#I have pattern pieces laid out but I don’t have my Wise Mother here to confirm my layout and guide me and she’s also busy and can’t respond

[katara-stan-club]

sewing scary!! committing to cuts scary!!! am little bitty baby!!!

[hiddendreamer67]

A Slippery Slope pt. 1

Summary: Logan, a graduate student studying the local ecosystem, discovers that the mystical creature populations are dwindling. He proposes a new theory, of a creature larger than life hiding out in the forest. Logan searches the forest for the beast, forgetting one important detail- in order to find a dangerous apex predator, the predator has to find you. 

(Also quick credit- I’ve been brainstorming this world with the wonderful @delimeful who suggested the initial idea. :D )

Check out more of my work at @hiddendreamerwriting!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Logan stared at his notes, running a hand through his hair distractedly as he looked over the numbers he had practically memorized. “It doesn’t make sense.” He murmured, blinking suddenly as a thought occurred to him. “Or perhaps… it makes perfect sense.”

“What are you on about, Sanders?” His mentor asked, glancing up from his own research work.

“Sir, I’ve been going over the numbers of harpy populations again.” Logan explained, looking up as he tried to work out the logistics of his new theory. “It doesn’t add up. Based on the observations of subjects in captivity, their lifespan is averaged to be fifty years. With the birth expectancy rate being what it is, and conditions being optimal the past few decades, the population should be twice its actual size, if not more.”

“So I take it the Chimeras have been busy.” His mentor shrugged, both of them sharing a brief grim look. Chimeras were awful beasts that dominated the surrounding forests, giant monsters with a lion’s head, goat’s body, and snake tail. They were known for breathing fire and decimating clearings, feasting on whatever creature was foolish enough to cross its path. 

“That’s where the anomaly occurs.” Logan adjusted his glasses, pulling together his papers. “The evidence of Chimeras in the area has… decreased.”

“Migrated elsewhere?” 

Logan shook his head at the suggestion. “No, evidence has not appeared in any of the surrounding areas. In fact, based on the reports from various rangers, there’s even evidence of deceased Chimeras, in the form of discarded partial remains.”

His mentor hummed, considering this new information. “So then, what, the Chimeras are growing territorial? Beating each other up?”

“The chances of such behavior being the case are infinitesimal.” Logan negated. “Chimeras are known to welcome pack tactics. Even with the decrease in harpy populations there are plenty of other sources of food in the area so as not to necessitate violence over resources, and certainly no reason to resort to cannibalism.”

“Cannibalism?” The mentor’s eyebrows raised.

“Why else would a whole corpse not be discarded?” Logan supported his statement. “These reports indicate only small portions of the Chimera’s structure being left behind. In several accounts the horns were discovered, as well as the snake tail looking as though it were severed.”

“Hmm.” His mentor slowly turned in his chair, facing Logan head on. “So you have a theory then?”

“I do.” Logan nodded, taking a moment to straighten up. He took a deep breath. “I believe there’s a larger apex predator hunting them.”

Unsurprisingly, his mentor looked at him in disbelief. “What? What do ya mean, you think there’s something bigger than a Chimera? How the hell would we miss something like that?”

“I have no idea.” Logan admitted. “Perhaps it is new to the area, or especially skilled at camouflage. It’s exceptionally possible that there have been previous fatal encounters chalked up to be caused by one of the other several dangers of the forest. But regardless, all the evidence points to-”

“To a disease.” His mentor cut him off. “The Chimera’s likely developed some virus that’s working through their system and driving ‘em all mad. It would explain their behavior and is more plausible than a giant man eating beast nobody’s seen.”

Logan pursed his lips, never a fan of being told he was wrong. 

“Look, Logan, you’re a smart kid.” His mentor explained gently, hitting another one of Logan’s buttons by calling him a child. “I think this research of yours is really admirable, it’ll make a fine thesis. You’re really onto something here. But don’t go blowing it by hypothesizing outside the realm of reality.”

Logan did not deign him with a response, appearing a bit huffy as he began to pack up his papers. It almost appeared he was a pouting child, if not for his business attire indicating his seriousness.

“I don’t want to discourage you.” His mentor continued. “This is truly remarkable! If you could discover the disease that’s infecting the Chimera population, your research would be published for certain. I can help you gain the necessary resources, it may be difficult to gain access to live samples but until then I have some friends down in the lab-”

“Thank you.” Logan cut him off with a curt nod. “I… appreciate the assistance. But I want to re-investigate my own claims before I pursue this route.”

His mentor sighed knowingly. “I know, your first discovery is always difficult. Take your time, if you want to look into this ‘apex predator’ thing by all means don’t let me stop you, but remember that your thesis needs to be built on hard evidence- not just theories.”

“Yes, I understand.” Logan gave him a soft smile. He gathered up the last of his belongings, bidding his mentor farewell before heading out the door. As soon as he left the room, Logan’s smile faded. Evidence. How was he supposed to gain evidence of a creature thought to not exist?

Well, there was only one thing to it, Logan supposed- Logan would just have to find the apex predator himself. 

