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wordsthativelost · 8 months ago

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A short story for Holy Saturday

The first year we were married, spouse and I made a Christmas crèche. He built the open wooden barn-like structure and manger, and I sculpted the Holy Family. Every year since, I have added a figure or two: an angel, the three kings, a poor man, a shepherd boy, and lots and lots of animals -- at last check, ox, ass, donkey, goat, camel, chicken, dove, goose, mouse, pig, peacock, lion, lamb, fox, hedgehog, two dogs, three meerkats, penguin (with chick), dancing blue-footed booby, and I'm probably forgetting some.

As you can see, the visitors to the newborn Christ-child have become increasingly... exotic... over the years, mostly at the suggestions of my children. But a couple of years ago, my daughter pointed out, rather indignantly, that "there aren't any GIRLS!" (Apparently the Blessed Virgin doesn't count.) So I added in servant girl. She has a bit of a 'tude, that one; wrapped in her wine-colored shawl, hand on cocked hip, with a basket of bread tucked under her arm.

While chanting the anthem for the day, In the midst of life we are in death, I found myself thinking about that last little figure. She was a servant at the Inn, most definitely. There weren't a lot of female names in first century CE Palestine; Maryam or Salome or Elizabeth or... Johannah. Yeah, I think her name was Johannah. She was young and not very pretty, and although she knew she should be grateful for this position at her cousin's inn, she hoped that very soon her father would find a husband for her. If she had to fetch and carry and cook and clean, it would be better to do so in a house of her own, for her own people rather than for strangers.

But this night, one of those strangers needed her. A young woman, not much older than herself, swollen-bellied, had to go and have her babe in the stable, of all places. No time to fetch the midwife, no money to pay her if there had been; and of course the husband was of no use. So it was "Johannah, fetch water" and "Johannah, bring clean cloths" and "Johannah, can you get her to shut up her howling, the other guests are complaining", and still there was bread to serve and wine to pour and floors to be swept, all with the same pained false smile of welcome, and then all of a sudden silence from the stable, oh no...

...and Johannah ran, not even pausing to put down her basket, but before she reached it, the silence was broken by another thin cry. And there she saw the new mother, exhausted and tear-streaked, while her husband knelt beside her, whispering urgently. And the baby, wailing in the damp straw.

So somebody had to pick up the child. Wash it clean, gently wiping away the blood and stable-dust and that waxy newborn whiteness. Wrap him, oh definitely a "him", tightly, securely in the strips of cloth that had been lain over the basket, to protect the bread within. Place the warm bundle into the safe arms of his mother, where his cries suddenly ceased, as he turned towards her breast, instinctively rooting for comfort. The mother looked down and smiled, a bit tremulously. Then she looked back up and smiled again, a tiny grateful smile, at Johannah.

Johannah stood in that smile, for just a second. But then she heard a clamor from the innyard: "Guests a-coming!" So she followed that shouts, and looked towards the east, where she could see a large, exotically outfitted party on the way. There was going to be a lot of work to do.

Three decades later, there was still work to do.

But not at her cousin's inn -- that had been burned down long ago by the Romans. For "providing aid to the rebels", they had it, as if any man who knew his business would turn away hungry and thirsty men with good coin, or insist on quizzing them about their political allegiance before selling them a meal.

Johannah hadn't been working there at the time. She had been with her husband, a quiet tenant farmer half again her age. He had been a good man, a hard worker, gently affectionate towards their two daughters, never reproaching Johannah for her failure to bear him sons. But he was gone, too; dead of weariness from too many years working another man's land, dead of shame when their eldest ran off with a foreign soldier, dead of grief when the fevers took the other.

His kin refused to take Johannah in, throwing their disgrace and ill-luck at her feet. The landlord's agent gave her a day to leave the home that had been hers, for he had found another family to rent it. So Johannah left for the city, the great City -- Jerusalem. Amid all those people, natives and foreigners, all strangers to her failures, she might find some employment. Or she could beg for coins and food, like so many others, beneath the shadow of the Temple of the God who had turned His face away.

Instead, she found work among the dead. To even touch a corpse was a great defilement, but someone had to prepare their bodies for burial: wash them, rub them with strong spices, wrap them in clean linen before sending them to the family tomb. Rich folk would pay a woman like her, who had no purity to lose, to do that which was needful; and then to follow behind the mourners, beating her breast and wailing like a woman in her pains, making sure all witnesses took note of their grief.

It was not pleasant work, but Johannah found it preferable to her other choices. At least the dead did not complain or try to hurry her, or expect her to be delighted at their company.

This body, though... this body was different.

The man who hired her was even richer than her usual employers. She could tell by his elegant robes, his luxurious scent, the way he looked around her or through but never quite at her, that he was one of the powerful men of the City, to whom she was no more than a dog nosing for scraps among the rubbish.

But the servant he had sent came to her under cover of darkness, like he was hiding a dangerous secret. And the body she had been summoned to attend was that of a criminal.

It was quite obvious. The caked blood at his wrists and ankles screamed mutely his method of execution. She paused for a moment, not wanting to be mixed up in any business with the Romans, then shook her head. It had nothing to do with her, or her work.

Gently unwrapping the coarse cloth covering, Johannah frowned. There was blood everywhere; this man had been beaten, severely. Scourged. A huge red-brown puddle had crusted on one side. His scalp and beard were sticky with matted blood and hair. Smears of dirt and mud covered the rest of him, as if he had been dragged in the road. Like so many who died violently, he had emptied his bowels and bladder, and the sour stench nearly choked her.

This man had clearly made someone very important very angry. Maybe a lot of someones.

No matter. He had been a man. Like her husband. Like the sons she had never borne. Like her father, cousins, long in their graves and forgotten.

She could think of no crime that deserved the horror of being left unburied. To leave a body to rot, prey to beasts and the elements, would be to defile the whole land of Israel. Especially during this holy time, this time of celebration, when all of the Children of Israel remembered how God had acted to save them from oppression and slavery.

Her mouth twisted bitterly. She thought of the silver coin that she had been promised, for erasing the evidence that lay stinking before her, witness to her people's freedom.

Johannah dunked a strip of cloth into the bucket, and gently squeezed a rivulet of clean water over the wreck of clay and spittle that once had been a man. With the brisk efficiency, she began to wipe away the stains of violence and rage and justice. She cleaned the clumps of dried blood between his fingers, behind his ears, with delicate care; she washed away the filth on his feet, his face, his more intimate areas, with painstaking tenderness.

She placed the wad of material, now completely streaked rust and brown, into the basket at the dead man's feet. "I will need more water," she called.

It was while she was washing his hair that the others burst in. Three weeping women and two younger men. She ignored them. They would be of no use to her. Their hoarse grief and fiercely muttered arguments irritated her. She wished they would go away and let her do her work.

One of the women, the smallest and perhaps the eldest -- Johannah didn't know or care -- came towards her, reaching for the wet cloth in her hand. "Let me do that," she said in a voice almost too harsh to be understood. "He is my son. It is my right."

Even as she spoke, the paler of the two men pulled her away. "No. You heard the teacher. I am your son now. Please, let us go from here. It isn't safe."

"He is my son," the woman repeated, her voice raw. "I will not leave him alone in the care of strangers."

Johannah turned her back on the pair, trying to beat down her resentment and focus on her task. Did this woman think she was the only mother to see her child die before her?

A servant came in, bearing a basket of myrrh and aloes. Their bitter scent overwhelmed the stench of death for a moment, and made Johannah's eyes blink away a sudden wash of pain. "My master wishes to know if it is finished."

"I am almost done here." Johannah took a last dry cloth and slowly rubbed the body dry. She tore off a few pieces, pressing them against the wounds, here and here, where the lifeblood oozed, then crumpled the rest in the basket to be buried alongside the corpse. She took long strips of linen from a separate pile, wrapping them tightly, securely, as if she were swaddling a newborn infant, tucking in the pungent spices as she wove and knotted them fast.

She hesitated, then nodded at the silently weeping mother, still stubbornly standing as near as her companions would permit. Johannah would not touch her with her corpse-defiled hands, but thought it only right that the woman should have a chance to bid her farewells.

The woman looked up to thank Johannah with the briefest, most heartbroken of smiles. All her attention was then turned at once to her newly dead son.

Johannah stood for a moment in that smile, then left. There would always be more work for her to do.

#Holy Saturday #Holy Week #Bible fanfic #Christianity #continuing to trawl through my LJ for posts I kind of like

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mellonyhater · 2 years ago

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×// Nexo Western AU\\×

Characters:

×Crazy-Jess (Jestro) is a criminal from the Wild West who terrorizes civilians. He has his own gang of robbers. He takes revenge on his offenders and just those who looked askance at him. Infinitely challenges everyone to a duel. Hot-tempered, aggressive goose.

×Monstrox is the leader of the bandits. Almost all gangs operate under his command, except for Jestro, because he is a psycho and does not obey anyone. He wants to create a network for the smuggling of weapons and drugs.

×Jorah Tightwad is an important figure in the whole region. His only passion is money and he does everything to get as much of it as possible. He secretly teamed up with Monstrox and now helps him in any way he can: with money, and information, and everything that is needed. But either way, they don't get along very well.

×Clay Moorington is the sheriff of one of the most frequently attacked cities. He is faithful to his cause and duty, knows the laws perfectly and hates duels and these stupid arguments with the “weak”. Serious and calm, like a stone, but if you make him angry, then expect trouble.

×Macy Halbert is the daughter of Iggrid Halbert, the mayor of the same city. He attends etiquette classes, but skips them from time to time due to street contests and entertainment. He wants to help catch the robbers, but his father is vehemently opposed.

×Merlock is Clay's uncle, Yggrid Halbert's assistant. He loves teaching his nephew and telling stories from the past. Sometimes he can give good advice, and sometimes he just carries complete nonsense, because of which you want to shoot yourself.

×Aaron Fox is a local daredevil who causes a lot of trouble for Clay, who has to talk him out of some antics that look more like a suicide attempt. A hyperactive red-haired eccentric - that's what he was nicknamed in the district.

×Lance Richmond is a rich turkey who is the envy of every dog for his money. Jestro has already tried seven times to rob him, but so far it has not worked. Lance loves music and can play the cello, violin and mandolin. He wants to quickly dump in the most metropolitan capital of the country, away from the robbers and this shitty sand with cacti and thorns.

×Axl is the owner of the local tavern. He constantly has to breed drunken visitors or homeless people in the backyard. Clay has already offered him a couple of times to become his assistant, right hand and help separate the local drunkards, but Axel already has enough problems with his head, so he refuses over and over again. He is an excellent cook.

×Rachel Rayson (why not?) is a gypsy who steals everything that glitters. Twice she snuck into the Richmond mansion and was caught robbing twice, after which she was locked up in jail for 15 days. She works for Jestro solely so that there is someone to get her out of prison.

×Eric is a guy who came from the city to his aunt in this provincial town. For some reason, he always wanted to become part of some organization, but nothing came of it. It turned out and so he joined Jestro, thinking that this was some kind of gang of local idiots who wanted all this for nothing, and soon regretted it, tired of dealing with Clay and Yggrid, in order to deny himself first of all. And a little about his aunt - I haven't thought of a name yet, but it will be Sallis (Sal). She is the owner of the inn, which houses a sewing workshop. She signed a contract with Axel for a discount for my clients. Came here in my old age from a large part of the country. She used to be a famous shooter, but due to an injury and poor eyesight (they apparently have poor eyesight), she moved to a quiet place. Completely disapproves of his nephew's actions. I almost forgot, she is an old friend of Marlock (according to the orig canon of the Persians, she was allegedly his student)

// For those not in the know, Eric is the original one-man character from the RP chat of the "WOY × Nexo Knights" crossover.

Arctic fox, what the hell am I thinking about in class ._> And most importantly, the whole idea arose thanks to a scarf on the "neck" of art with a cactus .. sometimes I am surprised with myself.

