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unfortunatelysirius · 4 years ago

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UNEXPECTED | Regulus Black, Marauders Era

「 ❁ 」PROMPT 「 ❁ 」

Request // Regulus finds something unexpected—at a Slug Club dinner party, with a girl named Y/N L/N.

「 ❁ 」AUTHOR’S NOTE 「 ❁ 」

Sorry if this sucked.

LOVE.

Even the word itself felt like a promise. It could come like a metaphor, as gentle as misted rain, or it was a broken idea, radiating animosity that maimed worse than misplaced surgical lesions. Some folks went their entire lives without knowing it, feeling it, getting the chance to embrace and relish it—while others did indeed get a taste only for it to scorch like too-hot coffee. A funny little thing, love was. As scary as it was delightful.

Regulus Black didn’t know much about love. He only knew bleak sun—and a yearning that churned his stomach like butter. If he let his thoughts wander off too far, they’d explore territory too disturbingly foreign he’d have no choice but to retreat. His parents taught him discipline and obedience, but “love” was a rare occurrence; truthfully, the only person who ever even had an inkling of understanding for it was his brother Sirius, and the bastard left Regulus to bleed under the ripe moon. He knew what hatred felt like, same with spite, same with betrayal, same with repulsion.

Then he descended on the path weary travelers couldn’t cross.

It all started at the start of his fifth year, getting worse from there. He began noticing the Gryffindor who never stopped challenging professors and requested an extension on nearly every Charms essay. Who always wore an untidy uniform with the shirt untucked, cloak rumpled, and two different stockings. Who could be more quiet than a fairy’s whisper but the loudest personality in the room. Who once punched Giovanni Rivera, some snob in Hufflepuff, so hard in the nose he stayed slumped unconscious by a knight in the open dungeon corridor for an entire night.

He noticed you.

It was entirely accidental. Regulus was not someone to dive head-first, always treading the shallow end before walking into riptides that couldn’t be foreseen. He was caution in a world of chaos. He didn’t want to know the definition of “love,” even though he thought that was what he felt for Sirius. Brotherly love. The love someone had for another that protected them, provided for them in times of need. Then Sirius was labelled the family disgrace, shunned by Orion and Walburga; the perfect little Slytherin son, Regulus shunned him too. Regulus lost that feeling and failed to find it again, even in his circle of friends that mocked tainted blood and wanted more than meager lives. They aspired for a Wizarding World cleansed of impure magic; Regulus wasn’t sure what he wanted.

He quickly became lonely. As the days turned to months then years, he preoccupied himself with his studies—working diligently to fabricate a living lie like he had any future outside of the Dark Lord’s bidding. He envied Sirius for breaking from the family so soon, forcing Regulus into a compromised position; their parents scrutinized him more carefully now and expected more than he would have had to provide if Sirius was the pride-and-joy firstborn they could have turned into a great ally, rather than an adversary. Regulus hated it, hated that whatever he liked and the little joys he had in life were useless now that he had one reason to live. There was little to his life except growing up to be part of the Dark Lord’s army. Regardless of anything, he did know what he hoped for. The only thing that truly, truly belonged to him was his hope. It was different from his aspirations, as even those were polluted by conditioned hate.

He watched you frequently. He watched you curse his own brother, Sirius, for calling you a suck-up. He admired your appearance, from your Y/H/L Y/H/C hair to your facial structure, the effortless way you stood and walked, the kindness in your expression when guiding none-the-wiser first years. You were the same year as him, fifth year, and an entire breed of your own. Regulus didn’t know when he began falling for you. Well, the idea of you. You encompassed freedom, and fuck if Regulus didn’t crave freedom. He wanted to see himself careless, able to act out and be himself inconsequentially. This was an impossibility he loved to consider, like a dreamer in a room of realists. His parents expected the most out of him and in his crystal ball, all that laid in wait was the Dark Mark etched in his skin. Death and destruction. His head dark and heavy. It wasn’t happiness that killers strived for—it was pleasure. Power, too. Regulus knew he was different from the others. He had to hide it and fight every inch of himself that wanted what Sirius had. Freedom.

Regulus wanted to unleash every idea, every desire, every unspoken dislike. A brave heart scratched from under his skin, itching to have a say.

Sirius was the courageous one, not him.

He stuck to watching from afar.

You hated Potions class. You hated parties. You hated Slughorn. Most of all, you hated Slug Club parties. Dammit, you hated your life.

“Why did you drag me here, Lily?” you complained for the umpteenth time, fidgeting in your Gryffindor-red attire. You didn’t even like this shade of red. It was one of those colors you got tired of after seeing at every waking hour. All the assholes that prided themselves in the House the Sorting Hat bellowed, uniquely chosen for them… bleh! Dawning red and gold, parading around in Gryffindor scarfs bought for a bargain. You couldn’t be bothered. Lily had begged that the two of you go in a matching set, as one of your good friends. You never envisioned yourself agreeing. Fucking Lily, conniving you into wearing a dress like looked like it was sewn from a red Christmas stocking and attending a Slug Club party.

Lily smiled innocently. “You owed me a favor!”

A favor. You wracked your brain for any situation you’d been a part of where Lily offered her help. As your honorary big sister and a sixth-year prefect, she was the one calling for damage control whenever you did something warranting of punishment… and you didn’t want to fulfill your duties as a serious student. She chastised you at your worst but boosted you up too. Your best consisted of her praise and affection. You loved her, yes, but you didn’t love what owing her favors implied. It always wound you up in some unlikable predicament, such as this godforsaken party.

“I don’t owe you shite,” you grumbled, pinning your eyes on a table of refreshments over by the door. You belatedly noticed a figure standing by it. The air went still and silent, your blood pulsating like a gushing river of red. Your eyes narrowed just the slightest bit. Regulus Black was sharply—no, impeccably dressed, standing with his glossy dark hair in a neat do and his gray eyes watching the floor indifferently. When he got too close to looking at you, you quickly turned away. Lily was already raising a brow. “What? I don’t.”

“Yeah, okay,” Lily said amusedly. As she reopened her mouth to remind you of your every last unreturned favor and escaped week of detention, she spotted something over your head and a look of horror struck; you gauged this by the way her eyes bulged at the sockets. “Oh, Merlin—why the bloody Hell is he here? I’ll talk to you later, Y/N. Try to have some fun.”

She retreated like a squirrel from a hound, her body launching at the occupied Slughorn over half a room away. As she was nearly there a bulk dressed in black dress robes followed, at a tame pace compared to Lily’s. You knew it was James only by the unruly mess of black hair you saw from his enrobed backside profile.

You rolled your eyes and snuck another glance at Regulus. He wasn’t looking your way.

Try to have some fun, my arse.

You were here. Regulus didn’t know how, but you were. He hadn’t calculated what he’d do if you attended this party, not knowing you were a member. He assumed you weren’t, a rash assumption by all accounts, and that costed him. He didn’t want to be dogged by the thought of you all night, and now that your presence was mere feet from him, his mental duties seemed like lost causes. The burning urge to stare at you, consequences be damned, was incinerating—and control failed him left and right. Fucking hell.

Regulus filled a drink for himself. A punch of some kind. He drank it in one go, hoping the taste would eliminate you from his mind. If it were bad enough he could instead be hounded by his throbbing throat, gagging like no tomorrow. That would be better than this.

The punch didn’t work its magic. He looked again at you and calculated the inevitable penalty of making an approach.

Cursing his luck or lack thereof, he felt less inclined to drown himself in the punch bowl upon the appearance of a bloke he had in Potions, Terrence something. He was a Ravenclaw know-it-all, but he was Pureblood. He could go overlooked conversing with the fellow. Regulus was a master of mimicry and had his haughty Slytherin performance down pat.

The bloke asked too many questions and was evasive on topics Regulus had no interest in discoursing, but he was a well-welcomed distraction. Or ill-welcomed. Regardless of the reception, Regulus’s ambivalence towards you transitioned to an annoyance towards Terrence. Annoyance, that he could work with. He felt it most days. It was familiar territory. A stroke of olive on a canvas of emerald where you were lavender.

It worked. It worked until Terrence bid a hasty farewell, trailing after some quiet, expressionless brunette from Slytherin.

Regulus subtly scowled. Out of the corner of his eye he looked at you, surreptitious in a way he remembered from parties he went to hosted by well-known Pureblood families. You were in mid-conversation with some Gryffindor he knew from a mutual class the three of you shared. It was a bloke whose mouth seemed too keen on keeping a conversation going and hand was swaying too closely to your waist. Regulus’s eyes hardened without his meaning to, and before he knew it, his feet were in complete control; he walked to the two of you with renewed purpose.

You were ready to unleash your inner ugly. Random people kept coming up and trying to talk to you, each of them more mentally-taxing than the last. First there was Cornelius, an absolute walking disaster, then there was Dave, who went on tangents without checking to see if you were listening. Then Kala, then Paisley, then Travis. Finally, there was Justin. Justin was a compulsive flirt. You politely tried to get him to fuck off, but he just wasn’t catching the hint or acknowledging your blatant apathy in what he had to say. He wouldn’t understand discomfort on the part of his conversational partner if it slapped him in the face.

It was like a blessing and a nightmare when Regulus Black, wearing a cold expression and marginally more perfect up close than he was from a distance, appeared.

“Can I borrow you for a moment, L/N?” he asked, something off about his voice. Your eyes narrowed. If you had to garner a guess, you’d say he was straining to maintain a calm disposition, truly angry. The cold in his expression was cracking, giving way to heat. Had he noticed your wandering eye and wanted to clarify with you that he had no interest except to exterminate your muddy self from the Wizarding World? You were unsure; it was a common ideology among extremists, the hatred of non-Purebloods, but Regulus didn’t give off that ambiance. He didn’t feel like a future monster.

“Sure,” you said, sneaking a glance at Justin. Justin’s face wasn’t aggravated at the interruption, just confused that Regulus Black had been the one to interrupt. Regulus kept to himself usually… and he hated anyone who wasn’t pure of blood, supposedly. “Sorry to cut this chat short, Justin. I’m sure there’s plenty of other birds to talk into a stupor around here…”

Justin’s eyes lit up, disregarding the annoyance in your voice. “You’re right! Thanks, Y/N.”

You raised your eyebrows at him but bit back a less subtle remark, following Regulus when his hand prompted you at the shoulder.

“So, what was that back there?” you boldly asked, trying to avoid smirking. It was almost adorable, the way he swooped in and rescued you from a dolt. He couldn’t have approached you just to chastise your invasive stare or threaten you with death. You were taking a chance in assuming he came to save you the burden of dealing with Justin Doley’s bland chatter, but you didn’t care. You really didn’t. It was a sweet gesture if that were his true intention, but a niggling suspicion refused to believe it was. “Thank you, by the way. I was ready to lock my knees just so I could escape.”

Regulus’s face blanched, a tinge of hot pink flooding his cheeks. His brows made a cute little furrow that gave the impression of a natural unibrow. “Why would you lock your knees?”

“When you lock your knees, the blood stops circulating and can lead to fainting,” you said. Now you smirked. “Trying to avoid an answer? I’m hurt.”

He frowned at you. “I’m not trying to avoid anything. It was nothing. You looked uncomfortable…”

“I was more annoyed than anything,” you said, a correction you weren’t obligated to make. Seeing Regulus squirm was a pleasure on its own. He would already squirm, caught willingly communicating with a Gryffindor, but you had a tendency to go over and beyond in putting others on the spot. It made you a childish shade of giddy both inside and out, not that he would be able to tell. “You don’t have to keep talking to me, you know.”

“Oh,” Regulus said but didn’t move. He stayed rooted where he was, watching you with a piercing gaze. Now that you were close enough to reach a finger across the distance and graze those gaunt, knife-sharp cheekbones, you ogled him. You knew he was gorgeous from the brief times you interacted and the long, solitary moments you took to dissect him outside lessons, but being so close and with no time limit, you took a chance. Your chance was a rescue mission disguised as a private discussion.

A smile tore at your lips. “You clean up nice,” you said, your ogling session finished. You could stare at Regulus much longer than you deemed appropriate and actually did, but he was a moment and moments had the ability to pass you swiftly by. In this case, he’d leave without you getting to properly know him. Opportunistic as you were, you wouldn’t let him leave without taking what you could.

Why would you even want to know him? you asked yourself. He’s probably a Muggleborn-hater. The heart wanted what the heart wanted, try as you might to logicize.

Regulus frowned. “Thanks,” he said. He hesitantly snaked his eyes up and down your figure, stopping on your neckline. A beautiful necklace with your favorite gemstone adorned it, a gift from a Muggle relative. He cleared his throat aggressively. “You do too.”

He’s a shy bugger, isn’t he?

You inched closer, moving on a whim and putting your hand on his arm. Your fingers tightened around the material of his sleeve. He drew closer, like it was instinctive, and your eyelids fluttered as you basked in his perfumed, intimate proximity. You’d regret advancing on a Slytherin, especially one as admired and esteemed yet dark and dangerous as Regulus, but he just had this air about him. Like going from an altitude that took your breath away to one that had enough air to burst you at the seams. Like a butterfly with clipped wings, a scorpion without its stinger. He was tempting, but beautifully broken.

I know. I just know.

“When you came over, I thought you were going to confront me on how I haven’t kept my eyes off you all night,” you murmured. You met his gaze evenly, ignoring your pounding heart and fluctuating nerves.

Regulus froze immediately. “What?”

“Oh, did you not notice? Silly me,” you said, flaPping a hand like it never mattered in the first place. Truth was, your thoughts were frozen and fixated on his ignorance—ignorance you had just given a reality check. There had been no point, absolutely no hidden objective, in admitting your inability to overlook Regulus. Yet you had—and now he was staring at you like you had turned the color orange and horns magically sprouted from your head.

Then, like a switch went off that had full control over Regulus’s emotions and the way he expressed them, he smirked. It wasn’t a full smirk, just apparent enough you noticed it. All the tension contorting his face flattened, leaving him like he was relaxed, the opposite of how he looked mere seconds ago. Always the skeptic, you stared at him with narrowed eyes, scrutinizing him from head to toe. He didn’t lose the smirk, his arms crossing over his sleek robes in a devil-may-care fashion.

“Presumptuous of you to think I ever notice you in the first place,” he said, in that pompous voice you were used to hearing from Sirius’s favorite Slytherin, Severus Snape.

You laughed at his audacity and, hearing the music change tone and tempo, reached out a hand. You forgot your wit and lost all possible responses to give his arrogant retort. “Dance with me, Black,” you said softly, “before your brother comes to ruin my night, like the prick he is.”

Regulus raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t deny you. He interlaced his fingers into yours and his free arm, moving at whim and ease, came quickly to your side, enveloping your waist in a delicate embrace. A formal embrace that bespoke of the distance between you, the invisible rift. The dance he swept you in was unfamiliar, but it was simple enough that you could match his pace without tumbling over your own feet.

You felt everyone staring, but nothing mattered more to you than the feeling of his hand on your waist and the deep, unreadable waters of his foggy gray eyes. He was an enigma that swept coast to coast, tainting the sand with his attendance but leaving wild imaginations to run rampant wondering why he was there, what he did, who he was. Everyone knew of him, but no one knew him. You couldn’t deny you also didn’t know him. Really, you knew nothing about him except that he was a Slytherin in your year, the younger brother to Gryffindor’s infamous playboy, and a supposed Pureblood extremist. You were curious, though, and wanted to know all the dismissive facts that made up his mind and crafted a mental narrative even you found ambiguous. He had consciousness, and there was no way in Merlin’s sodding Hell he was a host to someone else’s thoughts, opinions, and interests the way so many other future killers seemed. Every now and then he showed you something unusual—a mannerism individual to him, words you recoiled back at hearing from his mouth. After he smirked at you and accepted your demand to dance, you lost yourself in the shock of his dismal composure cracking at the folds.

You never really believed in love.

Regulus never really believed in love.

But if you wandered too far into the bittersweet fantasy of happy endings…

Regulus could get lost.

The song changed again; slow and calm it became. Pressing your cheek to Regulus’s chest, you let the soft fabric of his dress robes sway you into an admittedly false sense of security. The hawk eyes following your every move disappeared with every cyclic step Regulus took. You were hypersensitive to his heartbeat now. It pounded against your cheek like a drumstick, a vibrato of epic proportions. You felt delirious with delight, yet a piece of you was stuck to the path your half-conscious feet made through the slow dance. It’s like you left a trail, and you’d have to pick up the pieces once Regulus became sick of your pathetic antics.

“Are you asleep?” he asked amusedly, his chest vibrating against you. It rattled you enough to awaken some semblance of nerves.

“No,” you said, shaking yourself out of the daze. You pulled back from him, bridging enough space to look him in his eyes. He had beautiful eyes a silly girl like you could get lost in. Any girl really. They were pools of fog made of spring mornings and forest hues. You just wanted to kiss his eyelids. What a strange desire, but you felt it all the same…

Regulus blinked and you were drawn back in the moment. He had said something.

You hummed in question, your eyebrows raising.

He shook his head, his face flattening until it was expressionless. “I have to go,” he said. You knew what lies looked like. He was a good liar, but you were a better observer. “I have a matter to discuss with Slughorn.”

You laughed. “That’s too bad,” you said, voice coming out like a purr. Your hand rose until it settled on his chest; your fingers curled around his robe, until fabric was fisted and cupped into a swirl. “We could have had some fun.”

“No,” Regulus said firmly. Almost too firmly. His hand jerked up to meet yours and his larger fingers interlaced yours, tugging in an attempt to prompt your release. Your refused to let go. “Y/N.”

“I like it when you talk all authoritative,” you said teasingly.

His face blanched and it was enough of a shock to make him lose all incentive to fight the good fight. You took this chance and drew him in, his feet stumbling in a clumsy attempt to regain balance. “Y/N, I—”

“What are you so afraid of?”

Regulus was afraid of a lot of things. He was afraid of what his parents would do if they figured out he didn’t despise tainted blood the way he was raised to. He was afraid of his peers shunning and scorning him for being caught dead with a Half-blood. He was afraid of losing himself in the moment just to sate his deadened hope and watching you get killed in the crossfire of his foolish, self-indulgent mistakes. He was afraid of many things.

He would never dare utter those fears aloud.

You watched the conflict flit across his face, erasing itself seconds after.

“What?” you innocently asked, noting that he had gone stiff. You were unaware to how deep his issues ran. You knew from Sirius’s running mouth that Pureblood households were devoid of tender moments and affectionate caresses. You wanted to imagine an alternative for them, but Sirius was a hellish hailstorm when honest; his feelings were subjective, but his experience was likely to ring alarmingly true. Regulus was quiet and allowed things to fester, so no one would ever know how he felt.

He looked at you now, a lock where his mouth was. No key in sight. His eyes were piercing and unquestionably inscrutable.

He had to leave before he lost control of his mouth. He couldn’t afford to involve you in his mess. He was a hurricane and you were summer rains. He would destroy you.

“I have somewhere to be,” Regulus said, no room left for an argument. His arms disappeared from around your waist and he tore his eyes away, like it was physically painful to do so.

You grabbed his wrist before he could melt into the dancing crowd. “Regulus, wait,” you said. You hated the way you sounded. You didn’t know him, but you felt strongly anyway, like he mattered more to you than was plausible for a girl and boy from two separate worlds. You couldn’t explain why you cared; you just did. He hid himself under the pretense of a rich, spoiled Pureblood who stood above the rest. He was hypnotically beautiful and bathed in greens and silvers. He was brilliant in ways Gryffindor House could only aspire to be.

Regulus didn’t respond to your plea. He stared at you, waiting briefly to hear what you had to say.

You didn’t have anything to say. You had something to express—and words weren’t always the best at expression.

You reached up to his face and palmed his cheeks, finding little skin and mostly bone. His cheekbones jerked underneath your grip. His eyes went slightly wide, like he disbelieved you had taken physical initiative with him. Your fingers didn’t dig or tear at his skin, nor did you impulsively decide that you had him in your grip and now was the time to hurt him. You didn’t want to hurt him. You wanted to show him that he didn’t have to be risk-aversive; he could fall clumsily into risk with you and the two of you would make it work. As long as he felt this bizarre, unnatural connection same as you did.

You’d find out.

You pressed yourself flush against him and drew your lips until you were a breath away. Then you kissed him.

The room and its occupants disintegrated, leaving only Regulus and you. Regulus dissolved into putty. His arms went around you again, one of them circling your waist entirely and a hand gripping your hip tight like letting you go would mean you never came back. His lips were soft if slightly chapped, moving against yours like they belonged there; there was no hesitation, no anxious energy. Regulus had lost himself in the moment, same as you. He wasn’t a Pureblood and you weren’t some Half-blood Gryffindor who had spent half the night pinning after a Slytherin who would keel over dead before wanting you. Regulus was different, and you hadn’t failed to sense it.

Regulus abruptly remembered his place and pulled from you. Your eyes were still fluttered shut, and it took several seconds before you noticed he was no longer wrestling with your lips.

You stared. Regulus wiped all emotion from his face, refusing to let you know he wanted a second kiss. You were not a good deceiver and every emotion you felt showed on your face, from confusion to lust to apprehension.

“That should not have happened,” Regulus murmured, glancing around. There were people staring; even some of your Gryffindor friends, like Lily Evans and Marlene Mckinnon, were aghast, eyeing the two of you like you had just committed a murder.

“Why?” you said confrontationally. “Did you regret it?”

Regulus glanced at you but didn’t say a word.

You could feel your heart plummet to your gut. “Yeah, okay,” you said, shaking your head. You knew he was being dishonest, but that didn’t stop you from feeling hurt at his blatant favoring of his reputation over a chance at this… this relationship. You jerked out of his slackened grip.

You fought tears as you walked away.

Regulus watched you go.