Now Logan was no fool, he’d grown up in the town of Sireville and knew the dangers as well as any inhabitant. It was a risky business, traversing into the forest, but Logan also knew that numbers would attract unwanted attention. He knew these woods well enough to recognize signs of danger as well as any anomalies that would prove he was on the right track. Logan was also intelligent enough to wait until the following morning, not venturing out at a time when night could befall him. To be caught in the woods at night never ended well. 

It would be perhaps wise to let someone know where he was going, but if something went wrong to the point where Logan couldn’t handle himself the only thing a rescued party would discover would be his remains. Logan shuddered briefly at the thought as he entered his kitchen, giving his mother a wave before gathering the necessary supplies for his trip.

“What’s got you all dressed up?” His mother asked, peering over the counter at his attire. Logan had changed from his usual business casual into something more fitting for the forest, equipping a sturdy set of boots over his hiking pants and throwing on his tactical long sleeved shirt. 

“Field study.” Logan explained, purposefully being vague as he finished packing his backpack. 

“Alright, be safe.” She frowned lightly at him. “Don’t wander too far, alright? And stay on the paths.”

“I’ll be alright.” Logan reassured her, purposefully avoiding making any promises as he stepped out the door. This certainly wasn’t the first time he went out to gather evidence, having done it on several occasions throughout his studies, but it would certainly be the furthest journey yet if his expedition proved successful. Logan had taken the necessary precautions, packing extra rations should the day grow long. He didn’t pack anything for camping through the night, intending on hiking back before nightfall. At the very least he wouldn’t be foolish enough to fall asleep in the middle of the woods with so many creatures patrolling.

Logan took a deep breath, stepping in amongst the trees that had grown so familiar. He made a quick pace, wanting to get as deep as possible before the light faded. The college student took note of his surroundings, waiting for any sign of the extraordinary that he had not viewed before. The further he traveled the less familiar the trees became, growing further apart- a sure sign that larger beings had pushed them aside and nature adapted to the creature’s whims. It was truly terrifying the things that some beasts could accomplish, the impact they could have on the world around them possibly without even noticing it.

What sort of beast was Logan tracking, anyhow? He began to ponder this, growing tense as the background chattering of birds became accompanied with the low shifting of some great beasts far off. Logan paused, observing his surroundings and trying to pinpoint the noise. Could that be his target? Surely not, it wouldn’t be so easy. And yet Logan hardly recognized this clearing, and the markings upon the trees were different from any left by a harpy taking flight. Instead the limbs seemed… weary, as if something of great weight had been draped across them.

Observing further, Logan grabbed his journal and began to take diligent notes of his surroundings, adding accompanying drawings when necessary for illustration purposes. Now keeping a keen eye out for details, Logan spotted a familiar slithering track upon the forest floor. A lesser field scientist might have dismissed it for that of a Chimera’s tail, but Logan noticed there were no accompanying footprints. Furthermore, the track was far too thick to belong to a Chimera snake. 

No, whatever creature laid these tracks was larger than a Chimera. Logan was practically giddy with excitement, scribbling frantically into his notebook. He was right! Some disease, indeed. Curiosity overtaking him, Logan wasn’t thinking clearly as he blindly followed the tracks deeper into the forest. The trees began to twist and curl in unnatural patterns, bent out of shape to make shade or revealing clearings of sunlight in others. Logan leapt over a fallen decaying trunk, pondering what other evidence he might discover. Perhaps some of the Chimera pieces? A discarded scale or feather? Or perhaps…

Logan froze, hearing a soft whistling noise coming from further up the path. It had a familiar pattern to it, slowly Logan recognizing the sound as faint snoring. He crept closer, now incredibly mindful of where his feet were placed. Logan peeked through the underbrush, barely holding in his gasp at the sight that awaited him.

Or perhaps the creature itself.

Logan couldn’t comprehend what was before him. At first, all Logan could process was the gigantic, ever so slightly shifting wall of red scales before him, aligned in the familiar pattern of a reptile. Before he even made an initial hypothesis Logan’s head snapped up at the sound of another snore, a hand going to his mouth at the sight. It seemed that this giant reptilian beast had a homo sapien upper half, not unlike a harpy or the merfolk. A naga. 

Logan had only heard tales of them, always assumed to be mere legends or perhaps having gone extinct ages ago. But looking at the sight before him the notion of going extinct seemed ridiculous. What could possibly wipe out such a gargantuan creature, clearly bred to dominate the ecosystem? Certainly nothing less than another meteor shower.

Entranced, Logan was ever cautious as he raised his pencil to his notepad, giving one practice skritch across the paper. He flinched at the noise, but the clearing remained undisturbed. Logan gave the tiniest sigh of relief, knowing that at any moment he could be in very imminent danger.

But what was the harm in staying one moment longer to observe? If the beast were to wake this moment, Logan would certainly be unable to outrun it should the naga pursue. He would be in harm’s way anywhere, so Logan took advantage of this opportunity and began to expertly sketch the creature. He had come this far after all. Best not to waste it.

Logan stuck his tongue out in concentration, not wanting to miss a detail even in his haste to finish and get out before the creature woke. His eyes glanced up every few moments, taking in the monster’s posture. It’s position was languid, relaxed back upon its own tail as if using it as a bean bag chair. It appeared to be quite pleased, likely taking pleasure from soaking in the sun that poured through. One arm lay across its forehead, the other straight back so its fingers just grazed the ground. Logan took careful note of these appendages, aware of the sharp claws on each one and how they twitched every so often in sleep. 