#Nexo Western AU #lego nexo knights #nexo knights au #nexo knights #jestro #clay moorington #macy halbert #aaron fox #lance richmond #axl #monstrox #merlok #original character #jorah tightwad

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clemsfilmdiary · 3 years ago

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The Best of December 2021

Best Discovery: The Buried Forest

Runners Up: Night of the Juggler, Passion of Love, The Power of the Dog

Best Rewatch: Kill Bill

Runners Up: Antichrist, Atlantic City, The Elephant Man, Larry Crowne, Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street, Tough Guys Don't Dance

Most Enjoyable Fluff: Larry Crowne

Runners Up: Christmas She Wrote, A Few Good Men, Hard Target, The New Kids, Rock and Roll Christmas, Up!, When Harry Met Sally

Oddity of the Month: Joe Versus the Volcano

Best Female Performance: Uma Thurman in Kill Bill

Runners Up: Helena Bonham Carter in Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street, Geena Davis in The Accidental Tourist, Valeria D'Obici in Passion of Love, Charlotte Gainsbourg in Antichrist, Carol Kane in Hester Street, Julia Roberts in Larry Crowne, Susan Sarandon in Atlantic City

Best Male Performance (tied): Anthony Hopkins and John Hurt in The Elephant Man

Runners Up: Benedict Cumberbatch in The Power of the Dog, Willem Dafoe in Antichrist, Johnny Depp in Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street, William Hurt in The Accidental Tourist, Steven Keats in Hester Street, Burt Lancaster in Atlantic City

Best Supporting Performance or Cameo: Daryl Hannah in Kill Bill

Runners Up: Ann Bancroft and Freddie Jones in The Elephant Man, David Carradine, Sonny Chiba, Vivica A. Fox, Lucy Liu and Michael Madsen in Kill Bill, Kirsten Dunst in The Power of the Dog, Alan Rickman in Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street, George Takei in Larry Crowne

Most Enjoyable Ham: Julia Roberts in Larry Crowne

Runners Up: Jessica Chastain in Crimson Peak, Joan Crawford in Strait-Jacket, Tom Cruise in A Few Good Men, Frances Fisher, Wings Hauser and Debra Stipe in Tough Guys Don't Dance, Tom Hanks and George Takei in Larry Crowne, Kitten Natividad in Up!, Dylan Neal in Christmas She Wrote, Catherine Mary Stewart in Rock and Roll Christmas, Jean-Claude Van Damme in Hard Target

Best Mise-en-scène: Antichrist

Runners Up: Atlantic City, Belladonna of Sadness, The Buried Forest, The Elephant Man, The Fabulous Baron Munchausen, Kill Bill, One from the Heart, The Power of the Dog, Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street

Best Locations: Passion of Love (desolate mountain setting, barracks, ruined castle)

Runners Up: Antichrist (Westphalian forest), Atlantic City (cozy, depressing apartment building and boardwalk), Eye of the Needle (Isle of Mull), Night of the Juggler (seedy late-70s New York), Tough Guys Don't Dance (Provincetown and Truro), Up! (Humboldt County forest and small town)

Best Score or Use of Music: Kill Bill (various)

Runners Up: Alice, Sweet Alice (Stephen Lawrence), Antichrist (Kristian Eidnes Andersen), The Buried Forest (Arvo Pärt), The Fabulous Baron Munchausen (Zdenek Liska), The Elephant Man (John Morris, Samuel Barber), Near Dark (Tangerine Dream)

Best Cartoon: Mother Goose Land

Runners Up: Bosko in Person, Music Land, The Old Man of the Mountain, The Shanty Where Santy Claus Lives

Best Leading Hunk: James Brolin in Night of the Juggler

Runners Up: Josh Kelly in Christmas Bells Are Ringing, Niall Matter in A Christmas Together with You, Rob Mayes in My Christmas Inn, Adrian Pasdar in Near Dark, Jean-Claude Van Damme in Hard Target

Best Supporting Hunk: Jonathan Loughran in Kill Bill: Vol. 1

Runners Up: Hart Bochner in The Wild Life, Wilford Brimley in Hard Target, Sam Elliott in Prancer, Jake Lacy in Miss Sloane, Robert McLane in Up!, Tim Thomerson in Near Dark

Assorted Pleasures:

- Eerie ultra slow-motion cinematography in Antichrist

- Bizarre expressionistic paintings in Strait-Jacket's credits sequence

- Tony Straiges' multilayered, constantly shifting set design in Sunday in the Park with George

- Dante Ferretti's ghostly vision of Victorian London in Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street

#list #best of the month

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ampleappleamble · 4 years ago

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—

As soon as their party had crossed the threshold of the city proper, they'd turned to a local rabblerouser for directions, inquiring about points of interest and general information about the city. He'd filled them in while still trying to hold court with the group of refugees and protesters crowded around him, adding in fiery criticisms of animancy and the local constabulary, and as soon as the opportunity to escape had presented itself the little band of adventurers had beelined for the nearest tavern, a busy little neighborhood eatery and inn called the Goose and Fox.

Bit strange, that name. Sounds kind of predatory for a house of respite. Sagani glanced down at her own fox, and then chuckled to herself, shaking her head. ...Alright, maybe I'm looking a little too hard into this.

She noticed Axa looking at her quizzically, so she leaned over and murmured: "Here, stop me if you've heard this one: An orlan, a dwarf, a folk, an elf, an aumaua, and an arctic fox walk into a bar..."

"The bartender looks at them and says, 'What is this, a joke?'" Axa quipped back, not missing a beat. It was a punchline from a different bit, catching Sagani off guard, and both women laughed loudly enough to draw attention. In particular, that of a sour-faced elf with a rag draped over his shoulder who frowned and pointed at Itumaak, shaking his finger as he scurried out from behind the bar.

"Hey, hey, c'mon now, ladies, no loose animals in the dining area– Is that a dog, or...? Either way, tie it up outside, please. This isn't the Salty Mast." He spat the last few words from his mouth like a foul-tasting venom and turned to resume his duties, only to find himself nose-to-chest with Edér.

"He's an arctic fox, actually," the large man drawled softly, his tone hovering between casual and threatening. "And he goes where we go. ...'Sides, he's clean, and he don't make no trouble. Not 'less there's trouble with us. Which there ain't. Right?" He smiled amicably, looming over the sweaty little man as Axa stepped forward to intercede and the rest of her crew discreetly slid into a corner table.

The two of them returned shortly, followed by a husky orlan barmaid loaded down with stew and brew for the party of five, plus a little something for Itumaak. They talked while they ate: planning, mostly, about what to do with the rest of the evening and the days to come. The Hall of Revealed Mysteries, temple to Wael and the largest library in the Dyrwood, was a high-priority destination, as was the Ducal Palace in First Fires, for the war records Edér was after. And, of course, eventually they'd have to head for the western gates to escort Sagani to the cliffs where she might meet Persoq.

Even though your initial offer wasn't an escort to the cliffs. Only to the city. Sagani smirked as she considered the implications and nursed her tankard. You that eager to prove you're really a Watcher? Or are you just hoping to keep me on as a hireling you don't have to pay? She watched them eat and talk and drink and laugh, and when the orlan caught her staring, she smiled and offered the huntress a toke from her pipe.

...Frost's sake, Sagani, she thought as she politely waved the proffered whiteleaf away, maybe she's just nice.

She was pleasantly buzzed and half-listening to Aloth and Kana argue about whether to visit the asylum in Brackenbury when she noticed that Axa's attention had drifted as well– to the folk woman at the table nearest the back wall, the one who kept her face out of the lamplight and stared grimly into her ale.

Sagani nudged Axa, indicated the woman with a nod of her head. "You know her?"

"No." The redhead rose from her seat, wiping her mouth and knitting her brow. "But I know that look." She spared a glance at the lads– Edér, his eyes shut, blissfully gnawing on a hunk of beef; Kana and Aloth still wrapped up in the discourse on animancers in the Dyrwood– before striding purposefully towards the solitary woman, Sagani close behind.

It took some coaxing, but they got her talking. She told them her name was Kaenra, and that her fiancé had recently struck up a close friendship with svef, had started bringing strange, unsavory people around to the house to use. That he'd become distant, and then violent, and that all she wanted from him now was for him to take his grandmother's ring back and fuck off out of her life. Sagani watched as Axa listened, watched as she bristled with righteous rage, her eyes lingering on the woman's fresh bruise as she squeezed the ring tightly in her fist.

"I'll make sure he gets it," she vowed.

And so it came to pass that Sagani found herself spending her first evening as a tourist in Defiance Bay firing off arrows in a stranger's kitchen and siccing Itumaak on the drug-addled thugs in the study. Judging from the reactions of the rest of her retinue, apparently this sort of thing wasn't exactly out of the ordinary for Axa: the girl had a thirst for justice, it seemed, and she damn well meant to slake it.

Before long, they were all standing above the cowering, bloodied homeowner, a man called Purnisc who struggled to explain himself to Axa's satisfaction. Turns out he had been dealing svef, too, and when his supplier had found out that he'd been pocketing more than his fair share of the profits–

"–they sent the kneebreakers downstairs," Sagani finished for him, "and the wizard to replace you. Literally." She shook her head in wonder. It really was just like one of her Vailian crime novels.

"Replacement wasn't much of an improvement on the original." The little redhead was steaming mad, and she made no move to hide it as she leaned over the battered man, finger in his face. "You silly bastard, you really thought you could steal from a professional criminal, and lie to your woman about it, and you're just so gods damned clever that no one could ever possibly be the wiser?"

The man's blacked, swollen eyes went as wide as they were able. "You... you've talked to my Kaenra? Is she alright? Sh-she doesn't know I was selling, does she? Oh, gods, please don't tell her. I'm so sorry for putting her through all this. Please don't–"

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Axa's roar came shrill and piercing, her typical rich, smooth voice consumed in the fire of her outrage. "Kaenra sent us here to return your ring because of your lies, you crooked little shit-for-brains! She loves and respects you! And you'd have us lie to her again?"

The pathetic man had withered under the orlan's verbal assault, and Axa seemed to have made her mind up about him as the group marched solemnly back to the Goose and Fox. But after returning to Kaenra, after telling her what Purnisc had done, the little woman once again defied all reasonable expectations.

"He's just an idiot, not a monster," Axa assured the other woman, "and he still loves you. And although he did a damned foolish thing, he never meant to hurt you. You just need to decide for yourself whether he's worth a second chance." Her violet eyes shone with tears as she spoke, Purnisc's ring on the table next to the women's clasped hands.

And when Kaenra said she’d think about it, that was the first time Sagani had really started to believe in the Watcher of Caed Nua.

—

#pillars of eternity #poe anthem infinitum #okay maybe only one more big bit like this #...i'm overthinking this bit and wondering if i still like it #or if i should basically redo it #but! i always post first drafts here very soon after finishing them #so! this'll probably just get edited a lil bit in the end

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kittkaleen · 4 years ago

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FFxivWrite 2020 - Prompt #26 – When Pigs Fly Rules & Info || Prompt List || #FFxivWrite2020 Others might have given up when the snow fall began. Not Kitt. She’d been out in the bitter cold for at least three bells practicing ice magic. Over and over she casts the same three spells, frost, snow, shatter, frost, snow, shatter. Her housekeeper trudged up the snowy hill, bringing a heavy, white fox fur, cloak, a flask of tea and brandy and a steady stream of admonitions. “You’ll catch yer death, Miss.” Kitt grits her teeth, “I’m fine.” “Your lips are blue, for the sake of the Gods, there’s ice on ‘em.” Kitt’s brow furrows with concentration. ... frost ... snow.. “Miss! Miss! Stop!” Beryl’s caught in her frost spell. “Dear Gods! Get out of the way!” “Not until you put this cloak on...” Beryl’s shivering in earnest now, rubbing her hands briskly together, “... and drink some of this tea.” “I’m not finished,” Kitt says stubbornly. “Go away.” “I’m not goin’ Miss. I won’t.” Beryl’s teeth are chattering. “It’s freeeezing!” “I’m not cold, get back to the inn you goose.” Kitt frowns, now concerned her housekeeper waded through the snow, got caught in the periphery of a frost spell, and is far more likely to catch cold than she is. “My magic keeps me warm enough. Away with you.” “Pigs will fly 'afore I leave, Miss.” She sneezes. “Dear Gods, woman!” Kitt grabs the fur cloak, wrapping it ‘round the Miqo’te woman’s shoulders. “Fine, fine, you’ve out stubborned me.” Kitt casts a teleportation spell, bringing them to the snowy courtyard at Camp Dragonhead. “To the inn, then.” The women walk side by side, boots crunching in the icy snow, Kitt scowling, Beryl smiling smugly. “I win.” She says laughing merrily. Kitt can’t resist the infectious laughter and smiles. “This time,” she says chuckling.

