#Here's a progress shot for the sake of appearing by active mate

[fantaprincess]

[the-neon-writer]

Fuck it, it may not be edited and it may change still, but here’s Cara’s Intro. She’s yet another character in my maybe novel that is coming along slowly. I may have not won NaNoWriMo but i still got further with progress. So i’m proud of myself. I have one more characters intro left to write. I promise it’ll be a good one when it arrives. In the mean time enjoy this as a special christmas treat 😉🎄😉

Cara’s Intro

She wasn’t sure where he had come from, but he was there nonetheless. The man had just appeared one day and decided to take care of her. What made it stranger was that people usually looked down on her because of the way she looked. But this man did not. She may have been young, but she knew how the world worked, the other street urchins had taught her that. She had to be smarter and tougher than the rest of them if she wanted to survive. He was different though, he didn’t seem to care about the colour of her skin, or what people whispered when they saw her with him.

It had taken some time to start trusting him and he had given her all the time she needed. The moment she knew she could trust him was her first full moon. She had no clue what was happening to her, she felt like she was being ripped to shreds from the inside out and she had no control over what was happening to her. They had been staying at a farmhouse on the outskirts of Dublin. He was in the other room and she assumed he’d heard her yell. She remembered seeing him rush in, sword in hand. She couldn’t control what was happening, it was like she was watching someone else control her body, but she charged towards him. All he did was just wrap her in a tight hug and whisper that it was going to be ok and that he would help her no matter what, that he would never leave her side as long as she needed him.

After that they grew closer, he was like an older brother that she’d never had in her life. He helped her understand what she was going through and patiently taught her to control the beast as best he could.

She had a purpose now, she was informing on people for him. People didn’t care enough to notice street urchins so she could slip into and out of most places without ever being seen. She spied on priests and gentlemen, ladies in fancy bonnets and young brats of rich families. She trailed them throughout the town and reported their activities to him. She wasn’t quite sure why she was spying on these people, but more often than not, she never saw them again. So one day she asked him why he was looking for those people. And he told her, that’s why she trusted him, he told her the truth if only she asked. She was angry and confused but he explained why these people needed to be eliminated, though, sometimes, on rare occasions, he didn’t eliminate people in the literal sense. A few times during the years, she helped him smuggle people out, making it look like they were gone permanently but really they were just removed from the equation.

He told her about The Council when she turned 12. That made her understand it a little better, why he killed the people he did and spared the ones he did.

“Now I don’t always agree with the council, but, I have to trust their judgment on most things. They’re family and I guess I’m sorta stuck with ‘em. I do have a noggin’ of me own though, and they’re not always as smart as they think they are. I’m tellin ye this so that ye can understand why they can never know ‘bout ya Cara.” That’s what he had told her, “I’ve seen that not all of ye are evil and mindless bloodshed sickens me, so I hope ya know that I’d never hurt ya. Do you trust me?” She had believed him, foolish, she now knew people always ended up hurting you.

The beast was growing with her and it was becoming stronger also. And not long after her 12th birthday, the beast spoke for the first time. It was just a regular day and she was out on the streets trying to nick whatever she could off the rich blokes and snobby arses who thought themselves so much better than her. She didn’t need the money but it made her feel good to get payback.

She’d just nicked a shiny pocket watch from a well-dressed gentleman when she saw a gang of other street kids approach her. She knew them since forever, she’d always managed to slip away right under their noses, but this time she was so enamoured with her find that it was too late when she noticed them.

“Whatchu got there girly,” said one of them, snatching the watch from her hands.

“Oi give it back ye thick gobshite, that’s my find,” she tried to snatch it back but the boy was taller.

“Or what, s’not like anyone’s gonna help you,” he looked her up and down disapprovingly and giggled with his mates.

“I suggest you give it back, boy,” it was a deep booming voice, with an accent so far from Irish it was startling.

“Oi who said that, show yerself ya flute.”

“If you insist,” Cara felt herself lose control again, this hadn’t happened in years even on a full moon, but she wasn’t trying to fight it this time. It lunged at the boy and she felt it sink its teeth into his neck and the life drain out of him with a horrible crunch. She remembered seeing the horrified looks of the other street kids and saw them start running for their lives. A pool of blood was forming next to her and she saw her reflection for the first time, only it wasn’t her, it was It. It was huge, with a long sharp muzzle and glistening black fur, its ears were pointed and its eyes glowed gold. It had a slender jackal like figure, yet it was bipedal and more muscular than any human or beast.

The next thing she remembered was the chase, following the kids into the night, not even trying to regain control, the taste of blood and revenge sweeter than honey in their mouth. It caught up to them quick enough, they were hiding in an alleyway, It could hear their frantic heartbeats and smell their fear in the air. The fear tasted sweetest of all, filling It with new vigour and jest to toy with its prey.

It approached slowly giving the brats hope that it couldn’t find them, it paced in front of their hiding spot and took off at a short run to make them think it left. It didn’t. It waited for a few moments as it climbed onto the roof above them. It was about to jump them and rip them to shreds when they heard a voice.

“Cara, please, stop.” And there he was, but he wasn’t comforting or jovial. He was holding a crossbow, and it was aimed at them. “I can’t let you hurt innocent people, no matter how much I care about you.”

They turned to face him, jaws dripping with fresh blood and it spoke, “They aren’t innocent, are they…”

“Fer fucks sake they’re children, Cara, listen to yerself.”

“I’M NOT CARA.” Its voice echoed across the rooftops and silence fell between them as beast and hunter stared each other down.

“Cara, please, you can control it.”

“Oh, I don’t think she wants to anymore!” Cara was in there, but she had no control, but she was no longer certain she wanted this. It all seemed wrong all of a sudden.