His drawing was beginning to take form, having captured most details he could from this angle. Logan was debating the pros and cons of attempting to move to get another angle when the naga let out a large yawn, briefly displaying its fangs. Eagerly Logan flipped to a new page, jotting down a new sketch before the sight disappeared entirely. Why, by his estimations one of those fangs could easily dwarf his entire arm in length. 

So enraptured in his work was he that Logan failed to notice the yawn was only the beginning of a chain of events. The creature’s claws left the ground, coming up to stretch above its head with a creaking of bones that got Logan’s attention. He froze, watching the intimidating beast stretch skyward as it lifted its torso and basked in the sun for a moment more. 

Slowly it dawned on Logan what a precarious situation he was in; his research would all be for naught if he died before presenting his findings. Logan clutched his journal to his chest, heart pounding as he watched the naga sniff the air. It didn’t take a student fluent in animal behaviors to know exactly what scent the creature had picked up as it frowned, tongue stuck out to sniff the air again.

Under normal circumstances, Logan would hope estimate that, being so small in comparison, a naga would pay a human no mind. There were much larger creatures in the forest that would make more filling prey. However, half-humans always seemed to have a dangerous curiosity about their counterparts, and Logan had trespassed into this being’s territory. 

Logan gulped, all color draining from his face as those piercing red eyes bore directly down onto him. Immediately Logan turned to run (a fruitless effort), but before he had even fully turned Logan felt himself yanked backwards and into the air, eliciting a cry from the startled human who frantically tried to keep a grip on both his glasses and his book as he found himself dangling painfully upside-down, only the grip of those claws on his left leg keeping him from falling to a quick demise. 

Logan found himself feeling a bit dizzy as he was brought before the naga’s face. Those fangs were perhaps a bit less intriguing as they cruelly smiled at him, the naga’s eyes boring into his soul as he was turned this way and that like a curious bauble. 

“Why hello there, my little morsel.” The naga’s statement rumbled with dangerous curiosity, sending a wave of warm breath over Logan that made the human shudder. If he were not so entranced with those perilous teeth (was that a venomous sac below the rearmost fangs?) Logan might have noticed the alarming glint in its eyes. “I don’t think one of you has ever wandered this far, not without my rancid brother getting a hand on them first at least.”

Oh good lord there’s two of them. Logan jolted at this newest realization. Two? No wonder the populations were dwindling so drastically.

“So what makes you so special?” The naga tilted its head, poking Logan with a single claw, eliciting a startled breath in from the human who was very surprised he hadn’t just been torn to shreds. For now the naga seemed amused enough to watch as Logan slowly began to rotate, clearly toying with him in its ‘playful’ demeanor. “Well? Go on then, does the meager human speak?”

“I-I-” Logan cringed, loathing the sound of his own voice as it had raised an octave. It didn’t help that all the blood was rushing to his head. He cleared his throat, holding on to the minuscule hope that such a beast could be reasoned with. “Yes, I can speak.”

With a flick of its wrist Logan once again found himself airborne, letting out a high pitched noise of protest before finding himself one skipped heartbeat later once again within the monster’s clutches, this time right side up.

“‘Squeak’ is more like it.” The naga chuckled, prodding Logan’s side. The human winced away from the touch, though it was difficult with how tightly the claws were curled around him. Logan could feel his journal digging into his side. 

Still, Logan couldn’t help but frown, feeling that he was being mocked.

The naga hummed, seeming to debate with itself for a moment. “So what were you doing spying on me anyhow?” It asked, its expression betraying a hint of confusion. “I heard your heart racing a mile a minute in that bush.”

Logan cringed. “You… you did?”

“Why I would have expected to find a hummingbird, I could hardly have missed it!” The naga scoffed. “And yet for all your jitters you didn’t move a muscle. Did fear make you freeze? Are you simply stupid?”

“No.” Logan answered, perhaps a bit too petulantly for dealing with a gigantic predator. He coughed, checking his temper. “I mean, ah, I was perhaps too absorbed in my own jubilation, as I had been looking for you.”

“For me?” The creature seemed to almost purr, its smile returning as Logan felt the grip around him loosen ever so slightly. “Oh, how you flatter me. Then of course you must have appreciated what you found?”

“Well...yes?” Logan turned a bit red, unaccustomed to this line of socialization. T’was a true pity his life was resting on his perilous social skills. “That is to say, you’re certainly extraordinary, surpassing all my initial expectations.”

“Hmm.” Pleased with this response, the naga settled to lay stomach down on its own scales, holding Logan out before it. The claws shifted again, now forming a sort of basin so that Logan could sit freely. “How so?”

By all of Logan’s calculations, this was going well. The creature seemed entertained enough to spare his life, for now. Logan just needed to keep the conversation going until… well, Logan preferred to focus on the present even as those perilous jaws loomed so casually above him.