#FFxivWrite2020 #FFxivWrite #Kitt Kaleen #Miqo'te #Camp Dragonhead #FFXIV Screenshots #Prompt 26 – When Pigs Fly

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chipcoffeyblog · 5 years ago

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Looking for something fun and totally outside the (candy) box for you and your special someone to do for Valentine's Day? Something totally different and a little bit off-the-wall? Then keep reading! Most of us enjoy spooky TV shows and movies, right? We love that delicious adrenaline rush of being creeped out just a bit by thoughts of ghosts and the paranormal! If that sounds like you - and/or your special Valentine - then keep reading! Wouldn't it be big fun for you and your Valentine to spend a night (or weekend) at a haunted hotel? Just imagine what you might experience! And think of the bragging rights you'll have when recounting your ghostly adventures to family and friends! As part of my work as a psychic and medium, I have traveled extensively and stayed at some of the most interesting - and haunted - hotels in the United States. I like to stay at places that have a rich history, combined with stories about the spirits that reportedly roam throughout the properties. I have seen and heard otherworldly things that would send delicious little goose bumps up and down the spines of most people! Below is a list of some of the haunted hotels that I have enjoyed visiting and predict that you will enjoy visiting, too. New York City: The Jane Hotel - Some of the survivors of the sinking of the Titanic stayed in the building that is now the Jane Hotel in NYC's Greenwich Village. Guests report seeing ghostly apparitions and hearing the sound of sobbing . And the elevator often appears to have a mind of its own, traveling up at down between floors randomly. Guest rooms are inspired by luxury ship and train cabins and tend to be on the small side, many with shared baths. If you desire an en suite bathroom, choose to stay in one of the Captain's Cabins. Added bonus: You're in NYC! There is so much to see and do! Visit all the sites and see a Broadway show!

New York State - Catskills area: Burn Brae Mansion in Glen Spey, NY - Spectral apparitions and ghostly sounds are often heard by guests at this lovely bed and breakfast that was once the elaborate Victorian home of the widow of George Ross MacKenzie, third president of the Singer Sewing Machine Company. Other unexplained occurrences include doors opening and slamming shut; the sound of children playing; the sound of animals when no animals are present; and the sound of an organ playing, although there is no organ in the house. During my visit there, I distinctly smelled cookies baking in the downstairs area, but no one was baking cookies. Added bonus: The surrounding area is beautiful! Go for a hike, horseback riding, rafting, etc. Los Angeles, California: Millennium Biltmore Hotel - The ghost of Elizabeth Short is said to haunt the Biltmore. Ms. Short was last seen alive at the Biltmore shortly before her gruesome demise in 1947 and that still unsolved case has been dubbed "The Black Dahlia Murder." Soldiers who stayed in the building during and after World War II and young children are also said to roam around the hotel. Perhaps iconic stars from bygone Hollywood days pay post mortem visits to The Biltmore? Added bonus: Hollywood, with all its star studded sites, is close by...and so are California beaches! Atlanta, Georgia: Georgian Terrace - In December of 1939, this hotel hosted the "Gone With the Wind" Gala after the movie's premiere in downtown Atlanta. Clark Gable (and wife, Carole Lombard), Vivien Leigh (and future husband, Laurence Olivier) and other stars of the movie were in attendance. Some say that a gangland-style murder and other deaths have occurred here and there are frequent reports of ghostly activity occurring within the hotel. Added bonus: The haunted Fox Theatre is across the street from the hotel...and you're close to downtown ATL. Austin, Texas Driskill Hotel - This lavish hotel, located in downtown Austin and completed in 1882, was built by Colonel Jesse Driskill, a cattleman who spent his entire fortune to build "the finest hotel south of St. Louis." He is said to haunt the hotel, along with a little girl who fell down the grand staircase while chasing her runaway ball and two brides who allegedly took their own lives in the bathtub of room 525, exactly 20 years apart. Added bonus: There are great places to eat, drink and be merry nearby. Do your part to help "Keep Austin Weird"! Denver, Colorado Brown Palace - One of the spirits that is said to haunt the Brown Palace is a young boy, dressed in Victorian era clothing, who has been seen rifling through the luggage of hotel guests. During one of my stays there, I returned to my room to discover that little intruder looking inside my backpack that was sitting on a chair! When we saw each other, we both gasped and he instantaneously vanished, leaving me startled and wide-eyed! Added bonus: The hella haunted Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, Colorado is about an hour drive from downtown Denver. The stately hotel was the inspiration for author Stephen King's best selling novel, "The Shining," which he wrote after he and his wife were guests there. The hotel has been featured on numerous paranormal TV shows. Kansas City, Missouri area Belvoir Winery and Inn - This cozy and comfortable, yet quite elegant, 9 room bed and breakfast, with its 1,500 square feet bridal suite, is located in Liberty, Missouri on the site of a huge former Odd Fellows complex. The inn was once an orphanage, so the sights and sounds of children who once called this building their home are regularly seen and heard by Belvoir guests. Numerous television shows have filmed at the inn and on the property, including Kindred Spirits, Ghost Adventures, Ghost Hunters and American Pickers. Added bonus: Have a glass or two of Belvoir's wines or your favorite cocktail at the inn's lovely bar located on the main level. And visit George, the inn's "mascot," who just happens to be a real skeleton! New Hampshire Omni Mount Washington Hotel - Located in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, this property is simply spectacular! The most prominent spirit that is said to haunt the hotel is Princess Carolyn, former owner of the hotel, whose lovely suite is now available for guests to occupy. The hotel's dining room has a permanently set up table for Princess Carolyn in case she happens to stop in for lunch or dinner. Added bonus: Sightings of the elusive Bigfoot have been reported in the area! Soak up the gorgeous scenery! Take the cog railway to the top of Mt. Washington. Go skiing on the nearby slopes during winter months. Boston, Massachusetts Omni Parker House Hotel - Rich in history and hauntings, the Parker house is the birthplace of Boston Cream Pie and Parker House Rolls! The Kennedy family, arguably America's "royal family," often visited this hotel. It is said that future president John F. Kennedy proposed to Jacqueline Bouvier at a table in the hotel's restaurant. At one time, civil rights activist Malcolm X, Vietnamese revolutionary leader Ho Chi Minh and celebrity chef Emeril Lagasse were employees of the hotel. While staying there, I was confused when I encountered the spirit of John Wilkes Booth, the man who assassinated President Abraham Lincoln. My encounter finally made sense when the hotel's historian told me that Booth had frequently stayed at the hotel and had even practiced firing his gun nearby. Added bonus: Granary Burying Ground (cemetery), final resting place of numerous Revolutionary War patriots, including Paul Revere, Samuel Adams and John Hancock, is nearby Tampa, Florida area The Don Cesar - Affectionately known as "The Pink Palace" and located in St. Pete Beach, not far from Tampa on Florida's west coast, this hotel, like others on my list, is said to be haunted by its original owner. Wealthy New Englander Thomas Rowe built the hotel in 1925 in remembrance of his unrequited love for a lovely Spanish opera singer. The star crossed lovers are said to haunt "The Don," as are members of the New York Yankees baseball team, including Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig, due to the fact members of the team once stayed at the hotel during spring training. Other reported spectral guests include gangster Al Capone and World War II era soldiers who may have stayed (and died) there while the building was being used as a convalescent hospital for aviators and pilots. Added bonus: The hotel has a lovely Gulf of Mexico beach. San Francisco, California Queen Anne Hotel - A charming Victorian era boutique hotel located in the Pacific Heights neighborhood. Both the public areas and guests rooms are furnished in an eclectic style. The hotel was once an exclusive boarding school for young ladies, as well as a brothel that housed "ladies of the night." The headmistress of the girl's school, Miss Mary Lake, reportedly haunts the hotel, sometimes unpacking suitcases, tucking guests in at night and singing to them while they fall asleep. The most haunted room is said to be room 410, which was once Miss Mary Lake's office. Voodoo queen Mary Ellen Pleasant lived across the street from the hotel in the 1800's and it is thought that perhaps her spirit also roams the halls of the Queen Anne. Added bonus: Enjoy all that The Golden Gate City has to offer! Ride a cable car; eat some great seafood at a waterfront restaurant; visit Fisherman's Wharf and the spectacular Palace of Fine Arts, built for the 1915 World's Fair. Portland, Oregon The Benson - A world class luxury hotel that is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Built by Simon Benson and opening its doors in 1913, it is believed that Mr. Benson is the primary spirit who haunts the hotel. He is frequently seen on the grand staircase, in the hotel bar and dining room, and on the 7th, 9th and 12th floors of the hotel. A small and mischievous little boy, whom people assume is the ghost of one of Benson's sons, often appears and plays pranks on hotel guests. The ghost of a former porter who worked at The Benson is also sometimes seems, as well as the spectral images of a lady in white (doesn't every haunted property have a lady in white? LOL) and a lady in blue. Added bonus: Take a trip to see the nearby and spectacularly beautiful Columbia River Gorge and Multnomah Falls! New Orleans, Louisiana Bourbon Orleans Hotel - Once the location of the Sisters of the Holy Family's convent, girl's school, medical ward and orphanage, the Bourbon Orleans is reportedly haunted by the spirits of those who resided there during that earlier time. A Confederate soldier has also been seen at the hotel, as well as a lonely ghost dancer, seen dancing solo in the hotel's ballroom. The 3rd and 6th floors are said to be some of the most haunted areas. Added bonus: Laissez les bon temps rouler and enjoy all of the delicious and decadent delights that The Big Easy readily serves up! Savannah, Georgia East Bay Inn - This stately old building was built in the mid-1800's and once housed the offices of cotton merchants, as well as warehouses for cotton. In the mid-1980's, the property opened as a charming inn with 28 guest rooms. The rooms are spacious, with wooden floors, exposed brick establishing walls and high ceilings. A friendly ghost named Charley, a former worker in the building, allegedly haunts the inn. It is claimed that he is heard walking the halls late and night and sometimes will jiggle the doorknobs. Witnesses have said that lights flicker and some of their personal belongings mysteriously disappear. Room 325, known as "Charley's Room," is said to be the most haunted. Added bonus: Is there really anyplace in Savannah that isn't haunted? Visit them all! Walk along River Street. Take a ride on the riverboat. Put on your walking shoes and visit Savannah's numerous squares. And don't miss a visit to the magnificently beautiful Bonaventure Cemetery. San Antonio, Texas The Menger Hotel - The land on which the Menger sits is part of the historic site of the Battle of the Alamo. It is said that between 32 and 45 ghosts haunt the Menger. (Who came up with that number?!?) Among those ghosts are Teddy Roosevelt; Sallie White, a former chambermaid at the hotel who was shot nearby by her common law husband and died on the hotel's 2nd floor; and Richard King, a cattle baron who often stayed at the Menger and died in his suite on the 3rd floor. If you are brave enough, you can stay in the King Ranch Suite where Richard King died and sleep in the same bed where he took his last breath! Added bonus: Visit The Alamo. Walk along the River Walk. Dine in some of San Antonio's fabulous eateries. San Diego, California (Coronado Island) Hotel del Coronado - The elegant hotel, located on Coronado Island, has a resident ghost named Kate Morgan. Kate was a guest at the hotel in 1892 and killed herself with a gun a few days after an ugly break-up with her male lover. Guests at the hotel have reported seeing Kate's ghost walking in the hallways and along the hotel's lovely beach. During my visits to the hotel, I always hope to encounter the spirit of Marilyn Monroe, who shot the film, "Some Like It Hot," on the property back in 1958. Added bonus: While in the San Diego area, pay a visit to the haunted Whaley House in Old Town San Diego, where you can also shop at some of the area's charming stores. Washington, DC Hay-Adams Hotel - Washington socialite Marian Adams, known by the nickname Clover, reportedly haunts the Hay-Adams. Clover was an amateur photographer who died after ingesting some of the potassium cyanide that she used while developing her photographs. Her death was ruled a suicide, but some believed that she had been murdered. The ghost of Clover Adams haunts the hotel's 4th floor. Maids have told stories of hearing a woman sobbing, calling out their names and asking "What do you want?" in unoccupied rooms. Some guests say that visits by Clover's spirit are accompanied by the scent of almonds. Potassium cyanide, which caused Clover's death, is extracted from almonds! Added bonus: Visit the many beautiful monuments in DC, as well as The Smithsonian and nearby Arlington Cemetery.