He knew what it felt like when towers crumbled and empires fell, as it happened frequently. His life fell apart more than it came together. He missed you the moment you left but he knew this was for the better. That kiss had meant more than Regulus would ever admit. He felt the connection and he knew there was a future that would happen if he allowed it, if he chose not to intervene. He was the inhibitor of a lot of good things, but he would rather see himself drown than another person swallow their breath underwater.

So he stared at your retreating back, wishing things were different.

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malikmata · 3 years ago

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Notes from a Brown Boy - Kansas Diaries

*Author’s Note: Some people’s names have been changed to protect their identities

The rain was the first thing to greet me when I landed in Wichita. Overhead the gray clouds loomed, shadowing the farmland that yawned in the distance. Distance. At first glance, the city seemed like one long stretch of prairies and cracked parking lots, occasionally punctuated by billboards of grinning injury lawyers and lit up restaurant road signs.

If you spend enough time here amid the crumbling old buildings, watching the weeds sway in the vacant lots, you’ll feel the slow, inevitable creep of dread or something like it.

It’s easy to feel lonely here.

But, if you’re receptive enough, you’ll run into many friendly folks. Sometimes too friendly.

For example: During my first week, I went to Freddy’s, a local fast food chain, and ordered a crispy chicken sandwich with fries. The cashier, a young woman with glasses and short blonde hair, suddenly started confessing her fear that her 8-year old chihuahua wouldn’t live a long life.

“I still think of him as a teenager,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “He’s a chihuahua. They live long lives.”

Out here, in the most middle-of-the-road cities, you sometimes get a chance to show an act of passing kindness. While waiting in line at one of the hip, new cafes downtown, a place called Milkfloat, a tall elderly gentleman recommended which coffee and pastry to get.

“My wife says this place has the best cold brew in town.” Afterwards, grabbing his pastry and coffee, he wished me a good day. Most folks here always do and you better hope it comes true. Because here, like elsewhere, a day is filled with ordinary heartbreaks.

I will simply call her “Tita.” She works as a tailor at a department store, the only tailor working there, hemming and tapering racks full of suit pants under fluorescent lights. The nature of the job requires exact measurements and a keen eye for detail. She works hard, often skips lunch, and comes home dead tired. Her husband is recovering from 4 broken ribs after a car repair job went awry. Nothing can be done but wait until he gets better.

They live in a languid suburb on Wichita’s east side, a street with few sidewalks but plenty of lawn.

And noise. Plenty of noise. The neighborhood sits next to a car dealership. The skies overhead rumble continuously with airplanes and thunderstorms. Dogs bark at anyone who gets too close. A pickup truck blasts a corny country song as the cicadas and frogs belt out their lonely mating calls. Occasionally, a child’s laughter rises above it all.

Gossip is one of the great pastimes in towns like these. Even if you shut yourself up in your home, stories trickle in.

The neighbor across the street shot himself in the head.

The elderly couple that used to live next door got committed to a nursing home.

A fellow around the corner is on his third attempt to grow weed.

A college student starves himself morning to night so that he can save money for college.

Down the street, a kid lifts weights and punches the heavy bag hanging on his front porch.

Here, dumb luck seems, more so than in the big cities, the providence of God.

A man told me he got a job installing new carpets at a friend’s house. He was in desperate need of money, having sent most of it to his mother back home, who proceeded to gamble it away. When he ripped out the old carpet, he found a bundle of $10,000 dollars just lying there. His co-worker said, “We should split it.”

“No, no, we can’t take it.” the man said. He gave the money to his friend.

Sometime later, he went to the casino and couldn’t stop winning jackpot after jackpot. He brought home close to $16,000 in one night.

“So, if you do something good,” he told me, “God will remember that.”

Many people have come to live and die here, all of them wrapped up in the melancholic churning of faded ambitions and familial obligations.

Some people here have found something that returns them to the placidity they once felt in their youth. Sometimes that’s enough to keep them going.

For example:

I met Phil Uhlik, the namesake of the music store on E Douglas. He heard me playing an old Martin acoustic in one of the rooms. He shuffled in slightly hunched over, wearing a blue paisley shirt and brown shorts. He looked at the sunburst guitar in my hands and said, “It’s got a little beauty mark there.” He pointed to a small nick just above the sound hole. “All girls have beauty marks.” He pointed to his cheeks and smiled.

Uhlik started this music store 51 years ago and enjoys every moment of it.

“When you go to work for Boeing, that’s work,” he said. “But this, it doesn’t feel like work.” He motioned to the instruments all around him.

“How’d you get started?” I asked.

“I started off playing one of these,” he said, taking one of the accordions off a nearby shelf. As he strapped it on, all the years seemed to disappear. With a big crooked-teeth grin, he breathed life into the old accordion, his hands dancing up and down the keys. The smile never left his face as we bid farewell to each other.

I wish everyone in this world were as lucky as Phil.

I’m always seeking indie bookstores when I travel. Eighth Day Books provides much needed shelter from the summer heat. The shop was built 33 years ago and used to be located about half a mile east, in Clifton Square Village. About 17 years ago they moved to their current location, a 1920 Dutch-style colonial house on the corner of E Douglas and N Erie. Its blue trimmed windows peek through the foliage of neighboring trees.

When you walk in, you’ll see shelves of books on Christianity and Theological studies, most notably in the Eastern Orthodox tradition. I’ve never seen a bookshop with a section dedicated to Iconography.

Wichita, despite its size, feels like a small place. And with that cramped spaciousness, you’re likely to run into someone you may remember or who may remember you. Here I ran into my girlfriend’s 8th grade English teacher. A bald, bespectacled man with a gentle demeanor. After a bit of catching up, he said to us with a smile, “I hope all your dreams come true.”

The short story writer, Raymond Carver, once wrote: “Dreams… are what you wake up from.”

Wichita is a land that hypnotizes you; it makes you dream, dream of something beyond the miles of strip malls and airplane factories, beyond the shocks of wheat and windswept plains, beyond the doldrums and ennui. But it also shakes you awake, reminds you that you’re in it, that you better stop dreaming.

I’m not the religious sort anymore, having survived the regime laid down by my Catholic parents. But there is something enthralling, maybe even inspirational, when I look at the rows of beautifully painted portraits of saints and martyrs. Such solemn faces surrounded by golden halos. According to the Eastern Orthodox tradition, such paintings transcend art; they’re supposed to be windows through which you can glimpse the divine. They remind me of my grandparents with their judging eyes and moral seriousness.

My book haul for the day:

Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata

The Diary of Anne Frank

Earthly Signs: Moscow Diaries by Marina Tsvetaeva

Near to the Wild Heart by Clarice Lispector

In that last book, I found this lovely little passage:

…”in the Revolution, as always, the weight of everyday life falls on women: previously--in sheaves, now in sacks. Everyday life is a sack with holes. And you carry it anyway.”

From Earthly Signs, P. 40

According to the 2019 United States census bureau, 15.9% of Wichita's population lives below the poverty line. That’s higher than the state average, which hovers around 11.4%. That’s not the lowest nor is it the highest in the country. As befitting its location, Kansas is right in the middle.

The minimum wage in Kansas is still $7.25 despite efforts to increase it to $15. When Covid-19 hit, city and service workers bore the brunt of the impact. You can keep all your empty slogans like “We Love Our Frontline Workers.” Congratulate me all you want for my hard work but where’s my pay?

When you see that business here has returned to normal--people freely walking around without masks, no longer socially distancing--it still feels all too strange; we spent an entire year under lockdown. There’s still a pandemic by the way.

Loved ones fell ill, died alone, hooked up to ventilators in closed off hospital rooms. I believe every interaction now carries the weight of all those deaths. My family, like so many others, didn’t escape unscathed from the pandemic. My grandpa, Amang, caught Covid. Since he was an elderly citizen (and suffering from emphysema to boot), he was among those considered most at risk. We all feared the worst. Somehow he survived. The doctors called him a “trailblazer.”

Now, with businesses back to 100% capacity, I’m afraid that, just like the 1918 Flu epidemic, the past will fade like a nightmare upon waking. But it was so much more than that; it was an avoidable tragedy.

If you want to know what this pandemic has done to people and their livelihoods, is still doing to them, take a ride through downtown.

Things were already going bad before Covid hit. Back in 2004, the writer Thomas Frank wrote,

“There were so many closed shops in Wichita… that you could drive for blocks without ever leaving their empty parking lots, running parallel to the city streets past the shut-down sporting goods stores and toy stores and farm implement stores.”

What’s the Matter with Kansas: How Conservatives Won the Heart of America, P. 75

What led to all this blight? Frank attributes the decline to:

“the conservatives’ beloved free market capitalism, a system that, at its most unrestrained, has little use for smalltown merchants or the agricultural system that supported the small towns in the first place.”

-P. 79

The same story happens in a lot of places. A megacorporation keeps eating everything around it and leaves nothing else at the table.

The people are left hurting, a pit in their stomachs, and some asshole somewhere profits off of it.

While at the DMV, I overheard this:

“You have a good day now,” the security guard said.

“I’ll try my best,” a woman said.

My girlfriend heard them too and laughed.

“You really do have to try your best in order to have a good day here.”

At some point, we hit the town with a couple friends: Monica, and her boyfriend Will. Both are musicians trying to carve out their niche in a place that, on the surface, seems apathetic to creative pursuits.

It’s impossible to not be captured by their energy. As soon as we walk into their house, Monica, with her dark blonde hair draped over her shoulders, reached in for a hug. Will, a tall and bearded fellow with a bear-like presence, also went in for the hug.

“Ready to experience some Wichita nightlife?” Monica asked.

What is the nightlife here like? A group of high school punks wanted to fight us over a couple movie theater seats. Bored kids play rounds of “Chinese Fire Drill” at stop lights. I heard a nazi biker gang rolled into town at some point during my stay. Regular things like that.

At a low-key bar downtown called Luckys, I met a guy named Cory. He told me how he met a 15 year old kid loitering here, looking lost and forlorn.

“I don’t know what kind of advice I can give you but I’ll do the best I can,” Cory said.

This is the spirit I’ve often come across during my stay: A sort of slightly intrusive compassion. For a cynical Californian like me, the behavior seems a little strange, maybe even a little annoying. But I’ve come to appreciate the candor of it.

“Guaranteed we’ll know half the people here,” Will said.

Right away, he shook hands with the bartender—a high school friend of his—and asked him how his band was doing. Afterwards, we sat down and talked. Talking, after a year of pandemic lockdown, has become a lost art to me. But a little alcohol loosened the lips and suddenly I talked as though I’d known these people my whole life.

Will sipped his whisky on the rocks and told me:

“If everything in this world is meant to break down eventually, then any act of creation becomes an act of defiance.”

It may sound naive but to me, it’s true. I think about the words of the writer, John Berger:

Compassion defies the laws of necessity. To forget yourself and identify with a stranger has a power that defies the supposed natural order of things.

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 179

Making art has to be, in some way, a compassion act, because it involves letting the environment and the people you meet speak for themselves, allowing a collaboration.

“When a painting is lifeless it is the result of the painter not having the nerve to get close enough for a collaboration to start… Every authentic painting demonstrates a collaboration.”

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 16

You need to open yourself up, feel what someone is saying behind their words, and hopefully, feel what they feel.

Art, like Compassion, is defiant.

Among the 4 or so Asian markets here, you can find all the ingredients you need to cook up something good. During my first week, I stopped at a place called Grace Market. Like a lot of small Asian markets, it’s family run. A father from Taiwan. A mother from Korea. The son usually helps out when he can. Today (June 23), On this warm Wednesday morning, the son is manning the cash register.

“You’re from California? I’m from there too,” he said.

“Where at?” I asked.

“Sacramento. How about you? So Cal?”

“Nah, Bay Area.”

“Funny. That’s where my parents met.”

“Small world.”

On a different day, we met the father, a jovial man who never fails to say hi when you walk in. He came here over a couple decades ago from California, doing work for the US Army in Garden City. Once his service was over, he decided to stay in Kansas.

“I think you know why,” he said.

More and more young folks these days are leaving California. The high cost of living is presumably what’s driving this exodus. I told him I was also thinking of leaving the Golden State, as much as I love the place.

“Well, a town like this has a lot of potential if you want to save money,” he said. “If I tried to start this business in California, I don’t think I could’ve done it.”

The summer heat can, with the suddenness of a lightning flash, give way to thunderous storms. Speaking as someone from California, whose home has gone through excruciating periods of drought and wildfire, these nightly downpours are a startling yet relaxing sight.

The distant boom of thunder in the distance reminds you of how much of our lives depend on the weather, how small we are in comparison, how we are never separate from the goings-on of nature. The rain doesn’t come down lightly here. At night, it smacks and drums against the window pane with all the force of an animal trying to get inside.

But I don’t find myself frightened by it so much as awed by the combined power of wind and rain colliding against our rickety old house.

Kansas lies in the Great Plains, where layers of cool and warm air often combine into a low-level jet stream. Unimpeded by any natural obstacles on the wide flat plains, the wind roars across the expanse. Thunder growls over the prairie. And lightning flashes on the horizon in a fearsome red tinge.

The storm rages throughout the night, the only source of light in an ocean-sized plain.

“In general, the gods of the Wichita are spoken of as "dreams," and they are divided into four groups: Dreams-that-are-Above (Itskasanakatadiwaha), or, as the Skidi would say, the heavenly gods; and (2) Dreams-down-Here (Howwitsnetskasade), which, according to the Skidi terminology, are the earthly gods. The latter "dreams" in turn are divided into two groups: Dreams-living-in-Water (Itska-sanidwaha), and the Dreams-closest-to-Man (Tedetskasade)”

From The Mythology of the Wichita, P. 33

If you go downtown, you’ll see a sculpture called “The Keeper of the Plains.”

It’s almost 9 o’ clock when I get there, so large crowds have gathered to watch the ring of fire lit around its perimeter.

The statue was designed by indigenous artist and craftsman, Blackbear Bosin. Born in Cyril, Oklahoma, but living much of his adult life in Wichita, Kansas, Bosin was of Comanche and Kiowa descent and almost entirely self-taught as an artist.

When you come upon the Keeper of the Plains, standing tall on the fork of the Arkansas and Little Arkansas Rivers, you can’t help but feel a mix of admiration and sadness. It’s a striking statue, especially when set against the beautiful orange and lavender hues of the setting sun. But monuments like these end up reminding you of the Wichita peoples who were killed, displaced, driven from their land, and left to die in reservations, forgotten. The tribes that once lived here along the southern plains still show traces of their culture but now, you’ll see it mostly as a memory in a museum or as art hanging on the walls of a library.

I learned from a video by the Wichita Eagle that the last speaker of the Wichita language, Doris Jean Lamar, died back in 2016. It must be indescribably lonely to be the last speaker of a language. There is no one to have a conversation with, no one to whom you can confess your hopes or your regrets. But in the video, Lamar, even knowing that she is the last speaker, expresses hope that future generations will know what the language sounded like.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ScPkN_xGRI

Is forgiveness even possible when injustices are still committed today against native peoples everywhere?

Not enough can be said about the skies here, which seem at times so brilliantly marbled with peach and lavender colors that you begin to walk with your head perpetually craned upwards.

It’s this aspect, the overwhelming sense of the sublime, that will probably stay with me long after I’ve left Kansas.

I think again about the nature of dreams. It isn’t such a sin to dream about things, about things that haven’t happened yet, and about things that have happened. To quit dreaming seems too cynical, like admitting from the outset that everything is screwed, that you should stop trying.

During my stay here, I’ve met many people who aren’t so irony poisoned yet, people who are achingly sincere and kind. They haven’t stopped trying. There isn’t much room for cynicism here. I appreciate that a lot.

Farewell to you, Kansas, you and your clumps of cumulus and vast fields of cows and grass. I’ll see you again.

Check out Will’s music! It’s gloomy, melancholy, and LOUD!: https://teamtremolo.bandcamp.com/album/intruder

#diary #photoblog #photo diary #midwest #kansas #travel diaries

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owlespresso · 5 years ago

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Tremble, Duck & Weave / 2

Also on my ao3, which can be found HERE.

Urianger hath read his fair share of fantastical prose—legends and stories that flaunt the true meanings of love, dramas that speak of star-crossed paramours and the bonds that gyve them. He hath combed through texts, rigorously reached the span of human emotion.

He was not wont to believe in such far fetched tales, with their extravagant exaggerations and reliance on worn tropes.

At least, till this very moment.

His wiry fingers trembled as they pressed cotton to thy bloodstained skin, clearing the refuse away from thy most immaculate form. Never before had he witnessed such incredible majesty. Thou art an incredible creation, as though Halone had sculpted thee with all the motherly love in the world, her very image.

His traitorous heart thumped in his chest like the frantic beating of a bird’s clipped wings against its cage. When the lord commander besought him unto thyside, he had expected to do nothing more than see to thy wounds—but this feeling—he felt as though he had been striped across the face.

He knew thy name—was well aware of thy exploits, but now he found himself seized by the need to know everything about you. The fresh, morning sun streamed in through the wide, steep window, shedding light unto thy glorious, bruised, beaten form.

He loved thee, he realized, utterly stricken. Despite having never heard a blessed word from thy lips, despite having never been fortunate enough to encounter thee before.

Why? How?

“The reports we’ve received thus far indicate that there was an ambush at the Ul’dahn banquet. The sultana was most regrettably poisoned, the blame cast onto the Warrior,” the lord commander loomed by the door, a towering presence despite the distance between them.

“That is incredibly unfortunate, given our current position,” Urianger could scarcely manage to work, admire thine sleeping face and pay attention to Aymeric’s incessant commentary all at the same time.

Thou art ethereal, limelit so extravagantly, mottled with the sweetest of crimsons and purples, a canvas covered in burgeoning blooms. His nimble fingers wrought tirelessly, laying antiseptics, salves and only the finest of Ishgardian-spun gauze athwart thy skin. His hands began to emit a pale, viridescent glow, sanative energy flowing into thy body. Thy injuries began to mend, skin sewing back together.

Whilst relieved to know thou wert well on the way to recovery, he could not help but grieve for the red sheen. There was no doubt that thou hadst utterly gorgonized him, snatched his heart free from his chest.

“They will be hale and hearty within the next sennight.”

“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Urianger,” Aymeric said, “We are most fortunate to have your talents at our disposal,” the door to the office nudged open, the lord commander calling a few, brief orders to the guards abreast the entrance. It all fell into background noise, flimsy and frail in comparison to thee.

Shame flushed his chilled skin as his fingers trender brushed across thine cheek, fervent heat shooting up his spine. He hovered twixt guilt and satisfaction, the conflict brewing threatening to overbrim his frail, mortal disposition.

What kind of man was he? To fall so deeply into infatuation with someone so bloodied at first sight? He retracted his touches as though scalded at the sound of footsteps hurrying in their direction. He felt as though a nitling, a blundering, repulsive fool.

Had he found pleasure in thy vulnerability? The thought nearly topped him as he stumbled from his stool. This was wrong, surely. Perhaps a sudden sickness had planted itself in his weary mind, his resistances weak after endless nights of sleepless study.

The guards strolled into the study, prepared to steal thee away. He hadst anticipated this, aye, but was woefully unprepared for the grief that shook him at the prospect. Thou wouldst only be down the corridor, but a desperate desire to remain as close as humanly possible to thee shook him to his very foundation, causing cold sweet to erupt across his clammy skin.

“I shall endeavor to make room in mine schedule for a visit before the day’s end. Her aether is severely depleted. Twould be wise to ensure the alchemists prepare a tincture to restore her supply,” the words felt like—no, they were sin on his lips, lies manifested as a poor excuse to once again behold thine godly visage.

Is this what infatuation does to good men? Turns them from honest denizens to scheming miscreants?

“I’ll see to it immediately and have it delivered to you post-haste,” Aymeric’s full lips curled into a fond smile, “I’m entrusting her care to you for the foreseeable future, Urianger. Ensure she receives a warm, hospitable welcome. We have use for her talents,” his vibrant gaze swept over the room, before returning to the astrologian.

Ah. The lord commander intended to use thee for his own purposes. As repulsed as any other man might have been, Urianger could not find fault with that plan.

It ensured that you would remain within the city’s walls and—oh heavens, what hath he become?

He strode over to the shelves at the back of the office, beginning to sort through potions and elixirs and medical supplies left long in disarray.

“Of course. Thou canst dependth on me, lord commander,” he set about reorganizing the cluttering of bottles on the top shelf first, carefully categorizing each one by use. It had been shamefully long since he had last house kept, and it currently served as a flawless excuse to not look the other man in the eyes.

Had de Borel seen the way in which he caressed thee? His stomach dropped at the thought.

“As much as I would like to stay and chat, I’m afraid I am needed elsewhere. Everywhere, perhaps. Thordan has left quite the workload for me,” the lord commander gave a laugh most hollow. The creak of the door signified the beginning of his departure.

Urianger’s hands trembled as he separated the Elixirs and Potions, Potions of various effects and caliber and color. He grimaces as he beholds the layer of dust that’s settled on every shelf.

“Farewell and best of luck to thee,” Urianger said.

The door clicked shut, the noise a lonely echo down the hall.

He listened keenly as the lord commander’s footsteps grew quieter and quieter. His pulse thudded in his ears, stomach in his throat. Only when silence reigned true did he press his back to the wall and slide to the polished wooden floor, cradling his head in his hands. It felt as though his world had stopped spinning on its axis, as though the poles had been knocked free from their fixed position, the glove spinning freely through the universe.

“Oh heavens above,” he moaned, begged as he tilted his head back, staring up at the domed ceiling, “What curse hath been cast upon my weary soul?”

------

Estinien has always seen it. The red that lines and freely runs through the streets—he sees it, even if the idle citizenry can’t.

Perhaps it’s the doing of Nidhogg’s eye which has long rested in the cavity of his chest, replacing the human crimson of his blood with black, draconic ichor. Perhaps it's several generations of Midgardsormer’s spawn showing him what they see when they gaze upon Ishgard’s mighty towers. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care to find out. The young fool he had been during his days at the academy would balk at the sight of him now.