“I suppose, firstly, your very existence was an unexpected surprise.” Logan adjusted his glasses, the frames having become skewed in all the excitement. “Very rarely are my assumptions incorrect, so I knew there was some manner of apex predator roaming these woods, but as to your exact classification I admit that was a mystery. There is a common understanding that nagas are creatures of legend, or perhaps long extinct. Certainly…” Logan paused, realizing perhaps this wasn’t the most logical point to bring up. “Certainly if others have discovered  you, none have returned to tell the tale.”

The naga gave a scoff. “That’d be my brother’s doing, no doubt. Did you know we used to be worshiped apparently? Back in the golden days we were like gods. That was before people like him started experimenting with other uses for humans. Wasteful, if you ask me, disposing of such large numbers so quickly-”

“I wholly agree.” Logan spoke up too soon.

The naga snorted, clearly amused by the human’s timing. “I, on the other hand, prefer to play with my food.”

“...ah.” Well, that was a less than ideal response. Logan cleared his throat, trying to hide his nerves as he curled a bit in on himself, readjusting the grip on his journal. “So, ah, you mentioned a brother twice now, as well as hinting at others. How many of you are there?”

The monster frowned slightly, and Logan immediately regretted his question. “...Well I hardly think it matters, we nagas keep to ourselves well enough. Lucky you for stumbling upon the best naga of them all.” This last statement was accompanied by a very cocky smile.

“Hmm.” Logan wasn’t certain he agreed, but naturally he had no subjects to compare. “I was merely curious as I conduct research on local wildlife and wanted to compare behavioral traits between your kind and the Coachwhip species, of which your scale pattern most resembles.”

The naga blinked, glancing down at its tail as if for the first time. “It does?”

“As far as I can tell, yes.” Logan turned to his journal, flipping back through the pages. He cursed, realizing his reptile notes were in a different book. “Alright, my apologies, I forgot my scale reference sketches back home, but see?” Logan pulled up the sketch of the naga himself instead, pointing at the tail pattern. “The pattern of your scales represents a braided whip-”

“Is that me?” The naga cut him off excitedly, Logan’s stomach lurching as he was raised higher. 

Logan blinked, glancing between his drawing and its inspiration. “...yes?” 

He watched the naga’s reaction very carefully, hoping the monster was pleased with what it observed. At first Logan worried that the beast would be enraged at the fact Logan had been spying for an extended period, or worse yet perhaps it would feel the need to destroy his notebook to remove any evidence of its existence. To his relief, the creature seemed to be almost pleased as it took in the intricacies of the drawing.

“You made this?” A careful pair of claws pinched at the journal. Logan tightened his grip, before realizing that in a strength contest either the naga would win or his book would be shredded. With this in mind he reluctantly released, watching the massive being lift the journal ever higher to view it above its head as if to shine light through counterfeit currency. 

“Yes, I have always been known for my attention to detail, and illustrations have been proven to assist in comprehension of reports-”

“Can you do it again?” The naga cut him off, handing Logan back his notebook.

“I, yes, I suppose.” Logan furrowed his brow, confused. “Right now?”

“Well it hardly appears as if you’re doing much else at the moment.” The naga gave a loud, purposeful yawn, displaying its fangs. “Of course, I’m certain I can find other, tastier ways to spend our time together…”

“Understood.” Logan grimaced, the monster’s subtlety lacking. “Very well then, is there a- particular feature you want me to illustrate?”

“Don’t go cutting any of my gorgeous figure off!” The naga scoffed. “I best be seeing my beauty tip to tail, you hear me?”

“It would be impossible not to.” Logan tried to hide his growing irritation. “But to create such a piece, I’ll need to be placed on the ground so as to have an appropriate vantage point.”

His request was considered. “Very well.” The naga agreed, setting him once again down on the ground. 

Logan stumbled, surprised to once again feel solid ground under his feet. It was astounding- just moments ago, Logan would have doubted his ability to experience this ever again. 

“Tick tock, come now with your tiny talents.” The naga poked him with an impatient claw. Quickly regaining his composure, Logan pulled out his writing utensil and opened to a clean page.

“Is there a particular angle you’d prefer?” Logan asked.

“I am a priceless gem, I sparkle from all angles.” The creature purred, striking a pose where it was once again draped over its own tail as if lounging on a fainting couch.

Logan huffed, fighting the urge to rant about how light reflection actually works. He glanced around, taking a few steps back and debating only for a moment if he should turn tail and leave.

“I hope you’re not thinking of running off on me.” The naga seemed to read his thoughts, raising a taunting eyebrow.

Logan jumped, focusing back to the task at hand. “I’m not.” He lied, finally putting his pencil to the pad. “Just finding the best setup location.”

The naga hummed, clearly not believing a word, but seemed satisfied to watch Logan work. A bit too satisfied, as it leaned up and attempted to watch over Logan’s shoulder.

“Stop looming, you’ll cast shadows.” Logan huffed. “And if you keep moving about I’ll never finish, sit still.”

“You’ll never finish regardless.” The naga pouted, but flopped back amongst its coils. “You’re taking forever.”

“It has hardly been a minute.” Logan debated in his head how slowly he could draw without generating suspicion. He wanted to drag this event out as long as possible, having full knowledge that if the naga was satisfied with Logan’s work he might deem Logan’s task- and thus his life- as finished. Logan shuddered at the thought.