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youngster-monster · 5 years ago

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Aloth didn’t expect to find himself back in Defiance Bay so soon, but the city is like a whirlpool, impossible to escape on your way from one side of the Dyrwood to the other. He usually does his best to not overstay his welcome: fifteen years have not yet managed to erase the chaos Waidwen’s Legacy wracked on the city, and the fall of the Wheel has not helped the situation.

But, if not monitored, the city’s conflicts might fester into the kind of instability where the Leaden Key would thrive, and it has become Aloth’s life work to avoid just that. So he found some kind of compromise between his duty and his personal reluctance in the form of a large network of spies and informants. They send him updates on a monthly basis, describing in excruciating detail the political and social happenings of the largest city in the Dyrwood. The heavily encrypted letters are usually as long as a small novel and take him sometimes an entire day just to skim through, which he takes as a collective effort from his contacts to make his life a living Hel.

Or maybe it’s an underhanded way to force him to come see things for himself, if a deeply unsuccessful one: each unnecessarily wordy missive about trade agreements going awry only adds to his reasons to never step foot in the city himself.

But Anathema, his contact inside the rebuilt Sanitarium, has sent him an uncharacteristically terse letter. Its content could be boiled down to ‘newcomer animancer is likely to be a member of the Leaden Key’, without much more context or details. He took it as the urgent warning it is and immediately packed his bag and set for Defiance Bay.

Most cities in the Dyrwood and Deadfire Archipelago make him feel nostalgic, but none evokes such a gnawing sense of longing for the past as the Dyrwoodan capital. They’ve spent weeks here, running around as Renard—

Well. As he did what he did best: tried to save the world, one person at a time, and ended up falling into schemes of increasing scale and importance as a result.

He hasn’t seen his friend (yar sweetheart, lad, Iselmyr corrects, but he steadfastly ignores her) since they parted ways in the Deadfire, Aloth chasing after the Leaden Key and Renard setting sail for gods-know-where. Not a whisper of his name in a decade was odd for such an infamous and influential man, and he still occasionally worried that his friend had found his end while stumbling into another plot to end the world. But he always refused to dwell on the possibility. Renard had survived worse: neither a two thousand year old evil mastermind nor death nor a literal god could stop him, so it’s more likely he went hiding into the most remote place of Eora, hoping to escape the expectations people always seem to put on him.

And anyway his duty is too important for him to be distracted by thoughts of the man he loved (still love, his own treacherous mind says, Iselmyr cackling in the distance). It was important enough then for him to let go—

It still is, he assures himself, forcing doubts and regrets down to focus on the task at end. No point in dwelling on what could have been.

Because Anathema is a cruel, cruel orlan who loves to have company in her misery, she makes him go down into the catacombs and has the audacity to arrive an hour late.

Aloth doesn’t have many good experiences with catacombs, tunnels, sewers and other underground labyrinth. Especially not those catacombs. And sure, there are fewer cultists and necromancers this time around, but it’s still as cramped and utterly disgusting as ever — he knows, by experience, that he’ll be better off burning those clothes than trying to get the foul smell out of them.

Going by previous reports, this is where she spends most of her time, using the expensive network of tunnels and sewers to go around the city, but that’s not an excuse for insisting this be their meeting place. There are many dark alleys and dirty inns on the surface, where no one asks question and there aren’t skeletons slowly decaying into dust just feet away. Knowing her, the real reason is that she wants to get revenge for the mandatory monthly report so much that she’d subject herself to this place just so he has to be here too.

It’s not even a meeting, really: Anathema is notorious for disliking kith contact, hence why he believes she might actually have chosen to live in the catacombs. Instead she makes him wait for almost an hour in what used to be the necromancer’s hideout, drops a pile of loose sheets of paper in his arms and disappear the way she came, leaving no trace of her passage as she slips back into the shadows.

He stands there for a moment, clutching the pages against his chest, before Iselmyr takes the helm and lets out an impressive string of curse. He swears he hears her laugh somewhere down the dark passages. Once Iselmyr lets him have the control of his body back he stuffs the stack of paper in his bag and strides off, quietly fuming.

It’s when he reaches Copperlane that he realizes he doesn’t actually know where he’s staying the night. He’s not overly fond of taverns: he’s broken into enough of them to know exactly what their security standards are. But it’s not like he has anywhere else to stay. At this point he would even be glad for a break-in: he feels like burning something, and a robber might do the trick.

After quick deliberations he makes his way toward Ondra’s Gift. The district has made an art out of minding your own business, and its criminality rate is high enough that shady characters such as him — working against the Leaden Key gave him reflexes and habits rarely seen in good upstanding members of society and Iselmyr really doesn’t help him stay inconspicuous — slip right out of people’s minds as long as they don’t start shit. It’s enough advantages that he’s ready to put up with the brothel for one night.

He pushes the door of The Salty Mast and is immediately assaulted by the warm air, smelling like incense, cheap ale and sweat. It’s summer, but the air inside is still hotter than the already sweltering heat outside, and Aloth briefly reconsiders his decision. He could walk to The Goose and Fox before nightfall and get a bed there, or just a spot in their backroom if all the rooms are already taken. It wouldn’t be that much effort. But he’s been on the road for a week straight, he’s dirty and tired, and unlike most other taverns The Salty Mast doesn’t make you pay extra for a bath.

Inhaling one last breath of fresh air, Aloth steps into the brothel.

Maea is still there, nodding in his direction when she notices him, but she’s older. Wearier, like most inhabitants of the city are, nowadays. She doesn’t recognize him, of course: fifteen years is a long time, and he was only a face in the crowd even then. Renard she could recognize. His face is hard to forget.

He pays for a room and drags himself to the most isolated table he finds, keeping his back to the wall and his traits hidden under the shadow of his hood. He would look out of place in most brothels, but Defiance Bay’s standards are… lower than most, and the presence of so many mercenaries and adventurers in the city means there are far shadier people than a simple hooded traveler seeking a meal and company. Such as the group of armed kiths on the other side of the main room, laughing uproariously as they drink. They alone look boisterous and dangerous enough that all attention is kept well away from Aloth.

It’s not the best of situations, but it’s good enough that he feels safe dumping his newly-acquired reading material on the table to flip through it while he eats through the last of his food supplies. He rarely risks the food in public places: it is frighteningly easy to poison someone, and people will do anything for a handful of coins.

The stack turns out to be quite tidy, separate into smaller stacks attached together with pieces of strings. The first one is the report he originally expected from Anathema this month. It’s boring and predictable enough that he allows himself to skim it without paying too much attention to it. He knows that the matter must be urgent or she wouldn’t have called him there, but at the moment he is by far too tired to read anything important and still and remember it clearly tomorrow.

Still, it’s work, and by trying to commit the details to memory he ends up falling into the half-dozing tunnel vision he often experiences when he’s trying to work through his exhaustion. He’s so engrossed in his attempt at understanding — it doesn’t help that Anathema’s handwriting is as illegible as ever — that he actually jumps when a hand slams on his table.

He looks up sharply, glaring at the interloper who happens to be one of the adventurer he saw earlier. The man is easily a good head taller than him, with a heavy plate armor that just screams ‘I was kicked out of the Crucible Knights and they preferred to let me keep the armor than touch something that I wore on my body for more than a day’, which is a worryingly common archetype for mercenaries in the city. The Knights’ standards are higher nowadays than they used to be, at least hygiene-wise.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he says, probably going for a seductive purr and only sounding like a deranged crow cursed with speech. “You come here often?”

“No.”

“Really? Shame. What if I gave you a good reason to come back, hm?”

“I highly doubt your ability to do that,” Aloth replies, rolls his eyes and looks back to his reports, already dismissing the man. He clicks his tongue in annoyance when he notices the hand still resting upon the pile of paper.

His annoyance turns to anger when his other hand comes to rest on his cheek, the press of cold metal forcing him to raise his face toward the stranger again. “Come on, sugar, that’s rude.”

Aloth can feel Iselmyr clawing at his mind, rising to the surface in her urge to make him swallow back his words with a well-placed fireball — she’s been getting the hang of his magic lately. He doesn’t fight her, letting go of the control of his body altogether.

She shrugs his body on like a coat, settling into limbs so familiar yet so different, throwing their shoulders back and making sure to look the strangers in the eyes as she glares. He chuckles, delighted.

“Feisty, aren’t you?” He gets even closer to them. His breath stinks of the place’s cheap ale, and if it were Aloth in control, he would probably gag at the sensation of it brushing against his skin. “I like that.”

“I’d have a goat’s jig with a pig before I looked at yer stick, ye wagtail toss pot!”

And then she spits on his face.

Aloth has a brief moment of clarity as she withdraws in which he suddenly remembers why he usually never let Iselmyr do the talking when he’s not actively looking for a fight.

“Why, you little bitch—” The mercenary’s hand lets go of his face, for which he’s glad until he sees him raises it in a fist that is, without a doubt, about to collide with his face.

That’s when he’s struck with probably the strongest sense of déjà-vu he’s ever felt. He’s tired and dirty, present here only because of his work concerning the Leaden Key, and Iselmyr’s foul mouth and hot temper just got him into a fight he’s unlikely to get out of unhurt. It’s Gilded Vale all over again. Although this time, Renard won’t be coming to his rescue—

A hand wraps itself around the mercenary’s wrist. The man tugs, frowning, but his expression turns into bewilderment when, instead of freeing his hand, he is sent stumbling backward. The movement reveals the disheveled figure of another man holding him back, traits hard to distinguish in the shadows of the poorly-lit tavern. The mercenary’s face twists in a pained grimace as the grip on his wrist tightens and the newcomer leans toward him, muttering, “Cut it out, asshole, or I’m going to cut you.”

The words are slightly slurred, the tone similar to that of a drunk throwing exaggerated threats around to start a brawl, but the glint of a knife close to the mercenary’s navel suggests this man is being perfectly serious.

The first man wrenches his hand free and stalks out without a word, although he can be heard swearing under his breath. He sulks back to his table where his companions welcome him with mocking laughter.

Aloth turns to his impromptu savior, thanks on the tip of his tongue, but freezes before he can speak. His movements have brought the man back into the flickering light of the dim lantern resting on the table, and it takes Aloth a long moment to first recognize his face and then to realize he is not dreaming.

“Renard?”

Renard blinks, distracted from glaring at the retreating mercenary’s back, and looks down at him. “Huh. Knew I recognized that voice.” Something odd passes over his face — a flash of conflicting emotions in his eyes before they darken into a sort of resignation — and he lets himself drop into the neared chair, sprawling over the table. With one hand he gestures to Maea for a drink. “Didn’t ‘xpect t’see you here.”

“It has been quite some time, yes,” Aloth replies, unsure what else to say to a man he professed his love to before disappearing for ten years.

He should have sent a letter.

They don’t look at each other and stay in that awkward silence until Maea drops two full tankards in front of them, glancing meaningfully to Aloth. He’ll need it. To Renard, she says, “You’re not on shift tonight.”

Renard salutes her with his newly-acquired drink. “I’m here for your delightful company, of course,” he says, remarkably articulated for someone who looks and smells like he’s been sleeping in a brewery for the last decade. He takes a gulp of the shitty ale without the slightest reaction at the foul taste. “Sure as hell ain’t the quality of the drinks bringing me back.”

She whacks him on the head. “If you wanted better alcohol you’d do a better job.”

He grumbles and waves her away, so she whacks him a second time for good measure before striding off to her next client.

Turns out silence is just as awkward with drinks, at least to Aloth. Renard seems content enough drinking the swill they dare to call ale, but Aloth barely sips it in the hope of diminishing the aftertaste while he stares at his old friend in open curiosity.

He’s— changed. He thought the same when they met again in the wake of Eothas’ destructive journey through the Deadfire, but he sees now that the five years after confronting Thaos were nothing next to the change a decade in the chaos of post-Wheel Eora put Renard through. He looked tired then, mere hours after watching a god bring the cycle of reincarnation to its end, and the dark circles have only gotten worse since then, as if he didn’t get a single night of sleep in the decade they spent apart.

His knuckles are still bloody like he’s been in a fight recently and his swollen eye and the rest of the bruises and scrapes on his face are half-covered by the limp strands of his hair that aren’t caught in a sloppy ponytail. He is nothing like the Renard who never got into a fight if he could avoid it, the one who spent hours washing the blood and salt out of his hair and styling it. There’s still dirt or dried blood stuck under his bitten-short nails.