The crimson horns arch from his skull, the skin of his arms dyed inky black, patches of smooth scale decorating his body. The glamors hide it from everyone besides himself, a cruel reminder of what he is and what he once was.

“I think they’re amazing,” that gaudy fool, that Fortemps bastard, said to him once, face swollen in a gawsy grin.

His fingers curl around the frigid steel of his lance. The high winds batter him atop his perch, a small, domed ledge jutting from one of the city’s tallest towers. The inky blacks and reds of his armor would stand out stark from the dull Ishgardian masonry.

Across from him, a statue of Halone nestles between the other intricate stoneworks, her expression twisted with desperation, a feeble hand outstretched in his direction.

How ironic.

Her face begins to shift the longer he looks at her. The soft, anguished lines of her brows furrow downwards, into a judgmental scowl, her lips open around words he cannot hear. But he knows she slings vile venom in his direction. He knows she is denouncing him, disowning him, spitting bile as tears of crimson bead at the corners of her eyes, rolling down her cheeks gone gaunt, dripping onto the street below.

A sudden wave of nausea mixed with rage knocks his gaze away, drifting below and to the side. It’s a fight to keep himself from snarling because his veins pulse with rage at his own hallucination and he knows the beast that lives inside him knows he does not belong here. It throws childish fantods everytime he rears a house of worship, makes the simple task of existing in Ishgard take herculean effort.

His numb gaze continues to travel along the wall across from him until it stops on a window, the blinds parted just enough for him to peer inside.

A familiar form hunches over an occupied bed. Urianger’s black robe dips low, giving Estinien’s keen gaze can make out each toned muscle and fine curve of the astrologian’s back. He’s tending to someone. The Warrior of Light, he realizes near immediately. Aymeric made a point to mention it that very morning. She had been severely injured, shuttled off into Urianger’s care as soon as she arrived.

An investment, Estinien understood, a weapon Aymeric hoped to use in the name of Ishgard. After all, who wouldn’t want the vaunted Warrior of Light at their disposal? It’s cruel, he understands well, to think of a fellow, sentient being in such a manner, but that is the cold reality in which they live.

But the way in which Urianger handles her is far from cold and clinical. The astrologian’s long fingers brush tenderly across the warrior’s cheek, the tenderness in his eyes reaching beyond mere professionalism. It’s an expression he’s never witnessed on the other man’s usually severe expression.

At that very moment, Estinien realizes he’s a voyeur, a miscreant witnessing a sclipism by one of Ishgard’s most renowned healers.

The beast inside of him gives an interested, low croon at the pure sin of it.

His blood pumps hot and rhapsodic in his veins, taking in the other man’s broad shoulders, imagining the downy softness of his hair. He imagines the shred of pale flesh underneath his sharpened claws, savors the vision of his teeth sinking into a slender neck.

No!

The man in him snarls. He crouches, leaps from his perch in a desperate bid to flee from the wretched pile of sin the monster created.

The streets are still dyed red, clumps of flesh and organs and scales, but no one else sees it.

#urianger #urianger augurelt #estinien #estinien wyrmblood #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #fanfiction #writing #oz write

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minteagalaxea · 6 years ago

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the devil’s angel | song mingi

mingi and raehyun

genre: fluff, sporadic steamy bits

word count: 4.1k

inspiration: mingi during the damn say my name photoshoot, a compilation of things at high school. i was just the person that heard it, and “hell’s kitchen angel” by max schneider.

note: i’m back, if anyone actually wanted to know.

If there was a universal truth in the world of KQ High School, it was that Song Mingi loathed cheerleaders as if his life depended on it; nobody understood its origins or the reasoning, simultaneously never interrogating him over it, either, given his notorious reputation. He personified danger, with his lip piercing, sleek motorcycle, baritone voice, and a myriad of ever-constantly-changing colors of hair. While it earned him a group of admirers, he appraised his attention on a girl that defied the principle he lived by—Park Raehyun.

She wasn't loud like her fellow counterparts, opting to remain independent from their antics, more thoughtful in regards to her actions, placing her academic record above her extracurriculars as an object of adoration for the athletes. The girl carried herself with silent fortitude, confident in her ability to remain relatively unknown amongst those in her circuit, yet immediately noticeable with her ombre purple hair, styled to perfection. Whereas he could hear whatever Top Forty song the other girls played, Raehyun settled on classic R&B and underrated albums, her movements to the music rhythmic in comparison to the attention-seeking gimmicks of flips and tumbles.

Perhaps, Mingi decided, her style of dress outside of her traditional cheerleader uniform was why he remained so enamored with her—described by her adoptive elder brother, Seonghwa, as, quote-unquote, preppy baddie (consisting of plaid skirts, cropped turtlenecks, boots, and ever-so-constant fishnet stockings) Park Raehyun's sense of style starkly paralleled the pastel miniskirts and blazers of her teammates.

Raehyun observed his predatory eyes preying on her, a seductive wink in his agenda, her skintight uniform and ponytailed hair providing an incentive to defy all concepts of public decency—her instinctive reaction was to cower away from the scrutinizing attention, yet she resolved to deliver him a sarcastic roll of her eyes trademark to her taciturn persona. As she averted her attention away from the boy with the freshly-dyed brown hair and lip piercing, Raehyun detected the message he wished to convey to her—good luck tonight—her onyx eyes relaying one of her own, departing with her teammates—thank you, I love you.

Advanced Astrology proved a bustling affair as students mingled with each other to analyze one another's natal charts while simultaneously speaking of whatever romantic drivel was occurring during the school week. Silence her ally, Raehyun deftly transmitted a text message to Mingi, bewildering him as he received questions regarding his birth, of which he attempted to answer to the best of his ability, intrigued and excited at the prospect of having a proper natal chart. A classroom on the opposing end of campus, Mingi's only solace in his class of boisterous students was recalling his first encounter with Park Raehyun, an incident that remained ingrained in his cognizance due to the ironic humor.

Raehyun once sold brownies in her freshman year to fund the junior varsity team for their preliminary competition travel; however, on a particular occasion in their shared chemistry class, a swarm of teenagers barricaded her, demanding for something along the lines of weed-laced brownies, startling the cheerleader. A moment of contemplation later, and she realized the culprit behind her newfound semi-notoriety: Kim Hongjoong had made a sarcastic comment to Lee Minho regarding her brownies—"these brownies taste reminiscent to one with marijuana"—and Minho, a publicly known recreational user of the drug, released the word out to his fellow student body.

A pair of long fingers assisted her in the silent distribution, handing out the pastries as Raehyun managed the monetary portion of her temporary business, a sigh breathing past her violet mauve lips as she held the final bag of her supposedly weed-laced treats, her fingers briefly grasping his as the cheerleader inserted the gift into his hands. She evaded any form of eye contact with the taller male, Mingi's leather coat, threaded blue hair, and lip piercing intimidated her, regardless of how well she associated with him, or his like.

"Apologies," he started, baritone voice startling her in kind, positioning himself in the seat next to Raehyun's as the girl proceeded to review the test information, "Hongjoong's deadpanned comment led to this, I presume."

"Regardless, I sold all of my brownies, even if it required your friend to state that it contained tetrahydrocannabinol in them," her voice responded, a gentle timbre as her eyes maintained its attention on the assignment directly in front of her, "Tetrahydrocannabinol is the predominant active ingredient in marijuana," she supplied, eliciting a brief chortle likened to billowing windchimes.

"Song Mingi," the taller boy introduced, enough for the petite young lady to peer up at him, appearing less imposing as his eyes softened and lips parted into a gummy smile, fortunate their classmates failed to observe it, preoccupied with the addicting brownies.

"Legally, it's Park Raehyun; however, it was previously Lexington Marie Park," she mused, shaming herself due to her delayed knowledge that he knew who she was, considering her relationship with her elder brother, one of Mingi's closest and most loyal friends.

Despite her shying away from him in partial embarrassment, the warm, baritone chuckle directly in her ear as he mused, "Raehyun is stunning," sufficient for the brunette's cheeks to bloom a rosy fuschia.

Long strides alongside a devilish smirk greeted Raehyun's peripheral vision as her teacher returned her designed natal chart to the student, praises overflowing from his lips at her diligence, the cheerleader only bidding farewell after a gentle "thank you" of kindness, traipsing outside to have the imposing young man snake his arm around her waist.

"According to your natal chart, your Ascendant Scorpio sign indicates that the presentation of your character is intimidating, bordering on malicious, yet your Cancer Moon details that you're simultaneously an emotional wreck that holds grudges," Raehyun explained. "Your Venus-Mars combination states that you carry a subtle allure, which naturally coincides with the knowledge that you embody an unusually romantic sexual energy," she mused, attempting to stifle a bout of amusement, "From my personal experience, I would agree with that sentiment—perhaps it describes you overly so."

Seonghwa had once entrusted Raehyun to manage their apartment while he accompanied his friends as the designated driver in their outing to a football afterparty his junior and her sophomore year, as their parents had business affairs to attend to, and the younger sister held an aversion to large social gatherings that involved alcohol and drugs.

Her voice reverberated throughout the pristine white walls of her apartment bedroom, an ability she suppressed from the general populace to spare her from garnering mass attention from unwanted others. Raehyun's singing reached a note that bewildered a young man as he ascended the terrain of fire escapes, body aching when he reached his desired destination; "Raehyun?" he called, gentle undertones painting his tone as said girl's expression contorted from confusion to fretful, exerting her entire might into heaving the taller boy past the narrow window. Rushing out of the haven of her bedroom to retrieve a first aid kit stowed away in the depths of the adopted siblings' shared bathroom (a futile attempt to cover the knowledge that their adopted daughter was consistently tending to an unruly group of high school students that may or may include their son).

The purple-haired girl silently, deftly, treated the wounds of the boy with the now caramel brown hair, disregarding his winces and hisses haplessly as the antiseptic-soaked cotton ball made way to his cheek. "Relax," Raehyun informed, resonance atypically harsher than her usual gentle mannerisms, "You were willing to sustain the injuries when you hurled yourself into this situation; I suppose you can endure some rubbing alcohol and antiseptic." Obedient to her instructions, Mingi maintained silence despite his desire to press his lips onto her with an intense fervor, never overlooking the sight of pink hue on Raehyun's complexion, especially following her statement of, "Remove your shirt."

"Pardon?" he replied instantaneously, incredulously even, at the abrupt request; in his astonished daze, the exasperated cheerleader shrugged off the inky black coat, followed promptly by his turtleneck, exposing a mismatched array of bruises that hadn't healed properly, and fresh scars from whatever incident Mingi stumbled himself into that he refused to explain to Raehyun. Her sharp fingernails grazed against the boy's waist, cheeks dyed a rosy tint upon the sight of a shirtless young man, contrary to her upbringing as a Barbadian, applying pressure to the myriad of wounds against the surface of his skin with a fresh cotton ball.

"Would you mind providing me an explanation as to how you managed to acquire these bruises?" Raehyun surmised, Mingi immediately detecting a delicately quirked eyebrow directed at his countenance, attempting to shroud the growing desire to scream in agony with the athletic tape replacing the sting of the antiseptic when her clawlike nails swept against his abdomen.

"A student thought it would be amusing to try his hand at making some...sexual comments intended for you, which pissed me off enough to get into a fight after school," Mingi recanted in brief, her warm eyes freezing into a glare as biting as puncturing icicles, and the boy refrained from recoiling in surprise.

"Mingi, I'm from the Carribean"—Raehyun tore the athletic tape to seal her wrappings—"It would be scandalous had someone not make such a comment at least once; you shouldn't have lost your temper from such jargon."

The boy shook his head vehemently, vexation overcoming him as he growled, "The words were vile, Lex, Yunho had to restrain Seonghwa from attacking him; I protected your reputation, considering you could lose everything."

"Don't preach to me about upholding whatever reputation I have"—the violet-haired girl propelled herself off of the comfort of her bed, inching precariously close to the recently-dyed brunette with an uncharacteristic fire burning in her eyes—"Whatever statements and accusations they choose to say about me is none of your concern." The warmth of the candlelight allowed Mingi to see her features with more clarity, from her sharp cheekbones and almond eyes (the only similarity between her and her adoptive brother) to the birthmark located next to her left eye and her heart-shaped lips, currently parted as Raehyun elicited a huff of frustration directed at the taller male.

She gasped as he abruptly tugged her into him via her waist, her arms latching onto his biceps as she peered up at him, whatever hostility previously prevent evaporating as the young boy in front of her caressed her waist with a gentle, uncharacteristically so, fervor. "It becomes my motherfucking concern when they speak about my girl with that type of vulgar language," Mingi growled, roughly slamming his lips onto hers with an assertive ardor that it nearly paralyzed Raehyun into a state of nonreaction.

Parting away from the kiss, Raehyun slammed his figure towards her bedroom door, the prospect of its integrity falling apart at the corner of her mind as she retorted, "Who said that I was your girl, Song Mingi?"

Recuperating from the surprising amount of force Raehyun exerted against him, he towered above her sitting posture, her eyes narrowed into serpent-like slits, unwavering as he leaned down with his hands propped against either side of her frame, her legs and arms crossed once more—"Me, Park Raehyun."

"Liar," Raehyun seethed, a chill overcoming her as a devilish smirk etched itself onto his countenance, subconsciously grateful her stockings were removed a while earlier; pressing featherlight kisses on the crook of her neck, progressing into obscure nips and bites around her ear, knowing full well that her turtleneck sweater irritated the young man in front of her.

"With pleasure, babygirl," he whispered in kind, returning to paint a nebula of purple across her flesh, Raehyun's eyes fluttering shut as her head tilted upwards, a hitched whimper easing its way past her vocal cords, a sound that Mingi discovered was his absolute favorite sound, determined to derive the mellifluous tune out of her throughout the evening.

The violet-haired cheerleader twirled her pen between the grip of her fingers, organizing her system of ideas as she articulated them into her exam paper, ignoring the look her fellow teammate bored into her skull during the silent testing session and not privy of the glare directed at the other cheerleader from her boyfriend. Raehyun applied her attention to concluding her paper, strutting forward to the front of the classroom, the final student to finish her exam paper with meticulous consideration, submitting her essay to her teacher, a furtive nod approving her entry, her classmates heaving sighs of relief upon the notion they could finally speak to each other.

"Why do you like him so much?" the girl, Kwon Jisoo, interrogated Raehyun, shuddering fear as her fretful eyes widened at having Mingi pierce his unyielding gaze at her; from his peripheral line of vision, said boy detected Raehyun's biting stare.

"Pardon?" Raehyun wondered, her center of attention now a technological conversation with the boy with the lip piercing and swept blue hair, exchanging a relay of flirtatious, bordering suggestive, messages that previously would leave the cheerleading captain flustered, yet now relatively desensitized in reaction, progressively mustering more courage to counter his darker thoughts with feisty rebuttals of her own.

"Song Mingi isn't like us," Jisoo interjected, "His reputation is starkly different from ours, especially yours—you have absolute stellar grades, a prestigious spot on the KQ social hierarchy, and virtually every boy on campus at your beck and call—why would you settle for less than your worth and risk your entire reputation for a troublemaker like him?"

"I never realized the term 'us' existed until now," Raehyun responded coolly, swerving her figure to face her teammate with an unreadable expression, "I also had the realization that my romantic life is none of yours to be privy about." Receiving the note of excuse from a member of the ASB crew, Raehyun exited the premises with a wry grin on her face, Mingi sending Jisoo an assertive, bordering cocky, grin in her vicinity, the other cheerleader eliciting a groan in vexation from her captain's frustrating companion.

The pep rally permeated with people, almost compact as the lights dimmed and the notary introduction of "Partition" by Beyoncé indicated the opening performance of the rally, displaying the intricate movements and stunts that Raehyun had spent weeks choreographing, teaching, and reviewing with her teammates. Seonghwa and Yunho, both athletes for the football team, identified the former's sister with ease, her golden complexion her most distinguishing attribute amidst the clique of pallor. Her movements reflected her natural demeanor, highlighting the acquired combination of aggressive precision, sultry gazes, and poised winks that the cheer captain knew would anger Mingi into oblivion, and Seonghwa could only watch as his younger sister and best friends, San and Wooyoung, incorporated a series of seductive steps in time with the French in the song.

Following their ending poses, the student body president began their rhetoric in thanking the students for attending the rally, placing acknowledgment on Raehyun for her bombastic choreography as she bashfully bowed in thanks as the cheers roared before fleeing the scene, immediately meandering over to the tall-limbed bad boy. Mingi pulled her in close to him, Raehyun standing in between his legs as he sat on the concrete benches sequestered away from their fellow peers; as her two male cheerleader friends arrived, the captain couldn't resist the urge to stick her tongue out at their impishness, a perfunctory smirk on the girl's lips.

"Your comment surprised me earlier, babygirl," Mingi commented, noting her perplexed expression, "Whatever you said to Jisoo in history class before leaving for the rally—did she always think that way?"

"Don't mind her, Mingi," Raehyun concluded, tilting his chin upward to have her large brown eyes inspect into his own, the scent of his cologne (Allure by Chanel: the girl spent months saving up money to procure him the gift), "Her high school ideology differs from ours, especially when you consider her family's legacy attending this high school." Following her statement, she leaned down to peck his lips briefly, only for it to deepen as he tugged the small of her back towards his tight embrace, the lack of discretion much to her personal entertainment and his satisfaction.

The stadium lights illuminated the cheerleaders' beaming grins and upbeat as they led chants for their audience to follow, ranging from spoken cheers to rhythmical feet-thumping that felt like an earworm more than an actual song. Seonghwa, on the field, preparing to catch Yunho's throw, jolted slightly at the sight of his younger sister and her pompoms enthusiastically providing him support, voice carrying louder than intended, the quarterback amused at her antics.

"I have never heard her cheer as passionately as she does," Seonghwa remarked following their touchdown, admiring his younger sister as her teammates held the girl steady as the touchdown song resonated from the marching band, exciting their audience with the opening lead, "Perhaps if Mingi played football, Raehyun would cheer even louder."

Said boy caught the whiff of her trademark perfume during the halftime, her hair matted with sweat as she performed her routine, displaying her most well-rounded stunts and tricks with an enthused swagger that made her movements seem effortless—at that moment, he supposed, he became her own cheerleader, with resounding cries of support for her. It naturally was a far parallel from the traditional narrowed slit for eyes and aggressive frown, but the cheerleading captain appreciated the gesture nonetheless, briefly delivering him a smile before continuing her routine, and Raehyun properly kissed him following their victory, anticipating the impish growls from their friends, particularly their youngest and second-eldest in their circle, Jongho and Hongjoong.

"Care accompanying me to the afterparty tonight, my devil?" she mused against his lips, the sultry smirk intentionally provoking the leather-clad boy to a less-than innocuous reaction, and the girl understood his hidden, impure intentions. Mingi returned the gesture with a sensual grin of his own, parting with her to allow photography, either of the two of them, Raehyun's cheer team, her brother (who thought it amusing to lift her in midair), and her immediate friend circle, childlike expressions and antics that reminded her of her first encounter with them:

Seonghwa, the more lively Park sibling, invited her to a group outing with his group of friends, the only people of which she had a personal rapport with being Wooyoung and San, the male freshmen cheerleaders that she captained in their junior varsity division, and even with their relationship as teammates, Raehyun never engaged in anything aside from professional matters. Thus, it felt more like a surprise to her that her two male teammates were consuming alcohol until obscurity, yet, she was unable to complain, as the girl herself was holding a glass of pinot noir, the stem between her middle and ring finger as she spectated the festivities in front of her vision with a detached observance.

Her two teammates and Yunho, the energetic quarterback, were dancing to some voracious song playing on the vinyl player, Wooyoung already experiencing whiplash from bobbing his head back and forth too intensely, the other two not too far behind.

Yeosang, a classmate in her Introduction to Comparative Literature class, revealed himself to be a quite clingy drunk, expressing his love to his company to the point of near-suffocation, in Raehyun's perspective, noting several instances in which he engaged in displays of affection that she visibly stiffened at.

Jongho, a middle schooler that was supposedly related to San in some shape or form, proved to be unusually combative, nearly punching Yeosang under the duress of his bourbon-induced stupor, while Hongjoong from her chemistry class spouted expletives that made her wonder how exactly did he manage to maintain his creative brain, despite his fifth bottle of Dos Equis Amber.

Yet, the real question of the evening was how exactly did Seonghwa, the reliable, mature, calm, and more level-headed sibling between the Park duo, decide at the moment to perform a strip-tease performance, mortifying his younger sister as she aggressively flung the articles of clothing back to her brother, unsuccessfully shielding her eyes from the display of skin.

Raehyun's only solace happened to be the only other relatively sober person—the tall, lanky-limbed boy with acne on his cheekbones spectated the affairs with an air of indifference, taking a sip of his Bohemia before slamming it down onto the glass table, inverse to the wisp-like motions of the girl resting her wine glass against the glass surface.

"Should I offer an apology to you now for their idiocy, or should I abstain until they have warring hangovers tomorrow?" Mingi proposed, a scoff escaping the cheerleader's lips in amusement.

"Don't offer me one, then," she acknowledged airily, "They were the ones that suggested this outing; therefore, they should handle the repercussions of their actions without our assistance." Concluding her statement, Raehyun maneuvered her figure so that her left arm clung onto the head of the chair, her legs crossed right over left on the chair's arm, flaunting her form-fitting romper and stockings to the boy in interest, the mesh fabric exposing the navel piercing from years prior; "Is there something you like, Mr. Song?" she inquired.

"Something I like quite much," he responded, intentionally neutral—it dawned upon Mingi that the seductive smirk was an expression Raehyun trained to perfection, perhaps during her period in Barbados, during a time where her unchecked behavior allowed her to reap benefits far too mature for her legal age.