It suddenly shuddered and stepped back to keep its balance.

“Cara, think about all the good we’ve done, please don’t undo it all now.”

The creature shuddered again but its eyes glowed golden, brighter than the sun. It growled and the growl permeated the air around it and cut the silence like a knife. The shuddering stopped and it looked up at him. Then it charged, but he had been ready, he hadn’t been training to hunt monsters his entire life for nothing. Before it even took 2 steps he had fired the bolt.

It stopped in its tracks and fell forward onto all four. Cara couldn’t take back control even then, she was scared but there was nothing she could do. She didn’t want to die, not yet, not like this, not afraid.

She awoke again in that warm room with a fireplace. She wondered if it had all been a dream or if she had died and this was meant to be the afterlife. But then she tried to move and it was painful. Her whole body was racked with pain as she tried to lift herself into a sitting position on the couch. She must have made some noise because she then saw him enter. He had a dagger on him made of silver, it was sheathed, but she could smell the silver.

“Don’t move, please.”

She stopped trying to sit up.

“Look, I know it wasn’t your fault that it took over, I couldn’t’ve prepared ye fer that. Something like that has happened very rarely in history and the accounts were all second-hand experiences.”

“w-what,” was all she managed to say, her tongue felt like a useless stone in her mouth.

“Yer not the same as It. There’s two of ye now.” he sighed, he looked tired and sad all of a sudden and she could finally see the age in his eyes, he forgot to hide the pain that only comes with old age, it was there for only a second before it was gone like sunlight on a winter’s day.

”You caused a lot of trouble, Cara. I don’t know how long before they notice something off, but we definitely have to leave Dublin.”

”Y-you shot me,” she struggled out, her muscles weren’t being cooperative.

”Right, yes, in yer shoulder, wolfsbane, gives a nasty shock to the system. I wasn’t actually goin’ t’ kill ya, just wanted to scare you to your senses, didn’t account on It having a will aside yer own”

She looked at him but try as she might she couldn’t tell how he was feeling, she never could.

“Get some rest,” he said as he turned to leave the room, “We’ll have to leave in the morning.”

He closed the door behind him and Cara was alone again. She was so tired, every nerve in her body thrummed with fatigue, ”shifting” was a very physically tiring process she had noticed. Before long sleep overtook her, she dreamed of a moonless night being chased by a figure with a deep foreign voice that encircled her as she ran.

[blaster-aichi]

Cardfight!! Vanguard Extra Story IF 14 things

links lead to images posted on discord because this post is already far too absurdly long, have too many thoughts, what a rollercoaster ride this was

Shuka’s opening a gateway into the past beneath herself and Emi indicted Link Joker Gate flashbacks because of its appearance

If it wasn’t demonstrated prior to this episode, it’s apparent how Aichi is far more malicious than any incarnation of past (i.e. his soldiers ready to maim or straight up murder Emi and Shuka , having Kai-kun abducted; whether either was 100% intended to occur the way they did is anyone’s guess)

Miwa as a Sanctuary Knight: there’s two points to this          — it’s an astonishing turn as he was part of the Mates during Legion Mate — the season which many people have acknowledged the parallels to — but working beneath Aichi turns that on its head as well as the implication that Aichi’s force was concentrated around the Miyaji Cardfight Club, as well as giving a fifth member to his faction in similar vein to Kourin of Legion Mate.         — it splits up the Kai/Miwa/Ibuki trio down the same lines as Ultra Rare; Suiko and Ibuki being firmly aligned with Emi while Kourin and Miwa fall under Aichi’s command. Rekka and Kai-kun would serve as unaccounted for, though it’s more clear-cut in his case, as Rekka made her appearance and her allegiance known at the same time as Kourin entered the fray, as well as already fighting on the side of restoring the timeline to its proper state before Suiko was pulled into activity.         — and it was foreshadowed right before our eyes when they announced IF 14 would be centred around Kai-kun.

"Whenever I hear the name "Toshiki Kai”, for some reason, I get chills”. It’s a strange statement with his behaviour later in the episode, seeming to recognize and feign friendliness with Ibuki and Kai-kun. The only possibility can think of for this line is Miwa, like Aichi and Emi (and the rest of the Sanctuary Knights), is his Outside World self pulled into IF World and his memories tampered with, he might be privy enough to his relationship with the other two for the sake of his act when meeting with them.

Kai-kun hugging Ibuki with no restraint. Rena down. Fuck that’s so soft.

9 years of being dead or arseholes who abandoned their child, we get Mama and Papa and the whole family is adorable! Mama Kai and Shizuka would get along so well, they’re two peas in a pod aaaaa        — Toshi also pointed how out the Kai family love of curry persists to this day and god bless.

me last night on call with Courtney: “There has to be a reason why Aichi hates Vanguard specifically just because of not meeting Kai-kun. It wouldn’t be any more significant than literally anything else. Hey, Aichi, why not hate rock music instead or something?” Kai-kun’s room: this kid loves rock, how dare you

Said room also makes it feel like the show is saying Vanguard/Aichi ruined Kai-kun’s life as opposed to, you know, his parents abandoning him. Bushi no—

It took just his name. That was it.

The static within the audio around Aichi is a neat touch when there feels to be a theme of glitching in the ED and it isn’t as though either reality is “wrong”, just distorted.

Just how they go about instilling memories of Aichi in comparison to Legion Mate is fascinating. In Legion Mate, the Mates were able to cleanly remember as their fights progressed and able to accept that Aichi existed prior to the season; we don’t know the extent of the changes to their lives as a result of his disappearance, but here is a different story. Kai-kun’s entire life has been altered as a result of the distortion and he isn’t able to simply see Aichi in his memories and realize that someone is missing from his past, and it takes a toll on him for these conflicting memories from another life to present themselves to him.

