumsy paw before turning to venture down the hidden passage. Lowering his snout to the floor, he sniffed rhythmically, taking in the trail. Wet mud, lingering sulfur, what they'd had for lunch--it was all there. He gave a short bark to the ladies who still hung back in shock, then began making his way down the narrow tunnel, ducking and weaving through its twists and turns. Soon, the light filling the passage wasn't coming from his own eyes--the tunnel opened up into a grandiose cavern, studded with outcrops of enormous, glowing crystals.

But Sans didn't care about the scenery. His brother sat on the edge of a small, clear lake on the far side of the cave, and Sans could hear him shuddering from where he stood at the entrance. He warbled after him, but Papyrus only flinched and dipped his head. Sans sighed, and ambled over to sit beside him.

Finally, Papyrus drew a shaky breath and spoke. "...I'm sorry for running, brother. I tried not to--I tried really, really hard! B-but... that place... there's so many bad memories... I couldn't let us go back there... I couldn't...."

Sans crooned sadly. He understood completely. Going back to the lab and reliving those memories had instigated his own transformation; Papyrus had every reason to despise and fear the place, to want nothing to do with it ever again. He'd been brave to even consider it, and Sans didn't blame him for being overwhelmed at the last moment. Sans sighed, and bumped his head against his brother's leg.

"I don't know what to do, Sans. Undyne, Alphys... what are they going to think...? I ran away for... for no reason, as far as they know..."

Sans stared out across the lake for a while... then turned to him with a firm expression, hoping his brother would understand. Even if the man who'd made them was long gone, the consequences of his actions were still around--and it wasn't fair to make Undyne and Alphys deal with them without knowing the full story. It was time to stop running.

Papyrus studied him, then looked away nervously. "I can't. I can't, Sans. Not after I tried to forget. Not without you... to help... say things..."

Sans huffed, then warbled a long, meandering cry. He didn't have his voice, even if he had a lot of his thoughts back. It couldn't be him. He looked back at his brother pointedly, then nuzzled him again. He knew Papyrus could do it, and Unydne and Alphys would be here soon. It was now or never.

Papyrus gave a shuddering breath. "Where do I even start, brother? What do I say? What if they don't treat us like real monsters anymore, what if they tell everyone--"

Sans batted gently at his brother's snout, continuing to give him a steady gaze. Papyrus stared back, and slowly--he seemed to calm down. He just needed to trust him on this.

"If... If you're sure, Sans," Papyrus finally said, and he responded with an affirming grunt.

"O-okay. Okay... I'll... I'll do it. They're our friends. I can do this."

Sans leaned into him again, then turned as footsteps finally echoed behind them. Undyne and Alphys emerged looking a little worse for wear, but smiles crossed their faces as they saw the brothers were alright.

"Sorry we took so long," Unyne called, sounding breathless, "but Alphys got stuck a couple times and I had to punch some rocks to get her loose."

"That's alright," Papyrus replied. "I... needed some time to straighten my bones out anyway."

Undyne snorted at the phrase. "Hey, I'm just glad to see you're okay. I'm also glad you only ran here, and not to the middle of nowhere again."

"N-no, I didn't want to do that again," Papyrus replied with a wincing smile. "I don't think Sans would be very happy with me. Not to mention, I wouldn't be happy with me."

Sans barked confirmation.

"Well, that's good, but I just... I dunno why you guys keep running away like that," Undyne said as she finally approached, Alphys only a few paces behind her. "I've been worried about you ever since Sans first said you were missing. You say it's fine, but... you keep running, so after everything that's happened I don't know that it is."

Papyrus wore a bittersweet smile. "It's not."

Sans could hear how much it hurt him to admit the truth, and even Undyne seemed surprised.

"What... what's going on then, Papyrus?"

He shut his eyes and began trembling again, his breathing hard. Sans looked up at him, then leaned into his side, applying a steadying pressure. His brother could do this, he knew he could--and he'd be there supporting him all the way. It took a while, but slowly, Papyrus calmed enough to speak again.

"Um... Y-you... you might want to sit down. There's. Th-there's a lot I have to tell you. I... I haven't... We haven't been entirely honest with you... a-and for that, I'm very, extremely sorry."

Undyne and Alphys exchanged looks, then slowly sat on the cave floor.

"It's okay Papyrus. Go on," Undyne encouraged.

Papyrus drew a deep breath, steeling his nerves--then spoke. "What we said back when all this started was true--I really have been able to switch between forms all my life. But. That. Is about it. Because... the rest of the truth is painful. Very painful. We... we didn't want to scare you, or upset you, or... change what you thought of us. By telling the truth."

"What do you mean?" Undyne questioned, voice low.

Papyrus shifted anxiously, looking to the floor as he continued. "I... I've been running, and I ran away from the lab today... because that's where we were made."

"Made?!" Undyne burst, while Alphys stared in disbelief.

"Wh... what d-do you mean, made?" she pressed. "H-here, in the lab? Who? Wh-when?! How?! Er--s-sorry, I j-just, I'm sure you'll get to that, I'll be quiet..."

Papyrus gave her a weak smile, then closed his eyes to begin. "Y-you see... A long time ago... but not very long... there was a man. A scientist. Who thought monsters needed weapons that could think for themselves. At least... that's what I gathered. U-um... my memory of it isn't very good..."

Sans didn't know much more about it than that himself, though he knew Papyrus remembered a fair amount more than that. But the reason for their creation... why the man had made the choices he did...? They knew why they'd been made, but not really why, and maybe they never would.

"Th-that's okay," Alphys assured, "j-just keep going with what you do remember."

Papyrus nodded, then continued. "S-so, after a lot of work... this man... made Sans. B-but... Sans wasn't what he wanted. He was weak, small... and too clever for his own good."

Sans uttered a smug snort. He'd cheated at a fair few puzzles back in the day. It was a solution, wasn't it? But their creator had never really wanted weapons that could think for themselves. He just wanted creatures that could follow his orders. He never had gotten it right--as Papyrus was about to explain.

"S-so, the man kept working, and after a while... he made me! But, little did he know, I was also too clever! And he, in fact, had made a terrible mistake. You see... we weren't supposed to be monsters. We weren't supposed to have souls."

"Weren't... supposed to..." Undyne echoed, brows knit.

"Yeah," Papyrus affirmed, nervously. "It was pretty awkward for him. But, he had work to do, so, it, didn't stop him."

"S-stop him... from... god. God. Dammit. He experimented on you?!" Alphys burst, hands slapping to the cave floor and surprising all of them. "He--and you--you were his kids, technically! And he didn't--oh my god. I can't--! I... I'm s-so sorry--no wonder you didn't want to go into the lab... It must mean so many awful things to you... god.... He didn't care..."

She wasn't wrong. Sans' earliest memory of the place was being locked in a barren kennel and left alone for a few days. What he'd been made to endure when most monsters were learning to talk and play... It was a wonder either of them had coped as well as they had.

"Well, it wasn't so bad sometimes!" Papyrus replied brightly. "Many of the tests were just solving puzzles or running obstacle courses, and it was always nice when we got to do things together. That always made the other tests a little more bearable."

Sans nodded, then leaned a little harder into his brother's side, uttering a reassuring croon, and Papyrus returned the gesture. As long as they were together, they could get through anything. That had always proven true--back then, and now as well.

"O-other... tests... like...?" Alphys asked, out of morbid curiosity, and Papyrus balked--but obliged. He made a face, and took a deep breath before answering.

"W-well, they were unpleasant, to say the least. I don't even know what all of them were for... Samples, o-of the insides of my bones... taking my soul and stretching my magic thin to look at it better... seeing if I needed sleep or food... Just to name a few! Wowie, I'm glad those are over..."

He shook himself out to relieve the stress, and Sans couldn't blame him. The doctor had been reluctant to test him so rigorously due to his poor stats... at first. But he remembered the needles, and too-bright lights, and pain even as someone used healing magic on him just so he wouldn't die. He'd never understood the point of it. Papyrus was shivering now, and he could only continue to press against him to comfort him.

"H-he... he really didn't care then," Alphys said quietly. "A-and I th-thought my mistakes were... God... What did he do when he found out you guys could change forms?"

"I remember it clearly!" Papyrus replied. "He was utterly speechless. We'd surprised him with our abilities before, but this was completely unprecedented! However, it was not a discovery that made him happy."

"I... I bet not..." Alphys huffed bitterly.

"No wonder you guys were so desperate to change back," Unydne stated, looking somber. "This wasn't something you wanted, and now you're trapped like this... Knowing why they exist now, I take back everything I said about these forms being cool. I'm sorry..."

Papyrus shook his head. "No no! It's okay Undyne--not only did you not know, but despite everything, I think they're cool too! No other monsters have this ability, and while there's a lot that makes living in this shape hard, there's lots of things it's better at! I can run faster, my senses are improved, my reactions are quicker--as long as I keep myself sharp, I have all of that plus my regular charms! We can't help how we were made or what happened to us, but... we can at least try to be proud of what we are. And that's not what the man wanted us to be."

He looked to Sans, and he gave him another reassuring coo.

"Wow... that's really brave of you," Undyne said quietly. "I'm glad you guys got out of there in one piece then. I... don't know if I could have gotten through something like that."

Papyrus offered a nervous smile. "We didn't really know it could be any different. At least. Not at first. But, the man had assistants, and they'd talk... they didn't know we were listening, so... we learned quite a lot from their careless chatter!"

Undyne shook her head in disbelief. "Still, no one should ever go through anything like that... But, I guess there's just one last thing I really want to know... One burning question. Tell me where this guy is... so I can KICK HIS A--er, his BEHIND, all the way out of this sorry mountain."