Desire was a local hotspot heavily driven by their teenage audience, as established by the purple-haired cheerleader when she witnessed a litany of her fellow classmates inhabit the club; yet, she heeded them no mind as she resided on Mingi's lap, allowing him to nuzzle his nose into the crook of her neck. The traditional, casual wear of her cropped sweater, plaid skirt, fishnets, and stiletto boots presented the illusion that she was a gangster's girl (which she indeed partially was), not privy to her squeaky-clean facade as the head of KQ's Varsity Cheerleading. Raehyun basked in the sensation of Mingi kissing and suckling on the spot behind her ear that he knew would make her elicit his favorite whimper, a product of becoming highly attuned to her, with all their restless nights at his apartment and her own when her parents and brother left her to her independent activities in the nighttime.

Yet, the girl felt her evening of intentional peace ruined, as an angry Jisoo stormed over towards the small clique of friends, Mingi halting his actions temporarily to deliver a preemptive glare at his girlfriend's fellow cheerleader. "You seriously think that you're able to get away with everything because your boyfriend happens to be the most notorious person on campus?" Jisoo spat, her captain resting her empty on Mingi's thigh, placating him temporarily as she rose from her seating arrangement, her posture upright with an air of sophisticated and refined confidence (much like her image, of which she was forced to cultivate), starkly differing from her teammate's brazen recklessness, hair disheveled and sweat permeating her features.

"Isn't there something more entertaining than attempting to poke a peaceful bear, Jisoo?" Raehyun questioned dryly, the boredom in her voice noticeable to her close friends, all of whom stifled a chuckle at her straightlaced humor.

"That bear is not peaceful, Raehyun—he's already manipulated you into becoming somebody you aren't," Jisoo reasoned, "You began attending nightclubs the more you interacted with him, wearing revealing outfits because of him, and I caught you smoking an electronic cigarette the other evening with him."

"How bold of you to make the assumption that I didn't perform this exact shit before I even moved to South Korea, Kwon Jisoo," she deadpanned icily, Wooyoung cackling at the barbed humor that earned himself a warning glance from Mingi, "Besides, you are not my parents, and you certainly do not carry my interests in mind."

A frustrated whine escaped Jisoo's lips, storming off angrily while Raehyun breathed a sigh of relief, retreating to the soothing embrace of her boyfriend, who allowed her to return his initial favor, raking both sets of her fingers through his fluffy, currently silver-turquoise hair, pressing featherlike kisses against the side of his angular jawline, maneuvering downwards towards his neck.

Mingi hissed as she bit firmly on the tender spot marking the bridge between his ear and carotid artery, eyeing him with an innocuous gaze; he established that in their position, she genuinely appeared reminiscent of a gangster's girl, but Mingi didn't mind—he never did, to begin with.

"Who would have ever thought that the angelic beauty would have a devilish side to her," he remarked, fingers skating from the nape of her neck to the bottom of her spine, Raehyun initially shuddering from the coolness of his fingers.

"Well," the girl mused, "It appears to me that every devil needs to have a guardian angel, and every angel needs to have a guardian devil to watch over each other." Pressing her lips to his, they allowed the dark, red, hazy glow to bask over them lightly, Mingi making a mental note to remember the current song that was playing over the loudspeakers.

Hell's Kitchen Angel—red, hot, and dangerous You broke the devil's poor heart with the way that you're loving me. I said, "Hell's Kitchen Angel—red, hot, and dangerous." You're a little too much for most, but you're just right for me.

#ateez mingi #song mingi #mingi #song mingi ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez blurbs #original character #mingi imagines #mingi scenarios #song mingi scenarios #oc #valentines #probably really late

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paimaniagalaxia · 5 years ago

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Ranar and Asriel-Goodbye

by Paimania and Trinity

Ranar The Demon- @trinity-xp

Asriel The Charming Demon- Mine

In this roleplay, Asriel leaves for Gotham before returning to Toontown four years later. He says goodbye to everyone except for his brother in arms--Ranar.

It was late that night as Asriel, being the heartbroken fool that he was, had packed up his suitcase and belongings. As he was on his way to Gotham. His father, was good friends with this Bruce Wayne fellow and staying with him would be the most vital option. So he had a place to stay while finishing off his education at Gotham University. It city was set a few decades ahead of their time, but lucky the train he was going on broke the laws of time and space. He didn't know who made such a contraption, but was thankful to see what was beyond his own time.

Before he could go, he had to make a few goodbyes. He already did so back at home with his mother and father, even to Sammy and the Inky Searcher Squad. The Butcher Gang as well go their fair share of farewells.... There was just one other he was missing. It was Ranar. Hopefully he was out and about down this route to the train station. He didn't want him to go searching for him while he was in a different place, in a different time.

Coincidentally, Ranar was standing by a route to the train station. Minding his own business, and leaning against a concrete wall while staring off into space. He was unaware of the current situation Asriel was in, mainly because he hasn’t had time to speak with him in a while. But on the inside, he worried for him gravely. But Ranar brushed off the thought and sighed. He remained in his position.

Within the his gazing sight, Asriel spots Ranar. He rushes over to pick up his pace before stopping beside the hooded demon. "Oh thank Satan I could meet with you again. It's kind of rare that we get to see each other." Asriel replies back, placing his hand onto his chest. He was a tad bit winded for rushing over to his brother. With a rolling suitcase and all.

Ranar flinched a bit,, but he soon heard the sound of Asriel’s voice, and he looked up to see his brother standing in front of him with a suitcase. And on the inside, he was totally confused. “Asriel? Wow, its been a while.” He looked at the suitcase and said “what’s with the suitcase?”

"Oh... This?" Asriel looks down at his black suitcase before turning his attention back at Ranar. "I'm going somewhere for a little while. Well... Give or take four years..." The demon chuckles a bit anxiously. Hoping Ranar wouldn't try to stop him, he was doing this for his own good and wanted his father to be proud of him to move on of what happened as of late.

Ranar went silent for a bit and sighed. He then patted Asriel’s shoulder “I’m sure you have a good reason for leaving. But I will truthfully miss you. I’m guessing you came to me to say goodbye right?” He asked.

"Y-Yeah..." Asriel nods. "After Prima broke up with me... I was devastated and broken. I wouldn't leave my bed or even hardly ate anything... Dad thought it would be good for me to finish my education, and see the world.." He kept it vague, just in case if Ranar wanted to follow. He heard Gotham was pretty high with crime, and didn't want that worry on Ranar's mind. "Sorry I couldn't get to you earlier. We don't write or anything."

Ranar nodded, “And I apologize for not trying to reach you sooner as well. I’ve been..busy.” He tilted his head. He had heard of Prima, but didn’t know the full details of who she really was. He only knew that she was Asriel’s girlfriend. Well, Ex-Girlfriend now. “But anyways, wherever you choose to go to finish your education, I wish you luck. I just hope you won’t forget me.” He shrugged.

"I promise I won't. Before you know it, I'll be back home and you and I can hang out some more." Asriel smiles. "I know Lil Haven Theater has a good mini-bar." Asriel chuckles with a smile. "Would you like to walk with me to the train station?"

Ranar looked around, and pondered at his invite for a few moments. Then he said “why not. It’s a good opportunity to say an official goodbye to my brother.” He patted Asriel’s back and started to walk with him to the train station.

Asriel smiles as he and his brother walk down to the train station. It felt rather nice to be with someone on this long travel to be so far away from home. Once they were there, he takes out his train ticket, forgetting that it was in view as it said the name of the City that was on there.

Ranar noticed the train ticket, and the city name on it. He stared a couple moments before turning his attention to the train. Ok the inside, he was a little worried about Asriel, but he made no hints to show it. Once Asriel was done, he turned to him and said “so I guess this is where we say goodbye, huh.” He didn’t mention the fact he saw the city name.

"Yeah... This is good bye..." Asriel replies a bit sad. He was going to miss him. Before Ranar could do anything, Asriel pulls him into a tight hug before he heard the conductor call out that the train was leaving for Gotham. "Got to go! See you in four years!" Asriel lets go and waves frantically, as he leaves to the train.

Ranar waved as well, and said “see you” after the train was out of sight, he sighed. A part of him wanted to go after Asriel, but he knew that he could never do that, since Asriel was a grown demon that could care for himself. And in the near future, he couldn’t wait to see him again. Ranar then turned away from the station, and slowly walked off into the night.

#bendy and the ink machine #batim #batim au #bendy and the mafia crew #batim oc #asriel the charming demon #ranar #trinity-xp #paimania #long post #roleplay

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oathholden · 5 years ago

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Inktober Day 13 Prompt: Ash

(4,718 Characters, 834 Words, about 3 Hours of actual work.)

Aedwen took a step forward, trudging onward through piles of ash and bone. In the burnt-out, desolated buildings bodies and viscera lined stretches of the walls and floors. If the smell alone wasn’t enough to put people away, the idea of walking through knee-high gore would be...but not for her. She had to keep moving forward, toward her goal. The moans of the Dregs that inhabited this heap of rubble and corpses kept one on a constant vigil, the sounds only marking ones who wished to add to the pile. Her grip tightened around her sword, the great blade shining in the sunlight, reflecting it’s rays and sometimes illuminating the darker areas she passed through. Pulling it in front of her, she ran her hand across the length of each side of the blade, ensuring that the indelibly falling ashes didn’t dull it’s incandescent gleam. Coming to a cliff, she noticed someone sitting nearby, overlooking the massive valley below which led further and further into the world’s end, beneath which lies her goal.

“Ho there, good ser! Might I have your name?”

The man jerked his head up, snorting. He had been sleeping on a cliff? A dangerous proposition.

“Hm, Ha, What!? Who’s there?” Getting his bearings, he looked over at Aedwen, “O-Oh, hello Good lady. I was resting, you see, before moving on to the dangers below. I am Ordmaer, of Astora. I see you carry the standard and Greatsword of our fair Homeland, sister! What’s your name?”

He stood to his full height, just barely taller than Aedwen, and proffered his hand in welcome and greeting. The battered plating of his armor was clearly not as lustrous as it once was, much of it being overcome with scratches and scuffs, his Chain Akton underneath showing serious signs of wear. Grasping his hand, she beamed at him, full glad to meet a fellow Astoran in the Dreg Heap.

“I am Aedwen of Astora, brother! Full well is it that we meet at the world’s end, don’t you think?”

They sat and traded stories of their travels. Their Falls and Successes, and how they ended up here. Their goals. As time went on, Aedwen began to recognize certain details about the man’s garb. It’s durability and thickness was incredible, despite how swiftly and easily he moved about in it. It had a peculiar sheen to it, almost like it was made with something more than just Steel. His Shield bore a familiar but unknown, almost as if...it came out of the books she was shown as a child. It’s crest was a winding Dragon, with it’s maw agape towards the top of the Heater, and beautiful golden scales as if made from slivers of Sunlight itself.

Yes, indeed, she recognized this man’s garb and gear quite well...as historic artefacts of Astora. Recovered from the Age of Gods by knights and scholars now unkown, they were brought back to their homeland to be preserved...but how did he have them? Sitting there, pensively, she curled her lip in thought. Wracking her brain trying to piece it all together. Was he a thief in Knight’s clothing? If that’s the case he wouldn’t have simply let himself be caught sleeping on a cliff like that.

“….Is something the matter, Aedwen? You look troubled. Please, if there’s anything I can do to aid a fellow child of Astora, then I will do so with cheer in my heart!”

She shook her head.

“’Tis nothing, Brother. Just some old thoughts wracking my head. Tell me though, who is it you’re searching for way out here?”

“Ah, of course! My dearest friend Oscar. You see, he went missing some time ago, after he awoke to the mark of the curse upon him. Before he left I asked him where I could find him at a later date. He told me; ‘Gods willing, you’ll find me somewhere in Lordran. Failing that, search for the Undead Asylum.”

….The Undead Asylum? Lordran? Those were only names Aedwen had seen in historical logs from the Scholars of Astora! Her mind went flying through ideas and theories, and as she was about to ask Ordmaer of what the date was, he stood again, turning to the path behind them that led to the bottom of the cliff.

“Well, it’s been wonderful speaking with you, Sister. I’m afraid I must push on now. Time’s wasting and I’ve got to find Oscar before something befalls him. I wish you the best of luck in finding that Ringed City! Farewell!”

And with that he took his sword and shield in hand, and began to walk away….only to slowly depose into a pile of ash as he continued away from Aedwen. Before her very eyes, the man that stood over her own towering height had been reduced to naught but a gray pile of leavings...and a beaten, rusted Shield, featuring a Gold-Crested Dragon, maw agape towards it’s peak.

#Dark Souls #Inktober #Ash #Dark Souls 3 #Inktober 2019 #Writing #Literature

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kaiju-z · 6 years ago

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Seon Adventures Episode 10: “Family and Friends and Fond Farewells.”

Soooo, stuff happened last session, huh?

Coming right back from the heartwarming moment, of a group hug and concilatory pat, the party now must dispose of the elf wizard, Felaern Krissel,’s charred remains.

After a quick round up discussion, they come to the conclusion of weighing the body down into a nearby bog. Really, planning it out takes much longer than actually doing it.

With Luctan gearing himself up again and disguising himself, Belli has to wonder how the ring actually works, since once he puts it back on, he returns to the shaven human look , no peachfuzz on his face, no nothing. From what Luctan could guess, there is a specific recorded charm to it, but he is no magical expert, so he cannot be so sure.

They decide to leave town. But not at once. They first must make some appearances, look around, ask for a possible job opening or something. Look as little suspicious as they can.

Returning to Victrum, part of the party goes back to the Silver Hammer’s Inn, where they try to dissuade Gorruk from even an inkling of an idea that they may have done something to one of his tavern’s patrons.

There follows a lot of bluffing and headaching, faceplanting on the bar and groaning on the subject of shattered perspectives on people and heroes. And yet, somehow??? Luctan lives up to his chosen previous name and bluffs Gorruk into believing them (i.e. the DM was rolling low during the conversation).

A question comes up regarding the meaning of “suggar daddy”,and Gorruk just. Doesn’t answer the disguised tiefling.

With a successful negation of a disaster, the gang get some drinks and Luctan plays matchmaker for Mournimar and Gorruk, which leaves the half-orc man a-blushin’. Gorruk does show interest in a possible date. But Mournimar evidently was not in the right mindset to get together with the man, who’s customer he only recently saw on fire. But he does promiss to return eventually and have that date with the saddened and confused hunk of a man.

We also learn that Gorruk has had this bar for 4-5 years now, having it passed down to him by a man called Medive, who currently resides in Sa Doma, coincidentally, having opened a different establishment called the “Queen Nightingale”. Should the party meet him, they will be sure to tell the man that Gorruk and the Silver Hammer’s Inn are doing wonderfully.

Or. As a Nat 20 Deception Luctan put it: “ What do you mean, Gorruk? This place is a Palace. “

The party reunite with Samson, who had been cuddling up to Morgan, the Dire Wolf, during all this drama, non-the wiser of what had transpired. The lot of them get on the carriage and take off on a long road trip to Sa Doma, where Belli is to meet with Kit and her Brother.

And where Samson is to split from the party and fulfil his own, personal quest.

Night 1:

As everyone gets to their sleeping time, Luctan finds himself having a dream. Feeling his hand get warm, due to an item he had collected about a month prior... And in his dreams, things occur.

Back in the waking world, Burk is the reigns holder as the others sleep. Rimefang happily at his side.

Felaern Krissel’s personal belongings: 89 gold pieces, 75 silver, expensive robes. Luctan holds onto these... for now.

On the second day of their travels, the highest perception people in the party notice something. A sign. Faded words spell “Love Shack, 50 miles away”.

There is not much discussion as the lot agree to follow the sign...

Along the way Belli helps Mournimar with his hair.

They reach the opening to an empty field with a small shack in the middle. As the tiefling two leave the carriage for the shack itself, everyone hears whooping and cheering coming from a carriage, coming close behind them. Lead by 3 horses, the carriage’s passangers They’re dancing, singing, playing instruments and are all around having a good time.

The in-coming patrons look the party over:

- Like half the people wink at Mournimar

- barely few show interest for Belli.

- Luctan soaks in all of the attention once eyes fall on the “human” fighter.

- Amelia gets none of the spotlight, sadly, but Burk does get at least two people to show interest.

The enthusiasting group wave and gesture for The Cultbusters to come along. But Luck and Mournimar are way ahead of them as they are down right swaggering towards the entrance of the Love Shack.

“Stay away fools, ‘cause love rules at the Love Shack.”

Luctan rushes in, Mourni follows.

“IF you’re looking for fun, you’ve come for the right place.” A very funky tune is coming from the shack as the duo come on in.

This place is a hot spot for Ebriosus (Banned God of Forbidden Mortal Pleasures) worship . As well as for some of Fornas (God of Luck, Fate and Destiny)’ more lenient followers.

While the boys have their fun inside, Amelia and Belli keep to the carriage with the others...

Though Samson does eventually join in the shack, looking quite relaxed and blazed by the time he comes back with Luctan (wearing a Flower Crown) and Mournimar. Double thumbs up are thrown in the air. Friendship with Samson, acquired in the most weirdest of ways. High five between the tieflings.

And on that day, Luctan became a man (TM).

(There’s a green half orc, who yells “Eldritch Blaaaast” inside the Shack).

As the party takes off, Luctan blows an air kiss to the building. And a half-elf dude catches his air kiss. Luctan swears to return one day. Maybe. Totally.

By the night of the 5th day, as the party is settling in for the night, around a campfire, they get joined by a wild looking woman, carrying three rabbits.

Thaks to Belli’s Zone of Truth, used with the woman’s consent, we learn that her name is Elouise and that she is a hunter, of sorts. She’s definitely not a serial killer or a cannibal. NO siree.

Not a townie, she is someone, who prefers life in the forest, as her appearance expresses, evidently. Elouise is about as tall as Amelia. Ruffled hair. They introduce themselves and talk of Sa Doma. According to her, there’s a rampant problem with people of the trade. Something illegal? Criminals of all variety. Thieves, assassins, forgers, counterfitters.

As they go on in their talk, the party offers her a spot at their campfire. In exchange, and in grattitude, she prepares the rabbits and the party have a nice feast with this new friend, who they encourage to try the adventuring life out.

They discuss their journey so far and surprise Elouise with the tale of how they met a representation of Dyunificus; a golden stag. She eventually believes them (and Mourni gets the piss taken for giving away his gift from Dyunificus).

Shifts are taken during sleep. During Luctan’s, he takes the 75 silver pieces he had collected and Sleight of Hands them on Elouise’s person. Having decided not to let the opportunity of helping out someone, who was kind to them.

After Belli’s wonderful Breakfast making skills, the party and Elouise part ways. (AND WE LEARN OUT OF CHARACTER THAT SHE WAS A WEREWOLF! MY INNER TRAVIS WILLINGHAM IS SO DISAPPOINTED IN ME!)

“On the road again!”

About a week has passed since the Solstice festival. By now Luctan and Burk have spent some time training with each other. Sparring matches, working on strength and blade work. Or axe work, in Burk’s case.

They reach Baborum. The starting point of this whole journey that brought them together to begin with.

It is the Eve of The New Dawn (New Year’s Eve).

There is nostalgia in the air. It hasn’t been long, but they’ve accomplished so much since they met. And so much to come.

In the sky, Mournimar can see them. There are many a constillations. Chuckling gnomes scurry about, doing their thing, everyone gathering i nthe center of the town and prepare for what comes next.

There’s a brief thick silence as everyone stops speaking, before a flash of light, a crack , shimmer and fireworks. Purple, yellow and green. The sleepy eyed kids look in wonder.

“You’re doing alright, kids. You’re doing alright.” (Our DM)

As the fireworks are going off, Amelia checks for a child she had seen when they previously had been here. A boy, who’s father had passed. She sees him, with his mother. The boy sits atop the shoulders of a man, familiar to the mother, surely.

The boy is healing. For tonight, at least, he is happy.

And they are all content.

Belli makes eye contact with the tavern owners that capitalized on their capture of the cultist. Said tavernitestry to avoid eye contact with her. So much nostalgia in the air.

Samson learns from Luctan about the party’s start.

And that is the New Dawn celebration.

The morning of the 11th day, Kevin and Killer bring the carriage to Sa Doma, a massive city. FREAKING HUGE, OK?!

We make our entrance from the South-Western gate, passing by the evident buildings between the outside and the city walls. Temples, quite evident from the outside alone.

And when they go in... Half the party, all the boys at least, have certainly never been to a town like this before. So big. So thick. So filthy.

Pulling his hood up, Samson tells his fellows to keep an eye out for their stuff, lest pickpockets rob them blind.

They make their preparations and go on in.

The others notice that this portion of the city is littered with Qorin and Embriosus symbols... Keeping an eye out, they can tell that shadyness is the norm. And anything outside of it, will catch attention. Like most of the party.

Goblins, Tieflings, Golliaths, Centaurs... Yeah. Burk is the “normal one” here.

Someone bumps into Belli as they go along. She receives a parchment from Kit. “The Lean peacock, north-east.”

They walk past some guard barracks, a dodgy looking tavern called “The scattered heart”, a guild hall for the DarkbBane Army. “The Brave Fighters standing against evil” and past the “Warmaster’s office”

There’s a city hall, currently being guarded by two almost identical tieflings. Luctan takes note of them. The male and female tieflings are red skinned, they have long black hair both. One has a figure, the female?! The male one’s got his arms folded and being way more macho than usual.

They pass through Peppery Pete’s, they spot the guild hall for the Lawyer’s Guild.

It is here, where they part with Samson. There are hugs, there are handshakes and there are salutes.

And there are finger gun genstures. Whatever a “gun” is, anyways. (We seriously question whether Luctan is The Fonz by this point, with his “Eyyyyy!” routine).

Luctan offers Samson their services if trouble arrises.