One has to wonder what Shizuka is going through in regards to Aichi vanishing, but also what Kai-kun’s parents must think if they were to investigate the commotion coming from his room suddenly to see him and everyone else gone and the disarray left from just how they left.

IF being the seemingly most lighthearted season with the darkest cliffhanger (topping even Link Joker and Legion Mate, because nothing comes to mind that could honestly match this), even if we know they would never dare kill off Kai-kun but the insinuation for the characters that he could be dead is chilling, particularly when they consist of his childhood friends, young girls and the root being a boy seeking him out, whose intentions around it we don't know and whom we've seen destablize (albeit in another continuity) when it comes to Kai-kun, so imagine the ramification and what it could do to his state of mind (or Ibuki, Miwa, Emi and Shuka’s, for that matter)  if they really did play with the idea of killing him off.

Horizontal Oath

God bless this ED, it’s so good

There’s a lot in here about the clashing realities around Kai-kun and it’s nice to know the season isn’t overlooking the incredibly weighted implications of putting him in this position.

The fire spurning to life, while a nice nod to his usual choice of Kagero an its absence in his current life, could also be representative that, while he has many hobbies in his IF life, Vanguard is where his passion truly lies above all, as he grips it and contemplates the people who should be around him.

Emi, Ibuki and Miwa occupying the same spots in the frames they exist in is a neat choice.

Kai rushing towards the light/Blaster Blade only for the card to vanish as his fingers nears it screams of midpoint Legion Mate where the Mates finally got a glimpse of Aichi, to hear his own request that they give up. As the preview shows them in the same location, it’s possible 15 will serve as the first, failed attempt to bring Aichi back to his senses and force the group to pick themselves up and try again in the same way the Leon episodes served in Legion Mate, signified by the repeated animation usage when Kai-kun runs towards Blaster Blade a second time.

The price Kai-kun is going to pay is not being overlooked. To restore the timeline, it’s apparent that he’ll have to sacrifice his IF life and parents, inflicting unto him the anguish of his original Manga/Reboot continuity life and the hardships that came with it  The darkness that emanates from his younger self and the glimpses of that original life as he kneels demonstrates that, while he might accept that outcome, it’s not about to be an easy task, understandable.       — Initially had suspected from the preview for 14 that this issue might be raised with him and he would reject erasing everything he knows and have to be brought around to the idea, but the ED actually refutes this, as he faces everything head-on.       — In doing so, it speaks to his character and the strength to allow this incredibly high price, as by relinquishing everything he knows, he’s able to regain the friends he made through Vanguard even with the knowledge of the pain and strife that he’ll endure and allow Emi to have her family back, even at the cost of his own.       — Additionally, as the shot closes in on him and he yells/roars, it appears he could be in pain from having to surrender this version of himself and his life; but ultimately does so as he fades while Dragonic Overlord becomes the more dominant face, signifying his reclaiming his Vanguard and his original life.

This resolve to allow the timeline to be returned to its rightful state also comes through beneath the starry sky that corrects itself, with Kai-kun standing at the back of Emi’s group, the only one of them fated to disappear by setting things right. Though the camera continues on past him, towards the light that grows brighter and consumes everything — perhaps a symbol of the corrected timeline taking hold — he doesn’t so much as glance back, but looks ahead to the sky, even with the reality that he and his world will be no more.

[2012 Fanguard voice] Bench-chan lives on.

Numerous people in YouTube comments remarked that Horizontal Oath amplifies the Legion Mate atmosphere and its emphasis on Kai-kun whilst doing so is notable. As that was his journey to bring Aichi back and the current is Emi’s, the shift in tone with this new ED and new arc incorporating him heavily is a nice reflection of that when the OP remains the same.      — There is an implication, though, that Emi might start to fall back from the protagonist role, as she appears far more passive in the ED while Kai-kun stands front and centre. When the two of them and Shuka are standing in a field, Emi’s feet are surrounded by shade, and when looking to the sun, she stands on the edge of the formation, seeming far more distant. At the same time, Shuka is on the other side, both of the group as a whole and Kai-kun specifically, with her back to the others. Her guilt has been an enormous factor since the truth of her actions came to light and how they weigh on her, but this feels as though her attention shifting away from Emi and towards Kai-kun as a means of atoning for her mistake.     — Going to be hopeful that they can balance what Aichi means to Emi and Kai-kun in similar vein to Kai-kun and Naoki of Legion Mate, so that they both share an equal part in the fight going forward.

IF 15

Thank goodness, we’re getting answers about Aichi, Takuto and the Sanctuary Knights, let’s go.

Aichi pointing a sword at Ibuki and (Kourin) opening up a fissure beneath the both of them — and right in front of Kai-kun — is a stark contrast to the Aichi(s) we’ve known until now, as how he was seen by Kai-kun was something of great importance to him, but depending on the context of the scene, it’s apparent that this version of him gives no fucks about anything of the sort.

Something that’s been on my mind within the last week is that, aside from the scene in the forest when he was acting seemingly normal, Aichi’s right eye is never detailed beneath his visor, or even when he overrode Majesty Lord (typically, his hair doesn’t completely conceal his eye while in a unit). The theories that came to mind were heterochromia, like Voidkuto, a permanent Psyqualia glow or it’s completely blank in typical possession/brainwashed fashion (or some sort of visual cue pertaining to the fact that a great deal is off about him) but by putting on the airs of normality, he was able to mask it as a normal eye when meeting with Shuka.