“What happened to you?” He finally says, aghast.

Renard lifts his head just enough to reveal a wry grin. “Ten years is a long time.”

#writing #Pillars of Eternity #aloth corfiser #the watcher #renard #my ocs

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hepdenerose · 4 years ago

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Rawtonstall Fall

A rainy Saturday was superseded by a dazzlingly bright October Sunday. The stunning early autumn colours sizzled in the light. I commented some of the best trees could be seen out the window. Nevertheless, we went out to explore others. Using the erstwhile High Street as a shortcut to the Fox & Goose, we continued on the main road, inordinately busy with walkers and motorists. We…

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gautiersylvain · 6 years ago

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watcher as companion

you can find the prompts here, thank you @ariela-of-aedyr for making it!

If your Watcher, or other Pillars OC, was a recruitable companion instead of the main character, how and where would they be introduced to the main party?

in the first game, brianna would be found in defiance bay hanging around outside the goose and fox inn and would have a side quest for the watcher involving helping her deal with bounty hunters who are after her

in deadfire, she would be found trying to help the roparu in the gullet in neketaka and she would be part of the quest to introduce a better food source to the gullet

What would their companion quest involve?

in the first game, brianna’s companion quest would involve confronting the man that killed her parents in readceras. the watcher can either try to persuade her to handle the situation non-leathally or lethally, but either way the man attacks the party and he dies. the watcher’s decision changes brianna’s disposition in deadfire.

in deadfire, brianna’s companion quest would involve confronting a cipher she had befriended in her time in the deadfire. the cipher has resorted to using their abilities to force people to do things against their will and justifies it by saying it’s for the greater good. the watcher can persuade brianna to agree or disagree.

What traits would affect their approval, positively or negatively?

positive traits: dutiful, autonomy, anti-leaden key, kindness (especially helping those less fortunate)

negative traits: pride, racism, religious discrimination, cruelty, aggressiveness

Which other companions would they get along with, and which would they bicker with, in Party Banter?

brianna would get along with pretty much everyone in the first game except for durance lmfao. she would probably bicker with hiravias in party banter because they don’t see eye to eye on much, but she still likes and respects him. she gets along best with aloth, eder, sagani, and pallegina.

in deadfire, she gets along best with aloth, eder, xoti, and tekehu. she doesn’t want to get involved in the warring factions at play in the deadfire so the dedication maia and pallegina show to their causes makes her wary of them. knowing the truth about the gods would give her reason to bicker occasionally with tekehu and she wouldn’t always get along with serafen and maia.

Would they be romanceable? Would they end up in a romance with another companion, if both were left unromanced (à la Maia & Xoti)?

brianna would be romanceable. if both she and aloth were both not romanced, they would end up together.

Would anything make them leave the party, or would they be there for the long haul?

if the watcher did something incredibly heinous and against brianna’s morals, like sacrificing a companion to the skaen blood pool. or in deadfire if the watcher hit -2 approval with brianna she would probably just peace out lmao she’s got better things to do.

#pillars of eternity #oc: bethania vilar

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icleanedthisplate · 2 years ago

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Dine-Out Meals of July 2022, Ranked

I ranked the following based on taste alone. I made no consideration for ambiance or the general dining experience or whatever. I included meals I got to go. I included food trucks, catered meals, and fast food.

That Salmon will make the top 10 list, I assume.

Should you be interested in the pictures or reading the few words I had to say about each meal, click on the home page and scroll down or see the archives.

Salmon with Chorizo-Corn Hash. Pecan Point Brewing Company. Texarkana, Texas. 7.15.2022.

Bacon Wrapped Dates, Watermelon Ceviche (shared apps), Grilled Pork Loin, Chocolate Delet (?). Fox Hill Restaurant. Wichita Falls, Texas. 7.13.2022.

Smoked Pepper Pimento Cheese (shared), Health Nut Grain Bowl w/Steak. Local Yocal BBQ & Grill. McKinney, Texas. 7.14.2022.

Sushi Rolls (Kiss Me, Kemuri, Furakaki) (Shared all). Kemuri. Little Rock, Arkansas. 7.17.2022.

Oysters (shared), Gumbo. The Oyster Bar. Little Rock, Arkansas. 7.20.2022.

Meatloaf w/Broccoli & Rice Casserole and Black-Eyed Peas. Platnum BBQ (River Market). Little Rock, Arkansas. 7.26.2022.

Chicken Parmesan Sandwich, Caesar Salad (to go). Raduno. Little Rock, Arkansas. 7.29.2022.

John’s Favorite Salad. The Silver Spoon. Lawton, Oklahoma. 7.12.2022.

John’s Favorite Salad. The Silver Spoon. Lawton, Oklahoma. 7.13.2022.

Frontier Burger w/Sweet Fries. North Bar. North Little Rock, Arkansas. 7.6.2022.

Farm to Market Salad. Back Porch Drafthouse. Lawton, Oklahoma. 7.11.2022.

Pastor Classico Tacos w/Rice & Beans. Camp Taco. Little Rock, Arkansas. 7.8.2022.

Gyoza (shared), Sweet & Spicy Shrimp. Sura Korean Kitchen. Lawton, Oklahoma. 7.12.2022.

Grilled Shrimp Fajitas w/Charro Beans & Elote. Blue Goose Cantina. Frisco, Texas. 7.14.2022.

Mushroom Swiss Chicken w/Watermelon, Fried Okra, Cucumber Salad. Sallie’s Café. Checotah, Oklahoma. 7.11.2022.

The Florentine (Benedict). Red Door. Little Rock, Arkansas. 7.21.2022.

Lunch Catering. Taziki’s. Little Rock, Arkansas. 7.7.2022.

Turkey Fig Jam Sandwich. Mylo Coffee Co. Little Rock, Arkansas. 7.18.2022.

Avocado Toast. Mylo Coffee Co. Little Rock, Arkansas. 7.18.2022.

Continental Breakfast. Fairfield Inn & Suites by Marriott. Lawton, Oklahoma. 7.12.2022. (No Photo)

Continental Breakfast. Fairfield Inn & Suites by Marriott. Lawton, Oklahoma. 7.13.2022. (No Photo)

Bacon, Gouda, & Egg Sandwich. Starbucks. Frisco, Texas. 7.15.2022.

Red Pepper Sous Vide Egg Bites. Starbucks (Midtown). Little Rock, Arkansas. 7.11.2022.

Red Pepper Sous Vide Egg Bites. Starbucks. Frisco, Texas. 7.14.2022. (No Photo.)

#food blog #foodie #food ranking #july 2022

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sayonaramidnight · 6 years ago

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For the love of gods

(told by Safina Giranni, a Vailian actress and chanter, to Lady Sora of Caed Nua)

Now listen closely, for I have food for your thoughts and you do not want to stay hungry, do you?

There was a priestess once. Quite young. Very clueless. Did not know much about the gods at first, but had no clear idea about what to do with her life and priesthood seemed to be a steady job. The priest who prepared her for the religious service did his best to draw out her true potential and fell in love with her somewhere along the way. His feelings met an impenetrable wall, but his teachings met favourable conditions. And so she learnt.

First, she learnt about all that the god embodied and the ways it influenced reality. And she was enraptured with its mind.

Then, she learnt how the god's followers worshipped it and how it affected their lives; she learnt of its saints and everything they did for the world. And she was enraptured with its heart.

Finally, many nights of praying and contemplation later, she fell asleep and dreamt. In the dream her god came to her and show her its soul; and it was strange and unfathomable, and more beautiful than anything she had ever learnt.

When she woke up, she realized she could see every mortal's soul.

Soon she started gaining fame. Kith quickly found out there was a Watcher in the temple and they came to her with their troubled souls, for there was no animancy yet to console them. Restless spirits also came, asking her to guide them to the Beyond. She, however, did not want their attention or respect – she only hungered for the soul of her god and wanted to make it one with her own. But the god did not came back and she understood her soul was too weak. And so her journey began.

The priestess wandered the world, tending to the dying, looking for ghosts of those who did not want to go, and absorbing their souls into hers, whether they wanted it or not. And yet, it was not enough.

She learnt how to hunt small animals. Then, larger ones. She took their souls. And it was still not enough.

Her former mentor, still enamoured, was the first kith she killed for his soul. He was not the last one.

And so, fifteen years passed, and the priestess grew more and more anxious and impatient until she finally felt strong enough to satisfy her desire for the god's soul. She decided to spend the night alone in the temple, where she prayed and meditated, calling the god's name and waiting.

She was found the next morning, still on her knees, smiling in delight. Her heart was still beating, but her soul was gone.

The Vailian woman's face was wrinkled and her hair was grey, but her eyes sparkled and her voice was loud and clear, drawing the attention of the audience and never losing it. The woman was neither singing nor even chanting, and yet the listeners were entranced as if she put a spell on them.

Some of them were amazed. Others were indignant. But in the end, everyone was applauding and Sora's applause was the loudest.

It was an evening of singing and story-telling in the Defiance Bay theatre. One of many. This time she did not feel like participating, but as soon as the Vailian performer left the stage, she decided to approach her and treat her to the best mead in the town.

The mead in the Goose and Fox inn turned out to be delicious. Safina cheerfully asked for another mug, but noticed that the Watcher was only drinking Wyrthoneg, which was – let's be honest – barely even alcoholic. Therefore, she stayed sober, unlike the performer. Did she intend to get her drunk? And if she did – what for?

Or perhaps there was nothing suspicious about her behaviour. Perhaps the reason was simple: austerity. Possibly the only trait left of the mental image of the young ruler Safina had before. From what she had heard about the woman who had talked to the gods and ended the hollowborn curse, she had expected someone more... bookish. Scholarly. Serious. Not the playful aristocrat who was sitting directly opposite her.

Ah, whatever. She hardly ever told that story, but tonight she chose it in hope for meeting the famous Watcher of Caed Nua. And she had what she wanted.

“Don't tell me you made up that story just for my sake!” The Watcher laughed heartily into her mug.

“I did not, tella,” Safina said with an exaggerated sigh. “I heard it from a chanter I knew when I was young. He was a moon godlike, just like you,” she added, watching her attentively. “Why? Too close to home?”

“No, although I met some priests who would do the same if they could,” Lady Sora rolled her eyes and grinned. “Curious that the story doesn't say which god it was.”

“Does it matter? I've always thought its meaning is supposed to be symbolic, not literal,” the Vailian said pensively. She had wondered about it many times – unsuccessfully – but did not want to appear stupid in front of that girl. “Or maybe it had happened long before the gods known to us appeared.”

“Sounds like heresy. Especially from a priestess.”

So she noticed Safina's holy symbol. A perceptive little thing, that one.

“Hylea has never objected. Perhaps I will be judged after my death, but that will be a different story. What puzzles me more is that the god is referred to as 'it'. Like an object. Or an idea.”

“Did your chanter not explain it to you?”

“No, never. He was just trying to seduce me with his songs and stories,“ Safina smiled nostalgically. The man himself hadn't been her type... unlike his stories. “Can an object or an idea have a mind or a heart?”

“Why not? After all, we can try figuring out the thoughts and feelings of its creator,” the Watcher remarked. “And there's always something left of them, attached to it... A tiny piece of their soul. So, in a way, we could say it can.”

Safina slowly nodded, but didn't say anything. Was that what a Watcher's life looked like? Seeing bits and pieces of souls attached to everything, like fingerprints? In that case, no wonder that the priestess from the story had been feeding on souls for fifteen years – by the gods, they were everywhere! She always prided herself on her imagination – it greatly helped her develop her acting skills – but that? That was beyond her.

And yet she dared ask the question that was eating her.

“Have you ever seen a god's soul?”

Her Ladyship was only mildly surprised.

“No, but I can imagine what it looks like,” she said, giving the Vailian an absent-minded smile. Now she was more like the scholar Safina had imagined before. “Ancient. Built of millions souls of kith, melded together. Confused.” Suddenly she wasn't smiling any more; her mind was clearly in some dark place. “Probably still screaming for freedom, despite having long forgotten of what they used to be.”

“You make it sound like the gods are all insane.”

“Well, aren't they?” Lady Sora looked at Safina – or maybe through her. Right at her soul, perhaps? “After all, no mortal mind can really comprehend them. You might as well call it insanity.”