The last place they pass by is “Liliana’s Bath house.” (Jokes are made, as we wonder if it’s an actual bath house or just a kink thing).

They make it to the tavern. There’s a very elegantly painted bright bird. “The Lean peacock.” Anxiety is in the air. They can feel it. Hell, Belli and Mournimar embody it.

They scan the room and see Kit with the pink ribbon. A very inconspicuous looking redheaded half-elf. Sat next to her is a face they seem to recognize, but not sure where. (It’s Ficus. He looks similar to Belli. They are siblings after all.)

Ficus is a tattooed gray half-orc with red and blue tattoos on his person, a number of rings on his fingers and blue highlights in his darker shade of brown hair.

They recognize each other, Bellia and Ficus. They recognize each other.

Belli goes over to Kit and Ficus, being awkward, while the rest of the party go to the bar. Mournimar takes a seat nearby and just watches, willing to jump in the conversation if things go bad.

Kit smiles up, but she gives a half-glare, a negative emotion directed towards Ficus. She gestures to Belli to sit. Ficus looks terrified.

“It’s nice to see you again, Kit.” - Belli.

“It’s a fantastically tense surrounding, isn’t it?” - Kit.

“it’s certainly been a while. That was a bad start, that was a bad start. Oh God.” - Ficus.

As they talk, Kit, sitting beside Ficus, becomes something of an awkward intermediary

I thought you were dead. We thought someone had kidnapped you in the middle of the night and you were dead.” - Belli speaks, her voice evident with a mix of emotions.

I tried to leave some kind of note. I don’t-I guess-“

“Yes, a rock and you think a note is a good thing to disappear with.”

“If they had known I was going to go, they wouldn’t have let me.”

“They did everything to try and find you. They never stopped looking. Why did you leave? You’re family and you just left?! Didn’t eeven say goodbye”

“I was scared. Is that so hard to believe?”

“I was scared and I never did what you did.”

“I didn’t want what they wanted me to be.”

“They didn’t want me as a son. They wanted someone lively and fun, someone who could play the instruments and I was not this.”

“We’re bards, Ficus.”

“I’m not.”

As they continue, Mournimar subtly moves closer, by a table. Luctan keeps his eyes on the other tiefling, giving him a look of pure “WTF-ery”.

Ficus didn’t want to be like them. He didn’t want to be a “clown”. He wanted to do something bigger than perform.

“There’s more to being a bard than performing and throwing glitter about.”

He wanted to be there, be at the front. And he did. He fought in the wa of years prior. And left.

He admits he became a thief, after being pressed to answer, by Belli. “I’ve taken contracts to hurt-to kil people. I’ve killed people.”

It’s what the bands on his neck mean.

“If you were that desperate for money, why didn’t you go back home and ask for help?”

“Because they wouldn’t understand.“

Ficus wants to make amends. He’s hidden for too long and needs to see them again. He was selfish to leave, but couldn’t take it anymore and had to go.

And it is with this OOF. That Belli spills the beans on her own witnessed OOF.

On the story of how she found her parents frozen in stone, when returning with supplies to fix the carriage.

Ficus’ face goes through many negative emotions. But the superior one that bursts through like a damn dam is grief and sorrow as he starts to cry.

Belli’s had to do a lot of things to survive. She is angry with him. BUT!

As pissed as she is at Ficus, she still wants him in her life. He is openly weeping. There is sadness in the air. Kit doesn’t know how to comfort people. She uses one of Belli’s hands and pats Ficus with it.

At this time, Mournimar joins the conversation. Belli introduces Mournimar to Ficus. In a hell of a way. He’s better than Ficus. But Belli still loves him and doesn’t want to lose him.

Ficus immediatelly goes invisible, much to Belli’s frustration with her older brother.

From below the table, a small tabbycat hops on the table. Mournimar pats it, but it feels like Ficus is petting it. Belli demands he show himself again. And he does. He is a total mess.

Kit is panicking by this point, the poor Changeling, as she doesn’t know what to do. But she will see this through. For both Narahs’ sake, she must!

Mournimar tries to encourage Ficus, but man, it doesn’t go well for the drow born tiefling. Luctan has to pull him out of the conversation and scene itself, much to Mournimar’s dismay as he desperately wants to comfort the two half-orcs.

But ultimately, he submits and steps out, towards the “Obnoxious Bee inn”, opposite of “The Lean Peacock”. As they leave, Burk hands Rimefang over to Mournimar for emotional support, (aww), while Amelia has not stopped drinking since the whole conversation started.

The poor Air Genasi has been stressed out beyond words.

The boys go in and look around the place, but don’t find anyone recognizable.

Mournimar drinks, while Luctan gives him a sober pep talk, giving him assurance that everything will turn out well with the Narahs. After all. They’re family.

Mournimar mentions a drow named Lazarus and Luctan seems to recognize that name... Strange.

Mournimar elaborates on his history with this person and why they’d evidently be in this town.

2 years prior to all this, Mournimar got in a relationship with a drow-elf named Lazarus. Tall guy, charming, very nice to him and they hit it off. He ended up distancing himself. Next thing he knew, he found him passed out, bloodied at a shrine to FUCKING POTENCIA, after he knew what she did to Mournimar...

“He had the balls to say “It wasn’t Potencia’s fault!”“

Once the older tiefling gets this off his chest, Luctan drops another pep talk. He may not be the brightest yarnball in the oven, but even he can see things from a certain perspective.

Mournimar sighs and is getting his composure back together.

Back with the Narahs.... Emotions are a bitch.

By now, Ficus starts to calm down. “Well, where are they?”

Belli explains that she had left them at home. Ficus has a lot to make up for and it may take him the rest of his life to make up for it.

Do you kind of understand, or was this all for nothing?”

They talk well and Ficus almost smiles. He elaborates that he’s had friends keep tabs on Belli, during her recent travels.

“Do you remember what today is?��Belli’s 17th Birthday

Ficus remembers, of course. And even has a present for Belli. A necklace container shaped box.

“Yes. You’re not completely hopeless as a brother, then.” The Sibling bonding is exciting and cavity enducing as we learn about their past shenanigans, involving pools of water, mud pies and the like.

Kit asks if they’ll go to Keemas for Night Cap?

Ficus shares that he has a place, somewhere in town. But isn’t that good with words, the poor awkward half-orc.

(From their interaction, this player can only discern that Kit is Ficus’ Belli as Mournimar is Belli’s Ficus.)

The cat that Ficus has with him is, as he puts it, his Fae familiar. One very pettible boy named “Bumpkin”. Which surprises Belli, to say the least.

There are kazoo puns made and laughter is had between the siblings as they hug it out. They missed each other.

Belli proceeds to introduce her brother to her friends, startign with Amelia and Burk. Amelia is drunk, but constute enough to handle herself. She gets to meet Bumpkin, who’s form is that of a tabby cat.

Burk is not impressed with Ficus and lets the evidently scared half-orc know this fact. And he asks if Ficus threw a rock at him. He makes sure to let Burk know that omeone else threw a rock at him. Ficus doesn’t want Burk to kick his teeth out.

Belli drops some truthbombs, while Ficus tries to explain that the necklace he got her can do the same thing that brought Bumpkin to the Material plane.

Belli basically gets to have her own familiar! Belli has a friend necklace, which she is very excited about. A very drunk Amelia points out the boys went to the other tavern and that’s where the gray half-orcs take to.

Amelia has an emotional breakdown. Existential crisis.

Amelia gets more Rum. Burk gets another Tequila slammer.

There is further sibling bonding as they head to the Bee inn. Talk of chair theft. So much chair theft. It’s wild.

Mournimar hasn’t drunken that much, thus he is but tipsy as the two enter. Via belli kicking the door in, to announce their presence. Mourni freezes immediately. “Oh, Fuck!” He panicks.

But the situation looks much resolved, compared to earlier. very much resolved.

The two meet Ficus and shake his hand.

Luctan having to shake it in motions to where it looks like a normal one, countering th shiver the taller man has. He oozes that charisma in ways to calm down the male Narah, while Ficus apologizes to Mournimar.

The awkward handshake ensues between the awkward boys and Mournimar asks of Sa Doma.

“To summrise it politely, it’s a shithole.” There are lovely people here. The lady at the bathhouse is one of them. Liliana is a lovely old lady. The bathhouse is nice.

Mournimar asks about Lazarus When he mentions the sword, Luctan just stares, his interest peacked.

Ficus hasn’t seen this guy. Nor heard of him. His surname is fairly common.

There are sex jokes that ensue. Yes, things have definitely gone to a good vibe again.

Ficus then proceeds to tell them about sights they could partake in, depending on their disposition. And on things to avoid.

There’s a battle axe and a half woman around. Don’t tangle with her.

A brewery.

He mentions The “Queen Nightingale”, Medive’s place, where he apparently gambles???

And, should they look for them, there are many a brothels.

There are temples and the like.

Belli mentions their meeting with Dyunficus. But Ficus doesn’t believe them.

Somehow. Someway the conversation leads them to Belli barring Ficus from having a “go” at Luctan. (Yes. In ;) way).

Much to her bro’s dismay. Ficus finds Luctan attractive. That 15 charisma, man. It’s really something.

Should they be interested, there is a school of the arcane to look into for study.

At the temple of Keemas there’s some good shit that’s not exactly legal. (Light the previously mentioned stuff).

There’s a market and there are many a shops. Including a library/tavern mashup.

And should they look for it, there is a fight club. Around the corner, behind, if you come out a door and go straight past 3 buildings, there’s an open area, where fights occur occasionally. Something to share with Burk, definitely.

After some accidental and “accidental” flirting with Ficus, the boys return Rimefang to Burk, having decided to go to that library tavern, afterwards.

Amelia, by this point, is pretty out of it. No barfing, but she does throw a glass across the room. Luctan decides to carry her to a room, tries to buy one and is told to take her out of the establishment.

So he goes back to the Bee’s inn and tries there, with better luck as the brunette half-elven woman running the bar points him to a storage closet, where Amelia can take a well deserved nap.

“Everyone’s a little fucked up.” - The Half-Elven woman.

“Mood, sister.” - Luctan.

Ficus even lends her Bumpkin as a cuddle buddy.

(YES, HE HAS A B! IT IS MY HEADCANON!)

As the boys leave, they agree they are horrible to Amelia, accidnetally as it is.

“This is our truth. We are horrible.”

And as the two head to the library, we reach an ending point.

Previous Episode / Next Episode

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pandemonivms-blog · 6 years ago

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⋆ ◦ ° ☾ lee pace + cismale + he/his — have you seen markus bishop? they sure have been hanging out at andy’s jazz club & lounge a lot recently. they are a thirty-six year old known as the balance, and they currently work for the cobras as a lawyer, which they’ve been doing for a year and a half. a heterosexual sagittarius, they are clever + intuitive, as well as faithless + opportunistic. the smell of fresh rain on a warm summer afternoon, soft jazz playing through half-cracked windows of an empty house, disengaged half-smiles.

thirty six years ago markus bishop was born in valdez, colorado during a turbulent time for the town. sandwiched between the years when the savages and cobras were formed, the bishop family did their best to keep their heads down and their hands clean from any gang activity. all was well on that front for many years with neither of markus’ parents involving themselves in the criminal underground of their beloved home town. an only child, there was much expected of markus as far as responsibilities went. he was taught early and reminded often that success pended so significantly on his drive and he would be stuck in valdez for the rest of his life if he didn’t work hard for himself. considering the circumstances of his birth ( his parents were older, it was difficult to conceive in general and carrying markus to term was dangerous ), he felt obligated not to let them down.

while he didn’t dislike living in valdez there was certainly an appeal to be elsewhere. because of this markus worked incredibly hard to keep his grades nothing short of a 4.0. he didn’t have many friends for this but there was always a certain calming charm to his presence when he was around. markus was the quiet onlooker for so long in his life that he learned how to observe others and mind their patterns and mannerisms. it was a skill he took with him into adulthood and a sturdy choice to his career path.

while he was never involved with more physical events during his schooling markus was easily found wherever an academic challenge was brought. clubs at school that championed brains were his forte and when he wasn’t pressing his nose into a book or using his gathered intellect for an extracurricular activity that would surely look decent on his transcript he was eyeing the musicians. it took until his sophomore year of high school for one of his only friends to shove him into the after school jazz band to at least watch what was going on. markus joined shortly after and tempered himself to learn how to play the drums for such a difficult and tumultuous kind of music.

promptly at eighteen and upon graduation markus bid his farewells to his family and shipped off to law school. yale university in new haven, connecticut was his first choice and with his undeniable grades, multitude of extracurricular activities and community service record he was a shoe-in for acceptance. while his family could nowhere near afford the tuition markus was lucky with grants and scholarships. college was challenging but for the first time he felt as if he could apply all of the various learning tools he had garnered throughout his young life. seven years of bachelor’s degree and law schooling later and he held a degree in hand, proud parents flew to connecticut to see their only child hold his success out for the world to see.

and naturally markus sought a challenge. at twenty five he passed the new york state bar and garnered himself a position with the state of new york as a district attorney. many cases were pursued and criminals prosecuted during his reign with his skills in observation and fine attention to detail being put to hard work. markus enjoyed his job, enjoyed the busy city life, and thoroughly enjoyed that he had lived up to his parents expectations. everything seemed to be falling into place.

slowly he lost his parents. it was expected with their age and the way life is, but one summer afternoon he received a call that his mother had passed and barely a year later his father followed suit. markus took the time off from work to travel home and settle the affairs of the estate. for a short period of time he had no connections or ties to valdez any longer. and after the passing of his parents there wasn’t much time to consider home. a new marriage took him to unexpected and pleasant corners of his life: another valdez native that he had vaguely recalled seeing in his youth but always narrowly missed. andy shepard and markus bishop met in court when he prosecuted one of her arrests and somehow kept meeting under similar circumstances. courtship happened, marriage happened, and when andy became a marshal with the united states markus followed.

his credentials took him far, never mind the recommendations he earned from his college, colleagues and the state of new york itself. while he didn’t always travel with his wife he was sure to keep in touch. neither of them were the warmest of people but his affection for her was great and despite the distance that sometimes came between them, he made sure it worked.

and when he believed his life in valdez was over, that the chapter in his life had closed, he received a call. an inquiry about a remainder of the estate. when markus went to valdez to handle it he was made a shady offer that he should have ignored. not once in his life did he ever had curiosity about the gangs. not once did he consider them beyond the funny drinking story of their existence back home. when he was asked to work a few cases ( just look them over ) for the cobras for a little extra scratch he should have politely refused. but he didn’t.

luck, or a hunt for an old foe, had his wife suggesting they move home. things always seem to work out that way, don’t that? and the few cases for extra scratch became more consistent work. until markus himself bore an ouroboros tattoo hidden on his body somewhere he hoped andy wouldn’t find it. but no good marriage has secrets. their fight was explosive and incredibly fast. the divorce proceedings, as drawn out as they were, flew by. somehow he wound up with their once shared home but couldn’t bear to sleep in the same room they once called theirs.

if she saw him as a villain, despite keeping his morals and despite refusing to shed any blood, despite keeping his hands as clean as possible and processing each as as legally as he possibly could ... he was a villain. so he’d become a villain.

while markus still refuses to take a life he certainly doesn’t try to hide his affiliation anymore. the cobras are as much his family as his parents had been ( they’re likely rolling in their graves for their son’s involvement, though ) and while markus isn’t one to flaunt his membership he certainly doesn’t whisper it like a horrid secret any longer. he’s accepted his place on the dark end of the spectrum.

personality: markus always tries to be as pleasant as he possibly can when dealing with any human interaction. it’s more been ingrained to him from his parents than anything else, but he is a polite individual. he’s less concerned with keeping his legal proceedings entirely clean and more involved with ensuring that his fellow cobras remain free from liability ------ but you can still catch him attempting to extort loopholes rather than fudge paperwork. deep down he’s still standing by strong morals.while he’s present for every mandatory cobra meeting you’ll be hard-pressed to find him anywhere that violence might break out as he outright refuses to bloody himself ( and really doesn’t want to get dragged into it ). overall markus is patient with others, but should his hand be forced he’s one to observe and outwit his opponent, much like his days as a chess player.

#outlaw.intro #x.|| markus / about ||

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apocalypseprodromus · 5 years ago

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Barriers Between (Chapter 4)

Warning: Angst. And Yandere behavior... And pretty fricking long!

Being forcefully pulled by her arm, Trinitas took this opportunity to admire the handsome young man in front of her. He was strangely attractive when he was angered. They finally came to a stop somewhere outside the pocket dimension.

“I’m sorry for what happened back there. I don’t know why you’re upset but you shouldn’t be. These are my problems, not yours.” Trinitas despondently uttered.

Squall didn’t know how to reply. He didn’t want her thinking he was somehow angry at her. In fact, he sympathized with her. The two of them had more similarities than they initially understood.

“We’re in the same boat.” Squall smiled bleakly. “Our fears aren’t so different.”

She couldn’t discern what he meant from those words. Instead, she grabs his hand while her eyes glowed a shade of emerald for half a second.

At that moment she understood what he meant...

Standing puzzled as to what she was doing with his hand, a voice other than his own entered his mind.

I’m not going to abandon you. As long as you don’t do that to me. I want to be a constant in your life for as long as I’m able. It’s so easy to denounce the promises of others as plain lies, and I know words don’t count for much if you never follow through with them. Let me fill the void left by others. I want to be all you’ll ever need and you can be the same for me. I don’t care what’s on the inside, it’s you... and that’s all it’ll ever need to be.

Squall looked back at the girl in wonderment of her abilities as she drew closer to him. Playing with his hand, delicate fingertips skimmed the leather on the knuckles of his gloves.

He’d never understand her, but perhaps he didn’t need to. “Let’s just get going.” He broke her out of her trance quietly before starting off in a new direction.

“You betcha!” She exclaimed before running to his side.

“So, if my crystal heart isn’t the crystal I’m supposed to look for, what could it possibly be?” Trinitas looked to the gemstone organ she got back from Squall in the previous ‘cycle’ as it were.

“It’s supposed to be something representative of who you are. It’s one of those ‘you’ll know it when you see it’ type of deals.” Squall shrugged.

“Hm.” She acknowledged what he said but it still left more questions than answers.

“We’ll get it... somehow.” Squall assured the momentarily distant girl.

“I wonder where the others are...” Trinitas mused.

Squall sighed as he looked to the side and saw ‘others’ in the distance. He stopped Trinitas and turned her to the side. “There you go. Play nice with the other children.”

Trinitas’ vision caught the sight of some fellow Warriors of Cosmos. “Very funny Squall.” Her tone far from actual amusement.

Squall often teased her about her short stature, in conjunction with her hot-headedness. For a harbinger of ill tidings, she was rather unintimidating and unassuming. But she continuously claimed it worked in her favor, despite the drawbacks of perpetually looking like a 15-year-old.

“You laugh now but just watch! No one ever suspects the things I’m capable of.”

“I have firsthand knowledge you know. Don’t think I could forget about that.” Squall remembers a time where Trinitas used someone’s face as a springboard, before landing elegantly with the soles of her shoes digging firmly into their crotch.

How classy. While the memory makes Squall simultaneously want to roll his eyes and contemplate the safety of his own crotch, he can’t help but be impressed by his partner’s agility.

“Hey, guys!” The call of the Cosmos warriors alluded to before catches their attention. Zidane and Bartz run to catch up to the two of them.

Squall feels a slight pang of irritation from the smile Trinitas gave to them.

“So, are you two still looking for your crystals?” She remarked casually.

Zidane and Bartz began talking to the green-eyed girl but Squall couldn’t help but feel green-eyed himself at the prospect of the conversation. He didn't really take into account what they said anymore. What caught his attention was how close Zidane was attempting to get to Trinitas. The blond male seemed to notice Squall’s icy piercing glare and seemed to get the message.

“We’ll leave you guys to it! Let’s go, Bartz.” Zidane cheerily bid, calmly walking away from the brunette female and her menacing teammate.

“Um, shouldn’t we be working together?” Bartz tried to suggest.

Zidane met Squall’s frigid gaze once more and dismissed the notion outright. “They’ll be fine by themselves. We’ll also cover a lot more ground that way. See ya’ guys later!”

“I guess we’ll be going now,” Bartz stated baffled at Zidane’s counter excuse. “Good luck, you two!” He chirped before his eyes caught sight of Squall.

He quickly felt unwelcome.

“That was strange. Let’s get to finding those crystals!” Trinitas shouted, ignoring the bizarre tone of their farewells.

Squall followed closely to the young woman in front of him, his mind slightly dazed from the experience.

What was that? I don’t remember ever feeling that emotion before.

The duo had traveled for what seemed like a day and a half, having met Laguna at the Crystal Tower, a small area with a courtyard.

The blue dressed gunman watched as Firion and a few others made their departures. “He’s pretty interesting.”

“Of course you’d think that.” Squall muttered under his breath.

Laguna managed to catch what he said. “Well, don’t you think so? These guys carry weapons straight out of a fairy tale. Not to mention the magic they can use. They’ve got armor like I’ve never seen, and one of ‘em even has a tail! Oh yeah, the tail guy? He sure wasn’t happy when I yanked on it. That thing is real.”

Squall grimaced slightly. He yanked on it...?

Trinitas chuckled at the silly black-haired man. “Why would you do that?”

“Just wanted to know if it was real. Think about it, we’d never’ve met these people if all this hadn’t happened. Gotta take the chance to get to know ‘em.” Laguna held his hand to his chest. “Yep, expand our horizontals.”

Squall rolled his eyes. Horizontals? My first assumption was accurate. This guy is a moron...

“Um, it’s horizons. Also, would you’ve liked it if I yanked on your tail?” Trinitas surmised from his monologue, her hands sassily on her hips.