[peaamlipoetrydoctor]

Stepping through my post-doc archive: Aug 2021

Activity pulled away from the urge to document, by the look of it, last summer. I know I kept myself busy during that month with the Sealey challenge (read a poetry pamphlet or collection per day through the whole of August) but I guess I put the archive of reading out on Twitter and not here... honourable exception being a few cute photographs taken near the beginning of the challenge, before I switched to mostly reading on electronic devices...

Don't know why I've been so keen NOT to see myself as a kindle-type reader given that I'm pretty sure by now the majority of my reading is pdfs and online articles. True, only very recently switched to reading actual books on my phone - the glamourist series by Mary Robinette Kowal, for instance is causing me to understand how seductively convenient the e-book really is!

I can also see the screen shots from my first formal poetry reading, for City Lit's student reading event (Late Lines?), where I read a slightly earlier version of my poem, The Postman's Park, which appeared in their anthology of student writings, and then in my own first pamphlet, A Lockdown London Life.

It's certainly a covid-lockdown-era poem. There's a direct reference to the pandemic about mid-way through, for one thing, but also because, pre-covid, I wouldn't have been walking in THIS part of London and certainly not paying the same kind of attention.

I suppose the progression of my walking (over c a decade of adult life) has been something along the lines of -

2010 - start walking seriously in prep for taking part in the Hong Kong 100km Maclehose Challenge... so, a form of walking as competition, as exercise, in which the environment is a series of barriers to be overcome or a distraction to be embraced/ignored depending on what's most useful for a wearied body & mind.

2014 - begin to wonder about turning my attention towards nature.

2017 - shift towards taking walking seriously as a source of life-data, generating material for my new doctoral inquiry.

2018 - propose framing my thesis around a walk along the Welsh coast path (opened 2012) and then swiftly abandon this in favour of stringing together a series of daily walks in my local neighbourhood.

2019 - move back to Clerkenwell.

2020 - get locked down in Clerkenwell and turn my attention for the first time in 20 years to getting to know the area for its own sake, not simply as a place to reside in whilst trying to move somewhere else.

So I give you -

The Postman's Park

lies nestled, high and thin, amongst the landmarks –

I have sewn endless criss-cross steps through and around it –

stitching together lonely hours, these isolated COVID months…

just a little south of the roundabout by the old Roman wall,

just a little west of where the Wesley brothers preached outdoors,

slightly to the north of our replacement, domed, Wren cathedral…

sits with postal workers and city clerks for a sandwich lunch…

and sits – still – when the postal workers are moved away,

and clerks work at home, sheltering from the present pandemic…

stands to attention, honouring the everyday, heroic dead –

tragi-brave stories on porcelain tiles under a makeshift shelter,

telling how they died helping a stranger, died looking for a mate…

waits to greet me each day with tiny crocuses poking through mud,

with an honour-guard of fresh groomed punk-haired tree-ferns,

and with shrewd-eyed squirrels, weighing me up for nuts…

walks backwards with me through the span of human time,

until we can hear the shouts and rhythms of the Roman camp,

smell the grassy breath of thick-haired rhinos in frozen fields here…

weeps a generous skeleton tear at the fall of every sparrow,

welcomes the shifting slide of each new moment, day, millennium,

watches as my every footfall treads me closer to the edge

of silence.

[nikolija-tesla]

In which Nikolija realizes she might love women, or at least love Helen:

Helen was fiddling with the ring on her finger. It was a toss-up as to who noticed it first. Nigel was staring with a surprised, slightly concerned expression, and Nikolija was following his gaze to the unassuming gemstone on Helen’s hand, when James spoke.

“So, who's the lucky man? Did John finally propose like he's been wanting to for months now?”

“James! That was told to you in confidence!” John set down the preparation he was currently examining. “What if it hadn't been me?”

“Please. Unless our Helen has a beau on the side — who would be feeling very neglected, considering the amount of time she spends with us, not to mention that we'd likely have at least heard of his existence by now — you were the only possibility.”

Nikolija sucked in a breath, her gaze leaping back to Helen working across the table from her. “You accepted him?” softly, she asked.

“Of course,” Helen said, so matter-of-fact, but the was a softness in her tone and a brilliant light in her smile, and somewhere in Nikolija’s chest was sweetly sore in the face of it.

She nodded. “I wish you both every happiness,” and she meant it, she did. She wanted Helen to be happy, and Helen was smiling a little more often today, small, candid grins Nikolija didn't even think Helen was aware of. It was a lovely sight, and Nikolija averted her eyes and went back to her work, carefully adjusting the metal coils.

The men were still bickering good-naturedly. “That's still no excuse for just blurting out someone's secret, James.”

“Very well, very well, I apologize. Now, tell us, when did this happen?”

“That was hardly very sincere.”

“‘E’s just jealous.” Nigel clapped John's shoulder. “We all know none of the rest of us ever stood a chance. Congratulations, mate.”

“I'm hardly jealous! I’m quite happy, for both of you. It was high time, if you ask me.” James did sound entirely sincere now, and held out his hand. “Congratulations.”

John shook it, smiling. “Last night. We took a ride through the city in the evening. We don't get much time alone, otherwise, not with you lads and the Serbian around.” It was said fondly, for the most part.

“And her father?” Nigel crossed his arms. “Have you smoothed things over with him?” Dr. Gregory Magnus hadn't been in the least pleased that one of her patients was courting his daughter, and even less so that she had allowed it, and his and John's relationship hadn't improved at all since then.

“He doesn't know yet, but Helen has assured me she'll speak with him soon.”

Nigel made some wary, noncommital noise. “He won’t be pleased.”

“I am thirty-five years old and my own woman. My father has no say in whether or not or in whom I marry.” Helen raised her voice to be heard by the other three, though she didn't turn from her work. “Now, gentlemen, I believe we’re all here for a purpose…?”