Papyrus managed a weak laugh. "I appreciate your feelings... As it is, his behind has already been kicked."

"So, where is he? H-how... how come I've never heard of him? Was it covered up?" Alphys asked, eyes darting as if secret agents might pop out of the shadows.

At this, Sans sat up to make an exploding motion with his claws, and the two ladies frowned.

"An explosion? But nothing down here's ever exploded," Undyne reasoned, then wore a sheepish smile as a thought came to her. "At least, not any huge explosions that, uh, killed anyone."

"What Sans is referring to," Papyrus explained, "is both an explosion and implosion."

The two ladies looked at him skeptically.

"Um, so... we only ever heard bits and pieces, and a lot of it didn't make sense until we looked into it later... and we still don't know everything. But... the man and his assistants often talked about their other work, thinking we wouldn't understand them. One of their projects... was some kind of time manipulator. One day, their experiments with it... went wrong."

Sans made the exploding motion again--this time wearing a smug expression.

"You exploded him?" Unydyne surmised, incredulous.

"Only sort of!" Papyrus hastily deflected. "I only activated the machine. Sans threw him in. And! It's not like we knew it would explode! I don't remember much of the fight, or what happened after... but, we woke up, and the lab was broken and empty. There were no assistants, no doctor... It was empty."

"Wow. Well, I'm glad he's gone," Undyne said, sitting back, "even if I don't get to bring him to justice personally."

"What'd you do next? I-I mean, you must have escaped, b-but..." Alphys urged, and Papyrus nodded.

"Naturally! It ... was kind of scary, actually. We'd gotten separated in the eximplosion, and didn't find one another until well after we'd both made our way out. But, it was funny--we both came to the same conclusions, didn't we Sans?"

Sans nodded.

"That's right! We both, independently, realized... that no one else knew about the lab, the doctor, or his helpers. It was like they'd never existed--only we knew the truth. So we hid, and watched--and ever so deftly inserted ourselves into regular society! We also swore to ourselves--never again would we wear beastly forms. That no one remembered or knew made it that much easier to pretend none of it ever happened, so when we finally reunited, we... never mentioned what had separated us."

Sans nodded again, then snorted. A lot of good that had done them.

"So... that's the whole story, huh? Wow..." Undyne uttered. "I was a little mad that you'd lied to me about this, but... when it's something so big, and complicated... Man. I don't know that I wouldn't have done the same thing."

"Y... yeah..." Alphys trailed, seeming like she had a lot on her mind. "You felt like hiding everything, from everyone... was your only option."

"Even from Sans, huh?"

Papyrus nodded, looking somber. "Yes. I ran... that first time... because I didn't want to remind Sans, and put him through those memories too. I didn't know what, if anything, he remembered. A-and, if he didn't, then I didn't want to scare him by suddenly not being myself... I didn't want to come back until I wasn't a weapon anymore."

"Geez," Undyne uttered. "Yeah, I can kind of see why you'd think running was your best option."

"Yes, well, it didn't work," Papyrus huffed. "I know that now--though, Sans, why did you stay away after you escaped Undyne's visit? You left, and I..."

Sans' heart twisted, and he buried his head into his brother's chest with an apologetic warble. He hadn't meant to leave him alone. One day, he'd find that flower and pay him back for that. He seemed to be very good at returning favors.

"Well, you can tell me later," Papyrus sighed, then turned to look back at Undyne and Alphys. "So... now you know. We're... not... really monsters... the way anyone else is."

"Wh--no way!" Undyne blurted. "You have souls the same as the rest of us! So you were part of some weird, secret experiment, so what?! You guys are twice the monster that guy was."

Sans squinted, then laughed, and both Undyne and Papyrus glared at him.

"Oh my god! I didn't mean literally."

Alphys snorted. "W-well, I'm just glad he can joke about it. I can't even begin to imagine everything you guys went through... but now I want to help you even more! B-but... I understand if you don't want to go near the lab again. M-maybe I can make whatever I need portable..."

"Do whatever your brilliant mind thinks is best! I'm still a little nervous, but..."

"Hey man, c'mere," Undyne said, leaning forward to give him a hug. "Thanks for telling us, and... trusting us, I guess. I know it wasn't easy."

"Thank you... f-for being our cool friends," Papyrus replied, clearly trying not to cry. "I... I'm very glad... and I--I can't speak for him, but I think Sans is too."

Papyrus looked down at him, and Sans nodded. He hadn't wanted their secret to get out either, but now that it was--to people they could trust, at least--it felt like a little more weight had lifted from him. He turned to study Undyne and Alphys; they both looked sad, and he hated it--happiness was scarce down here. But maybe happiness didn't always let you move forward.

"Hey, what else are friends good for?" Undyne replied. "We'll be behind you every step of the way, cheering you on! I think I said it before, but I'm gonna say it again: I WON'T REST until BOTH of you are back where you want to be. I don't care if that's running around as a dragon-horse-dog-thing or on two legs as long as you guys are happy. That's all I care about."

Alphys nodded quickly. "Me too! I, um, know we're not as close, but... Hearing all this, everything you guys went through... Like Undyne said, I'm glad you trusted us. I... I need to, um... take care of some things first, I think... b-but, if you still want m-my help... w-well, I'll do what I can, okay?"

Papyrus shut his eyes gratefully. "Thank you. Sorry I, er, interrupted today's, things... But! That doesn't mean we can't try again! I won't be defeated yet! I am undefeatable!"

They couldn't help but chuckle at his optimism--it was a welcome sight, and Sans nuzzled him again before flopping dramatically to the cave floor. He hoped no one minded if he called this day a wash and napped.

"Sans, however, may be defeatable. He'd certainly defeated by lots of activity," Papyrus commented, earning more laughter.

"Well hey--maybe we shouldn't do any like, sciency stuff, but maybe we could still hang out, watch a movie or something," Undyne suggested, perking up, and Alphys lit up.

"O-oh! I know it's, um, inside the lab, but! We could watch on my big computer screen! I don't know if you like human TV shows b-but I found a new one in the dump the other day and I've been meaning to watch it, it sounds really interesting--! B-but! If you guys want to watch something else, th-that's fine too, I can watch it some other time--or we can do something else, we don't have to go in the lab, ha ha..."

Papyrus furrowed his brow, deep in thought--then stood. "No. You know what? Let's do it! I want to make memories of the lab that don't involve horrible torture!"

Undyne choked on her laughter. "Oh my god Papyrus. That's one way to tackle it!"

"And this is another!" He pounced on her, and they tussled while Alphys and Sans watched with amusement. Undyne emerged the victor this time, dragging Papyrus behind her in a headlock as she walked up to them, beaming.

"Alright, now that that's settled, should we head back?"

"Sure," Alphys giggled, getting to her feet, "though hopefully it involved less running. And squeezing."

"What, you think the rock's just gonna grow back?" Undyne teased, ignoring Papyrus' grunts as he tried to free himself. "We shouldn't have any trouble getting out, so I don't know what you're worried for."

"F-fair point," Alphys giggled. "Guess we should get started, then..."

Sans looked up from where he still lay on the cavern floor, and did some quick calculations. It would be hard, but...

The room flickered.

They were in Alphys' lab, right in front of the computer. Sans panted--moving that many numbers took a lot out of him. But so did walking all the way back.

"Sans!" Papyrus scolded, finally breaking free of Undyne's grip now that she was too stunned to maintain it. "You can't just keep shortcutting everywhere! It's very lazy! And what's worse, you've subjected all of us to said laziness! You're going to become a bad influence!"

Sans laughed despite being short of breath. He wasn't sure, but it seemed likely Papyrus was the only other person who had even a chance of doing that kind of thing--and he wasn't about to start. Besides, it was too fun to use it to mess with people to ever stop.

"W-well, it, certainly saved us a lot of time," Alphys wheezed. "I'd ask, questions, b-but I don't even know where to start, ha ha... Not to mention he still can't talk..."

Sans snorted. He wasn't giving up all his secrets today.

"Let's. Watch something," Undyne forced out, choosing to ignore the matter for now. "I dunno about anyone else but I'm ready to relax."

"Agreed! And, I have to say, the lab looks... pretty different, so I'm not feeling so scared," Papyrus said, slowly sitting. "It's amazing what cartoon characters in frilly pink dresses will do for the mood of a place!"

"H-hey!"

Sans listened to the banter as they set up the computer and argued over what to watch; he didn't care much either way and knew he'd fall asleep well before the halfway point anyway. All that mattered was that his brother's fear had faded, and he was laughing and playing again. In the very place that had caused him--both of them--so much pain... They were taking something back, after so much had been taken from them.

It felt like a turning point.

But he was too weary to think about it. Alphys had brought down a conveniently-folding couch and tossed them some blankets to get cozy, and they'd all settled in to watch some of her human movie collection. As the opening theme of the first film rose, Sans let his eyes drift closed. There'd be time for serious matters later--and at least for now, there was nothing to fear.

#undertalethingem writes #gaster blaster au #bark at the moon fic #sans (undertale)#papyrus (undertale)#alphys (undertale)#Undyne (undertale)#hmmm don't think i have much to say =u=;

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360marine · 3 hours ago

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cathygeha · 4 years ago

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REVIEW

New Girl in Little Cove by Damhnait Monaghan

Small conservative Catholic community in need of a teacher

Novice teacher in need of change seeks it in new community

Will she be welcomed?

Will she fit in?

Will she find what she needs?

And how will the community react deal with this new person from away?

Filled with community, culture, and so much more – this story drew me in, made me care, and hope for happy endings for more than one character in the story.

What I liked:

* The setting – having never been to Newfoundland it felt as if I was making the trip with the main character.