Clearly bored, the naga’s attention was once again focused solely on Logan, preventing any escape attempts. It was quite distracting, having those piercing eyes staring down at him so intently. It was especially infuriating that Logan couldn’t guess as to what it was thinking. 

Why make him draw the creature again? Surely one drawing would be enough? Perhaps it merely wanted an illustration where it could be alert and poised. But what would come next? Would the naga request more illustrations, or would the monster be satisfied? What would occur if Logan’s pencil broke? Or perhaps the creature grew hungry before Logan was even finished? Would it bother to wait around long enough for Logan to complete his depiction, or would Logan be sent down its ravenous throat at the first sign of an appetite?

“What’s your name?”

Logan blinked, stumbling out of his thought process. “...pardon?” The question felt far too mundane considering the circumstances.

“Humans have names, don’t they?” The naga tilted its head. “What’s yours?”

Logan was still perplexed that it had thought to ask. “Logan. Logan Sanders.” 

The naga nodded, giving him a smile that might have been intended to be encouraging. 

“...and what is your name?” Logan asked finally, realizing that’s what it wanted.

“You may call me Roman.” The naga- er, Roman- introduced himself, accompanying the statement with a little wave of his hand and a half bow.

Under normal circumstances, Logan might be expected to say it was a pleasure to meet Roman. “Stop moving.” Logan reminded him instead.

“Well aren’t you a barrel of fun, Logan.” Roman paused, rolling the name around on his tongue as he tried it out. “Logan. Looooogan. Logan! You know, once you get used to it it’s not all that terrible.” 

Logan paused, once again feeling utterly perplexed as he peered up at Roman. “My name differs from yours in only three letters.”

“And what difference those three letters make.” Roman breathed an imaginary sigh of relief. He teasingly grinned at Logan. “Oh come now, I jest, live a little, Lo!” 

“My name is Logan, not Lo.” Logan corrected immediately, loathing when individuals shortened his name. Roman snorted. “What’s so amusing?”

“I just realized my choice of phrasing.” Roman’s grin turned sly. “‘Live a little,’ and you are also yourself little- should be quite easy then, eh?”

Logan refused to acknowledge the jab for several moments, eventually caving with the urge to defend himself. “I am above average height for a human being, actually.” Logan felt the need to inform him. 

“Well good for you.” Roman teased, and all of a sudden one of his knuckles was ruffling Logan’s hair. It startled the human enough to make him take a step back, pausing his work to readjust his appearance. The naga seemed to be finished toying with him, for now, and allowed Logan to fall back into the quiet lapse of his work. Unfortunately, with the naga’s round of questioning, Logan found his thoughts drifting elsewhere until he felt compelled to ask a few questions of his own.

“Why did you inquire about my name?” Logan asked, knowing he was venturing down a dangerous topic bringing up his own future. “It seems a bit sadistic to ask if you intend to… if you have ill intentions for myself.” 

It was a bold risk, but Logan was curious if perhaps this was similar to the phenomenon of humans becoming attached to animals after naming them. If Logan could market himself in just the right way, perhaps the naga would be more taken with the novelty of his artistic talents and find he was a valuable enough individual to not end his days within Roman’s stomach.

“Hmm, I like to know.” The naga’s noncommittal shrug squashed the hopes right out of Logan. “Speaking of, are you done yet?”

Logan’s blood ran cold. “Ah, no, not quite yet.”

“Hurry up, I’m growing famished.” Roman groaned, not encouraging Logan to hurry up in the slightest. “You take much longer and I’ll just have to settle for you.”

“Settle?” Logan refused to let himself perk up too much at the peculiar word choice. “So you’re...not going to….?”

Roman laughed as if Logan was a fool. “Oh please, you’d hardly be filling. I feast on Chimeras, you’re nothing.”

Logan had never felt more elated to be told he was nothing.

“A snack, perhaps.” Roman gave him a pointed look. “A tasty one at that, if you don’t get a move on. So chip-chop, Mini Muse.”

“A muse is a source of inspiration, not the craftsman.” Logan corrected, hurrying up all the same. His heart had begun to pound with a mixture of excitement and nerves. “There, it’s finished.”

“Oh do let me see.” With a great amount of slithering the massive tail began to unravel, curling around Logan as it stretched out. Before Logan could be constricted amongst the coils Roman reached down and once again scooped up the human. Logan lost his balance briefly, settling into a safe sitting position before presenting the journal to be viewed. “Why, it’s gorgeous!”

“I’m certainly grateful it’s to your liking.” Logan conceded. He never looked at his drawings with an artistic eye, focused solely on being anatomically correct for his diagrams. 

“Oh indeed, it’s amazing you can make out all my tiny features.” Roman squinted down at the paper. “A shame your works are so small, I wish to appreciate them more. You’re so fortunate to be graced with the real thing.”

“Indeed.” Logan deadpanned. He glanced at the sky, noticing the sun beginning to sink lower in the horizon. “It appears to be getting late, and I’ve likely wasted enough of your precious time. I’m certain you have several tasks which you must complete, so if you’ll just set me down-”

“Set you down?” Roman raised an eyebrow. “Why Logan, I think you and I have different ideas of how this evening will go.”