They took the hint and dispersed, as it were, to their own portions of the experiment again, and James began only slightly reluctantly to work through the various chemical formulas aloud one more time. Helen shook her head, leaning forwards to speak to Nikolija, though her voice was easily heard by the rest of the room. “And men say women are the gossips…”

“Oi!” Nigel protested.

Helen shot him a cheeky grin, and then her gaze slid to John, and softened, and lingered for a brief moment, and Nikolija focused very intently on the apparatus on the table in front of her.

*****

“You didn’t say much, earlier.” Nigel glanced at her as they walked back to his and “Nikola’s” adjacent dormitory rooms. “You feeling all right?”

“I am fine.” The accent Nikolija hadn't quite yet eradicated became more pronounced at the at the end of the day, when she longed to curl her tongue around the smooth, comfortable angles of her native language.

Nigel’s gaze remained on her. “You sure? You didn’t even say anything about Helen and John’s engagement.”

It had continued to be brought up over the course of the evening, from when the wedding was planned for (“For heaven's sake, he only just proposed!” — “That doesn't mean we can't start thinking about it, darling. I for one confess myself quite eager to be married. This coming March, in six months, perhaps?” — “We'll see...”), to how appropriate the method and timing was (James had found it a bit lacking — a sentiment Nikolija shared but didn't voice — which of course had offended John again, and Nigel confessed to finding the quiet, no-fuss, everyday sort of affection the most profound), to how long it would be until they had their first child and what he or she would look like (something Helen adamantly refused to speculate about, shaking her head with her lips tightly pressed together, and admonishing the men to focus on their work when Nigel and James started ribbing John again).

“I wished her happiness. You know I am not so fond of John.” It had begun with the first tentative meeting of what would become the Five, when John had obviously not been expecting “Nikola,” and had subsequently demanded whether or not Helen “truly must take every little foundling and oddity under her wing...?” He respected Nikolija, now, for her intellectual abilities if nothing else, but there was still no love lost between them. Nigel had been on the butt-end of one or two of John’s more scathing comments as well, though he always gave as good as he got, and seemed to actively enjoy being underestimated.

“Well, he does make Helen happy…” Nigel lifted his shoulders.

“I know,” she replied, with a little too much force. He lingered outside his room, as she set her hand on the door to hers.

“I won’t be sleeping for a while yet. Care to join me for a drink or two? I just got my hands on a bottle of wine…” He grinned at her, and she tilted her head fondly.

“Just for me? I'm touched.”

He was wearing that concerned expression, the one where he thought there was something else to pry out of her, and though usually there was, tonight she wasn’t sure what for the life of her that might be. There was nothing untoward behind his offer, neither in appearance nor in spirit, and she wouldn't be going to bed for at least an hour or so, either.

“Bring the wine in ten minutes,” and she headed into her own room to change.

Men’s clothing in and of itself was comfortable, as were, but she was always relieved at the end of the day when she could unbind her chest, and peel off the itchy faux mustache, and untie the hair she hadn't quite been able to bear cutting, to comb her fingers through it.

Still in a shirt and trousers, but looking far more feminine now, she hid behind the door so as not to be seen from the hall as she let Nigel in, and locked the door behind him. He set the bottles — whiskey for himself and wine for her — as well as two small, chipped glasses down on her nightstand, beside the slightly precarious stack of books, and settled on on the edge of her bed, the only really comfortable place to sit in the small and fairly spartan room.

“You make a far handsomer woman than a man. Even if you���re not in a dress.” It was an offhanded, uninterested compliment, and he wasn’t looking at her as poured their drinks, only a little alcohol to begin with.

“Why would you be any judge of what a handsome man looks like?” She smirked as she sat down beside him, crossing her legs. “You are not one who is interested in them.”

“I do know what looks good, and what doesn’t. But you’ve got a point. I am a bit biased.” He took a drink almost immediately, pressing his lips together and wrinkling his brow in the way he did when he was thinking, or concentrating hard. “Wondered if I was, though, f’r a bit. If I was that sort.”

She turned her head sharply, arching her eyebrows. Usually they edged into the hard, deep, murky things a little less abruptly. “Why?”

“I’ve never been all that enamored of women, neither, ‘least not like the others seem to be.”

“I have not yet found any man particularly attractive. So?” Nikolija gently swirled the wine in her glass, inhaling the aroma, before taking a small sip. She held it on her tongue for a moment, then swallowed with a satisfied hum. “This is good. Where did you get it?”

“You’d ‘ave to ask Jonathon that.” She gave him a puzzled look. “Down the hall. Left his door unlocked the other day, and I just couldn’t resist. He had more than one of ‘em!” he protested when she side-eyed him with she-wasn’t-sure-what-emotions. “Besides, you’re drinkin’ it, now you’re an accomplice.”

Nikolija rolled her eyes at his suddenly cheeky grin, drained the last two swallows in her glass, and poured herself another.

“That’s the spirit.”

“That was an ambush. I take no responsibility.” She laid partially back on the plain, brown wool blanket, twisting onto her side and propping herself up on one elbow.

Nigel suddenly began twirling his glass in his hand. “I just wanted to say… I know about how you feel. About Helen. An’ I’m not judging you. Truth be told, I think James feels the same way about both of ‘em. Could turn into a right bloody mess. If it isn’t already.”

“How I feel about Helen?” She frowned, and arched her neck against the sudden tension in her shoulders. “What do you mean?”

A split second of hurt flashed across his face. “You don’t ‘ave to pretend, is what I‘m sayin’. If you want to talk about it. But if you don’t, that’s fine, too.” He drained his glass, set it down, and sprawled back, putting his hand behind his head and closing his eyes. “We’re makin’ good progress. At this rate, we might be able to actually inject the serum in a week or two.”