* The writing: skillful, friendly, descriptive and immersive.

* Rachel O’Brien: newly graduated, early twenties, grieving, modern, giving, good friend, caring, kind, immersed in a new culture, grows a LOT during the story, someone I admire.

* Doug Bishop: teacher of science and phys ed, probationary teacher, from Little Cover, loving son, caring, kind, intelligent, intriguing.

* Lucille, Biddy and the rest of the hookers – wonderful, caring, giving, creative, strong, community minded women that provide social and emotional support for one another (and others)

* Patrick Donovan: Principal, knowledgeable, patient, kind, a good man, there for his teachers and students

* Students with their individual needs, problems, and potential

* The ways Rachel ended up connecting with her students and others

* The romance that slowly developed between Rachel and Doug

* Sheila: Rachel’s BFF

* Rachel’s backstory

* Feeling like I was becoming part of the community/story

* The music and art elements of the story

* All of it really, except…

What I didn’t like:

* Thinking about the sadness and loss experienced by more than one character in the story

* Knowing that too often the best option for individuals is overlooked due to moral, religious, educational or societal values.

Did I enjoy this book? Yes

Would I read more by this author? Yes

Thank you to NetGalley and harper Collins-Graydon House-HQN for the ARC – This is my honest review.

5 Stars

Book Summary:

Take a literary trip to Newfoundland: the island of the world’s friendliest people, the setting for the award-winning musical Come From Away, and home of the delightfully quirky and irresistibly charming debut, NEW GIRL IN LITTLE COVE (May 11; $16.99; Graydon House Books) by Damhnait Monaghan! After being utterly scandalized by the abrupt departure of their school’s only French teacher (she ran off with a priest!) the highly Catholic, very tiny town of Little Cove, Newfoundland needs someone who doesn’t rock the boat. Enter mainlander Rachel O’Brien —technically a Catholic (baptized!), technically a teacher (unused honors degree!)— who is so desperate to leave her old life behind, she doesn’t bother to learn the (allegedly English) local dialect. Stuck on an island she’s never known surrounded by a people and culture she barely understands, Rachel struggles to feel at home. Only the intervention of her crotchety landlady, a handsome fellow teacher, and the Holy Dusters – the local women who hook rugs and clean the church – will assure Rachel’s salvation in this little island community.

Buy Links:

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Amazon

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Powell’s

EXCERPT

Chapter 1

September 1985

Little Cove: Population 389

The battered sign came into view as my car crested a hill on the gravel road. Only 389 people? Damn. I pulled over and got out of the car, inhaling the moist air. Empty boats tilted against the wind in the bay below. A big church dominated the valley, beside which squatted a low, red building, its windows dark, like a row of rotten teeth. This was likely St. Jude’s, where tomorrow I would begin my teaching career.

“You lost?”

I whirled around. A gaunt man, about sixty, straddled a bike beside me. He wore denim overalls and his white hair was combed neatly back from his forehead.

“Car broke down?” he continued.

“No,” I said. “I’m just … ” My voice trailed off. I could hardly confide my second thoughts to this stranger. “…admiring the view.”

He looked past me at the flinty mist now spilling across the bay. A soft rain began to fall, causing my carefully straightened hair to twist and curl like a mass of dark slugs.

“Might want to save that for a fine day,” he said. His accent was strong, but lilting. “It’s right mauzy today.”

“Mossy?”

“Mauzy.” He gestured at the air around him. Then he folded his arms across his chest and gave me a once-over. “Now then,” he said. “What’s a young one like you doing out this way?”

“I’m not that young,” I shot back. “I’m the new French teacher out here.”

A smile softened his wrinkled face. “Down from Canada, hey?”

As far as I knew, Newfoundland was still part of Canada, but I nodded.

“Phonse Flynn,” he said, holding out a callused hand. “I’m the janitor over to St. Jude’s.”

“Rachel,” I said. “Rachel O’Brien.”

“I knows you’re staying with Lucille,” he said. “I’ll show you where she’s at.”

With an agility that belied his age, he dismounted and gently lowered his bike to the ground. Then he pointed across the bay. “Lucille’s place is over there, luh.”

Above a sagging wharf, I saw a path that cut through the rocky landscape towards a smattering of houses. I’d been intrigued at the prospect of a boarding house; it sounded Dickensian. Now I was uneasy. What if it was awful?

“What about your bike?” I asked, as Phonse was now standing by the passenger-side door of my car.

“Ah, sure it’s grand here,” he said. “I’ll come back for it by and by.”

“Aren’t you going to lock it?”

I thought of all the orphaned bike wheels locked to racks in Toronto, their frames long since ripped away. Jake had been livid when his racing bike was stolen. Not that I was thinking about Jake. I absolutely was not.

“No need to lock anything ’round here,” said Phonse.

I fumbled with my car keys, embarrassed to have locked the car from habit.

“Need some help?”

“The lock’s a bit stiff,” I said. “I’ll get used to it.”

Phonse waited while I jiggled in vain. Then he walked around and held out his hand. I gave him the key, he stuck it in and the knob on the inside of the car door popped up immediately.

“Handyman, see,” he said. “Wants a bit of oil, I allows. But like I said, no need to lock ’er. Anyway, with that colour, who’d steal it?” I had purchased the car over the phone, partly for its price, partly for its colour. Green had been Dad’s favourite colour, and when the salesman said mountain green, I’d imagined a dark, verdant shade. Instead, with its scattered rust garnishes, the car looked like a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Still, it would fit right in. I eyeballed the houses as we drove along: garish orange, lime green, blinding yellow. Maybe there had been a sale on paint.

As we passed the church, Phonse blessed himself, fingers moving from forehead to chest, then on to each shoulder. I kept both hands firmly on the steering wheel.

“Where’s the main part of Little Cove?” I asked.

“You’re looking at it.”

There was nothing but a gas station and a takeout called MJ’s, where a clump of teenagers was gathered outside, smoking. A tall, dark-haired boy pointed at my car and they all turned to stare. A girl in a lumber jacket raised her hand. I waved back before I realized she was giving me the finger. Embarrassed, I peeked sideways at Phonse. If he’d noticed, he didn’t let on.

Although Phonse was passenger to my driver, I found myself thinking of Matthew Cuthbert driving Anne Shirley through Avonlea en route to Green Gables. Not that I’d be assigning romantic names to these landmarks. Anne’s “Snow Queen” cherry tree and “Lake of Shining Waters” were nowhere to be seen. It was more like Stunted Fir Tree and Sea of Grey Mist. And I wasn’t a complete orphan; it merely felt that way.

At the top of a hill, Phonse pointed to a narrow dirt driveway on the right. “In there, luh.”

I parked in front of a small violet house encircled by a crooked wooden fence. A rusty oil tank leaned into the house, as if seeking shelter. When I got out, my nose wrinkled at the fishy smell. Phonse joined me at the back of the car and reached into the trunk for my suitcases.

“Gentle Jaysus in the garden,” he grunted. “What have you got in here at all? Bricks?” He lurched ahead of me towards the house, refusing my offer of help.

The contents of my suitcases had to last me the entire year; now I was second-guessing my choices. My swimsuit and goggles? I wouldn’t be doing lengths in the ocean. I looked at the mud clinging to my sneakers and regretted the suede dress boots nestled in tissue paper. But I knew some of my decisions had been right: a raincoat, my portable cassette player, stacks of homemade tapes, my hair straighteners and a slew of books.

When Phonse reached the door, he pushed it open, calling, “Lucille? I got the new teacher here. I expect she’s wore out from the journey.” As he heaved my bags inside, a stout woman in a floral apron and slippers appeared: Lucille Hanrahan, my boarding house lady.

“Phonse, my son, bring them bags upstairs for me now,” she said.

I said I would take them but Lucille shooed me into the hall, practically flapping her tea towel at me. “No, girl,” she said. “You must be dropping, all the way down from Canada. Let’s get some grub in you before you goes over to the school to see Mr. Donovan.”

Patrick Donovan, the school principal, had interviewed me over the phone. I was eager to meet him.

“Oh, did he call?” I asked.

“No.”

Lucille smoothed her apron over her belly, then called up the stairs to ask Phonse if he wanted a cup of tea. There was a slow beat of heavy boots coming down. “I’ll not stop this time,” said Phonse. “But Lucille, that fence needs seeing to.”

Lucille batted her hand at him. “Go way with you,” she said. “It’s been falling down these twenty years or more.” But as she showed him out, they talked about possible repairs, the two of them standing outside, pointing and gesturing, oblivious to the falling rain.

A lump of mud fell from my sneaker, and I sat down on the bottom step to remove my shoes. When Lucille returned, she grabbed the pair, clacked them together outside the door to remove the remaining mud, then lined them up beside a pair of sturdy ankle boots.

I followed her down the hall to the kitchen, counting the curlers that dotted her head, pink outposts in a field of black and grey.

“Sit down over there, luh,” she said, gesturing towards a table and chairs shoved against the back window. I winced at her voice; it sounded like the classic two-pack-a-day rasp.

The fog had thickened, so nothing was visible outside; it was like watching static on TV. There were scattered cigarette burns on the vinyl tablecloth and worn patches on the linoleum floor. A religious calendar hung on the wall, a big red circle around today’s date. September’s pin-up was Mary, her veil the exact colour of Lucille’s house. I was deep in Catholic territory, all right. I hoped I could still pass for one.

Published by Graydon House Books

AUTHOR BIO

DAMHNAIT MONAGHAN was once a mainlander who taught in a small fishing village in Newfoundland. A former teacher and lawyer, Monaghan has almost sixty publication credits, including flash fiction, creative non-fiction, and short stories. Her short prose has won or placed in various writing competitions and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Best Small Fictions, and Best Microfictions. New Girl in Little Cove placed in the top six from more than 350 entries in the 2019 International Caledonia Novel Award.