This was all the warning Logan got before Roman lunged, and a sharp pain shooting up Logan’s side. Logan hissed, completely in shock as his tense form attempted to process what just happened. His mouth gaped open, stuttering as he tried to react to the situation even as his mind clogged up.

“Shh.” Roman’s rumbling voice was right in his ear, the sound all encompassing as Logan’s vision blurred. The last thing he was aware of was Roman murmuring for him to “-just give in.”

[jokertrap-ran]

(未定事件簿) EVENT!「消失的黄金」 [Tears of Themis] EVENT: The Lost Gold Translations (Zuo Ran Chapter 3-04: Temporary Camp)

“It’s just that there are some people, and some things out there that...the more you care about them, the more helpless you become when it comes to handling the situation with a cool, level head.”

*Tears of Themis Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *(y/n) is your name when in direct referral; otherwise referred to as MC.

Location: Temporary Camp

In the Temporary Camp that had been set up in the  Mountainous Area, Zuo Ran was spacing out as he stared at something, lost to his thoughts.

MC: What are you looking at, Lawyer Zuo?

Zuo Ran: Oh, it’s just you. Why aren’t you resting?

MC: Can’t sleep.

Zuo Ran: Still feeling guilty about what happened a few days ago?

MC: I should have gone into the Cave with you back then. Maybe Wang Xian wouldn’t have gotten away if we were watching each other’s backs.

That’s right. The one who had ambushed Lin Dahai back then was none other than Wang Xian.

Back then at the time, we were both on high alert and didn’t notice the message that Mo Yi had sent into the Encrypted Communication Channel. It wasn’t until we had returned to the Camp that we realised that he had informed us of Wang Xian’s prior escape and that he had already been subdued under his control.

Zuo Ran: We were only able to bring Lin Dahai back to Camp in time for treatment thanks to your external support.

After Wang Xian had left that day, Zuo Ran and I both went back into the Cave to get Lin Dahai out.

Zuo Ran: We relied solely on the light of the Flashlight back in the Cave. And Wang Xian also had a gun at that time, so if you were with me, I’m afraid it’d be hard for me to…

MC: Hm?

Zuo Ran: Nothing… It’s just that there are some people, and some things out there that...the more you care about them, the more helpless you become when it comes to handling the situation with a cool, level head.

MC: ???

Zuo Ran: Anyway, stop blaming yourself for it and don’t make me worry about you.

MC: Alright then. I just wanted to do better...

Zuo Ran: Then come take a look at this.

He placed something that looked like a knotted string into my hand.

MC: What is this?

Zuo Ran: It’s a necklace of Ancient Copper Coins that have been stringed together. Wang Xian dropped this back in the Cave.

MC: And where have I heard that before?

Zuo Ran: Lin Dahai’s mother once stringed together a necklace of Ancient Copper Coins for his father.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

≫Select Coins≪

Zuo Ran: Look here, doesn’t the pattern of this coin look familiar to you?

MC: This is...

I racked my brains for any similar patterns I’d seen before, finally arriving at an answer.

MC: It’s Lin Jian! I’ve seen it before in his Inspection Report!

MC: The indentation mark on his neck’s exactly the same as the pattern on the Coin!

Zuo Ran: Yes, this necklace must be the murder weapon that had been used to kill him.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

≫Select Wooden Tag at the end of the rope≪

MC: There’s a number on this wood tag. 17.

MC: It looks like something engraved on with a blade. The workmanship is crude and it also seems like a random piece of wood was used.

MC: Is there a special meaning to this number?

Zuo Ran: The wood tag’s tied to the necklace with another type of string.

Zuo Ran: It’s highly probable that it wasn’t originally a part of the necklace.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

≫Select Knot≪

MC: The knots are very tight, but the string’s already starting to fade.

MC: Speaking of, this is something from ten years ago after all.

MC: Huh? Wait. What’s this?

There was a piece of black fabric that stood out like a sore thumb among the fading red thread.

Zuo Ran: I don’t know what it is either, but judging from the material, that isn't thread.

Zuo Ran: It looks more like some kind of cloth.

MC: Let’s ask Lin Dahai about it when he wakes.

MC: Maybe it’s a special custom of Fishermen?

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Although we were able to come to the tentative conclusion that this had been the Murder Weapon used to kill Lin Dahai’s father, there wasn’t any way we could prove it.

MC: I don’t know how Lin Dahai will feel once he sees this necklace.

Just as the words left my mouth, the Doctor from the Temporary Camp came up to us, informing us that Lin Dahai had regained consciousness.

It wouldn’t be wise to move around with that injury, so we didn't immediately return to Base Camp after leaving the Cave.

Based on what the Doctor said, Lin Dahai was anxious to see us, so we rushed back to the tent he was being put up in.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Lin Dahai looked pale as he laid on the bed, but he was already out of life-threatening danger.

Lin Dahai: I’m sorry Lawyer, I’ve dragged all of you into this.

Zuo Ran: Are you going to believe me now? You were being used by Dong Hechuan.

Zuo Ran: Moreover, the one who attacked you wasn’t even Dong Hechuan, but Wang Xian.