It was the other thing that had been on their minds lately — the Sanguine Experiment, as they called it. But for once, Nikolija wasn’t distracted by science. “What do you mean? I’m not pretending anything."

He opened one eye to peer up at her. “I said it was fine, if you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“And I have no clue what you’re thinking I might possibly want to talk about.” She glowered at him, and then he finally stared back at her properly, both eyebrows shooting up.

“Blimey. You really don’t.”

“Of course not. Now tell me what on earth you’ve been insinuating.” She took a sip of her wine, watching him intently.

“It’s just — these looks you give her, sometimes. Helen, I mean. And how you smile. Completely bloody smitten, like.” Nigel wore a wry, awkward half-smile himself, head turned towards her but his gaze fixed somewhere beyond her, to make this easier on both of them, she suspected, even if she wasn’t sure what this was. “You work with her any chance you get. Stay with her in the laboratory at all hours of the night. You’ve been with her to the theater, twice, when she wanted to see that one play again, and I know for a fact” — he extended his pointer finger towards her, to underline his point — “you hated it the first time around. I just, one day I just thought: if you were a man, I’d say you were in love with her.”

“And because I have been acting as a man, I have begun to think as one? Is this what you thought?” She felt vaguely offended, though she wasn’t sure at what. It didn’t seem such an illogical hypothesis — its lack of veracity aside.

“No, I just wondered why you’d have to be a man for me to think that in the first place. Since I’d wondered, myself, before. If I was attracted to my own sex.” He wasn’t looking at her, now, and Nikolija drained her glass and leaned to set it on top of the trunk at the foot of her bed.

“I’ve heard about… what some women get up to, with their women friends.” He suddenly took both his lips between his teeth. “Or — do you an’ her already have some sort of arrangement?”

What they get up to… It wasn’t like — well, maybe it was like she didn’t know, not well, anyway. It wasn’t exactly talked about, especially not among the young men, who were rarely privy to girls’ relationships with one another. “Good God, Nigel.” Nikolija glanced up at the ceiling. “Whatever you’re envisioning, I can assure you, me and Helen… nothing like that is going on. I’m not upset by her engagement, and I’m —” something curled tight in her throat, and she cleared it and swallowed, “I am fine.” But she had never liked seeing the evidence of Helen and John’s coupleness: the quiet murmurs, however rare those were; the way they always seemed to position themselves close to one another, at a table, or in a carriage, or anywhere; recently, the hand-holding; and now the ring.

He peered up at her, out of one eye again. “From that expression alone, I say that’s bunk. An’ you know it.” He closed his eyes and wriggled slightly, adjusting his position and wrinkling his clothes in the process.

Nikolija wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like seeing… their relationship.” She lifted one shoulder. “That is all. It is between them. A private thing.”

“Are you going to tell me it’s ‘improper’ next?” His tone was only gently mocking.

She nearly did, except that John and Helen really didn’t “carry on” very much at all — and as for “improper,” well, Nikolija was hardly one to talk. “I am only here for knowledge. I do not care about — that.”

He sat up, suddenly, to pour himself more whiskey, a particularly cheeky grin on his face, and Nikolija was immediately wary. “All right. I’ll tell you what. I still say you’re in love with Helen, but you tell me you’ve never thought about kissin’ her, and I’ll lay it to rest. Won’t speak of it again.”

She stilled, for a split second, not quite breathing, before firmly repressing the thought, not even fully realized. Looking away, she leaned over to pick up her own glass again, and held it out for him to pour, seeing as he was closer to the bottle. “I don’t need to tell you that. Of course I love Helen. She’s likely the best friend I have here — aside from you, and I knew her first.”

They both watched as the burgundy liquid filled the glass. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, “An’ you know it.”

She nodded for him to stop when it was about half full, and raised it to her lips, blinking. And suddenly it wouldn’t be kept at bay: Helen’s lips on hers, a stuttered inhale, blue-gray eyes ablaze with surprise and delight, tentative pressure, a quiet murmur of pleasure, then slipping her tongue between her lips and Helen…

“I'm her friend. That's all.” She said it a little too forcefully, practically glaring him in the eyes. “And no, I had not thought about kissing her before your suggestion.”

He stiffened, pressing both his lips between his teeth again. “All right.”

They both sipped in silence, for several moments. Nikolija cast her gaze about the room, skipping over the chipped washbasin, the small mirror, her shirts and coats and trousers hanging in the opened wardrobe, the one dress she still owned buried at the very back, the bare off-white walls, the wooden desk in front of the window strewn with papers and books, and saw nothing. Was she jealous of John? Of the fact that he enjoyed that sort of open affection with Helen?

“Have you got notes or somethin’ from the chemistry lecture, from Monday? From when I ‘ad that cough.” Nigel cleared his throat.

Nikolija gestured vaguely towards her desk. “I will find them and give them to you tomorrow.”

“‘Preciate it, ‘Lija.”

She nodded, absently. Fine. Yes. She’d like to kiss Helen. Just to satisfy her curiosity, that was all. And maybe she missed the days when it had been just the two of them, the Oxford oddities, before Nikolija had met Nigel and Helen had befriended James and before John had started finding more and more time, in between his own lectures on the finer points of the law, to sit in on their scientific study sessions. When she had Helen’s full attention and confidence — not that she didn’t still have it, she thought, but more often than not it was John to whom Helen went first when she wished to talk, now, or occasionally James.

“What was the point of this little exercise?” Nikolija suddenly turned to Nigel, with a soft anger in her grimace. “To torture me? I mean, whether I want to or not — if I wanted — I can’t —” She gestured, glass in her hand, vaguely.