“True. It would take a special kind of person to fall in love with one of them,” Safina forced a smile. “But now you're the one who speaks heresy.”

When the Watcher heard that, she grinned again and winked.

“I'm just trying to match up to you,” she explained. “And the gods know exactly what I think about them anyway.”

“Interesting. You're much more than they say about you.”

“More what?” Lady Sora seemed genuinely curious. “Deranged?”

“Confusing.”

“Don't forget you've asked for this yourself.”

“I won't. Besides, I'm not saying I regret it.”

Later that night, Lady Sora invited Safina to stay in Caed Nua and perform for the householders. And the Vailian accepted the invitation.

But this time she made sure all her stories were light-hearted.

#pillars of eternity #fanfiction #to edit and cry another 100 times #Sora needs her own tag

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traveltoblank · 6 years ago

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Sun and sand on the beaches of Maine: A seven day itinerary

With its long days of warm sun, summer is no better time to head to the natural wonderland of Maine. While the state might be more well known for its green forests and red lobsters, the coastal region of Maine is full of long sandy beaches and relaxing oceanside towns.

The Maine Beaches is a short drive from most of New England, only 70 miles from Boston, 5 hours from NYC or Montreal and just minutes south of Portland, ME. There is also a seasonal train from Boston, the Amtrak Downeaster.

No matter how you get to Maine, get ready for the most relaxing week of vacation along the idyllic beachside. For this weeklong itinerary to the beaches of Maine, it is based on the fact you are visiting from south of Maine, generally working your way north throughout the week. Grab your bathing suit and sunscreen and get ready for an adventure.

Day 1: Your first taste of the Maine Beaches

It is best to arrive in Maine around lunch time to take full advantage of the day, but not have to wake up early for your departure. To reach the Maine beaches region you can either take the quicker I95 or more scenic US Route 1.

Lunch at Fox’s Lobster House

Start your trip to Maine off right with a taste of the local cuisine at Fox’s Lobster House in York. Grab a fresh lobster roll or our favorite fish and chips at the window and enjoy your meal at the picnic tables in the sun.

Cape Neddick Lighthouse

Just steps away from lunch is the well photographed Cape Neddick Lighthouse, also known as Nubble Light. This small, yet beautiful lighthouse is perched on its own little island and can be enjoyed from Sohier Park.

Cool down at Dunne’s Ice Cream

A short drive or walk from the lighthouse in York is the delicious homemade Dunne’s Ice Cream. Chose your favorite ice cream, sherbet or yogurt flavor or mix together a few for your own concoction. This cash only ice cream stand is so good, even the warm sun will not have enough time to melt your ice cream cone.

Check into the Port Inn

Drive on up to Kennebunk to check into the Port Inn, your friendly accommodations for your duration in Maine. Melt into the comfortable king size beds in your spacious hotel room. With a delicious continental breakfast included and a relaxing pool on site, it is the perfect spot to rejuvenate or spend a lazy afternoon.

Day 2: Tan on the white sands beaches of Maine

Your visit to the Maine Beaches would not be complete without, well, a day at the beach! With over 30 miles of white sand beaches in the region, there are over two dozen diverse beaches to chose from for your ultimate day in the sun.

Goose Rocks Beach

The stunning views from Goose Rocks Beach makes this more isolated beach a sort of hidden gem. The 3-miles long of beautiful white sand leaves plenty of space for everyone to enjoy the calm waters without getting over crowed.

Gooch’s Beach

Gooch’s Beach is the largest section of public beach in Kennebunk. Its clean white sands close to downtown makes it a popular spot for locals and visitors alike.

Middle Beach

Middle Beach is a rockier section of Kennebunk Beach between Mother’s and Gooch’s. Dotted with black stones, this beach is less busy, but perfect for some exploring.

Mother’s Beach

For those traveling as a family, Mother’s Beach is a perfect choice. The small sandy beach has plenty of off street parking just at the water. At the far side of the beach is a massive playground with a spectacular view.

Marginal Way to Ogunquit Beach

Go for a stroll along the rocky seashore on the paved Marginal Way path. Enjoy this mile long path from Perkins Cove all the way to the sandy shores of Ogunquit Beach. Along the walk you are met with sweeping views of the Atlantic Ocean and several smaller and more rocky beaches to dip your toes into the water. Ogunquit Beach itself is rated one of the best in New England, which comes as no surprise with its warm sands and calming waves.

Parson’s Beach and shore walk

Parson’s Beach is a privately owned beach, which is open to the public. During low tide, you will find many locals fishing on the edge of the vast beach. Behind the sand dunes of the beach there is also a short walk among the salt marshes where you can enjoy local wildlife.

Day 3: Take in the scenery by foot, train and airplane

Morning scenic flight

Start the morning off right with a bit of excitement with a scenic flight. We were met at the Sanford Seacoast Regional Airport by Andrew Button the Chief Flight Instructor of Southern Maine Aviation. We hopped into a Cessna 172 Skyhawk for a fun flight, with enough room for our dog, Gordo!

During the one hour scenic flight we made it all the way down to Portsmouth, NH before making our way along the coast to Portland, before heading back towards the airport. Along the flight we had amazing views of the rocky seashore, long sandy beaches, several towns and of course many iconic lighthouses.

The hour long scenic flight is $195 per hour and holds up to 3 passengers, or two and a calm dog.

Lunch at Fisherman’s Catch

After an exciting morning exploring Maine by air, head off the beaten path to enjoy lunch at Fisherman’s Catch in Wells, ME. We highly recommend sitting outside in the sun or at the cute boat turned into a bar. We got the Fish and Chips and the daily special, a salmon fillet sandwich. Lucky for us, the large portions meant there was an afternoon snack to go.

Stroll through Rachel Carson Wildlife Refuge

Down 50 miles of coastline from Kittery to Cape Elizabeth is over 14,000 acres of wildlife refuge. While most of this protected land is not accessible to protect the plants and animals, there is a beautiful hike for a sunny afternoon. The Carson Trail is a one-mile loop through the pine tree forest that provides fantastic views of the salt marshes and local wildlife.

Hop aboard a train at the Seashore Trolley Museum

Take a ride on a historic streetcar at the Seashore Trolley Museum. Here you will find a collection of public transportation from across the country and throughout history. Enjoy many of the restored trolley cars and related pieces. Our favorite part of the museum is a ride on a restored streetcar, driven by volunteers, some of which come all the way from Boston for the day.

Entrance is $12 per adult and includes the ride on the antique streetcars along the 1.5 mile private railroad every 45 minutes.

Have a well crafted dinner at Salt & Honey

Finish the day of exploring Maine beaches by foot, train and airplane with some unique local foods at Salt & Honey in downtown Kennebunkport. For appetizers we tried the Fried Ravioli and Fish Tacos, both with its own twist on a traditional dish. At the suggestion of our server, for entrees we enjoyed the Salmon and House made Ravioli. We left Salt & Honey with full stomachs and a new appreciation for finely crafted meals.

Day 4: Relax in the quaint town of Old Orchard Beach

Down Old Orchard St to Palace Playland

Spend the morning walking through the small bustling downtown of Old Orchard Beach. Starting at the top of Old Orchard Street work your way though the many shops on your way down towards the water. Make sure not to miss the local collections of souvenirs from Beachology or your childhood dream of endless candies, popcorn and fudge at Dickinson’s Candy.

Getting closer to the water are two staples of Old Orchard Beach; Palace Playland and The Pier. Palace Playland is a little amusement park right in the center of town with children and adult rides, including a massive arcade. The area is open for all to enjoy as you pay per ride, or get an all-day pass for the rides.

The Pier is the ultimate food and entertainment destination out over the water. The Pier features several restaurants, bars and even a few souvenir shops upon its wooden planks.

Rooftop lunch at Joseph’s by the Sea

Just a five minute walk down the beach from the center of Old Orchard Beach is the spectacular Joseph’s by the Sea. If you have the opportunity, enjoy your meal and drinks from the rooftop for unfettered views of the ocean. Halfway through our stay we needed a break from the seafood capital of the world with some juicy hamburgers and well-crafted cocktails. Even if you are not looking for a full meal, head on over for a tasty drink in the sun with the best view in town.

An afternoon on the sands of Old Orchard Beach

After a delicious lunch make your way back towards the center of town to enjoy the afternoon on the white sands of Old Orchard Beach. Enjoy some time in the cool waters and tanning in the warm sun along the beach. If you have the chance, make sure to head underneath the pier for an awesome photoshoot.

Dinner at Huot’s Seafood Restaurant‎

Head on south of Old Orchard Beach to Camp Ellis Beach where you will find Huot’s Seafood Restaurant‎. Here we enjoyed delicious plates of fresh fried haddock with a choice of sides. This restaurant has been a long standing spot for locals with a take out line almost as long as the wait for tables.

Since Hout’s is the only restaurant in the Camp Ellis Beach section of Saco, you might be meet with a wait, but the food is absolutely worth it. While you are waiting for a table walk down the street to the long rock jetty sticking out into the ocean alongside the Saco River.

Day 5: A day of amusement at Funtown/Splashtown, USA

Your visit to Maine is not complete without a visit to the Funtown/Splashtown, USA amusement park. If you cannot agree on an roller coasters or water slides, why not a bit of both?! Spend the day on the adrenaline inducing rides or calming tea cups ride and cool off in the playful waterpark. Make sure to bring along a waterproof bag to keep all your gear safe throughout the day.

The best part of it all is the affordable ticket prices for the day to visit both parks at only $39 for adults and $30 for children.

Day 6: Explore Kennebunkport and see the Bush compound

Take the Intown Trolley Tour

Start off the day with an hourlong guided trolley tour of Kennebunkport. Along the tour you will learn a snippet of the rich history of the region. The most iconic spot you will see along the tour is a view of the Bush compound on Walkers Point, with the summer homes of George HW, George W and Jeb Bush.

The best part about the trolley tour is that with the regular $16 you have hop on/ hop off privileges for the entire day if you would like to explore a specific area more on foot. The last tour leaves downtown at 4PM, so do not miss your ride back.

Lunch at Pearl Kennebunk & Spat Oyster Cellar

Enjoy a fine meal at the Pearl Kennebunk & Spat Oyster Cellar. You can either pick to order a la carte, or their $35 fixed price brunch with your choice of two courses and Coffee, Mimosa or Bloody Mary. The juicy Pearl Burger is joined with a large mound of surprisingly thin and crispy shoestring fries.

Explore downtown Kennebunkport

Spend the rest of the afternoon walking through downtown Kennebunkport, making your way into the many boutique shops. Stroll your way down this historic fishing village and enjoy breathtaking views of the marina, beautiful mansions and of course, the friendly people!

Day 7: Sleep in and mosey on home

It is the last day of your vacation to the Maine Beaches and the perfect time to sleep in or fit in whatever you missed on your weeklong itinerary. Several places that are not on our itinerary, but are worth checking out are Two Lights State Park, a hike along the Eastern Trail at Scarborough Marsh and a Scenic Lobster Tour.

If there is nothing else you are looking forward to exploring, the last day is perfect to sleep in late and enjoy the breakfast and some pool time at the Port Inn before heading home after a relaxing week in Maine.

from Sun and sand on the beaches of Maine: A seven day itinerary

#Sun and sand on the beaches of Maine: A seven day itinerary #travel #travel blog #tourism #tourist

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ghostbustermelanieking · 7 years ago

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roaring like the ocean (1/2)

summary: Scully deals with her worsening cancer as tensions run high between her and Mulder.

spoilers for elegy and demons. part of my series i rewrite as i rewatch txf. warning for major angst/mention of suicide/slight suicidal thoughts.

Scully has dreams of the college girl's smooth throat being severed, her pleading eyes in the mirror. She fights off a nurse in the bathroom and wipes the blood off of her hands with scratchy paper towels while Mulder hovers nervously. He tells her, later, that Harold is dead and attributes his visions, his death to the lack of his medication. “Well, Harold Spuller wasn't dying, Mulder,” she says. “He-he was killed as a result of what that woman took away from him.”

“Is that your medical opinion?” he asks, and something in his tone hits her the wrong way, stiffens her spine. It has been a long few days.

They stop on the ramp and she turns to face him. Her hands are slick with cold sweat over the patches of dried blood. “I saw something, Mulder,” she says.

“What?”