Lin Dahai: Wang Xian!? I know him! He was the one who commuted his sentence!

Lin Dahai: Dong Hechuan had started planning on how to get his sentence reduced and out of Prison ever since he’d heard that the PAX Group had bought over Nosta Island.

Lin Dahai: Back when I was using the riddle of the gold to negotiate with him, he had already said that he was going to get released soon.

Lin Dahai: It was because of this that I specially went out of my way to ask around to see if he was in contact with anyone else. That’s how I know of Wang Xian.

Lin Dahai: But we don’t have any grievances between us, so why would he attack me?

Zuo Ran: Maybe he’s the same as you; someone who was being manipulated by Dong Hechuan.

Lin Dahai: But...But how is that possible!?

Lin Dahai: I heard that Wang Xian’s a psychologist. How could an uncultured robber like Dong Hechuan...

Zuo Ran: No one should underestimate someone like him who survived an internal scuffle within the Robbery Gang that ended in decimation.

Lin Dahai: …...

Zuo Ran: Let’s not talk about him for now. Of course, there’s someone watching him on the other end too.

Zuo Ran held the Ancient Copper Coin Necklace out to him.

Zuo Ran: Take a look at this. Is it your father’s?

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Previous Part: (Zuo Ran 3-03: Deep inside the Cave) | Next Part: (Zuo Ran 3-05: Temporary Camp)

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Billet-Doux

A Sherlockian Story

Summary: Gwynn receives a series of gifts in sophomore year, but can never catch who leaves them. Then she receives a love letter from a special someone and discovers who her mysterious admirer is.

College days Sherlock & Gwynn!

Warnings: mentions of drug use, Sherlock high (my attempt at writing it, I dunno how to write this kind of thing, I DO NOT promote it in any way through my writing of it), sexual themes

3,963 words

Gwynn stared at the gift on her desk. She studied it, frowning at it, observing it. Sherlock watched her curiously from behind.

“And there was no note left? No sign of who could have done it?” Sherlock mused, keeping his voice low in order to prevent them from earning the wrath of the school’s librarian as they had last time for the first gift Gwynn had found left at her dorm door.

Gwynn shook her head. “Only this slip of paper, obviously printed, attached.” She flicked the little paper at Sherlock, who frowned at it.

“Whoever is leaving these little...surprises for you is clever. He clearly doesn’t want you to know who he is,” Sherlock murmured.

“How do you know it’s a he?”

Sherlock met her gaze. “Can I deduce? Out loud?”

Gwynn leaned forward, flicking the tiny box she had yet to open. “Please do.” She didn’t tell him that she loved the way he spoke, that she loved the speed at which his brain worked.

And staring at the gift, she didn’t notice the way his lips twitched, wanting to form a smile. She only heard the sharp intake of breath as he began his deduction: “It’s wrapped elegantly, but it’s torn at the corner and part of the white underside of the paper is shown—a nail could easily fix the problem by slipping it under the nearest seam, however these nails must be clipped short—” He proved this by miming doing so with his own nails, which were too short to do anything. “—thus making it likely a male, as most of the females around here have nails quite long.” He lightly took Gwynn’s hand an examined it. “Yes, yours are fairly long as well... Continuing, the paper is a solid blue-purple color. Most women would chose a patterned paper to fit the occasion whereas most men chose at random from what’s on hand, if they have any on hand—I do believe the last gift was wrapped in Christmas paper?”

“Yes,” Gwynn said dryly. “So it’s definitely a guy, then?”

“The odds lean in favor of a man, yes,” Sherlock agreed.

“Perfect,” she grumbled sarcastically. “I have an admirer.”

Something like pity lingered in Sherlock’s gaze. “It appears you do.”

Gwynn grimaced. “Alright, what do you suggest I do?” she sighed.

Sherlock’s flicked from the small box to his friend. “Open it, I suppose?”

“You’re sure that’s wise?”

Gwynn’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. His throat closed up, his thoughts screeching to a halt. But remembering she’d asked him a question, he nodded. “I think it’s alright.” He sniffed the box, turning it over in his hands. “Smells fine. No trace of poisons, acids, the likes.”

“Drugs?”

The hesitancy in Gwynn’s voice made Sherlock’s insides twist up. She’d found out about his drug use only a few weeks ago. Though she’d let the subject drop, she didn’t seem inclined to quite forget the whole thing as Sherlock would have hoped. He didn’t lose sight of her gaze turning to his arm once more.

Subconsciously, he pushed his sleeve down. “Not that I can tell.”

Gwynn clenched her fists. “Alright, let’s do this then.” She picked the box out of Sherlock’s open palm and glanced around. “Should we go somewhere other than the library? Somewhere louder so we don’t get...”

Sherlock shook his head. “We can’t be seen here, we should be fine.”

She slunk down a little in her seat, but Gwynn slowly peeled the wrapping paper from the small box. She swallowed hard, glanced up at Sherlock, and then lifted the lid off of the tiny box.

Her breath caught in her throat, Sherlock watching with anticipation. “He’s done his homework,” she squeaked.

“What? What is it?” Sherlock demanded.

Gwynn turned the box around for him to see. Inside was a long, thin golden pendant with little dots and dashes going down on a golden chain. 