By the way Nigel met her eyes and glanced down, she believed he understood her nonetheless. “I thought — just wanted to —” He shook his head, subdued, and dared to look at her again, his gaze a quiet challenge. “We’re in the business of looking for truth, not deluding ourselves.”

She let out a half-laugh, slightly bitter in her ears, and swallowed a gulp of her wine. “And what good will this particular truth do me?”

“None at all, I’m afraid.” Nigel tried an apologetic smile, and half-succeeded. “I do offer my condolences, a sympathetic ear, and wine.”

Nikolija tipped her glass back, draining it again, trying to wash away the urge to dwell on Helen, on the pleasure of her company, the brilliance of her smile, the spark in her eyes, what her lips might taste like... It likely wouldn’t do any good; Nikolija was a scientist, and once a fascination was kindled it didn’t just die, and this one was not entirely new, and far from weak. She was likely already well on her way to being tipsy in a half-hour and miserable in the morning, but she wasn’t feeling the effects yet, and she held the glass out for Nigel to pour her more. Buried beneath exasperation, a fond undertone crept back into her voice. “Just give me the bloody wine.”

[readbookywooks]

"JIM," said Silver when we were alone, "if I saved your life, you saved mine; and I'll not forget it. I seen the doctor waving you to run for it - with the tail of my eye, I did; and I seen you say no, as plain as hearing. Jim, that's one to you. This is the first glint of hope I had since the attack failed, and I owe it you. And now, Jim, we're to go in for this here treasure-hunting, with sealed orders too, and I don't like it; and you and me must stick close, back to back like, and we'll save our necks in spite o' fate and fortune." Just then a man hailed us from the fire that breakfast was ready, and we were soon seated here and there about the sand over biscuit and fried junk. They had lit a fire fit to roast an ox, and it was now grown so hot that they could only approach it from the windward, and even there not without precaution. In the same wasteful spirit, they had cooked, I suppose, three times more than we could eat; and one of them, with an empty laugh, threw what was left into the fire, which blazed and roared again over this unusual fuel. I never in my life saw men so careless of the morrow; hand to mouth is the only word that can describe their way of doing; and what with wasted food and sleeping sentries, though they were bold enough for a brush and be done with it, I could see their entire unfitness for anything like a prolonged campaign. Even Silver, eating away, with Captain Flint upon his shoulder, had not a word of blame for their recklessness. And this the more surprised me, for I thought he had never shown himself so cunning as he did then. "Aye, mates," said he, "it's lucky you have Barbecue to think for you with this here head. I got what I wanted, I did. Sure enough, they have the ship. Where they have it, I don't know yet; but once we hit the treasure, we'll have to jump about and find out. And then, mates, us that has the boats, I reckon, has the upper hand." Thus he kept running on, with his mouth full of the hot bacon; thus he restored their hope and confidence, and, I more than suspect, repaired his own at the same time. "As for hostage," he continued, "that's his last talk, I guess, with them he loves so dear. I've got my piece o' news, and thanky to him for that; but it's over and done. I'll take him in a line when we go treasurehunting, for we'll keep him like so much gold, in case of accidents, you mark, and in the meantime. Once we got the ship and treasure both and off to sea like jolly companions, why then we'll talk Mr. Hawkins over, we will, and we'll give him his share, to be sure, for all his kindness." It was no wonder the men were in a good humour now. For my part, I was horribly cast down. Should the scheme he had now sketched prove feasible, Silver, already doubly a traitor, would not hesitate to adopt it. He had still a foot in either camp, and there was no doubt he would prefer wealth and freedom with the pirates to a bare escape from hanging, which was the best he had to hope on our side. Nay, and even if things so fell out that he was forced to keep his faith with Dr. Livesey, even then what danger lay before us! What a moment that would be when the suspicions of his followers turned to certainty and he and I should have to fight for dear life - he a cripple and I a boy - against five strong and active seamen! Add to this double apprehension the mystery that still hung over the behaviour of my friends, their unexplained desertion of the stockade, their inexplicable cession of the chart, or harder still to understand, the doctor's last warning to Silver, "Look out for squalls when you find it," and you will readily believe how little taste I found in my breakfast and with how uneasy a heart I set forth behind my captors on the quest for treasure. We made a curious figure, had anyone been there to see us - all in soiled sailor clothes and all but me armed to the teeth. Silver had two guns slung about him - one before and one behind - besides the great cutlass at his waist and a pistol in each pocket of his square-tailed coat. To complete his strange appearance, Captain Flint sat perched upon his shoulder and gabbling odds and ends of purposeless sea-talk. I had a line about my waist and followed obediently after the sea-cook, who held the loose end of the rope, now in his free hand, now between his powerful teeth. For all the world, I was led like a dancing bear. The other men were variously burthened, some carrying picks and shovels - for that had been the very first necessary they brought ashore from the HISPANIOLA-others laden with pork, bread, and brandy for the midday meal. All the stores, I observed, came from our stock, and I could see the truth of Silver's words the night before. Had he not struck a bargain with the doctor, he and his mutineers, deserted by the ship, must have been driven to subsist on clear water and the proceeds of their hunting. Water would have been little to their taste; a sailor is not usually a good shot; and besides all that, when they were so short of eatables, it was not likely they would be very flush of powder. Well, thus equipped, we all set out - even the fellow with the broken head, who should certainly have kept in shadow - and straggled, one after another, to the beach, where the two gigs awaited us. Even these bore trace of the drunken folly of the pirates, one in a broken thwart, and both in their muddy and unbailed condition. Both were