Social Links:

Author Website

Twitter: @Downith

Instagram: @Downith1

Facebook: @AuthorDMonaghan

Goodreads

#Damhnait Monaghan #Harlequin #Graydon House #Harper Collins #NetGalley #Newfoundland #Romance #Fiction #Historical Fiction #Small Town Fiction

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ask-de-writer · 4 years ago

Text

KURIN’S FOLLY : World of Sea : Part 8 of 15

KURIN’S FOLLY

Part 8

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

23,699 words

writing begun 2006

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story? Read from the beginning. Part 1 is here

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“Lost Gatherings? Kurin, that was a thousand Gatherings back! I’m not that old!” Lissa snorted. Then she reflected, “That history is gone too, so I guess that it does fit, after all.” She gave a sad little laugh at that.

Master Juris was eyeing them warily. It was clear that his plot had gone awry but he could not figure out how it had happened. Alor, following Kurin and Lissa silently at a distance, shot Master Juris a hard look. He did not even look embarrassed.

While Lissa found seats, Kurin went to see what the cooks could spare. Getting a hint from Kurin’s mind, High Cloud sailed from her shoulder and landed neatly on the table by Lissa. Startled, Lissa began to pull back but then leaned forward and softly asked, “Are you my Murin? I suppose not. It has been too long and you are too young. If you ever do find him, could you bring him to me?”

Kurin came to the table with a laden tray and sat across from Lissa. She smiled at her mother and said, “He says that he will watch but Sea is big.” High Cloud strutted about the tray viewing the contents from all angles and settled down where Kurin could easily reach him with her chopsticks.

Soon they were laughing merrily over Kurin’s comic account of her first attempt to fly. She had ridden in High Cloud’s body as he flew so often that she was sure that she could do it herself, if High Cloud would just let her try controlling his body. She had been embarrassingly wrong. “And he makes it look so easy!” she finished.

She picked up a piece of red weed bun and held it out to the smug looking bird. He had picked the story from Kurin’s mind and remembered it very well. His head was bobbing, crest lifted in amusement, along with their laughter. He paused long enough to snag the bun and make short work of it, lifting his head as he swallowed each bite. Lissa hesitantly held out a fillet of skelt and High Cloud took it gently from her chopsticks.

Kurin looked on approvingly and offered, “What do you want to do with yourself now, Lissa?”

Lissa looked troubled and said, “I don’t know, yet. I used to work for the weaving shop doing loom and equipment maintenance. When I wasn’t doing that, I made things for other shops, mostly little things that the boat shop didn’t want to burden themselves with. I expect that nobody will trust me to do anything for a while.”

“I will,” Kurin said decisively. “I am going to need quite a bit of help for the next six Wohans. I have navigation and mapping classes to teach, mapping to do and I need to make toys for sale in my booth at the Gathering of the Fleet.”

“That is a lot to do for an apprentice. What is your Craft and who is your Master?” Lissa asked in curiosity.

A bitter laugh interrupted them. Master Juris snorted, “The little ingrate jumped ship. I got her certified as a full journeyman Boat Builder and how did she repay us all? She went and adopted onto the Grandalor!”

Kurin angrily retorted, “Speaking of ingrates, I did it because it was the only way to save your life! Anybody should know better than to threaten an officer of the court right in front of the judge! The Wergeld that saved you from immediate execution needed me off this ship. Ever since then, you have been trying to get the agreement overturned by your every word and deed. Do you want to be executed so badly? I can accommodate you, if you want it.

“Alor is right over there. All that I have to do is ask her for a Council meeting. For some reason, the Combined Council is fond enough of this vessel to want to keep it unscattered. I’m pretty sure that they will either declare you insane and remove your Master’s Certificate or renounce you entirely and let you swim to my foster father.”

Alor stepped over to the fray and said heavily, “You don’t have to call the meeting, Kurin. The Council has already made the decision to save the Longin. They put the determination into my hands as Purser.”

She turned to face Master Juris and said sadly, “Your services as a Master Boat Builder are no longer possible. You have just broken your oath to the Combined Council of the Longin, given not two hours ago. You must decide whether you are mad and will live or are sane and die. You have until the end of this watch to make up your mind. Either way, give your Certificate to me by then so that I can return it to the Fleet Craft Council.”

Kurin wept openly. To a now horrified Master Juris, who had not believed that he could be dismissed, she said in a shaking voice, “Why couldn’t you let me save you? I have tried every way that I know how.

“I’m not sorry that I went to the Grandalor. Tanlin and Barad are good foster parents, and Selked is a good Master.”

To everyone’s surprise, Lissa wrapped Kurin in a hug and rocked her gently. She stroked Kurin’s white hair and crooned softly, “I’m sure that you tried. Master Juris always was famous for never letting go once he set himself on someone. He hangs on to his grudges tighter than the bite of a Grimm’s Eel. He made the choice, not you. There are limits to even a Dragon’s Gift, I guess. I am sorry that you love him so much when he has so much hate that he would rather lose his shop instead of simply live.”

Lissa steered Kurin away from the group that had gathered. “Let us go set up your toy shop. I need something to do and so do you.” High Cloud snagged a skelt fillet and launched himself casually across the room, landing on Kurin’s shoulder, next to Lissa’s arm. He was trying to stuff it down Kurin’s throat as they went out of the mess.

Alor caught up with them as they reached the main deck. It was clouding over but not stormy. She told Kurin, “I have your shop assignment. It’s old married quarters, A4. The tannery was using it for a storeroom but it was too out of the way. It will be cleared in another hour or so.”

“A4?” asked Kurin in a quivering voice.

Puzzled, Alor replied, “What’s the problem? It has a port for light. It’s even larger than you asked for and it hasn’t been used for Gatherings . . .”

“Not since my Murin Behar died there,” finished Lissa firmly.

Alor’s eyes widened in horror. Putting her face in her hands, she asked softly, “How could we forget? Is there anything that we can do right?”

“It wasn’t the most sensitive thing that I’ve ever heard of,” Lissa snorted, mildly amused. “At least there’s no ghost to worry about.” She pointed at the far off clouds, “My Murin is out there, somewhere, not here. The room will be fine.”

As Alor left, Lissa looked down at Kurin and asked, “It will be alright, won’t it?”

Kurin looked up at her and said, “Yes, it just has bad memories, that’s all.”

Arm in arm, mother and daughter walked slowly to the after companionway. Down in Alor’s cabin, Kurin selected her tool chest, and some other items from her gear. Lissa helped her to carry everything.

The new cabin did not have the memories that Kurin expected. It was just an empty cabin, well lit and reasonably roomy. Lissa had been right. Her father was long gone from the space and there was nothing of him left.

Kurin set about measuring the new space for workbenches, tool racks and the other necessities of her work.

The next day, a surly boat shop apprentice named Morgan was helping them to build the benches. The young man kept glancing fearfully at Lissa. Every time that he did, he made some small bungle in his work.

Exasperated at the third error in spreading the glue to laminate her new bench top, Kurin took the roller from his hand. Irritated she told him, “High Cloud spreads glue better than you do. Why couldn’t the boat shop have sent me Roper or Luin? I know that they can do this. I trained them myself.”

TO BE CONTINUED

<==PREVIOUS ~ NEXT==>

#KURIN'S FOLLY #Part 8 of 15 #World of Sea #Written by De Writer

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stone-man-warrior · 4 years ago

Text

Timeless

https://twitter.com/BBCPolitics/status/1329803055051788290

The Pope's Crucifix and use of it for saying and plotting terror updates, commands, marching orders:

There is a shire called Liecester in UK, and another one called Gliecester there too.

So, for this, specifically, Liecester & Glieseser are places that represent positions on the vertical axis of the Pope's Crucifix. There is a range that exists between Liesester & Glieceter.

Liecester = "The people who lie"

Gliecester = "The people who sing"

Gliecester are whistlebowers, reporters of crime & terrorism to law enforcement. Liecester are the people who the whistleblowers in the Glee Club of Gliesester are reporting about.

The liars of Liecester don't like being reported about, they don't like songs written about them.

On the vertical axis of the Pope's Crucifix, the liars of Liecester plot the depth's of knowledge about them, and other information about Liars and Singers in the Glee Club, so that other Liars can stay out of trouble, in Liecester.

The Glee Club does not have suitable representation at places where the Pope's Crucifix can be viewed.

There could be Tweets of the past to look at, to find instances when the range that exists between Liecester & Gleicester becomes smaller. If the Gliecester Glee Club has ever been reported to have performed in Liecester, that was bad for Liecester's Liars. The result may have been that the Glee Club from Gliecester could have been boo'ed offstage, or Worcestershire, tomatoe throwing could have happened. If tomatoes are thrown at the Glee Club while in Liecester, there is no way for the Glee Club of Gliecester to survive the incoming tomatoes when hurled by skilled liars of Liecester.

When things turn to the Worcestershire, then they start to go sideways, onto the horizontal axis of the Pope's Crucifix, for plotting. Worcestershire sauce, is made of fish. That's right, little tiny sardines are what the Worcestershire sauce is made of. Tastes good, somehow, but is made of old, fermented fish. It's fish wine, non-alcoholic, is like coffee without the caffeine, decaffeinated. So what is the point of having Worcestershire fish wine if it has no alcohol?

They will gladly show you the Worcestershire points, when it gets sideways at the Glee Club Concert from Gleicester, performed to the Liars of Liecester.

They pour the Worcestershire sauce all over the Free Range Chicken.