“Wouldn’t know, I don’t have one. Ya’ know, you’re rather fascinating too, Trinitas. You’re dressed like a modern-day gothic princess and give off this eerie vibe, but you’re not really what others would assume of you.” Laguna retorted thoughtfully. “Looking at you not knowing who you were, I’d assume that you were some kind of primordial force or an angel of death. Not an optimistic altruistic idealist with a cosmic case of borderline personality disorder.”

Squall looked to Trinitas worriedly, afraid Laguna may have said something to depress her. Fortunately, Trinitas took no offense to the statements made by the older male. Trinitas smiles sadly. “You got me there.” She shrugged.

“And you...” Laguna turned his attention to Squall. “Well, you’re kind of a mystery yourself. Especially since your sentences are so few and far between. How d’you expect to make any friends?” Laguna reasons with a slight tilt of his head.

“This is a battlefield, why do I need to ‘make friends’? Why bother making friends when we’re all headed back to our own worlds anyway? Besides, I don’t want to make friends with people who don’t understand me.” Squall looked to Trinitas in the corner of his eye. She looked disheartened by his answer.

“So the solution is to just... what? Shut everyone out? That sounds very counter-productive to me. You can’t really be serious, can you? You're not even allowing anyone a chance to get to know you in the first place. For a grown man, that’s pretty naive. ‘If it’s not forever, there’s no point getting close to anyone. If they don’t understand me right off the bat, why bother?’.”

Squall grew a bit offended at Laguna’s mocking monotone of him but more so of Laguna misinterpreting his words. That’s not what I meant. Squall scowled at the raven nuisance.

“Listen. Even if we lived in the same world...”

Which we unfortunately do.

“... there’d come a time where life would pull us apart. S’not a reason to avoid people, that and them not understanding you. Even if it’s someone you love more than life itself, that time will come.” Laguna mused. Meanwhile, Squall glanced at Trinitas briefly.

“There’s no guarantee you’ll even get to say goodbye. But before that happens, you get to be together, right? You can’t just waste all that potential for a rewarding relationship, even if it means you hit some bumps along the road.”

The blue-eyed young man looked to his companion to see her nodding along with Laguna in agreement.

“Squall! Do you see what I’m saying? You gotta forget about the stuff you can’t change and enjoy the now! I guess what I mean is, let’s try to get along. You’d think you would’ve learned something from your time with Trin.” Laguna laughed as he walked away from the two young brunettes.

“He has a point, you know.”

“Shut up, Trin. Let’s go.” Squall didn’t bother looking down at her as he grasped her hand. He knew if he looked, he’d find a smug smirk on her face.

The road to finding the crystals was fraught with difficulties. Slowly other warriors began regaining their memories of the previous cycles with each victory. Some of them even managed to find their crystals. But the same couldn’t be said for Squall and Trinitas.

“It’s fine Trin. There are still some stragglers... We’ll find our crystals in time.” Squall tried reasoning with the erratic girl frantically pacing one of Rift’s grassy patches quizzically trying to deduce why they haven’t found theirs.

“I just want to make sure we have it before something bad happens! I didn’t retrieve it last time and everyone died! I fucked up and everyone else paid the price. I don’t want that to- NO, I can’t let that happen again!” Trinitas distraughtly bellowed, startling Squall.

She blames herself for this? That’s not right. “Trin, it wasn’t your fault that Chaos was more prepared than us. Not very many of us were even ready to face Chaos...” He trailed off as he noticed Trinitas leaving the area. He strides to catch up with her. “And where are you going?”

He didn’t get an immediate response which was bothering.

“I’m going off on my own.” She started floating in the air and Squall grabbed her leg attempting to pull her back to the ground before he found himself floating with her.

“We don’t need to split up, Trin! We just need to-”

“ENOUGH! LET GO, LEONHART!” Trinitas attempted to fly a little faster and get a little closer to the ground so she could kick him off of her. “Let go!” She screeched at the boy currently dangling from her boot.

“You were the one who said you wouldn’t abandon me! And I’d hate if anything happened to you!” Squall yelled back trying not to get kicked in the face by the agitated female. This made her stop recoiling her foot.

Her expression was grim as she hovered inches from the ground. “I’m immortal. Nothing I’ve ever tried has ever come close to ending me. I can’t die, Squall. I think you’re making excuses. What for? I may have told you that I’d stay but if I need to break that promise to find my crystal for everyone’s sake, so be it. You’re the one who believes our friendship is destined to fail anyway. We come from separate worlds, right? One day we’ll have to just... part. I’m sorry that it hurts, Squall. It hurts me too. But you know what would hurt worse? Is watching everyone die again, and not getting another opportunity to do what’s best for them. Squall, so long as I get my crystal I believe we can prevent another pointless tragedy. If it’s what I’m supposed to do then I’ll be okay. If not, then just make sure Chaos doesn’t win.”

Trinitas quickly teleported away before Squall could reply.

He felt his heart plummet in his chest. “Trin.”

The sky above turned a dark foreboding green sometime after Trinitas’ disappearance. His heart started racing and his vision got hazier. Something was wrong with Trinitas and his inner voice went haywire, repeating her name ceaselessly in his mind. He needed to find her, right now.

Squall searched everywhere for her, the rest of the Rift, the Phantom Train, the Crystal Tower, the World of Darkness, Ultimecia's Castle, the Old Chaos Shine... she didn’t seem to be anywhere.

He faced many Warriors of Chaos and came to the rescue of several of his comrades, not because he wanted to, only for the fact he was looking desperately for Trinitas.

When trying to speak to him he would start taking off to the next location on his mind. Other Cosmos Warriors noticed the look of hysteria on his face when he found out that what he was looking for wasn’t around and decided to follow him.

“Squall, what’s wrong? Where’s Trinitas, I thought she was with you?” Yuna tried stopping the panicked young man to no avail as he ran right past her Terra and Vaan.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that expression on his face before.” Vaan regarded anxiously.

“You think something bad happened to Trinitas?” Terra asked, concerned with the state of the smaller brunette.

“It must be. Squall’s not one to behave in such a berserk manner.” Yuna was still shocked by the usually taciturn individual bolting right past her.

“Guess we’re in agreement then. I’ll follow Squall, you two let everyone else know what’s going on then gather up some others to search for Trinitas.” Vaan declared

“Right!” Terra and Yuna proclaimed before going to find others and tell Cosmos respectively.

Squall ran across the vast grassland in the hopes that Trinitas would just be in the meadow but no, it’s not that simple. It never is. A white entryway occupied the space Trinitas normally sits in.

The bombardment of disturbing jargon became nothing more than background noise to his addled mind. He was more curious about why he’s acting this way but his body isn’t stopping for no one. Not even himself.

He passes through the portal of white light, unknowingly followed shortly after. The voices threatening to drive him insane abruptly halted.

This place is one he’s unfamiliar with. Tall white walls with equally as tall white stone pillars under a glass ceiling. The sky is a bright shade of blue with the sun hanging just barely in sight. The floor was covered by a black and silver-lined rug, underneath a grayscaled swirled marble ranging from black to white and every gray in between. On the pillars hung thin black banners with a silver skull ribcage and pelvis bone over-lapped by skeletal arms and bordered by a v-formatted pattern.

It can’t just be a coincidence that this all reminds me of Trinitas. She has to be here somewhere. Squall reasoned looking back behind the portal only to notice how dark the dead end looked. An undercurrent of ominousness told him to avoid the dark space.

He turned back to the double doors at the end of the short corridor before something else caught his eye. Above the doorframe, presented by the glass ceiling, he saw inky wisps of blackness rising from the glass dome in the next room. Too busy observing his surroundings he failed to realize that Vaan was hidden behind a pillar to his left, seeing exactly what he was seeing.

Squall rushed to the doors as they slowly opened in reaction to his proximity. Vaan quickly followed after, alerting Squall to his presence once inside the dark atrium. Squall didn’t bother caring where he came from. He only cared if he could help him look for her.

Squall looked to the center of the room and saw a small light almost completely drowned out by the darkness. As he got closer to it the figure took a familiar shape... Trinitas unconscious, and the outline of her crystal heart giving off the faintest amount of light he’s ever seen.

“Trin!” He whispered surprisingly catching Vaan’s attention, but before Vaan could make his way over a shadow hovering near Trinitas’ body stopped him from advancing. “Uh, Squall, I don’t know if you should...” Vaan’s words trailed off when he observed the determined brunette getting closer anyway.

Squall ran to Trinitas but was blocked by a shadow slowly given form. She looked eerily like Trinitas...

This is not Trinitas.

This woman appeared slightly older than her, taller with her hair in a bun and eyes a murky viridian. A longer dress with long sleeves... And a T-shaped platinum looking scythe clutched in her left hand. She wore a menacing smile.

“Welcome to Vulneris.”

She raised her scythe faster than Squall could raise his gunblade and struck him away from Trinitas. Vaan ran to Squall’s side to see that he was livid.

“AND WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO BE?!” Squall hastily clamored to his feet shouting at the facsimile of his friend.

“Viridi. And I’m waiting for the last little light in Trinitas to go out. That is to say, I’m waiting for the corruption to spread to the Curator of Vulneris who’s currently underneath the terminal.” The woman referring to herself as ‘Viridi’ saunters over to the console hidden in the darkness of the room. “How are you doing, Soci? I know you’re still there.” Viridi taps the metal covering under the enormous immaculate slate holding the keyboard.

“Burn in Ifrit’s Inferno!” A voice more similar to Trinitas’ screeched from behind the metal.

A fireball flew at the women from beside Squall. “I can do that for ya’!” Vaan playfully yelled as he offered another incendiary. The first blitz hit its target but she dodged the second one advancing towards Vaan in a frenzy. Squall took it upon himself to cast Lightning Shot as she passed him, drawing her in close just enough for a Fated Circle.

The more they fought Viridi, the more light found its way into the atrium. If they had to kill this bitch to make things right then that was fine by Squall. After all... That wasn’t his Trinitas.

Sometime during the battle, reinforcements found their way to the strange pocket dimension Vulneris. Viridi didn’t go down easy, she might’ve even been immortal like Trinitas but they didn’t take the time to find out.

Trinitas’ body was moved out of the way and under the console during the fight while Viridi was preoccupied fending off the Warrior of Light, Cecil, Terra, Vaan, and Tifa.

“Will she be okay?” Squall asked Yuna anxiously. “She seems to be tied to this place, the brightness of Vulneris somehow matching the light of Trinitas’ crystal heart. And it seems to work the other way around. I’m sure that once the light returns to Vulneris, Trinitas will wake up.” Yuna tried to comfort her worried comrade.

“Glad I didn’t have to be Miss Exposition for once. Everything you said is true. This world is tied to Trinitas’ mental state. Viridi gains more power with Trinitas’ every emotional wound or mental scar.” A voice from behind the console’s bottom half declared.

“And no, I’m not coming out until that intruder has been dealt with!” Soci’s muffled voice called to the two warriors talking beside the console.

“How do we defeat her?” Yuna asked the person on the other side.

“You don’t. Even if she wasn’t an original part of Vulneris, she’ll just come back in response to Trinitas’ mental duress. The most you can do is weaken her, drive her back into the dark and close the door.” Soci blandly stated.

And that’s what they chose to do.

Squall and Yuna ran off to join the fight, attempting to repel the incessant threat.

The jarring slam to a door shutting brought the combat to an end. Viridi was now locked behind closed doors for now, and the light was slowly restored to Vulneris.

Soci removed herself from a hatch beneath the console. “Thanks for that. Both for myself and Trinitas. Although... all of you should probably get yourselves and Trinitas out of here. I’m not really content having Trinitas so close to Viridi, even now. Perhaps I’ll see you all again in the future when I’ll be better able to explain the intricacies of this place.”

The woman was more similar to the darkly dressed Trinitas. Her hair has the same shade of dark brown but cut chin-length. Her eyes are grey-green. Her clothing was a greyish white dress of modest length with no sleeves. It matched her mild-mannered nature.

Squall picked up Trinitas, about to follow the others out when Soci stopped him. “Squall, please for the love of Shiva, please be extra careful with Trinitas. You hold her heart the closest, she trusts you and believes in you. Don’t make her think you don’t care... ever.” Soci solemnly finished her warning letting Squall leave with her charge.

Squall thought good and long about what Soci said to him holding Trinitas’ sleeping form tighter to himself. He began to feel a soft grasp on him. Squall’s eyes met Trinitas’ as they peered weakly at him.

“I’m sorry I ran off, that you had to come to my rescue, that I’m weak without you.” She ashamedly hung her head, tears gathering in her eyes.

Squall shook his head disapprovingly but smiling nonetheless. “I’m not upset with you. I’m proud that you had the courage to try to go it alone. Even if what I learned is that there’s no shame in relying on others. The way I rely on you... The way I can’t do this without you. I can’t make it alone, but I’m not. I have you. And even if I never see you again, I’ll still remember our time together and it’ll be enough for me.”

Before the affirmations could conclude a light hovered about them. Two silver crystals were enveloped in its radiance, one a cluster of silvery spikes, the other a replica silver crystal of the emblem found in Vulneris.

They finally found their crystals. They finally had the strength they needed to face the future, and all it really took... was one another.

The days that followed involved helping other Cosmos Warriors obtain their crystals, however it was required. There was a day of rest offered before the fight would be brought to Chaos’ doorstep. Everyone took the time to talk about battle strategy, their worlds, their dreams...

Trinitas recounted her journey from Insomnia to Altissia with Noctis Gladiolus Prompto and Ignis. The downright fearful attitude she had throughout the journey, how scared the people she met along the way made her feel. How she wished she’d enjoyed it more instead of spending time worrying about the future.

Despite the torment, it was rewarding to see how life carried on. Even when all hope seems lost... when life loses all it's color, flavor, texture, fragrance, melody... its very meaning. What do you do when you go numb from existence? How do you handle loss? You just keep finding something else to tether yourself to. She pushed others away, believing they were out to abuse her trust. That they wanted to get close to her for ulterior purposes. These people stuck their necks out for her. It didn’t matter what the reason was. They still worried more for her as an ally than an asset. It felt so rare to be treated like a regular person by strangers.

Strangers... Another thing she regretted. That she was only truly getting to know these people now.

The conversations continued from dawn ‘til dusk. When it was finally time to call it quits, Trinitas snuck out of Order’s Sanctuary to the Rift.

Once there she noted how the night sky looked identical to that one night she spent with Squall in the last cycle. A green and blue hue with no noticeable discrepancies.

“This familiar to you too?” The comforting baritone of Squall’s voice alerted her at first but still elicited a sense of tranquility.

“How did you know-”

“I followed you out of Order’s Sanctuary. It’s not safe to go wandering out by yourself. Immortal or not, I still get worried.” Squall kept his gaze on her’s as her eyes lit up.

“Well, that’s very sweet of you, Squall. It’s nice to know you care.” Trinitas beamed.

He made his way beside her sitting to her right like the night they spent together last time. “If you love someone, it’s only natural to care about them, right?” Squall coyly shrugged in response.

She was taken aback by that one little word... love.

“You love me?” Trinitas was stunned. “Wait, like a friend or something... more?”

In response Squall slowly drew his face closer to her’s, stopping just enough that her eyes became his center of vision. He held her head in his hands closing his eyes before finally saying what’s been on his mind lately. “I love you, Trinitas, And if I only get one chance to say it, I want that chance to be now.” He murmured in a humble tone.

While his eyes were closed, Trinitas grabbed his face and found herself entranced when his eyes opened again. “I love you too, Squall.”

A breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding finally escaped him in a sigh of relief. He smiled sweetly at her before planting a delicate kiss on her lips.

When he pulled away and began pressing smaller kisses to her face and neck, Trinitas giggled as she playfully shoved him away. Squall’s grin never faded.

He was content sharing this moment with her for what it was; A moment. And while he may be disappointed at the prospect of losing her, not having used the opportunity to tell her how he felt would’ve hurt him far more.

The duo made their way back to Order’s Sanctuary for the night. The next morning, they would be preparing to march into the Lands of Discord.

#Squall Leonhart #Dissidia #Final Fantasy #Original Character #fanfic #oc x canon #yandere

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schtroumpf-a-lunettes · 7 years ago

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The Smurfs That Canon Forgot, Ch.2

AO3 link | FF.net link | Can also be read right here on this post!

Ch1 here

I’m posting this chapter late because I was busy nearly getting fully taken in and deceived by a Chinese company lol. It’s longer than the first chapter though, hope that makes up for it a bit. Also, chapter updates will be weekly from now on, at least for all the future chapters that are already written out. Enjoy!

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Everyone slept in longer than usual. Once Harmony was awake, he made sure to rouse everyone else with a blast of his horn, much to their chagrin. As the smurfs had awakened one by one, Father Time was bombarded with questions and he was burdened with the unpleasant task of informing them that there had been no miraculous return while everyone was asleep. This was quickly apparent to the smurfs who had slept outside and yet they asked hopefully after Papa and the others anyway, in the off-chance that they had slept through the return, and that the seventeen smurfs had come back and were currently catching up on much-needed rest in their homes where they belonged. A couple of smurfs came running out from their homes at different times, eagerly asking for updates and prepared to be angry if they had been left to sleep through the return.

Once Harmony’s horn blared, the remaining smurfs came quickly running out from their homes or sat up from their makeshift beds on the snow outside.

Actor Smurf got up as usual, hungry and ready for breakfast. To him, all that he knew was that a loud noise had woken him and in his sleepy state confused it with the breakfast call. He went outside expecting to be greeted by delicious smells but instead stopped short when he was met with many smurfs milling about aimlessly and – Father Time?!

The events of the previous evening all came rushing back to him and it hit him that they still hadn’t come back. There were seventeen smurfs unaccounted for right now, and he was thinking of breakfast?! He’d just assumed they’d return during the night.

The villagers were starting to exchange looks of concern and a muted kind of panic was beginning to spread among some. Everything was supposed to be sorted out yesterday, and barring that – this morning. No, they were probably getting worried prematurely. They could be back any minute, so there was no use getting worked up right now. Right?

“Th-th-th-they still aren’t back!” Scaredy covered his eyes and shook.

“Aw, that’s enough of that! It’s early in the day. They have all the time in the world to get back to us, yeah! Why don’t we give them the benefit of the doubt, huh? The last thing I want is for them to get back from a time-travelling adventure to a bunch of miserable smurfs!” called out Tuffy Smurf. “We gotta be a little bit more patient, that’s what we gotta do!”

“You’re right. Have a bit of faith, smurfs!” Harmony agreed.

Father Time stood up from his sitting position and all eyes turned to him. If this was his only reason for standing, it was entirely unnecessary considering that he towered above the smurfs even when he was sitting down.

“Yes, I don’t necessarily think we have cause for concern right now. After all, Papa Smurf is with them, and so we can rest assured that the expedition is in good hands – of course, you don’t need me to tell you that, heh. In any case, I think there may just be a slight delay in their return for some logical reason currently unknown to us, and so for the time being, all we can really do is continue to wait. I’m afraid that I do have some matters that I need to attend to today, but you can be sure that I will return here this evening to check up on the village, and if you need me before then you can come to my dwelling to find me. But I think that the chances are very high that all of your fellow smurfs will be back before sunset.”

The smurfs bid Father Time farewell and Nanny told him firmly to make sure to get some rest too. And once he was gone, it was a matter of consciously maintaining a positive atmosphere, keeping their spirits high, or distracting themselves. Some smurfs were better at it than others…

“I’m really hungry…” Sloppy Smurf announced, and was met with a chorus of agreement. None of them had eaten breakfast yet, after all, considering that there had been no Greedy Smurf around to make it.

“I should have thought of that...” Nanny muttered, “I should have realised someone would need to make breakfast… I could have done that, easy.”

“No, Nanny. We all expected Greedy to be back f’r breakfast. And we’ve all been busy thinkin’ about other things, no need to claim the blame for this” Woolly patted her on the shoulder.

“So... what are we going to eat?” Tracker asked.

“Well, don’t be silly, we’re smurfs, aren’t we? And do we not have a huge stockpile of smurfberries? So what are we waitin’ for!” Nanny steeled herself and replied incredulously.

“Well… Of course, we don’t usually just eat smurfberries and sarsaparilla leaves for breakfast. Greedy, well, cooks us up something nice, normally…” Poet pointed out.

“Well, fiddlesmurfs!” Nanny laughed, “You smurfs’ve been spoiled rotten for far too long, don’t you know that food’s food? Now c’mon, let’s go get our breakfast!”

Everyone was hungry and so no-one was about to complain. Smurfberries and sarsaparilla leaves tasted just fine – it’s just that, it wasn’t the same compared to something like Greedy’s porridge or Greedy’s pancakes. It didn’t feel like breakfast, but then again, this was no ordinary breakfast under ordinary circumstances in the first place.

“Boy, I sure hope Greedy is back in time for lunch” Nosey Smurf said ruefully and garnered a few laughs.

“We don’t know what Greedy went through – er – is going through in the dinosaur ages, he could be really tired when he gets back! Would we really make him cook up our lunches right away?” Weakling Smurf objected, having taken the statement entirely at face value.

“Well, knowing Greedy… making a meal is just what would cheer him up and cause him to stop feeling tired!” Nosey grinned.

Weakling Smurf couldn’t help but smile, “More like eating a meal.”

Scattered good-natured laughs gave way to sighs. “I do hope we all get to see Greedy again today. And not just because he makes the tastiest meals you can imagine.”

***

Suffice it to say, Greedy was not there to make them lunch. All the smurfs had for themselves was a bowl of smurfberries for breakfast and a bowl of smurfberries for lunch. It was starting to look like they’d be having smurfberries for dinner too.

Some smurfs were torn between attending to their own matters or milling about in the main village to be at the ready for the return of the missing smurfs. Others took to passing their time in the village itself – two birds, one stone.

“Maybe they won’t arrive in the same place they left?” Poet wondered, “What if they landed somewhere in the forest?”

“Well then they could be anywhere! We can’t just go around searching the whole forest, especially in these kinds of temperatures!” Timber said in exasperation.