to be carried along with us for the sake of safety; and so, with our numbers divided between them, we set forth upon the bosom of the anchorage. As we pulled over, there was some discussion on the chart. The red cross was, of course, far too large to be a guide; and the terms of the note on the back, as you will hear, admitted of some ambiguity. They ran, the reader may remember, thus: "Tall tree, Spy-glass shoulder, bearing a point to the N. of N.N.E. Skeleton Island E.S.E. and by E. Ten feet." A tall tree was thus the principal mark. Now, right before us the anchorage was bounded by a plateau from two to three hundred feet high, adjoining on the north the sloping southern shoulder of the Spy-glass and rising again towards the south into the rough, cliffy eminence called the Mizzen-mast Hill. The top of the plateau was dotted thickly with pine-trees of varying height. Every here and there, one of a different species rose forty or fifty feet clear above its neighbours, and which of these was the particular "tall tree" of Captain Flint could only be decided on the spot, and by the readings of the compass. Yet, although that was the case, every man on board the boats had picked a favourite of his own ere we were half-way over, Long John alone shrugging his shoulders and bidding them wait till they were there. We pulled easily, by Silver's directions, not to weary the hands prematurely, and after quite a long passage, landed at the mouth of the second river - that which runs down a woody cleft of the Spy-glass. Thence, bending to our left, we began to ascend the slope towards the plateau. At the first outset, heavy, miry ground and a matted, marish vegetation greatly delayed our progress; but by little and little the hill began to steepen and become stony under foot, and the wood to change its character and to grow in a more open order. It was, indeed, a most pleasant portion of the island that we were now approaching. A heavy-scented broom and many flowering shrubs had almost taken the place of grass. Thickets of green nutmeg-trees were dotted here and there with the red columns and the broad shadow of the pines; and the first mingled their spice with the aroma of the others. The air, besides, was fresh and stirring, and this, under the sheer sunbeams, was a wonderful refreshment to our senses. The party spread itself abroad, in a fan shape, shouting and leaping to and fro. About the centre, and a good way behind the rest, Silver and I followed - I tethered by my rope, he ploughing, with deep pants, among the sliding gravel. From time to time, indeed, I had to lend him a hand, or he must have missed his footing and fallen backward down the hill. We had thus proceeded for about half a mile and were approaching the brow of the plateau when the man upon the farthest left began to cry aloud, as if in terror. Shout after shout came from him, and the others began to run in his direction. "He can't 'a found the treasure," said old Morgan, hurrying past us from the right, "for that's clean a-top." Indeed, as we found when we also reached the spot, it was something very different. At the foot of a pretty big pine and involved in a green creeper, which had even partly lifted some of the smaller bones, a human skeleton lay, with a few shreds of clothing, on the ground. I believe a chill struck for a moment to every heart. "He was a seaman," said George Merry, who, bolder than the rest, had gone up close and was examining the rags of clothing. "Leastways, this is good sea-cloth." "Aye, aye," said Silver; "like enough; you wouldn't look to find a bishop here, I reckon. But what sort of a way is that for bones to lie? 'Tain't in natur'." Indeed, on a second glance, it seemed impossible to fancy that the body was in a natural position. But for some disarray (the work, perhaps, of the birds that had fed upon him or of the slow-growing creeper that had gradually enveloped his remains) the man lay perfectly straight - his feet pointing in one direction, his hands, raised above his head like a diver's, pointing directly in the opposite. "I've taken a notion into my old numbskull," observed Silver. "Here's the compass; there's the tip-top p'int o' Skeleton Island, stickin' out like a tooth. Just take a bearing, will you, along the line of them bones." It was done. The body pointed straight in the direction of the island, and the compass read duly E.S.E. and by E. "I thought so," cried the cook; "this here is a p'inter. Right up there is our line for the Pole Star and the jolly dollars. But, by thunder! If it don't make me cold inside to think of Flint. This is one of HIS jokes, and no mistake. Him and these six was alone here; he killed 'em, every man; and this one he hauled here and laid down by compass, shiver my timbers! They're long bones, and the hair's been yellow. Aye, that would be Allardyce. You mind Allardyce, Tom Morgan?" "Aye, aye," returned Morgan; "I mind him; he owed me money, he did, and took my knife ashore with him." "Speaking of knives," said another, "why don't we find his'n lying round? Flint warn't the man to pick a seaman's pocket; and the birds, I guess, would leave it be." "By the powers, and that's true!" cried Silver. "There ain't a thing left here," said Merry, still feeling round among the bones; "not a copper doit nor a baccy box. It don't look nat'ral to me." "No, by gum, it don't," agreed Silver; "not nat'ral, nor not nice, says you. Great guns! Messmates, but if Flint was living, this would be a hot spot for you and me. Six they were, and six are we; and bones is what they are now." "I saw him dead with these here deadlights," said Morgan. "Billy took me in. There he laid, with pennypieces on his eyes." "Dead - aye, sure enough he's dead and gone below," said the fellow with the bandage; "but if ever sperrit walked, it would be Flint's. Dear heart, but he died bad, did Flint!" "Aye, that he did," observed another; "now he raged, and now he hollered for the rum, and now he sang. 'Fifteen Men' were his only song, mates; and I tell you true, I never rightly liked to hear it since. It was main hot, and the windy was open, and I hear that old song comin' out as clear as clear - and the death-haul on the man already." "Come, come," said Silver; "stow this talk. He's dead, and he don't walk, that I know; leastways, he won't walk by day, and you may lay to that. Care killed a cat. Fetch ahead for the doubloons." We started, certainly; but in spite of the hot sun and the staring daylight, the pirates no longer ran separate and shouting through the wood, but kept side by side and spoke with bated breath. The terror of the dead buccaneer had fallen on their spirits.