After the show, a Ox driven cart rolls through the streets of Liecester, picking up the debris left from tomatoe fight. The cart is driven by a Mongolian man who speaks Russian. There is a Japanese slave who is chained to the cart, picking up the remnants from the Choir Concerto. The Japanese man has a Hibichi bar-b-que on the cart, but no matches. The Ox, is a Canadian named Bleau. The Organ Grinder plays the bellows while his monkey collects valuables left by the crowd. The monkey ties the items onto the sides of the Ox Cart, as it goes clanging and klunking through the cobblestone streets of Liecester, until it's out of view, but can be heard, as it makes it's rounds.

This is the part where Catsup, is supposed to turn into Ketchup. Unfortunately, the Ketchup continues to lose ground to the Catsup at the store. It's Different Sauce. Happens when things get Worcestershire in Liecester. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MBUu5HwIr8k

Bydio, the Ox Cart, happens at 11:12: (To read terror comm better, learn these titles to these songs, close your eyes, listen, and see the music in your mind. Let the London Symphony Orchestra, guide you.) (why are the Russian composer's titles all in French language? Hint: There is no Russia. There is Quebec, and, there is Mongolia. One has nothing to do with the other.)

youtube

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https://twitter.com/ReutersUK/status/1329848272568131584

The air-money is visible, cresting.

A crest is a crown. Sssshhhush, it's a secret.

Ever play air-guitar?

Air-money is like that, for Royals.

Monopoly money.

Have you ever been to an auction?

They have "lots" there. You can buy 'em.

You have to compete with other bidders, unless no one wants a lot. The auctioneer, says: "all this for one money" as he points to the lot. Then, real quick: "Going once, twice, souled!"

Someone gets a lot, for one money.

The auctioneers are "Yoddelers"

They sell someones baby, the estate where someone lived. They are "Baby Yoda-lers"

The baby Yodalers sell the baby, lots of them, all for one money. There is a Ox Cart that comes by, filled with air-money, to pay for the baby lots at the auction.

Someone sees that the money is fake, is air-money, chases the Ox Cart. The Ox Cart goes to the JP Morgain Chase Bank, the place where the air comes from, to turn up the gain on the air-guitar hi-gain crunch channel on the Pope's Flying V Guitar Rig, for air-guitar performance, through a stack of Marshall’s. The Pope, is the spokesperson for "The King", turns loose some lions where the chase happened.

Bit Coin is born. The Pope collects the souls, with a different Ox Cart. The auctioneers celebrate, they have a parade, and give thanks to the Pope and the King.

The have a feast. Thanksgiving to the Pope.

Then, there is an auction, where there are lots for sale, you can buy 'em.

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youtube

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https://twitter.com/ABC/status/1329911713295179776

Mayfair = Mayflower

A boat.

The boat is filled with pirates at the Malls of America, where there is a circus, a carnival, Ferris wheel is inside there, has a theater, can get some pop corn if you want, and a large Soda for me and my friends and family on Black Friday. AAAaaarrgghhhhhh!

Wisconsin = wind; cons; sinning

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vxd4Hjun--s

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Must be a space auction.

Air-guitar.

Comes with a Cole Clark Angel, natural blonde, Acoustic Guitar from Zzounds Music, with a crooked tuning machine on the headstock at the small E string.

(See Tumblr post from a couple of days ago for more about the Air Guitar Bit Coin Money Machine. This is a bigger terror event than most. It’s important.)

youtube

(Tumblr made me do this space addition twice so I could show you how terror is communicated, they don’t like it when the Glee Club sings songs about them or their friends in Leicester)

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Things to consider include that Space Blonde Angel has been up there for about twelve years, and no one has noticed. You have to trust your own memory for that, they purged all of the information, photos and videos of her from the internet. In fact that whole mission happened about twelve years ago, was presented again as new. The purpose for the rerun is that the information contained in it, combined with a plethora of other reruns on twitter, are Global Domination attack orders that already worked good in the past, so, rather than reinvent the wheel in the sky, they just do a rerun, while insisting it’s all new, just happened, is fresh, when more than a decade has passed since the introductory command order presentations of attack plans. Twitter news media, powered by Google from Verified Accounts makes it happen.

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https://twitter.com/CBSNews/status/1329936822231822336

Go find the things I wrote about “Space Karen” and how “Space Karen Trending” on Twitter was a set-up of communication from Twitter, so that terror operatives associated with the Wisconsin Mall Event could find further comm, about the planned event, to use for yet more comm, after the event, contained in a Tweet made by Bill Karins. who is the real space Karin that Musk Space Karen was pointing to.

Here, we see that the Wisconsin Mall event happened in Wuawatosa Wisconsin. That is the connection to Bill Karins and his terror crew at nbc/Universal/Comcast on Twitter as @BillKarins.

The connection can be seen in my previous observations and in depth reporting here on tumblr from a few days ago, where I pointed out that there was a Wah-Wah and a Hua Hua contained in information about a “Greek Hurricane” in nicoragua called “Iota”.

I suggested that “You have to bring your own Chi” about the Hua Hau that was happening in nicoragua at the time, per Mr. Karins, the real Space Karin for this Space Auction Yodelling at the Mall of America.

It all boils down to physical slaughtering of people somewhere on earth. We cannot know where the slaughtering is occurring by reading the information on Twitter, because it’s all old reruns, all of the news was presented long ago, the exact same tweets were reposted as new more than twelve years after the first introductory posting of them.

How are we to determine where the actual current Global Domination slaughtering is happening now?

You have to go to Rockefeller Center, find Lester Holdt, and make him talk. That’s how. Find David Letterman, and Jay Leno, make them talk.

Do that tonight before the show is over. Bring your own hospital. Bring your own Chi.

=======================

Observation of the Mall of America Black Friday pre-show includes that CBS posted two 25 second clips of remarks made by the officer there, in rapid succession, one after the other. The two clip’s are identical to one another, but the text of the Tweeted information is different.

Worcestershire sauce happened at the Mall of America Black Friday Pre-show event. There were Free Range Chickens involved, I am confidant.

Other observation includes that the familiar “Schul Schut” news conference arrangement, stance, formation of multiple Public Safety Offices Representatives, is not present that I can see, so far. That translates to: “no ground was gained”

My assessment of those arranged news conferences where the representatives all stand in formation around a central speaker, is that what ever event that occurred and was being reported about rendered some ground somewhere. The more agencies present, then the more overtaken by Global Domination terror army is the geographic area of subject, which may not be the location of the news event. I want to advise that such events are arranged ahead of time for taking over substantial targets, such as entire LE offices, courthouses, schools, hospitals, county, state and federal buildings, so the staff at those places can be replaced with SAG Actors at the management and leadership levels, and Canadian terror soldiers who compose the majority of staff replaced.

I also want to advise that these kinds of takeovers have been going on for more than fifty years, so, over time, there are fewer real pubic safety, and increasingly more fake public safety, making very dangerous conditions for the remaining real public safety personnel.

Some speculation that may provide advantage to the real public safety is about Google and Sundar Pichai, and the news that is about Mr. Pichai. Sundar

Sunned Aarrgghhh!

A blessed terror leader, blessed by the Sun, the Pope. Both, are pirates who say: AAAaarrrggghhhh!

Pichai

Pitch. To throw. “The throw before the toss” from Ronnie James Dio and “The Last in Line.

AI = Artificial Intelligence. That means “Imposter Police” and the information such police say, command, order, carry out... all bullshit, Sundar is a major contribute to the bullshit presented by imposter police.

When the news stories are about the Google parent company called Alphabet, the news is somehow about orders from “The Text”, the Vatican, the one who blesses Sundar Pichai, Pope Francis, The Bergoglio.

Bergoglio

“Berrrrr but it’s cold here.”

Gog is short for Google.

Lio is the Lion, the King,

The Bergoglio is at the Vatican, controlling Google, with stings attached to Sundar Pichai, the Pitcher at the Baseball Ballgame.

They take US Military bases with use of the nitrous gas weapon, and mideaval tactics that are greatly enhanced with modern technology, commanded from the Vatican and Britain House of Lords. The orders reach Hollywood Terror Command at Screen Actor Guild, where the orders are transformed into workable planned screenplay ahead of time. Canadian terror army soldiers are provided to the SAG for carrying out the orders to attack, and take, valuable strategic targets without being detected.

Watch out for news about Alphabet.

“The Alphabet” when used openly in terror speak, is the conglomerate of all of the public safety agencies combined. FBI, nsa, ATF, USMC, USAF, USn, USPS even fits in there along with DHS (Dept. of Human Resources; Department of Health) and EVERY other agency where rules and regulations are generated, and enforced, so, DEQ, DMV, and the dog catcher, are inclusive of the proverbial terror alphabet.

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youtube

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https://twitter.com/Pontifex/status/1329763925190172672

This looks like commands to purge old embarrassing and revealing information from the internet to me.

The Papal Panty Raid Like is another indication of the same terror comm. The order was preceded by a advisory statement to the Papal Pirate HQ from Epiphone at Hollywood terror command HQ, who saw that there was a problem, and made the advisory through promotional email from the music industry, Vatican Choir HQ. Before that, the advisory came from other, lower ranking members at Chicago Music Exchange, where the advisory seems to have been originated from. The logo for these is the one Epiphone normally reserves for there student models. It's a pair of girls panties.

This below is the same terror message presented with Different Sauce.

https://twitter.com/BBCNews/status/1329984769069899776

https://twitter.com/ReutersUK/status/1329862169022894080

These and other ways to say the same thing seem to be a call to Sundar Pichai to purge specific information from the internet, not just from the search capabilities, but to seek and destroy particular terror evidence from the internet.