“The fourth victim. I saw her in the bathroom before you came to tell me.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” he says, and the annoyance in his tone surprises her. Suddenly she is twenty-nine again, telling him that she followed the words of a psychic and he is mad at her for endangering herself. But at least that had made sense. At least he'd had a reason.

“Because I didn't want to believe it. Because I don't want to believe it.”

“Is that why you came down here, to prove that it wasn't true?” he asks, tension in his tone.

At the time, over four years ago, she'd been disappointed that he hadn't been proud of her for pursuing a supernatural lead, but now it just annoys her. Her life does not revolve around pleasing Fox Mulder. Except maybe it does, because she is here instead of doing other things, things that maybe she should be doing with her remaining time. “No, I came down here because you asked me to,” she says wearily.

“Why can't you be honest with me?” he asks, and she stiffens even more.

There are things she wants to say, harsh things, but she settles for snapping: “What do you want me to say? That you're right, that-that I believe it even if I don't? I mean, is that what you want?”

“Is that what you think I want to hear?”

She hadn't thought so. “No,” she says softly.

“You can believe what you want to believe, Scully, but you can't hide the truth from me because if you do, then you're working against me... and yourself,” he says.

There's more, she thinks, but she doesn't hear it. There's a roaring in her ears like the ocean, a kind of fury and incredible sadness combined inside her. He says something about being afraid of the same thing she is, and she swallows hard. She cannot do this, not now. How dare he. “The doctor said I was fine,” she says.

“I hope that's the truth,” Mulder says, and her stomach clenches.

Her eyes sting, her nose burning. She whispers, “I'm going home.”

Mulder doesn't follow her to her car and she's glad. She's going to cry and she hates crying and she hates crying in front of people. She climbs into the front seat of the car and clutches the wheel but she can't bring herself to start the car. She trembles, dissolving into brief, soft sobs. She can't put into words what she's crying over. The college girl in the mirror, maybe. Her doctor's appointment, the fact that she is inching closer and closer to inevitable death. She doesn't want to die. The fact that her best friend accused her of lying to him, of working against him. She sniffles.

Ahead of her, the ambulance carrying Nurse Innes springs to life, wailing as it pulls out onto the street. Her eyes follow it until they land on the rear view mirror. Harold Spuller stares back at her from the back seat.

Jolting in place, eyes widening, she turns around quickly. The back seat is empty. God, she thinks, trembling. I don't believe in ghosts. I don't. But she is dying, and she has seen the recently deceased. Just like Harold, just like Angie Pintero. She is dying.

Somehow she manages to drive home. She doesn't remember the trip; she just remembers staggering out of the car, unlocking her door and crawling into bed. She doesn't dream. She wakes up to blood sliding out of her nose, pain reverberating through her skull, and calls in sick. It's Friday. She can have the weekend to regain her dignity.

Mulder notices. Of course Mulder notices. He calls her near the end of the day, when she's wrapped up in blankets on her couch with a book her mother recommended. She answers without looking, and the all-too familiar, “Hey, Scully, it's me,” makes her stiffen from head to toe. “Are you okay? You were out of work today.”

“I'm fine, Mulder,” she mutters, setting the book face-down on her lap.

“Are you sure?” he asks, and his ton is exactly the same as last night. She closes her eyes, resting her head against the side of the couch, and resists the urge to snap at him. “You don't seem fine. Last night, this morning…”

She sighs heavily. “I don't want to talk about this right now, Mulder. I'll see you Monday.” Her thumb goes towards the button to hang up.

“Scully, wait,” he says, and his voice is urgent enough that she doesn't hang up. Silence for a minute before he says, “Look, I… I know I screwed up. I'm sorry. I just… There's a lead I'm following this weekend, and I wondered if you'd want to…”

“I'm not particularly interested,” she snaps, more viciously than originally intended. “And I'm not sure why you would want my help. Not if you can't trust me. Not if I'm working against you.”

Silence again. She can hear his breathing, can hear the hurt in his inhales and exhales. “I'll see you later, Scully,” says Mulder finally, quietly. Defeated. He hangs up before she can decide whether or not she wants to say anything.

She puts the phone down on the coffee table. Wipes her eyes and opens her book.

---

She should've expected the phone call summoning her to Rhode Island at five a.m. Sunday morning. Things are never simple with Mulder, and she can't just go the weekend without seeing him and go into work on Monday. The sound of his voice--disoriented, feverish--is enough to sway her, but her mind is made up when he says, “I've got blood all over me.” His blood or not, something bad has happened and she is the only one who will come.

She forgets the fight on the way up there, forgets almost everything of the previous weekend. She finds him in the shower in the hotel room, wraps him in a blanket and checks him for injuries. He doesn't remember anything after their conversation Friday. His gun has been fired.

They track Mulder's movements to Amy and David Cassandra, to the Mulders’ old summer house. Mulder has something like a seizure outside and they find two bodies inside. Mulder is arrested for murder. It happens too fast for her to stop any of it.

“I'm going to get you out of here,” she tells him, and she means it. She finds ketamine in Amy Cassandra and in Mulder. She works all night, autopsying, gathering intel on the Cassandras and a dead police officer. Her phone rings sometime around eleven; it's her mother, wanting to know where she is. She can feel the disapproval leaking through when she explains. Maybe she should feel the same way her mother does, maybe she should be upset at another weekend lost to some crazed goose chase. “I have to, Mom,” she says instead, stubbornly white-knuckling the phone. “Mulder needs me. No one else is going to help him.”

Her mother sighs on the other end of the phone and she pretends she doesn't hear it. “Just don't overexert yourself, Dana,” she says quietly. “And come home soon. I miss you.”

Scully clutches the phone so hard it hurts. “I will, Mom,” she whispers. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” her mother says sadly. “Goodbye, sweetie.” She hangs up and tears spring to Scully's eyes; she wipes them away firmly. After this is over, she'll spend as much time as possible with her mother. She puts down the phone and picks up the scalpel.

Finally she finds what she hopes she knew all along: proof of Mulder's innocence. A murder-suicide. By the next morning, Mulder's reached the same conclusion and is determined to track down the truth with no signs of stopping.

She's seen this look of absolute determination, of closing everything else out on his face before; a few months ago, she saw it in Allentown as he hunted down answers to why she was sick. He had wanted to keep going with the investigation, had brought it up for weeks ago, had a running file and everything, but eventually she shot him down. (The answers may be out there but they are unattainable, just as they always have been. And she knows better than to believe that there's a cure for brain cancer. She was too exhausted to look any further.) Maybe the reason he's plunging into these wild causes is because he needs a pursuit, and if it can't be her illness it might as well be the usual. Maybe it's a distraction. Or maybe it's just the way he is and she can't expect any different. He barely speaks to her on the ride to Warwick, and she can't tell if it's the fact that he's sick or because of everything that's happened between them as of late. She's not sure he's entirely forgiven her for what happened with van Blundht.

She starts to understand at Goldstein’s office: Mulder walked away from their conversation on Friday (from the things she said) and did something insane. She doesn't understand, she doesn't fucking understand. “Why would you do that, Mulder?” she demands as they leave the office. “Why would you undergo something as crazy and dangerous as this?” He doesn't answer. As soon as they step out into the sunshine, Mulder groans sharply, his hands to his head. “Mulder?” He crumples, nearly bent in half. “Mulder!” She's at his side in a second, touching his arm. “Mulder?” He's groaning and convulsing, hot and quivering under her hand. He finally stills, on his knees on the pavement next to her, and she strokes his forehead, prodding gently, “Mulder?”

“I'm fine,” he says, getting to his feet, and irritation courses through her. She's starting to understand why Mulder gets so mad when she says she's fine. He is not fine. Not at all.

“No, I am not going to take that for an answer,” she says fiercely as he walks away, right on his heels. “You do not belong at work. You need to be somewhere where you can be monitored.” No response. She tries, “You are a danger to yourself and a danger to me.” She thought if anything would get through to him it would be a threat to her, but he shows no sign of having heard her. “Are you hearing me?”

“Give me the car keys,” he says stubbornly.

“No, you're not driving. You're not doing anything until these symptoms go away.” She should have fucking come with him on Friday. Anything is better than this, this fucking mess.

Mulder turns to face her, says, “Scully, I don't want these symptoms to go away. Whatever's happening to me, whatever treatment I've received, is allowing me to go back into my unconscious. The truth is in there, recorded, and I've gotten access to it. What happened to my sister--the reason she was taken--is becoming clear to me, and I need to know that.” She exhales; there's nothing she can say to him that would change his mind. She knows him. “Now give me the keys,” he adds firmly.

She inhales, exhales again. “To go where?”

“To my mother's, in Greenwich.”

She should say no. She should demand that he go to a hospital, tell him they'll pursue this later. She should demand that he stop putting himself in danger, goddamnit, because she'd do anything to have a few more years, to live to see Christmas. But all she can hear is his voice saying, You're working against me. He'll go either way, whether she gives him her approval or not. The least she can do is make sure he's safe.

“Okay,” she says, wearily. “But I'm driving.”

---

It's a fucking cycle, she should've seen this coming. The Mulders disappear into a side room, and a few minutes later, Teena Mulder comes bursting out of the room where she and Mulder were talking, not giving Scully a second look before storming up the stairs. Thinking maybe she can comfort Mulder, Scully draws closer to the room, nudging the curtained doors open gingerly, and immediately sees that it's empty. She hears the clunk of a closing car door and comes to the window just in time to see their car speeding away from the house. “Fucking bastard,” she hisses through her teeth. “Goddamn fucking bastard.” She knows exactly where he's going, what he's doing.

Anyone else might say that she should leave him to himself, that he clearly doesn't care for his health or wellbeing. She can't. The tug in her stomach is too strong. She has no idea what he'll do, who he'll hurt--be it someone else or himself. She calls a taxi to a rental car place--her car is still back in Providence--and waits at Teena’s door anxiously, hands clenched around her elbows.

“Are you going to find him?”

She turns to see Teena Mulder standing on the stairs, looking distressed. “I hope so, Mrs. Mulder,” she says quickly. “I'm sorry for… I've called a cab, it should be here any minute.”

Teena nods. Her eyes travel over Scully’s face before she says, “You're bleeding, Miss Scully.”

She feels the trickle of blood too late. “Damn,” she mumbles, hand traveling fast to her nose. “Do you have, um… may I use your washroom?”

Mulder's mother shows her to the bathroom and stays in the doorway as Scully cleans up. She studiously avoids eye contact, feeling more and more uncomfortable by the minute. “Whatever Fox did to himself,” says Teena suddenly, “did you do the same thing? He was bleeding, too.”

A combination of irritation and worry comes up to the surface. Of course Mulder's mother wouldn't know. “I'm ill,” she says behind crumpled Kleenex. “Not the way Mu--not the way Fox is.”

Teena nods. “I slapped him,” she murmurs. “I am sorry for that, no matter how mad he made me. Will you tell him that?”

She slapped him? Scully stares at herself in the mirror, too pale, a wad of red-stained Kleenex held to her nose. She swallows hard before turning to Teena. “Yes, I will.”

The other woman nods, face unchanged, before turning and heading back down the hall. Scully can hear her footsteps on the stairs. When she exits the bathroom and goes back into the corridor, she can see the taxi waiting on the curb.

---

The police are already at Goldstein’s when she arrives. The police car is pulling away as the detective who headed Mulder's investigation looks on. She runs to him, demanding, “Where's Mulder?”

“He's not here,” the man says.

“Did you ask Dr. Goldstein?”

“Goldstein wouldn't say one way or the other.”

She focuses in on the police car and determination suddenly courses through her like a drug. “Hey, stop the car!” she shouts, running after them. She catches up to the car as it stops, as other officers crowd the car with her. “Open the back door,” she tells one of the officers. As soon as it's open she leans in, demanding, “What did you do to him?”

Goldstein turns his face away, closing his eyes as she continues harshly, “Look, I know he came back here. This is the only place he would have gone. Did you treat him?” Nothing. She seizes a handful of his shirt and yanks him up go meet her. “Damn it! Answer me!”

“Yes,” he says quickly, fearfully.

“Where is he now?”

“I don't know where he went,” Goldstein scrambles, shaking his head wildly as he looks worriedly up at her.

She shoves him back on the seat with disgust, watches as he gasps for breath, for composure. “What was the last thing he said to you?” she snaps.