Poet sighed, “You’re right. Well I sure hope they arrive in the village, or that they’re making their way here right now.”

The sky started to grow dark, and everyone started feeling rather hungry. No one wanted to bring up the issue of dinner. No one wanted to concede to eating another meal without the missing smurfs.

Father Time returned to the village as promised.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I took an afternoon nap once my tasks were done and slept a bit through my alarm. Have Papa Smurf and the others returned yet?” He needed only to glance about at the glum faces before him to determine the answer to that question. “...I see. Well, that is quite troubling...”

He sat down heavily on the ground and the smurfs all gathered around.

“Just what is going on with them, Father Time, what’s up with those time crystals!” someone called out.

“Could they have landed somewhere else – say, in the forest, for instance?” Timber asked, echoing Poet’s earlier remark.

“I – I don’t know. Not unless there was a malfunction with the crystals or some kind of mistake was made, I – I just don’t understand it” he said softly, looking at the ground. Everyone fought to keep their panic and their despair at bay. Just one day, it had only been one day, it was nothing, it was no big deal.

Except when you’re time travelling, when you have the ability to go to any point in time -

No, there could be any number of reasons why they weren’t back yet – you have the ability to go to any point in time – except if something went wrong -

Father Time looked at them all.

“There’s no reason to worry too much just yet-” he began.

“Of course not!” Tuffy shouted, more anxiously than anything else, “I’m not worried at all. Those smurfs’ll be back soon. We can’t just…!”

“Yes, of course,” Father Time continued, “There’s many different possibilities here. I must admit that it seems not everything has gone according to plan, but it could simply be the case that the time crystals are malfunctioning somewhat, throwing off their time of arrival back to us or their destination. So their return could be off by a few days – a week – a few miles –“

Scaredy sunk to the ground, shaking all over. None of this sounded promising. So they could land somewhere dangerous? They could land right in the middle of Gargamel’s lair! They could-

Father Time went on. “The possibilities are... endless. But Papa Smurf is with them, it’s surely a minor setback they’ve encountered-”

And there was no guarantee they even survived the mission to return that little dinosaur back home.

“What do you suggest we do?” Nanny demanded, “You yourself stand there sayin’ the possibilities are endless, yet you tell us everything is probably fine?!”

“I’d continue to remain on the lookout over the next few days, with luck Papa Smurf and Grandpa Smurf will be able to get everyone back-”

“What do you think went wrong with the time crystals, Father Time?!”

“Everyone, please try to stay calm. As I said, it could be a problem with the time crystals malfunctioning. How they might have malfunctioned, I’m not entirely sure. Or – well, I’m sure, I mean the time crystals and their key are in good hands. I’m sure neither Papa Smurf nor Grandpa would have misplaced them-” Father Time didn’t sound fully convinced.

“But it wasn’t just Grandpa and Papa who were sent back in time like it was supposed to be… What if they did lose the crystals or that key you were so worried about?!” another smurf spoke up.

“Well...” Father Time hung his head. “If we are considering those as possibilities, then… It’s possible that they are all… lost in time...”

Some smurfs let out cries, some slumped, and others remained frozen where they stood.

“Without the crystals they wouldn’t have a method of travelling through time, without the key… They wouldn’t have a way to return to our specific point in time…”

“If I could just TRACK them!” Tracker yelled unexpectedly – he practically screamed the word “track”. “But no, they’ve travelled through time, there is no trail for me. But can’t you track them?! You’ve got to have some way! You’re Father Time!”

“I-”

“Couldn’t you just go after them? We know where they went – back to return that creature! We could just travel back to that point in time and find them!”

Father Time was shaking his head sadly. “The dinosaurs were around for… a while. I don’t know which specific point they went to, or the exact place they landed, nor do I know what crystal combination they used, we could search for forever and not find them...”

“But you’re Father Time” someone muttered bitterly, “Doesn’t that mean that you have all the time in the world?”

And how could they know the poor missing smurfs hadn’t simply had some tragedy befall them all soon after arriving back in time? Or if something went wrong and they had no way of travelling elsewhere, they would have lived for the rest of their lives surrounded by dinosaurs and be long dead either way. What practical difference did either of those scenarios make to everyone right here, right now?

“Those time crystals are just about impossible to track… I would need to have a very clear idea of exactly where and when to look. But at least we have some inkling of how far back they went… I will start making some investigations into it when I return back home, although I’m afraid that I can’t promise anything will come of it. As I said, I think we should all also continue to hold out hope for some time. If there are any new developments, please come and see me immediately, and I will continue to stay in close contact with all of you. I must be going now… I’m terribly sorry that you are all going through this...” Father Time took his leave with his head hung low.

Nanny commanded everyone’s attention once Father Time left.

“Alright smurfs, you heard what Father Time said earlier. The others may be coming back at any time, so there’s no use moping around for the time being. And Father Time just might be able to find some way to track them too, you never know! Until then, we all need to make sure that we keep this village running smoothly, y’hear me?”

Discussion broke out amongst everyone. The missing smurfs could be back by tomorrow, or they could be back next week. Or-

Waiting until tomorrow was one thing, but it was true that they all couldn’t afford to neglect their duties and their day-to-day lives until the other smurfs returned, seeing as they had no way of knowing exactly when that would be.

First thing’s first -

It was time to have a bowl of smurfberries for dinner.

#smurfs #the smurfs #Tracker Smurf #Nosey Smurf #Harmony Smurf

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mistressemmedi · 7 years ago

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Ten things to watch for in the 2018 Dakar Rally

By: Valentin Khorounzhiy, News Editor at Motorsport.com (x)

The 40th edition of the most gruelling rally event of all, the Dakar, begins on Saturday in the Peruvian capital of Lima. Here's everything you need to know ahead of the two-week marathon event.

#1. Rain, rain, go away

The 2017 rally's route was received considerably better than that of its predecessor, with many a competitor praising the increased focus on off-roading and navigation and a lesser reliance on 'WRC-style' road stages.

The downside was that a significant chunk of that route didn't actually feature competitive running, with persistent heavy rainfall dominating the Bolivian leg, as well as sections in Argentina.

Day-to-day conditions were rough (particularly in Bolivia's Oruro bivouac, which turned into a swamp overnight), a number of stages were shortened and two – including the much-anticipated 'Super Belen' in Northern Argentina – were canned.

Rain in Bolivia is no one-off issue, and the troubles of the 2017 event left the likes of trucks frontrunner Gerard De Rooy and Hans Stacey, as well as top car-class privateer Erik van Loon, calling for a rethink of the route.

Dakar is still going to Bolivia this year – albeit for a shorter stretch – and none of the three aforementioned competitors will be with the rally this time, De Rooy in particular deciding to contest the Africa-based Eco Race instead.

This is by no means a mass exodus, but Dakar organisers will be wary of the rally becoming too much of a hassle for the European privateers that make up most of its ranks.

They could really use a smoother run in 2018 – and for the returning Peru leg that opens the route to be a success.

#2. Last hurrah for two veterans?

The news that Peugeot would be bowing out after the 2018 race was a big deal in many respects, not least because it could be the catalyst for retirement for both Stephane 'Mr. Dakar' Peterhansel and Carlos 'El Matador' Sainz.

Peterhansel, comfortably the most successful competitor in Dakar history, was inundated with retirement questions immediately after claiming his 13th event win last year.

With the 2018 race marking Dakar's 40th anniversary and Peugeot calling it quits, it wouldn't be a huge surprise to see Peterhansel hang up his helmet now – but the 52-year-old is yet to commit one way or another.

He recently told Motorsport.com: “I don’t really have plans. After Peugeot’s announcement to stop the Dakar programme, we weren’t surprised because we suspected it, and there isn’t any nostalgia for the moment as it’s not over yet! But there is a bit of sadness.

“We lived four years of an exceptional adventure so now, I just feel like leaving this behind me and focusing exclusively on this next Dakar and doing the best I can.

“Then I will see what I will want to do next. But currently, I don’t even give any thought to what’s going to happen after crossing the line of the next Dakar.”

Sainz, three years older, has struck a similar note. But with no obvious new manufacturers on Dakar's horizon, both his and Peterhansel's options would be limited if they wanted to keep going – and it's not at all unlikely that one, or both, will decide this race will be as good a time as any to step aside.

#3. Loeb's moment of truth

Sebastien Loeb's successes on the 'WRC-style' sections of the 2016 Dakar were to be expected, but it was his and co-driver Daniel Elena's strong performances in off-roading and navigation last year that marked the crew as potential champions-in-waiting.

Well, about that... Peugeot's announcement that its Dakar programme would conclude with the 2018 event suggested Loeb and Elena won't get as many chances as they really ought to, and the Frenchman's subsequent blunt confirmation that this year would be his “last chance” has now driven the point home.

Loeb clearly has what it takes to win the Dakar this time. He already looked Peugeot's fastest driver last year, but ran out of time to make up for a navigational mistake in a head-to-head duel against the shrewd Stephane Peterhansel.

And despite his obvious talent, Loeb still hasn't won a cross-country rally. Most recently, he squandered a very real chance in the Silk Way Rally when he crashed out, handing the win to fellow Peugeot man Cyril Despres (who should likewise be a factor in this year's Dakar with another year of car experience under his belt).

So, it's now or never, and the pressure on Loeb will be considerably higher this time around. And while a Loeb victory would be popular, Peugeot has insisted it is not planning to stack the deck in favour the nine-time WRC champion.

“The only thing we know ahead of the race is that many things will happen – with weather, with incidents, with driver, co-driver and navigational errors,” said Peugeot's Bruno Famin.

“It is impossible to know who will win, whether it'll be Loeb or not. For us, the important thing is that one of us wins – and then we'll be satisfied.”

#4. Spoiling the farewell party

Nasser Al-Attiyah topping the opening stage of the 2017 rally for Toyota prompted Carlos Sainz to say Peugeot had been treated unfairly by changes to restrictor regulations – with the 4x4 cars allowed an increase and his two-litre buggy getting a reduction.

But that, of course, was very much a false dawn. Al-Attiyah crashed out of the rally early, and while his fellow Toyota drivers kept in touch with Peugeot over the opening stages close to sea level, their heavier, normally-aspirated cars were no match for the 3008DKR at altitude.

Come 2018, further measures have been taken to level the playing field, with the buggies made heavier while the 4x4 cars get a weight break and increased suspension travel.

That should take the Toyota camp halfway to preventing another blowout. The other half would be its chief hope, Al-Attiyah, staying out of trouble.

After his bruising 2017 exit, the two-time Dakar winner dominated the Cross-Country Rally World Cup for a third straight year, and should have a strong shot at ruining Peugeot's farewell party.

Still, even if the rapid Qatari doesn't keep the car in one piece, fellow Toyota driver and 2009 champion Giniel de Villiers almost certainly will, the South African having finished each of his 14 Dakars so far - and only once outside of the top seven.

#5. Mini's double-spec strategy

The recent unveiling of X-Raid Mini's all-new 2WD buggy means the team will play both sides in the 2018 race.

Mikko Hirvonen and Yazeed Al-Rajhi, who have spearheaded the outfit's recent efforts, will be piloting the buggy, whereas 2014 champion Nani Roma – back in the Mini fold after one year with Toyota – will stick with the 4x4.

But despite a two-fold strategy and a formidable line-up, toppling Peugeot and Toyota might be too tough an ask for now – at least according to former Dakar champion and Mini tester Jutta Kleinschmidt.

“It's difficult to say because we never saw it racing, they only did tests in Morocco,” she told Motorsport.com. “For my experience, it will have some technical problems, I'm quite sure, because it's a long race.

“I don't think it's already competitive, I would be very surprised. It could make some good results but to win is so hard. Peugeot suffered the same in its first year [in 2015] and then the second year was really good.

“I also think they put all the effort in the buggy, they hadn't developed the other car, not much at least.”

#6. KTM-Honda rivalry approaching boiling point

Last year, KTM continued a stranglehold on the Dakar’s bikes category dating back to 2001 thanks to Sam Sunderland, but the Briton's maiden triumph certainly wasn't without controversy.

It owed much to a one-hour penalty that was handed to all four Honda factory riders on the fourth stage for illegal refuelling – at a stroke turning Joan Barreda’s 19-minute lead into a 41-minute deficit. Barreda went on to lose by 43 minutes.

One month later, during KTM’s MotoGP launch, CEO Stefan Pierer made headlines when he accused his “most hated” rival Honda of trying to cheat its way to Dakar glory.

Honda eventually returned the compliment when Ricky Brabec accused KTM of always getting its own way with the organisers in October’s Morocco Rally, won by Mathias Walkner.

In response, KTM rally sport manager Jordi Viladoms told Motorsport.com: “[Brabec] says there is a person who speaks well with the FIM and with the organisation, it’s clear he’s referring to me.

“I appreciate the sentiment that I do my job well, but it’s not KTM’s style to talk about other teams like that. We are a little surprised, but they have their style and we have ours.”

Those comments have set the tone for what promises to be another fascinating Battle Royale between the Dakar’s pre-eminent two-wheeled brands.

#7. Barreda's year at last?

If anybody has emerged as the heir to Dakar bike legends Marc Coma and Cyril Despres in recent years, it’s Joan Barreda, winner of no fewer than 18 stages in the South American event since 2012. And yet, the Spaniard has never finished on the overall podium, let alone won the title.

Last year’s one-hour penalty was merely the latest in a long line of misfortunes for Barreda, who lost strong victory chances both in 2016 and 2015 due to mechanical trouble.

The Spaniard’s luck didn’t improve after last year’s Dakar either. He broke his collarbone in March and then broke his wrist in August, compromising his preparations for this year’s event.

Following surgery, Barreda is finally ready to return to competitive action. But the 34-year-old insists finally capturing a maiden Dakar victory is the not the be all and end all for him.

“I want to try at least to win one Dakar because it would be the prize for the work of all these years,” Barreda told Motorsport.com. “But it is not something that obsesses me or stops me sleeping. What I dreamt of, I have already achieved: to be the reference rider.”

Barreda’s opposition will be stiff, not least within his own Honda team, where impressive 2016 rookie Kevin Benavides – who was forced to skip the event last year – will also start among the favourites for victory.

At KTM, reigning champion Sunderland is joined by 2016 winner Toby Price, last year’s runner-up Walkner and former enduro star Antoine Meo, while FIM Cross Country Rallies champion Pablo Quintanilla spearheads sister brand Husqvarna’s assault.

Not to be discounted either is Yamaha, which has recruited Franco Caimi from Honda to join Adrian van Beveren and Xavier de Soultrait in its works line-up.

#8. Replacing de Rooy as Kamaz's chief headache

The two Dakars Kamaz has lost since 2009 had both gone to De Rooy, who is sitting out this year's race – so the Russian truck manufacturer should fancy its chances.

It'll have a strong line-up as usual, with champions Eduard Nikolaev and Ayrat Mardeev, rising star Dmitry Sotnikov and Anton Shibalov in an initial support role.

Sotnikov's fortunes will be of particular interest - his Kamaz is to be equipped with a new straight-six engine instead of the traditional 16-litre V8. And it is not as big a gamble as it might sound, given that Sotnikov has already headed a Kamaz Silk Way Rally podium lock-out in a similar configuration.

That's not to say Kamaz will have a clear run at victory, as the team still has to overcome the likes of regular frontrunner Ales Loprais, his fellow Tatra driver Martin Kolomy and Martin van den Brink.

And while de Rooy is absent, his IVECO team should now be spearheaded by Argentine Federico Villagra, who too can be a formidable rival.

A former WRC regular, he has finished in the top four in his first two truck-class Dakars and further proved his credentials by winning the Morocco Rally last year.

#9. Karyakin versus Casale

The quad class might lack the wide recognition and marquee names of other categories at Dakar, but it gives no quarter when it comes to drama, competition and unpredictability.

A cursory glance at this year's entry list would paint the 2018 event as a duel between the reigning champion, Russia's Sergey Karyakin, and '14 champion/'17 runner-up Ignacio Casale.

Casale, having lost by over an hour last time out, feels he was “in very poor shape” then and is approaching the event with renewed confidence, but Karyakin will be no weaker this time and is motivated to prove his maiden triumph was no “fluke”.

Of course, these usually don't work out so simple. Last year's race featured five different leaders and six different winners, and all of them are back in 2018.

Among those who could disrupt a potential Karyakin-Casale showdown are fellow past champion Rafal Sonik, Argentine riders Jeremias Gonzalez and Pablo Copetti, Bolivia's main hope Walter Nosiglia, Dutch cross-country world champion Kees Koolen and Peruvian Alexis Hernandez, who ran at the front of the race in 2016.

But most curious, perhaps, will be the speed of French duo Axel Dutrie and Simon Vitse, who both mounted a serious dark-horse challenge on their respective debuts last year.

#10. From the touchline to the cockpit

The sight of non-motorsport celebrity isn't a particularly rare occurrence for the Dakar Rally, with cameos ranging from Margaret Thatcher's son Mark's infamously disastrous 1982 outing to ski champion Luc Alphand's slow and gradual path towards a full-on Dakar win in 2006.

And this year's race will mark the latest addition to the roster in the form Andre Villas-Boas, 40-year-old Portuguese football manager who just a few years ago was seen as the next big thing in the sport.

Villas-Boas remains the youngest manager to win a European club competition, his Porto side lifting the Europa League trophy when he was just 33. But subsequent stints at English giants Chelsea and fellow London powerhouse Tottenham were ultimately inglorious, swiftly halting his rapid ascent.

Still, he is no spent force, which is what makes this cameo particularly exciting. He has just walked out of a lucrative deal with China's Shanghai SIPG and is frequently linked to various football clubs in search of managers.

He's also clearly not contesting the rally on a whim, long-known to be a motorsport fan intent with a dream of racing at the Dakar.

That, of course, is no guarantee he'll do well – but he has commendable enthusiasm, a handy co-driver in former KTM rider Ruben Faria and a solid piece of equipment in the Toyota Hilux.

If you're partial to football, or just keen on more mainstream recognition for the Dakar, Villas-Boas will be worth keeping an eye out on.

#dakar #dakar2018 #dakar rally

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memorylang · 5 years ago

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Reunions | #29 | March 2020

Fitting, this 29th story from my Peace Corps Mongolia life marks my reunion with our M29s, the senior cohort who taught me so much about how to be a Peace Corps Volunteer.

From blurred goodbyes with mentors and friends, to an uncertain transatlantic journey, my continued evacuation felt nostalgic, new and every emotion between. In this story, I bring you from my city of service across Mongolia’s north central Khangai region, to pick up fellow Peace Corps Volunteer evacuees on our caravan to the capital.

With every familiar face I saw, leaving Mongolia felt more and more real.

Last Sunrise

Sunday, March 1, I awoke early for my last sunrise in my apartment.

Next, I went around the rooms, stowing the rest of my needs in my luggage and sweeping dust around the linoleum floors. I felt Mongolians were always tidier than my best. I left aside a few household things I didn’t mind whether they stayed or went.

As I packed myself snack bundles in the kitchen for my journey ahead, I thought to my summer host mom. She made lunches for my day trips to Дархан /Darkhan/ on Peace Corps business. Those were great.

Lastly, I heated on the stove my supervisor's remaining бууз /boe-z/ steamed dumplings she gifted at Tsagaan Sar.

Just then my supervisor contacted me, she was on her way with бууз.

Mongolian hospitality’s the best.

Sunday Rush

The moment my supervisor arrived, through the next 45 minutes, was a lightning of activity.

My supervisor wanted to make sure anything remotely useful to me, we’d stow away for my return. People from the uni were coming to clean the apartment, so she wanted nothing taken.

I tried to explain I wasn’t sure I’d be coming back, for none of us knew Peace Corps’s situation. But I too wanted to come back. And I appreciated her planning for it.

A supervisor wouldn’t plan for my return unless she wanted me to come back.

So stowed away items and helped me complete every last detail needed to secure the apartment. She and one of the school workers showed me how to run thread through putty we pressed onto my closet doors. This way, if someone tampered with my doors that couldn’t lock, they’d know. We stamped the date on one side then pressed my key’s grooves into the other.

As we wrapped up duties, I handed my supervisor my card for our department and an “Omnibus” student poetry book my training clustermate asked me to give my community. I also gave her some “Laubach Way” to Reading/English textbooks I referenced from teaching English in Reno, Nev., fall 2018. I hoped our department would use these.

My priest friend from the night before returned, so my supervisor helped me load his vehicle. She insisted I haul this huge bag of snacks with me for my journey. I’d been offering them for others, but I finally acquiesced. I had my backpack, my small IKEA bag, my suitcase checked bag, the food sack and my stranded sitemate’s hiking backpack and camera bag.

At last, goodbye. Throughout the week I’d ask my supervisor when I should leave my apartment key with her, since there was no use taking it with me to America. She’d told me to hold on to it, so it’s easier when I get back. I wasn’t sure I’d get back.

During this last visit, well, she asked if I wanted her to have my key.

The moment felt like an acceptance of this uncertainty. We locked the door. I gave her my key.

I parted ways with thanks. My priest drove me to my senior M29 cohort sitemate’s apartment. Meanwhile, my supervisor shared in our department’s group chat my card. My colleagues wished me safe travels. I felt disappointed leaving them from just after our Lunar New Year.

Bittersweet with Final Friends

After that rush, I’d a breather.

My priest dropped me off by the curb, where a group of my friends gathered. They were from our coffee shop speaking group, including the English teacher who invited me over a couple nights before Tsagaan Sar. I felt touched they came to see me off. They left me with more food, snacks and gifts.

With selfies and warm wishes, I wished my friends good-bye and came up to my sitemate’s apartment.

Assembled within were our Peace Corps Volunteers’ long-time engineering friend, his friend, and our eager high schooler who visited me the night before. What a nice bunch. My sitemate related how the kid after receiving my Peace Corps key chain and name tag excitedly told him. Indeed, the kid still wore “Daniel Lang” when I arrived. What a cool lil’ dude. The guy resolved to be my first and last Mongolian visitor. He won.