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probskay · 5 years ago

Text

Silence in the Air

The silence in the air is tangible. It is long past midnight. All 3 people in the room are staring each other down. There are two others, just outside the door, discussing things in private.

This is going to end with someone dead on the floor.

Elizabeth, wearing a brisk evening gown and her hair up in a shoddy bun, is openly brandishing a knife. She twists it back and forth between her hands, eight inches of steel blinking continuously in the light. She’s convinced she’s going to be the reason someone dies tonight, and she wants it to be known to everyone else that this is her intention.

Mack desperately doesn’t want to be here, and yet here they are. Mack is just a butler. They’ve never seen more than a thousand dollars in their savings account at any given moment, but this gig was finally giving them the chance they needed to save up and transition. They aren’t out to Elizabeth about being nonbinary yet, and their bowtie is getting tighter and tighter around their neck with every passing minute.

Arthur is here because he tried stealing a single pendant from Elizabeth’s well guarded safe. He was nearly successful, but Mack fucked up keeping watch, and they both got caught in the safe. This whole gig took two fucking years to set up and put together, and it was ruined because some dipshit kid couldn’t keep their hands off the gold. Arthur told them, numerous times, We’re in here for one thing and that’s it. It will make us a fortune.

Outside, Officer Du Bois is talking to the person who caught Mack and Arthur; Elizabeth’s secret lover, Anna. Du Bois can clearly tell Anna is nervous. He has ideas about why- besides the presence of a police force he knows isn’t quite friendly to queer people- but holds his tongue. Right now his job is to listen. He’s trying to get all of the details, and he doesn’t have anyone nearby to help him.

Anna is fucking mortified. She’s dead and she knows it. Elizabeth has a knife and she plans on using it. This pig doesn’t even have a fucking gun, and she knows he isn’t going to put himself in front of a knife for some dyke he doesn’t even know. Elizabeth’s husband is going to find out about this, and Elizabeth doesn’t want Anna to have the chance to come clean about this. Oh, but the way Elizabeth’s hair gleamed in the gentle moonlight...

“Anna,” Du Bois snaps his fingers. “Anna, I know you’re going through a lot right now but I need you to stay with me.” She’s barely in her underwear and a night gown. She’s probably freezing. Du Bois watches her shiver. Offer her your coat.

“Oh. Of course, officer,” she says. “Where were we again?”

Du Bois slides off his coat. “Here,” he says, “Put this on. You’re freezing out here.” Good thing he’s got a jacket underneath as well.

She takes the coat and wraps it around herself. She’s surprised. She’s not sure if this cop is putting on an act to gain her trust or if he legitimately cares about her well being. “Thanks,” she mutters.

You can’t just dodge around the issue. She’s in danger. Du Bois knows this, but he doesn’t legitimately think asking her about her danger will help her in anyway. A different voice speaks up: You might not, but it could lead her to open up more.

Anna stares into the pig’s eyes. There’s something going on behind that lid of his, and she wishes she had any idea what it was. She can watch the gears turning in his head, but she can’t see the hands of the clock turn.

Du Bois sighs. “There’s something more troubling you, isn’t there?”

Anna tenses up. She’s glad the large coat is hiding her body enough so that he can’t see the motion. “I don’t know what you mean, officer. I was just cold.”

He does see her tense up, however subtle that might be. He’s had that coat for five years, he recognises when every single wrinkle in that battered old thing shifts. There it is. Strike the heart. “Don’t worry, once this is over you and Elizabeth will be able to rest in peace.”

Anna shuffles in place, trying to keep from wincing. Barely a moment has passed, but she can tell there’s so much going on in the officer’s head. His eyes, almost imperceptibly, are scanning every inch of her. “You think Elizabeth is going to kill you, don’t you?” he says.

Her eyes widen. Nail on the head, chief. “She’s got a knife, and she hasn’t stabbed anyone else in that room yet. If she wanted the thieves out of the picture, she would’ve done it. You think she’s waiting for you, because you were the one who ran and left to get a police officer. This encounter is the only thing extending your life, because once I cuff those two and walk away, you’ll be alone with Elizabeth, and that’s the last thing you want right now.”

If Anna wasn’t scared of this cop before, she sure is scared of him now. How the hell did he figure all of that out so quickly? She’s barely told him anything. She was going to try and run away- no, sneak away- when the chance arose, but there was no chance. This cop is never going to let her go now.

The first voice speaks again. You were completely correct. Now she’s even more scared, though. You shouldn’t have pressed further. If you leave her here alone, her blood will be on your hands. Her death will be your fault, whether or not you arrest Elizabeth afterward. Du Bois thought about this.

“You’re right!” Anna suddenly cries. “Elizabeth is going to kill me. She’s been cheating on her husband with me for seven months, and she’s going to end my life. He can’t find out about me, do you understand? She can’t let him find out about me. I’m just supposed to be some eye-candy maid for him, and just dust the corners. I know I should’ve left so long ago, but the money was decent, hormones are expensive, and- and-”

Harry nods. He doesn’t say anything. She’s already opened up. Like a shaken up can of pop, she’s finally burst.

“I love her!” She proclaims. “I loved her so fucking much, even though I knew how much of a risk it was. I knew that I wasn’t going to make it out of this relationship safely. I held out hope that one day Elizabeth would sweep me off of my feet, take me out to her boat, and we’d sale off into the pale ocean and onto other land. We’d be safe, and it’d just be her and I. We’d be alive and okay and her husband wouldn’t seek us out.”

Anna is crying at this point. Du Bois wants to cry, too, but he knows he can’t. He can’t just break down in front of a witness. He can’t just let her die, either. He has to make a tough choice, though: keep her here while he sorts out everything between everyone here tonight or let her run away and find new safety right now.

Anna is sobbing and she can’t stop. This is the last night she will ever see the sun, and it wasn’t even between the legs of an older woman. An older, graceful, beautfi- no no no! Those thoughts won’t do at all. She can’t rely on Elizabeth anymore. Elizabeth isn’t her love anymore. She’s alone in this world- again.

Du Bois takes her hand. He knows this is the greatest risk he’s ever going to take on his job, even greater than the time he was shot twice- though both shots only tore some skin off of his side- leaping from the cover that was about to collapse on top of him and the cover that was barely holding itself up during a firefight nearly eight years ago, but it was one he was willing to take. He slips her a business card. “Get out of here, Anna. Call me in 6 hours. We’ll figure this out.”

Anna takes the card, and she runs. She isn’t coming back. She doubts she will call this cop, either. One mercy doesn’t mean a fucking thing.

Du Bois turned back inside. There were still three more people he needed to deal with. He was sure he knew the whole story at this point, no one had lied to him about anything so far, but he still needs to figure out what to do about this whole situation.

“Officer Du Bois, you’re finally back,” Elizabeth chides. “I’m certain Anna treated you well.” Elizabeth digs the knife into her table and drags it down, leaving a sizable mark in it. This was the fifth one she had made so far. Mack winced every time they saw it, and Elizabeth relishes their fear.

Mack, despite every muscle in their black ass telling them otherwise, stares in the cop’s eyes. They need to show they aren’t afraid. This cop couldn’t do anything to them. Mack would get out of here just fine. They knew it. Whatever prison this cop would put them into couldn’t be worse than what they knew Elizabeth desperately wanted to do tonight.

Arthur rolls his eyes at Elizabeth’s statement. “Yeah, alright your highness, you’re rich and your servants,” he put a lot of venom into that, “are well behaved. Are you going to let us go or what?”

Elizabeth huffs, indignant. “You think you get to just leave? After breaking into my home? Attempting to steal my family heirlooms?” She scoffs and shakes her head, looking at Officer Du Bois. “Can you believe this officer?”

Du Bois nods. “I can. Although, according to this lad, the pendant isn’t actually yours. It was stolen from another family who wants it back. He was hired to get it back.” This was what Arthur had told him earlier, and it checked out later when Elizabeth let him examine the amulet. It didn’t actually bear her family crest, but the DuFrasne crest. “It’s a surprise to me that they only requested the pendant be stolen back and not anything else as revenge.”

Mack looks over at Arthur in shock. Why hadn’t Arthur told them this? Arthur shuffles in his seat. “Yeah, so really I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I was basically a subtle repo-man. That’s allowed, right?” It’s a cheap excuse, he knows, but it’s better than nothing.

“No, it’s not,” Du Bois says. “The DuFrasne’s should’ve contacted the police about the theft, and had us perform a proper search and investigation. Taking the law into your own hands is also a crime, and they will be investigated as well.”

Arthur shifts in his chair. He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with the pigs for however long that would take. This was supposed to be an easy job, in and out, and then he was going to take a long trip out to some nice little island and lay low for a few years. Now he’s stuck playing footsies with “the law.” He had a plan B, cold against his leg, but he really didn’t want to have to use it.

Elizabeth scoffed again. “You have absolutely no proof I stole that pendant in the first place.” She couldn’t believe she was being accused of such things. She was rich, no one was supposed to question her. This cop was just supposed to clean up after her, not do whatever he’s doing.

Mack noticed the tight grip Elizabeth had on the dagger. Her knuckles were white.

Du Bois crossed his arms. “Elizabeth, you’d best put that weapon away. You’re in the presence of a police officer, and that can easily be read as a threat.” Elizabeth laughed. “You don’t even have a gun,” she said. “How do you plan on enforcing any law if you have no weapons to do so?”

Arthur did his best to avoid laughing, too. It was obvious the cop didn’t have a gun. His holster was empty. There’s not a cop within a hundred miles who conceal carries. If this one was the exception, he was probably breaking some rule himself.