“He said he was going to exorcise his demons.”

She knows where he's going to go. She turns away from the car, shoes clicking on the pavement. “Agent Scully.” The lead officer, Curtis something, is following her. “Where are you going?”

“I'm going to find Mulder.” She rummages in her coat pocket for her keys. “He needs medical attention.”

“That man is armed and dangerous,” Curtis snaps. “His actions are unpredictable. You're putting yourself and others in danger by refusing to reveal his location.”

“Mulder would never hurt me,” Scully says stubbornly. “He's hurt and he needs help. I can calm him down, convince him to go to a hospital. He doesn't need the calvary swooping in, it'll agitate him.”

“If you're certain he wouldn't hurt you,” says Curtis, in a way that suggests he doesn't believe her, “fine. But we don't know that he won't hurt others. We need to be prepared for the possibility that he will. We can't sacrifice innocent lives for one man.”

Scully bites her lower lip. She'd like to say she can take care of this entirely on her own, but she isn't sure. “Quonochontaug,” she tells him, feeling like a traitor. “His childhood vacation home. He'll go back there.” Curtis nods, satisfied, and she takes a step towards him, eyes hard. “I'm coming with you. I'm taking care of this. No arguments.”

Curtis nods absently, turns away from her, pulling out his radio. “It's an hour away, we’ll never make it. I'm going to send the local police on ahead of us.”

“Tell them not to go in!” Scully says quickly. “Tell them to wait outside. I don't even know if Mulder's there yet, I don't know how much of a head start he had. But they can't arrest him. They can't let him know they're there. Tell them to wait for me and I'll talk him down.”

Curtis studies her for a moment before sighing and saying, “You do seem to be the only person who can get through to him.” He turns and heads toward his car, calling, “Ride with me, we'll get there faster,” as he goes.

She can't relax the entire way up there, even with the added benefit of the siren for speed. Her fingers drum restlessly on her knee and she watches out the window, looks at the blur of headlights ahead. She can't stop picturing Mulder hurt, Mulder dead, Mulder gone before her. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. She thinks back to when Mulder had held her in the hospital and kissed her forehead, when he'd smiled goofily at her over a pink birthday cake and given her a key chain. Maybe it's selfish of her to want him to be that Mulder all the time, but she needs him. Needs his support. But god, crazy drilled-a-hole-in-his-head Mulder is still Mulder and she can't lose him.

She instructs the waiting police not to shoot before entering the house alone. She opens the door quietly, cautiously, and goes for her gun before she changes her mind, mentally berating herself. It's Mulder and he would never hurt me, she tries. But the statement feels void as she moves through the dark house like a character in a horror film. Two people died here while Mulder watched. A murder-suicide, and Mulder did the same thing to himself that Amy Cassandra did before her death. She hopes history doesn't repeat itself here, tonight. “Mulder?” she calls.

“Leave me alone, Scully,” he calls back harshly from somewhere upstairs. He sounds angry, on edge, unpredictable, but he is still alive and that's all she needed to know. She follows the voice.

She finds the room, finds him sitting in it, head tipped back and eyes closed, rocking slightly. “Mulder, it's me,” she says quietly.

“Scully, leave me alone.” He doesn't stop his motion, trembling in place, and he makes a sudden sound somewhere between a choke and a gasp. She sees the gun in his hand as she draws closer, as he shakes and rocks. He is falling apart right in front of her. “It's… all falling into place,” he says.

“Mulder, put down the gun,” she says calmly.

“No. Don't try to stop me.”

She thinks of Amy Cassandra and murder-suicides, and no, damnit, they are both walking out of this house alive tonight. “Please, Mulder…” she pleads.

He trembles and trembles. His hand suddenly shoots out to the gun, clenching around it, and he turns furiously and points it at her as if she is a criminal, shouting, “Get away!”

Modell in a hospital room and he's fighting against it, shaking with the force of not shooting her, telling her to get away but in a different context. Icy Cape and he wants to trust her and he's only doing it because she pointed the gun at him first. “Are you going to shoot me, Mulder?” she asks, evenly, and she never, never expected him to nod so determinedly like this. He's sick, she reminds herself, he doesn't know what he's doing, but that doesn't stop it from feeling like something inside her has shattered. Mulder, it’s me, she wants to say. It’s me. “Is that how much this means to you?” she continues. She is picking her way through the shards. She hears herself say, Mulder would never hurt me. “Mulder, listen to me. You have been given a powerful hallucinogen. You don't know that these memories are yours.” He doesn't lower the gun. Her eyes are burning and, oh god, she is going to cry. She cannot cry here. “This is not the way to the truth, Mulder,” she says softly, forcing her voice to remain steady. She's shaking her head a little, partially out of disbelief. Murder-suicide, murder-suicide. He may not shoot himself now, but if he shoots her she knows he will eventually follow. It's her biggest fear in her impending death, what will happen to him. “You've got to trust me,” she tries. The same thing she said to him all those years ago in a rainy hotel room; maybe it'll get to him.

“Just shut up!” he roars.

“Put down the gun,” she says. He doesn't move. He's looking at her and not really seeing her. For a second, she wishes he would pull the trigger. Her head hurts and she is dying and she wants it to end. Make it stop, Mulder, just do it. Would he end her pain by shooting her if he asked? Maybe she won't have to.

“Let it go,” she says. His fingers tighten around the gun. She closes her eyes and readies herself for the gunshot.

The loud sound is startling but she feels no pain. Her eyes fly open, terrified she'll see Mulder dead on the ground, but the shots continue and Mulder is standing, facing away from her. He is emptying his clip into the wall. She watches. She is going to cry. She swallows hard and thinks of her mother. Whatever happens to lead to her death, she needs a chance to say goodbye.

When he's finished, he crumples in on himself. She approaches him slowly, touching his arm. He doesn't move. She gives in to it for once, her unexplainable need for him, and wraps herself around him, resting her cheek on his back. He is warm and she wants to sob. “It's okay, Mulder,” she whispers. “It's over. It's okay.”

Feet pound the steps angrily. It's the calvary. She pries the gun out of Mulder's hand and throws it across the room before leaning back over him like a shield. The police burst in, guns drawn, scanning the room. “Don't hurt him!” she calls to them, tightening her awkward hold on him. “He's sick. He needs help. Call an ambulance.”

A few of the men lower their guns, but most do not. The leader stares at her incredulously. “Call a goddamn ambulance!” she snaps.

Someone pulls out their phone and starts dialing. The bundle of officers disperse, rattling around the room looking for evidence. “You're not going to arrest him,” she snaps at a few who draw closer, and they leave them alone after that.

Mulder is still unresponsive, stiff as a board under her embrace. He's hot and feverish. She sniffles and smooths his hair, rests her head on the strong surface of his back until the paramedics come.

She won't let them touch him; she coaxes him onto the stretcher herself. “We just want to help him, miss,” says one.

“I'm riding with him,” she tells them firmly and they don't argue. She lets them carry the stretcher, following right on their tail.

Ambulances always remind her of Leonard Betts now. She answers the paramedic’s questions as she takes a seat beside Mulder, gripping his hand in hers. “He doesn't know what he's doing,” she says again and again. “He's sick.”

“Are you okay, miss?” the paramedic in the back with them asks kindly. “You're bleeding.”

She clasps her free hand to her nose and feels the trickle of blood. She suddenly feels the exhaustion in every part of her body, in her bones. “I have brain cancer,” she mumbles. “This is normal. It's nothing.”

“I think maybe you should let someone check you out at the hospital, miss,” says the paramedic. “Along with your friend.”

Scully nods, barely knowing what she is saying.

Mulder's fingers tighten around hers. “Scully?” She looks down at him; he looks terribly confused, but responsive. He's actually responsive. His free hand comes up to touch her face. “You're bleeding. I didn't… I didn't shoot you, did I?” he says unsteadily.

She drops his hand. “No, Mulder,” she whispers. Tears are springing up to her eyes, finally. Murder-suicide, but they are still alive. They are still alive but she won't be. Not for much longer. “You didn't shoot me.”

The paramedic doesn't comment when she dissolves into sobs behind her hand.

---

The oncology department at the hospital recommends that she see her personal oncologist when she gets home. “And take it easy,” they recommend. Somehow, she doesn't foresee that happening. They tell her she can see Mulder, that they have him on sedatives while the ketamine leaves his system, but she doesn’t. She gets a hotel room and sleeps until the next evening.

Scully doesn't think of the backlash from the Bureau until Skinner calls, demanding answers. She explains warily, cross-legged on the bed and rubbing her temples. She leaves out the part where she really thought Mulder was going to shoot her. Skinner doesn't seem very satisfied with her explanation, but then again, it's the truth. “I'm sure Agent Mulder can explain it to you more fully, sir,” she says, palm pressing into her forehead.

“I expect a full report from you, Agent Scully. In writing,” says Skinner sternly. She wants to protest that it wasn't even a case, not officially, that Mulder just did something stupid and she had to track him down and pick up the pieces. As usual.

After hanging up with Skinner, she is in no mood to go to the hospital and check on Mulder. She orders a pizza and manages two whole slices, lies in bed and watches rerun after rerun of I Love Lucy to clear her head.

She goes to the hospital in the morning simply because it is unavoidable. The nurses tell her that he is fine, that the ketamine is out of his system and the wound on his head is healing fine, that the seizures have stopped and so has his irrational behavior. They wave her on back and she tries to ignore the worry knotting in her stomach. The uncertainty.

Mulder is sitting up in bed while the TV plays quietly in the background. He looks up when she enters and she sees the shame spreading over his face before he looks away, quickly. “Hey, Scully,” he mumbles.

She's torn between hugging him and hitting him, so she settles for a neutral (if not slightly hard), “Hey, Mulder,” as she goes to sit in the chair beside his bed. He won't look at her; he picks at the hem of his blanket, brow furrowing. He's embarrassed. She's hurt. “What do you remember?” she tries. Maybe conversationally, maybe confrontational--she's not entirely sure.

“I don't… I don't know.” He rubs his face in distress. “I remember my mom and Samantha and… the smoking man… but I can't give any context to it all. Now that it's all stopped.”

“No,” she says, her hands fisting in the material of her coat. “I mean, what do you remember from the past few days.”

“Oh.” He swallows, staring at the blanket. A laugh track plays in the background. “I… I remember everything.”

She looks down at her hands curling in the dark material of the coat, at the pale, freckled backs of them. Remembers how they'd held Mulder not even two days ago, how she'd held his hand and wouldn't let anyone else touch him. He didn't know what he was doing, she reminds herself. He wasn't in his right mind. He wasn't…

“And how do you feel about… about everything that's happened?” she asks her hands.

“Are you kidding me?” His voice is sharp in the empty hospital room. “I feel like fucking shit, Scully.” He's still not looking at her but his shoulders are rigid, his hands clutching the blanket in the same way hers are clutching her coat. She thinks about taking his hand. She thinks about confronting him about the emotional roller coaster this past week has been.

She clears her throat instead, running her thumb over her fingernails. They're gnawed practically to the quick; when did that happen? “Are they discharging you today?” she asks.

“Yeah,” says Mulder bitterly. “Apparently I'm not a danger anymore. Any charges against me are cleared; I guess I should thank you for that.”

She gulps, squirming in her chair. She can't tell if he's madder at her or himself. “I'm planning on driving on back today,” she says. “Do you… do you want to…”

“My car’s still up here,” Mulder says. “I need to drive it back.”

“Oh.” She's caught a loose thread between her fingers; she pulls at it, frustrated. “Yes. Well… I should head on back, I guess.” She doesn't know why she's saying this. She's never left him alone in the hospital, not once, before now, but. She can't stay here and awkwardly talk to him. She can't do this. She is a coward and she is running.

She looks up at him and he doesn't look back at her. “Get well soon, Mulder,” she says softly, hating herself for sounding like a Hallmark card. “Drive safe. I'll see you at work.”

Scully drives home in a daze, listening to talk shows on the radio until the voices blur into a motionless rhythm. She doesn't go home right away; she goes to her mother's house. “Dana,” her mother says with surprise when she opens the door, like she wasn't expecting her. Of course she wasn't expecting her. “What a lovely surprise.”

Scully hugs her mother tightly and lets the weekend fall away in her warm embrace. She is not dead yet.

#fictober #sort of #i wrote this #xf rewatch #xf fanfic #todayinfic

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