The first time I visited my Peace Corps sitemate’s apartment might have been the only time before now. That August 2019, I’d just arrived in town, and he offered up the left-behind M28 cohorts’ things. (That’s where I got the cork board I described in my packing story.) Now my sitemate’s apartment looked bare, save its furniture.

On to business, my sitemate and I compared when we expected Peace Corps’s driver to reach town. We got different stories, so we called the driver with our Mongolian friends’ help. The driver just picked up our friendly spiritual sitemate from the village in our province over. We reasoned we’d plenty hours before leaving.

We got squad pics. Beyond handing off keys to the colleagues of our stranded sitemates two or three days before, my friend here and our friends already grabbed a few belongings for our other stranded sitemate. With nothing left to do, we went out to find lunch.

I loved the light snow flurries, quaintly reminding me of the auspicious Lunar New Year. But we found most places closed around the city to ward off COVID-19. (Mongolia doesn’t drive-through like America.) At least, we found open the bakery I visited the Saturday before with my translator friend. So our group got to-go and headed back.

I enjoyed the meal. I had the pastry my speaking group friends gave me, plus the new бууз from my supervisor—my last from Tsagaan Sar 2020. They’d pizza. On a thrilling note, Peace Corps Mongolia emailed our flight itineraries. Turns out my sitemate and I’d fly Thursday before dawn. I felt shocked and awed that after Russia we’d come through Germany and the Netherlands! An overnight in New York City seemed weird. By Friday I’d touch down in Vegas...

We got our friendly sitemate’s calls, our driver was in-town. Time to go.

Picking Up Pals in Peace Corps

I descended the apartment stairs, opened the front door and felt heartened. I'll never forget the Sunday sight of my fellow spiritual Volunteer. Before me was my Episcopalian Peace Corps friend’s delighted face. We’d assembled.

My friends and I loaded up the white Peace Corps SUV. We strapped my suitcase among the bags up top, while I protected my stranded sitemate’s things in the vehicle. We exchanged small talk while we wrapped up.

Moments later, our three local friends stood waving by the curb as we pulled away. What a blur. I didn’t catch a photo, but I felt their sight ingrained.

We had a U.S. Embassy driver instead of a Peace Corps one, which explained why I didn’t recognize him. He had a wonderful sense of humor. With my friend, we shared snacks and compared evacuation stories. He told this wild one of how they almost drove off a cliff! I remembered Peace Corps’ Safety & Security emailed us about snow storms but I hadn’t thought of ‘em.

We drove across the snowy world’s whiteness to the neighboring province for our next sitemate. As we entered a beautiful forested town, we could see why she hadn’t left her site much. Her village could have passed for a winter resort if tourism ever touched this.

When we pulled into the yard of basically our sitemate’s host family, her dog barked, and the family welcomed us to tea and Tsagaan Sar food. ‘Evacuating’ felt surreal. I loved this little countryside stop.

Our journey continued.

Farewell in Sorrow

We had a mission.

We headed on to one of our stranded sitemate’s places. Unfortunately, no one had been able to visit her area to pack her things. And like my senior M29 sitemate, she was of that cohort—the one not coming back.

As we rode into site, I recalled an autumn day trip when my and my sitemates’ party of four came to visit. We cooked together. I wandered out a few hours back then.

Now the site's covered in snow, and our different party of four came to her apartment with her colleague, instead of her. We forwarded to each other our stranded sitemate’s email of what to pack. Then we got to work, splitting up on rooms to take to scavenging her year and a half’s worth of memories. She helped over video call.

She was among my Peace Corps mentors. I felt sad coming in and having to rummage her things for her. But if we didn’t, who could?

We finished. We readied to leave. Then, watching our sitemate over video say goodbye to the colleague she couldn't come back to see in-person, I felt heartbroken.

But we had to keep going.

Police State?

With the Health Volunteers in our car, Sunday, March 1 became the first day I actively heard people calling the creeping Coronavirus crisis a pandemic.

But as we pulled into police and military checkpoints, the likes of which my priest described, I felt like were entered a police state. Americans and I commented among each other, people in the States would so resist measures like these to quarantine our nation.

At checkpoints, we needed to show our passports and accept the forehead temperature checks. (If one in our party coughed after the health person walked away, we laughed about our luck.)

After getting all set at our province border, our vehicle awaited the coming of our neighboring province’s Peace Corps evacuation party. We travel together the rest.

Avengers Assemble

Fun fact: I naturally tend to frame my life in terms of adventures I’ve read, watched or played through.

Seeing my old friends again, for instance, under these grave conditions reminded me of every time watching Steve Rogers first step onto a scene in “Avengers: Infinity War.”

A white microbus arrived. Our fellow Volunteers arrived.

Stepping out of our vehicle felt like being the Avengers, assembling in Wakanda for our Infinity War. All of us were evacuees. We all left behind our Mongolian homes. And we’d seen better days. But we were together.

And yet, I felt somber with the sense we’d already ‘lost.’ With a snap, COVID-19 was wiping out half my Peace Corps Mongolia universe. Our senior M29 cohort would undergo their Close of Service. Their service would finish in the capital. But my cohort’s wouldn’t—or it may.

So we were in our Endgame. If we return to Mongolia, it'll be the greatest comeback. But half our Volunteers would still be gone, maybe more. We'd be starting a bit fresh, becoming the new senior cohort. But that'd be our duty—to continue where we and others left off, to keep going.

We shared moments of grins and hugs and small talk. I saw my Catholic friend again, what a guy. Then we re-boarded our vehicles. We left from Mongolia's second-largest city to its third.

Hometown Snow Storm, That Winter Night

Riding back east across Mongolia, I recalled my previous trips in the country.

Further east, near dusk, we passed a turn off, where another driver head of us turned left. Our U.S. Embassy driver called that driver crazy. I’d been down that way before, during my day trip with Japanese JICA Volunteers to the historic monastery. But there was scarcely a daytime road—I couldn’t imagine getting there with this snow storm and night.

Further down, we drove through Хөтөл /Khutul/, the soum where many of my Peace Corps cohort friends lived this summer. With darkness and snow all around, I could barely recognize the city of 12,000, beyond its street sign.

Then we pulled through Номгон /Nomgon/, my Mongolian hometown.

My senior sitemate and I both trained here, albeit during different years. With blowing snow and darkness surrounding, we couldn't even see the iconic mountain on our right. But to our left, he spotted the green of our school, and we saw the lights of the street-side convenience store beside the red tractor monument.

We meant to visit home for Tsagaan Sar, before travel banned. I realized, I was the only one from my cluster who got to see our Mongolian hometown during winter. I taped a video of our passing and shared with my host family and training cluster.

We continued on.

Between Mongolia’s Largest Cities

At times, so much powder snow blasted across the road, I couldn't even see its edge. But we could see the red lights from the microbus of Peace Corps Volunteers ahead.

Finally, we arrived in Дархан /Darkhan/, on the dark road that felt nothing like our summer rides in light. We stopped a while somewhere near the city proper’s border, somewhere I recalled from my host family driving me on a summer day trip.

Besides briefing exiting a train during my winter trip to the capital for a Peace Corps conference, I'd never seen Дархан during winter.

We stayed in a hotel overnight to wait out the snow storm before continuing for the capital the next morning.

I reorganized my food sack, enjoyed some nibbles. My Catholic friend roommate caught me up more on the peace of our situation. I felt awed, my senior sitemate played a Nintendo Switch. I hoped I could play someone’s back in the States.

Change of Pace

Monday, March 2, we hurried our bags downstairs and had a quick lamb stew breakfast.

Curiously, a Volunteer asked to switch from the microbus to our SUV. Cool, I swapped with her. Coincidentally she was the very first I met in my cohort during Staging in Philadelphia last May, before reaching Mongolia. We both gave speeches at our Swear-In Ceremony in August 2019.

In the microbus were many Volunteers from our senior M29 cohort. I felt (maybe too) elated to see them again. They pointed out they’re processing their abrupt Close of Service—They needed space.

Within a few hours, we’d hit the capital. Life gained speed, and, of course, I’ve more to share there. For now, though, I gazed out the window at our snow-blanketed world, with my fellow Volunteers in mind. Our lives, theirs especially, were changing fast.

You can read more from me here at DanielLang.me~

#Peace Corps #Mongolia #memoryLang #memoir #story #Coronavirus #COVID-19 #Catholic #Tsagaan Sar #Lunar New Year #Lent #goodbyes #sad #evacuation #winter #coping #hope #life #grief #journey

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tomfooleryprime · 8 years ago

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Ambassador Spock or Selek?

I must have read it in fanfics a dozen times – in the Kelvin timeline, Spock Prime is forced to conceal his true identity and adopts the pseudonym Selek. But why?

I suppose the concept probably originated with the animated series. In the episode “Yesteryear,” Spock poses as “cousin Selek” to help his younger self complete the kahs-wan ritual. It makes sense to conceal his true identity from his adolescent self in that context, lest he risk his own future.

But the two Spocks of the Kelvin universe are quite different. The Kelvin timeline Spock knows exactly who Spock Prime is. That’s not really in question, is it? In Star Trek (2009), Spock mistakes Spock Prime for his father, and then they have this conversation:

Spock Prime: I am not our father. There are so few Vulcans left, we cannot afford to ignore each other. Spock: Then why did you send Kirk aboard when you alone could have explained the truth? Spock Prime: Because you needed each other. I could not deprive you of the revelation of all that you could accomplish together, of a friendship that will define you both in ways you cannot yet realize. Spock: How did you persuade him to keep your secret? Spock Prime: He inferred that universe-ending paradoxes would ensue should he break his promise. Spock: You lied. Spock Prime: Aww... I implied. Spock: A gamble. Spock Prime: An act of faith. One I hope that you will repeat in your future in Starfleet. Spock: In the face of extinction, it is only logical that I resign my Starfleet commission and help rebuild our race. Spock Prime: And, yet, you can be in two places at once. I urge you to remain in Starfleet. I have already located a suitable planet on which to establish a Vulcan colony. Spock, in this case, do yourself a favor: Put aside logic. Do what feels right. Since my customary farewell would appear oddly self-serving, I shall simply say... Good luck.

It was such a monumental scene, Hallmark immortalized it with an ornament:

Then again in Star Trek Into Darkness, they have a much shorter, yet even more revealing exchange:

Spock: Mr. Spock. Spock Prime: Mr. Spock. Spock: I will be brief. In your travels, did you ever encounter a man named Khan? Spock Prime: As you know, I have made a vow never to give you information that could potentially alter your destiny. Your path is yours to walk, and yours alone. That being said, Khan Noonien Singh is the most dangerous adversary the Enterprise ever faced. He is brilliant, ruthless and he will not hesitate to kill every single one of you. Spock: Did you defeat him? Spock Prime: At great cost, yes.

Spock clearly refers to him as “Mr. Spock” in front of the entire bridge crew. He doesn’t seem overly concerned with protecting some secret identity.

One could make the argument that the Enterprise crew knows about the relationship between Spock and Spock Prime, but that his true identity must be kept a secret to the general public, but it forces me to ask two questions: 1. What exactly is it supposed to accomplish and 2. Is it really possible to keep a secret of that magnitude?

I’ll start by addressing the first question – why bother concealing his identity from the public at large? The most obvious explanation is that Spock Prime would want to allow his younger counterpart to make his own name for himself, but as the above conversations point out, they don’t seem worried about concealing the truth. Furthermore, no one in this timeline knows anything about Spock Prime – his service in Starfleet, his time as an ambassador – it was all done in another timeline. To the people of the Kelvin universe, he’s just some old time-traveling Vulcan guy.

The other obvious explanation is that the public would have a hard time accepting time travel and so, in order to prevent a panic and possible disruptions of the timeline, government officials would ask him to conceal his identity. But this is a universe in which Romulans from the future annihilate an entire planet and then attempt to destroy Earth. There is absolutely no possible way for any government to bury destruction of that scale under a pile of flimsy explanations and conspiracy theories.

Sure, they could try to claim Vulcan was destroyed in some kind of natural disaster, but too much evidence exists to the contrary. That brings me to the second question – is it really possible to keep a secret of that magnitude? Starfleet lost half a dozen ships at the Battle of Vulcan, the Enterprise has logs of the incident, and there were millions of people running around in San Francisco when Nero and the Narada came calling. There are literally millions of witnesses to the fact that the loss of Vulcan was the result of a malicious attack and not some random space anomaly.

The Federation could attempt to blame someone else – modern day Romulans or Klingons, perhaps – but what would be the outcome of that? If launching an attack of that magnitude on two Federation worlds isn’t an act of war, I don’t know what is. But even if they thought it would be better to lie and start a war with an innocent enemy, I don’t think they could have. The Federation’s forces were already spread thin. They sent cadets in the only ships they had available to defend Vulcan because the rest of the fleet was “engaged in the Laurentian system” at the time. It doesn’t seem likely that the Federation can afford the kind of war that would result from wrongly blaming their modern day adversaries for Vulcan’s loss. Telling the truth and placing the blame on Romulans from the future makes a lot more tactical sense, and if they’re willing to do that, why would they bother hiding the truth about Spock Prime’s true identity? It would be kind of pointless, all things considered.

Lastly, Nero’s incursion essentially slapped a giant question mark on the TOS canon timeline after 2233.04, but that means that Star Trek Enterprise is still technically canon. I realize it’s not everyone’s favorite incarnation of the Trek franchise, but that doesn’t mean it’s invalid. Given that Captain Archer and the crew of the Enterprise NX-01 spent a lot of time exploring the Temporal Cold War as a major plot arc, it seems difficult to believe that many people in the mid-23rd century don’t at least suspect that time travel is a thing, therefore, I think it’s pretty safe to say the cat is out of the bag on time travel and the idea that the timeline “must be protected” is almost worthless when taken in context of the bigger picture of the Kelvin timeline.

Finally, I think the final nail in the coffin for the idea that Spock Prime would have to go undercover as Selek came during a scene in Star Trek Beyond. At the beginning of the film, two Vulcans politely pull Commander Spock aside and hand him a device with information about Spock Prime’s death. It clearly identifies him as "Ambassador Spock" and not “Selek” or “Ambassador Selek.”

I suppose one could speculate that they were pulling him aside to preserve the secret of his identity, but the scene didn't come off that way to me. It felt more like two Vulcans understanding that news of the death of a close friend or mentor might make a person emotional and they definitely wouldn't want to do that to a fellow Vulcan in a public setting.

I love Star Trek and discussing the fandom, but I get frustrated when I come across tropes and plot devices that are so overused that I start forgetting they aren’t canon. I think this is one that should be safely put to bed.

#star trek #star trek enterprise #spock #ambassador spock #spock prime #selek #kelvin timeline

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j-and-b-walkabout-blog · 8 years ago

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WEEK SIX (Dec 8 - Dec 14)

UBUD, BALI, IND // BRISBANE, QLD, AUS

The two hour ride from Nusa Dua to Ubud gave us better insight into the island's unique culture and climate. We barreled passed mangroves, various places of worship, religious statues, outdoor markets, people fishing in creeks and canals, tropical flora, and many stray dogs on the winding two-lane streets. Just before reaching Ubud, our driver suggested we check out a nearby Luwak Coffee plantation to sample the "rarest coffee in the world." The coffee earns this distinction due to the fact that the beans must be harvested from the droppings of nocturnal animals, called Asian palm civets (Luwak in Balinese). These cat-like creatures choose only the ripest coffee beans to eat, and their digestion aids in fermentation of the bean to produce a richer flavor. On our tour, we saw where they organically grew coffee, cacao, ginger, lemongrass, cinnamon, vanilla, several other plants, and even met a friendly luwak! After seeing how the workers meticulously processed the ingredients, we then sampled a free flight of fourteen unique coffee and tea blends. Jed's favorite was the "cat-poo-ccino"! We finally made it to Jati Homestay & Gallery, dropped off our luggage, and quickly left to explore the streets of central Ubud. The narrow streets were lined with shops displaying colorful clothes and local crafts, and exotic restaurants full of fellow travelers. The intricately carved stone architecture was blanketed in soft green mosses, and the cramped sidewalks were littered with canning sari-- daily offerings of flower petals, spices, food, coins, and incense to give thanks to various Hindu gods. We were constantly having to dodge them as we walked, because even accidentally stepping on one is seen as extremely disrespectful. While the majority of the Indonesian isles are Muslim, Bali is the sole island in the archipelago whose inhabitants practice Hinduism. We met up later that evening with our Aussie friend, Sally, to grab some dinner before calling it a night.

One of Ubud's main attractions is the renowned Monkey Forest temple, named for the several troops of Macaque monkeys that inhabit the area. Just like the ones at Uluwatu, these little buggers are known thieves and troublemakers, so hide your valuables! A dense rainforest surrounds the temple grounds, and a swiftly moving river divides the area in two. Various footpaths lead us through the sanctuary, where we witnessed monkeys swimming, playing, grooming each other, climbing on tourists, and munching on corn and sweet potatoes. After making it out of the Monkey Forest alive and with all our belongings, we met up again with Sally for some bloody cold Bintang's (cheap local beer) and dinner. We then purchased tickets to see a traditional Balinese dance performance, called Legong, at the Ubud Kelod Community Hall. The flamboyant dancers were accompanied by a local all-women's Gamelan orchestra, and much like ballet, aimed to illustrate various stories (i.e., ritual of offerings, weaving, warrior dance, and mythological lion-like creature called Barong) through their dynamic movements and extravagant costumes.

Since Zika virus and dengue fever are minimal, but very real, threats in Indonesia, we started every morning by covering ourselves from head to toe with insect repellent. This was especially important if we were traveling outside the city limits, which we were required to do if we wanted to visit Bali's famous rice terraces. We ate a quick breakfast at a place called Mudra, in a nearby alley, before meeting with Sally to hire a taxi to take us out to the Tegalalang Rice Terrace. We donned ponchos as a light rain drizzled, and we hiked down steep muddy hillsides, across bamboo bridges, and along the various paddy levels of vibrant green rice stalks. Palm trees towered over us as we blazed through slippery switchbacks into the valley, and then back up on the other side to enjoy a Bintang overlooking the terraced hillside. After several hours exploring, our driver took us back to central Ubud, where we shared a late lunch, and then split off from Sally so we could all enjoy an afternoon nap. Around 7pm, we all met back up for an authentic Balinese dinner at Gedong Sisi Warung, before heading out for drinks on the town.

We spent our final day in Bali walking through and shopping at the outdoor markets. These congregations of vendors are a bazaar of Indonesian crafts, art, clothes, jewelry, food, souvenirs, spices, housewares, baskets, and so much more. It is customary to haggle a bit with the vendors, since they sometimes quote unbelievably high prices for goods at first, in hopes that unsuspecting tourists will shell out the cash. The vendors can be VERY persistent, which at times made us feel slightly uncomfortable, but we knew not to take any of it personally as we made our way through the crowded stands. Our shopping spree was cut short by heavy rainfall, so we ducked into a cafe for tea and coffee before meeting up with Sally at Atman Kafe for a farewell beer. Bae, our driver throughout our stay in Bali, returned to Ubud to pick us up and take us to the Denpasar airport, just an hour away. We arrived at the airport seven hours before our flight was scheduled to take off, so we killed some time by reading, napping, and eating. After a six hour nonstop flight, we landed back in Brisbane around 9am and caught a ride back to good ol' 35 Warmington Street in Paddington.

Oscar and Ollie both happened to be up when we arrived back in Paddo, and it felt good to be "home." They had just been on their way out the door to grab some brekky at Remy's, so we dropped our luggage off and joined them for food and coffee. We rested at the house for a bit, until Cole and Tom came over to pick us up and drive over to Paddington skatepark for a few hours. Brittany read a book in the park while the boys skated around. We had plans for later that evening to have dinner in Wavell Heights with the Fraser family, and to pick up our heavy luggage from their spare room. We had a great visit and shared stories of our Cairns/Bali trips with everyone while enjoying a delicious home-cooked meal on the back porch. We said our goodbyes, packed up, and drove back to Paddington. The next day we took care of some laundry in the morning, and then spent some time packing up our bags to get ready for our weeklong long drive down to Sydney the following day. Our final evening in Brisbane was spent in West End at "No Lights, No Lycra"-- where Caitlin curates an hour-long playlist for people to dance to in complete darkness every Tuesday at 7pm. It was a fun and unique experience, and it was nice to see Caitlin one last time before heading South.

After waking up, we walked to Atticus Finch, the neighborhood cafe where Oscar worked, to have a final Brisbane breakfast and say goodbye to our old roommate/new friend. We packed the van, said goodbye to Ollie (and Alfie the cat), and then drove out to the Gold Coast to meet Brittany's friend Matt from Los Angeles. Small world! We made it to Surfer's Paradise, and caught up with Matt and his travel partner, Jade, and their entourage of friends. After a walk along the beach and a beer at O'malley's Pub, we said our goodbyes so we could make it to Byron Bay, our first stop, before sundown. The drive took us past Mt. Warning (the summit of which the first rays of sunlight hit in the morning before anywhere else on the Australian continent), pastures full of cattle, sugarcane, and gumtree forests. We arrived in Byron Bay around 5:00pm, and we stopped at Woolworth's to pick up supplies for veggie tacos. Since we had no camping reservations, we drove around looking for a site with vacancies, and decided to try our luck just a little further south at Broken Head. We cruised into the Broken Head Holiday Campground just as the front kiosk was closing, but luckily were able to nab one of the last available sites. We set up camp, cooked dinner under the brightest full moon, then headed down to the beach to fully gaze at it in all its' shining glory. With tired eyes, we walked back to the site, excited for our first night's sleep on the pullout bed in our camper van (which turned out to be very comfortable). Success!!

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