Mack’s eyes shifted to the holster. They hadn’t even thought to see if the cop had a gun. You always presume they do, because if you look at their hip they’ll think you want to steal their gun and shoot them. They weren’t willing to take that risk, but they did just now anyway. Now they know this cop can’t do a thing to stop from leaving. They could stand up and walk away right now.

The knife digging into the table was more audible than any previous dig before. Elizabeth made sure it was deeper, too. “So what are you going to do tonight, officer?” She followed this up by tossing the pendant onto the table. The clatter of its chain was suddenly subdued when contrasted with the knife.

The pendant released some sort of black mist upon hitting the table. Mack saw it, and looked around to see if anyone else did. No one even looked at the thing. They were all too busy staring each other down. Mack returned their eyes to the pendant. They couldn’t see the mist anymore.

Du Bois straightened his shoulders. He knew what Elizabeth was trying to do, and he wasn’t going to let it happen. He’s avoided corruption and bribes for the last six years at least, and he wasn’t in the mood to break his streak as the cleanest cop in his precinct. “I’m going to put all three of you under arrest for further investigation. Come quietly and we won’t have any issues.”

Arthur’s eyebrows rose. The pig was going to arrest the wife of a rich man? That was a bold move, unheard of until today. He had no intention of being arrested, but he was tempted to stick around just to see what would happen. Of course, that would void his deal with the DuFrasne’s, and a bit of fun at the expense of Elizabeth was not worth giving up that money.

Elizabeth stood up, holding her knife at her side. “Fuck you!” she shouted. “I know my rights. You have no precedent to arrest me.” This cop was either stubborn or stupid, because no one arrested Elizabeth. She had every cop in a twenty mile radius under her thumb. What was this bastard doing?

Du Bois briskly reaches a hand into his jacket. He didn’t have his gun, but he thought this bluff might do something worthwhile.

Arthur sneaks his hand down the legs of his pants and reaches for the gun he took. A six barrel revolver, incredibly uncommon in these areas. More fire power than most of the handguns that people could get. Of course, the one cop hiding heat had to show up tonight.

Mack’s eyes scanned everything, as if in slow motion. Elizabeth was standing at the ready, waiting for the chance to strike. Arthur was reaching into his pants, and the bulge of a pistol was suddenly apparent. The cop was also reaching for something in his jacket- wasn’t he wearing a coat earlier?- but they doubted it was actually a gun. Du Bois was bluffing.

Mack lastly, glanced at the pendant again. It looked malevolent. Something wicked was surrounding it, and no one else was paying attention.

Du Bois felt the danger. He carefully eyed Elizabeth- he could probably take her if he had to- then glanced at Arthur and Mack. Mack was slowly scooting his chair sideways, away from everything. That was a reasonable response. Arthur had a hand down the leg of his pants. It was clear he had a gun. Du Bois began to calculate actions within his head.

Elizabeth’s gaze darted amongst everyone in the room, too. Du Bois remained focused on her. Arthur was staring immediately between the two of them, as if planning an escape. If Elizabeth attacked the cop, she knew Arthur and Mack would flee while they struggled. She couldn’t have that.

Elizabeth took a sharp step toward Arthur, and Arthur knew who he was going to point his gun at. He immediately stood up and pointed the gun at Elizabeth. “I don’t make a plan without accounting for all the risk, madame.”

Mack could see the amulet becoming more and more volatile with every passing moment. He carefully stood up, getting ready to run the moment it was convenient- or possible, honestly.

The room was standing still once more. Du Bois still simply had his hand in his jacket, and he knew at this point he didn’t have a bluff worth anything. He slowly pulled his hand out of his jacket and prepared to tackle whichever of those two made the first move.

That’s your gun! A voice spoke to Du Bois. Shit in a biscuit, it was indeed his gun. He recognised the barrel, with a small inscription on the side. It was illegible at this point, but it used to say “Lady Death.” The owner before him was a bit gruesome. He’d been missing this gun for a year and the precinct refused to issue him a replacement. He thinks he lost it during a chase, where he must not have closed up his holster properly. Someone must’ve snagged it during the in-between.

Arthur has 2 bullets in the gun. If he makes a shot, he needs to make it count. He stares down the barrel of the gun, straight at Elizabeth. He takes a second to glance at Du Bois, who he notices has not drawn a gun but has his hands out his coat. The pork chop bluffed.

Elizabeth is sitting in silence as well. So much for that idea. She’s fuming. She was going to fucking kill these god damn thieves and that god damn cop and the god damn girl. She’s done playing games. She’s done playing around with everyone. That amulet deserves to be with her. It’s her amulet. It was always meant to be her amulet. “Fuck it,” she says, before grabbing the necklace and running.

Arthur is surprised. “Wha-” is all he manages to say before realising he doesn’t know what he’s watching.

Mack sees the mist wrap its way up Elizabeth’s arm. It has a vice grip on her flesh. Her skin color is becoming paler, and her veins are darkening.

Du Bois rushes her. He charges directly at her. He can tell she’s running toward the window, and he has to stop her before she jumps. This is only a second story, but that fall would certainly break a bone, at least.

Elizabeth is almost there. She’s nearly there. The window is right there.

Mack watches the mist take over more of her. Are those three not seeing this? Arthur suddenly notices what’s happening and takes the chance. He whispers to Mack “Let’s bounce.”

Du Bois grabs Elizabeth’s arm. She turns and stabs at him with the knife. Du Bois steps aside and uses her own momentum to throw her back into the main room.

Elizabeth somersaults back to her feet and leaps at Mack, who was following behind Arthur. She raises the knife with her hand in the air and shrieks. Arthur turns around at the sound of the shriek and sees this. He fires.

Mack’s ears are ringing.

Du Bois is running to grab Elizabeth again.

Elizabeth no longer has a knife curled between her fingers, but instead carries four fingers and a thumb. This means nothing.

Du Bois sees Elizabeth is preparing to jump off of Mack’s back. He tries to grab her ankle, but she’s already airborne. “Shit!” he cries.

Arthur sees her gliding toward him. There is no blood leaking from her palm. She’s looks sickly, like death. Her hand is wrapped around his throat, and her nails are digging into his skin. Nothing about this is right.

Du Bois shoves Mack out of the way and assesses the situation. Arthur dropped his gun. Elizabeth is tightening her grip around Arthur’s throat. He’s bleeding.

Mack fucking knew it. Mack fucking knew there was something wrong with that fucking pendant. She’s a fucking monster now. She’s being possessed by some kind of fucking demon. She’s covered in that mist now- there’s absolutely no way everyone else hasn’t seen it by this point- and she isn’t bleeding. She’s about to strangle Arthur to death, and she isn’t even human anymore. This is fucking bullshit.

Elizabeth grasps even tighter. Arthur gurgles. Her thumb touches her ring finger. She pulls, lifting her hand above her head. The smell… it’s delicious.

Du Bois already dove for the gun. He’s already crouched and aiming the revolver at the back of her head. She cackles and let’s go of Arthur’s windpipe.

Du Bois steadies his hand. He breathes out. He fires.

Elizabeth was right. She was the reason someone died tonight, technically. Consciousness returns to her for just long enough to witness Arthur’s corpse on the floor before she, too, fades from this existence.

Du Bois sighs. He checks the chambers of the revolver. It’s completely empty. He got lucky.

Mack sees the black mist swiftly retreat back into the pendant. That can’t be a fucking good sign.

Du Bois gets up and begins to assess the damage. The first thing he does is try to pull the pendant out of Elizabeth’s hand. It’s much easier to do before rigor mortis sets in.

Mack witnesses the fucking cop go for the amulet. They lean over and pick up the knife. “Don’t touch that fucking amulet,” Mack says.

Du Bois stops. He looks at Mack, and sees that they’re currently armed. “What do you know about the necklace?”

Mack curses. “Are you fucking dense? Did you not see the black mist that possessed Elizabeth? And how it disappeared the moment you killed her? Back into the amulet?”

Du Bois didn’t see any of this. Though, glancing at her hand, he does now see that she only just started bleeding. That is strange. “Hand me the knife, then,”

Du Bois instructs Mack.

“What? Mack asks. “What do you plan to do?” This cop is loose as hell. What would the knife do to the amulet?

Du Bois holsters his gun, only just realising he was still carrying it. The weight is simultaneously comfortable and burdensome on his hip. “I’m going to cut off her hand and place it into an evidence bag.”

Mack eyes Du Bois. They sigh. Du Bois still has the gun. There isn’t a damn thing this knife would do anyway. They hand the knife over, and Du Bois takes it. Du Bois saws her hand off. He then slides the entire thing into an evidence bag he took from his jacket.

He stands up. “Will you wait here, Mack, while I radio my precinct and let them know about this, or do I have to arrest you?” Du Bois is done. This is only the fifth person he’s killed during his 21 years of police work. He wants to go home and be fucking done with this case for the night.

Mack shakes his head. “I- um-” They don’t even know where they would go or what they would do. Their plan was to get paid by Arthur and then leave this place for a long time, probably forever.

He gets into his buggy. He radios his precinct and tells them to get over here. He’s exhausted.

Mack sits in the hallway, alone. If they wanted to, they could probably go back into the safe and take some valuables and run away. They don’t think they should, however. Whatever was going on with that amulet only they could see. They don’t really want to be working with any cops, but they need to figure out why they could see it but no one else could.

Anna is cold. She stole Elizabeth’s purse from next to the door before leaving, and it had a lot of cash in it. She ran for a long while into the night. She paid for a hotel room at least two miles away, and she lies in bed, on top of the blankets, still wearing the officer’s coat. She would need to buy some clothing tomorrow. Or send someone else to do it, more likely.

She sighs. She isn’t sure where she is going to go from here. She at least has enough money for the next two weeks, if she’s careful. What will she do after that?

She reaches into one of the coat pockets and finds the business card the cop gave her. She pulls it out and looks at it. “OFFICER DU BOIS,” it says. It has a phone number, too. Phones are wildly expensive, even Elizabeth didn’t have one. If you wish to make a phone call, you usually have to wait in line at a payphone.

Anna thinks about the card long and hard. Maybe she’ll give him a call. She doesn’t know what else she can do.

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pcttrailsidereader · 5 years ago

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The Best of the Washington PCT

This is an excerpt of a longer article published in The Seattle Times a while back. Sometimes Washington gets overshadowed by the excitement of the first weeks on the trail in the desert south and the majesty of the High Sierra, but some of the most stunning mileage along the trail comes in the final 500 miles. It can be cold and wet in late September and October but glorious in July and August … a great time to hike in Washington.

The truth is that this assessment of the highlights does not leave out much . . . nothing north of Snoqualmie Pass. There is some beautiful trail near Mt. Rainier that some might argue belongs on the list. What would you add or delete from this list?

By Terry Wood, Seattle Times

So what sections are the trail’s best in Washington? I’ve hiked more than two-thirds of the state’s PCT miles, making repeat visits to prime sections, and my “best-of” list is a four-way tie (details in a moment).

Others offer tips on least-favorite stretches. Lorain considers two sections marginal: from the Oregon border north to Mount Adams (where first power lines, then heavy forest, diminish views, though the Indian Heaven Wilderness west of Trout Lake rates applause), and a long stretch of miles south of Snoqualmie Pass.

“A lot of checkerboards,” McCarty says of Snoqualmie Pass south, referring to patches of intermittently harvested forest. His threesome walked the 22 miles between Stampede Pass and Interstate 90 as a long, call-of-duty day hike. A ray of hope: A land sale announced in March could lead to a rerouting of part of that trail. Good news, says McCarty. “For about five miles south of Snoqualmie Pass, it’s crappy trail,” he says.

Now my idea of the good stuff:

• Mount Adams (Forest Service Road 23) north to White Pass (U.S. Highway 12), 66 miles.

The westside portion of Mount Adams’ Highline Trail also doubles as the PCT and is, as McCarty correctly points out, a gorgeous area. Bonus: This portion of trail is relatively level for miles.

The section’s showstopper, though, is the Goat Rocks Wilderness and the rocky, barren, narrow path the PCT follows over the shoulder of 7,880-foot Old Snowy. Though harrowing to people uncomfortable with heights and steep drop-offs, this section’s sky-high views northwest to Rainier and south to Adams are memory-makers.

In “Trekking Washington” Woodmansee outlines a good game plan for catching three of the region’s major highlights (Cispus Basin, the climb to Old Snowy and Shoe Lake): a 30-mile, one-way push from remote Walupt Lake to White Pass. The downside: A required 50-mile car shuttle that runs through Packwood, with more than a third of the drive on dirt road.

• Snoqualmie Pass (I-90) to Stevens Pass (U.S. Highway 2), 71 miles.

Due to the almost legendary appeal of the Kendall Katwalk — a narrow stretch of trail that was dynamited into existence along a steep granite slope six miles north of Snoqualmie Pass — a bazillion curious urban day hikers have been able to claim they have experienced at least a taste of the Pacific Crest Trail.

With its big views, not-so-easy approach (2,600-foot elevation gain) and hint of danger, a hike to the Katwalk (starting at the PCT trailhead just north of Exit 52 on I-90) is a worthwhile teaser to what makes the PCT so appealing.

More treasures lie farther north: the rugged Chikamin Ridge and Park Lakes; bedazzling Spectacle Lake (often approached by overnight backpackers from Cle Elum); Cathedral Rock; Deception Pass, the knockout view of Glacier Lake (with Glacier Peak looming far to the north) from Pieper Pass.

A one-way, pass-to-pass jaunt is great fun for low-weight, high-speed backpackers searching for a challenge. I once covered the 71 miles in three days, another time in four. Even if you take the customary seven days, it’s a rewarding way to get an in-depth look at Seattle’s next-door mountains.

• Stevens Pass (U.S. 2) to Rainy Pass (Highway 20), 127 miles.

The longest and toughest section of the PCT, with multiple lung-busting climbs and sharp descents, may also be its prettiest. As Romano says, the meadows (and berry patches) along this stretch are uncommonly lovely. From Kodak Peak north to White Pass and Red Pass, the PCT sends hikers soaring along a towering ridgeline.

And the hits just keep coming. “When you start at Stevens, Glacier Peak is constantly up ahead, like a beacon, luring you in the entire way,” Romano says. “It’s the wildest of the Washington Cascade volcanoes. After miles of meadows, you come to Red Pass, and Glacier is suddenly right in your face.

Beyond Red Pass, now you go through alpine tundra and past a cinder cone (White Chuck Cinder Cone) that’s one of the coolest cinder cones outside of Lassen Volcanic National Park. Then you swing around Glacier Peak and head up to Fire Creek Pass and eventually Miners Ridge and Suiattle Pass. It’s just a great area.”

The 2014 reopening of the Suiattle River Road (Forest Service Road 26) north of Darrington has restored easier westside trail access for shorter trips to the region.

For fit, ambitious hikers, a smart approach for nearly seeing it all is to park a vehicle at Stevens Pass, shuttle a second car to Chelan, then ride a boat to Stehekin. Next, take a national park bus to the High Bridge junction on the PCT and hike 108 miles south. (Whoa.) Plan for eight or more mind-blowing days.

• Rainy Pass (Highway 20) to Canadian border, 61 miles.

The most common introduction to this area is the day hike from Rainy Pass to gorgeous, 6,800-foot Cutthroat Pass (10 miles round-trip, 2,000-foot elevation gain). Tip: Venture even farther north, to Granite Pass, and take in the long-distance view of Golden Horn and mighty Tower Mountain.

Or drive the primitive, winding, not-for-the-timid Harts Pass Road (built in 1893; recently reopened after a rockfall was cleared) to Harts Pass and either walk south to expansive Grasshopper Pass, or north 3.5 miles to Windy Pass while gawking at the high-density cluster of peaks to the west, including imposing Azurite Peak and Mount Ballard.

#Rainy Pass #Cutthroat Pass #Granite Pass #Alpine Lakes #Kendall Katwalk #Mt. Adams #White Pass #Snoqualmie Pass #Stevens Pass

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scotianostra · 4 years ago

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On January 30th 1886 Elizabeth 'Betty' Mouat set sail from Grutness to Lerwick, on the Shetland Isles, she would be washed ashore in Norway over a week later.

Her background was a tragic one – her father had died six months before her birth when the whaler he was serving on disappeared in the Arctic. Her poor luck continued – a cartwheel broke her leg, and she was once shot in the head by a man hunting rabbits. She herself had suffered a stroke in her late 50's and it was probably for treatment of this she set out for the doctors surgery 25 miles away that January morning on the Columbine, a small cutter-rigged sailing craft that carried mail and passengers, on the journey she was bringing some forty hand-crafted shawls with her for sale on behalf of herself and neighbours. weather was deteriorating and the Columbine’s captain warned Miss Mouat that a rough passage could be expected. He advised that she might better wait. She was quite adamant however – sail in the Columbine she would. She came on board with her merchandise and with two pints of milk and two biscuits for refreshment during the expected three or four- hour passage. She went down into the small cabin and settled herself.

Disaster struck within half an hour of departure. The main sheet broke, allowing the boom to swing free and in the process of securing it the captain was thrown overboard. The craft carried two deckhands and now – with the Columbine unable to manoeuvre due to the unavailability of the mainsail – they too the decision to launch the vessel’s single row-boat and go to the captain’s rescue. Given the weather conditions it seems remarkable that they expected to get back to the Columbine. The captain could not be found but by the time they realised that their search was futile the Columbine had been driven too far off to reach. She was carrying Miss Mouat, the only passenger, with her. The two deckhands were successful in reaching shore and raising the alarm but given the communications of the time the response could not be immediate. It's now I will hand you over to the great Tragedian Scottish poet William McGonagall, with a a contemporary account of the events, in his own inimitable style!

Oh! think of the poor soul crouched in the cabin below, With her heart full of fear, cold, hunger, and woe, And the pitiless storm of rain, hail, and snow, Tossing about her tiny craft to and fro.

When Wednesday morning came the weather was very fine, And the sun in the heavens brightly did shine, And continued so all the live long day; Then Miss Mouat guessed that land to the norward lay.

Still the Columbine sped on, and ran upon a shingly beach, And at last the Island of Lepsoe, Miss Mouat did reach, And she was kindly treated by the inhabitants in every way that’s grand, And conveyed to Aalesund and there taking steamer to fair England. On 7th February 1886 the Columbine was washed ashore on a beach at Lepsøy, near Ålesund, in Norway. When local villagers arrived on the scene they found Betty Mouat alive and well, after nine days living on a single bottle of milk and some ship's biscuits. Betty was repatriated to Edinburgh, and finally arrived in Lerwick on board the steamer St Clair in late March.

She became an immediate celebrity and an appeal for public subscriptions to help her attracted a letter and a donation of £20 from Queen Victoria.

Betty Mouat lived to be 93 and on her death in 1918 was buried at Dunrossness Churchyard. The bay where she came ashore in Norway is now called Columbinebukta or "Columbine Bay": on 17th May 1986 a plaque was unveiled there commemorating the event. The croft in which Betty Mouat spent most of her life has now been extended to become Betty Mouat's Böd, a camping böd close to Sumburgh Airport.

#Scotland #scottish #survival #shipwreck #northern isles #norway #history

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