.- / .-- .- .-. -- / .... . .- .-. - ....

Sherlock glanced at her but it only took him a few minutes to decipher the Morse code. The pendant read: A warm hearth. 

“A warm hearth...isn’t that what you say?”

Gwynn nodded. “‘Life is not worth more than a book, a hug, and a warm hearth.’ My mother used to say that all the time before she had me, apparently, so my brother took to calling me ‘Hearth.’ But I guess it would be a bit long on a pendant, so I guess it’s been shortened.”

“What’re you gonna do about it?” Sherlock asked.

Gwynn bit her lip. “I...I don’t know. If I wear it, I’m basically inviting this guy to keep sending me gifts and it’s a bit weird, if I’m being honest, but I don’t exactly want to ignore it. I want to know who this person is. Do you think wearing it or at least keeping it or something might prompt him into revealing himself?”

“Perhaps,” Sherlock decided after a moment of thought. “Though it might take more gifts.”

Gwynn groaned. “More?”

A smile twitched at Sherlock’s lips. “I’m afraid so, Gwynn.”

She crossed her arms on the table and laid her head on them. She glared at him. “You don’t seem very afraid of it.”

“They’re just gifts, Gwynn,” he reminded her. “There’s nothing that’s so scary about that, is there?”

/

The next gift came a two days later: a dainty gold choker of the same make as the necklace bearing the Morse for a book and a hug. 

The fourth gift was a wire rose ring, which arrived a week after the previous one.

Four days later, she discovered the fifth was a pair of long earrings Gwynn had been fawning over last time she’d passed the jewelry shop she loved and they’d been displayed in the window.

The sixth, which came in a small little box the next day, was an essential oil with Gwynn’s favorite scent.

But the seventh, which came nearly two weeks after the sixth gift, was the one that made Gwynn finally start to realize who her gift-giver might be.

/

Blissfully relaxed and at ease with the world, Sherlock lay on his bed in his dorm, his schoolwork forgotten. His books were cast aside, his laptop shut, his bag dumped on the floor.

The only thing that mattered now was the needle in his hand and the euphoric feeling coursing through him now that he’d used said needle.

His mouth had formed a small ‘o’ in slight pain when he’d first pushed the needle into his arm—but now there was nothing but a relaxed, detached expression on that face, the pretty face Gwynn had often admired, not that Sherlock would ever know that.

Sherlock’s mind had been ripping, tearing, shredding itself to pieces. Without a challenge in his schoolwork, his brilliance was going to waste. It needed something to work on, to keep itself busy and distracted with.

This was the only alternative. Unless he wanted to start going crazy, that is, this was the only option.

Of course, Gwynn wouldn’t see it that way. She’d be livid and horrified and probably yell at him for a whole hour about not going to her and telling her he needed stimulation. Last time, she’d whipped up a pretty good challenge for him, a murder mystery she’d written incredibly well that he had quite enjoyed solving as she wrote it.

But he needed something now, not in a day or two, and it would take Gwynn that long to come up with a conceivable murder plot.

She’d be disappointed in him.

Oh, Sherlock, he could hear her saying with sadness beyond disappointment in her voice, I thought you were past this. We all thought you were past this.

But after being mad at him, she’d hold him as she usually did and she rub her fingers through his hair the way he liked, and she’d coo to him, I’ll help you, Sherl. I’ll help you and we’ll get through it. She’d kiss the top of his head (he quite enjoyed that kiss, that tender brushing of her lips over his curls). And then she’d help him clean out his stash. They’d start anew...and then he’d do it again. And again. And again.

Sherlock banished the thoughts of her from his head. No, this wasn’t the time. He could worry about Gwynn’s reaction when he wasn’t high as a kite. 

What Sherlock didn’t know—he always deleted it so it wouldn’t distract him—that it was thoughts of Gwynn that always filled his head when he was high. Sometime he thought of her as he would a friend, sometimes he thought of how she must think, sometimes he wondered how crazy she must be to have befriended him, and sometimes his mind went further and wondered how she might be naked in his bed, what she might do, say, sound like, feel like. Would she want to? Would she let him? How would he even bring it up? How could he tell her he wanted it—wanted her?

He deleted it after. Every time. He deleted it because the one time it didn’t, it distracted him and left him on unsteady ground.

Sherlock curled up into a ball on his bed, turning himself in on himself, tucking his legs up to his chest. He murmured Gwynn’s name to himself, a silent mantra that both comforted and tortured him. And as he imagined himself buried inside her, he could still hear her voice, full of disappointment, and see her face, creased in worry and sorrow.

Lewd thoughts clashed with the idea of keeping his friend at an arm’s length from him, his inner struggle surging with the dopamine released in his brain. Moaning in a cross between anger with himself and ecstasy as thoughts of what Gwynn might look like with him making slow, sweet love to her crossed his mind, angry tears blurred Sherlock’s vision.

She was his friend, his best friend, his only friend. He had no right to do this to her, to see her as anything but his friend. She did not deserve him flinching away or blushing and looking away when she approached him or spoke to him because of what went on in his head.

Feeling right sorry for himself, conflicted in every way, he tucked his legs in tighter and breathed out, dispelling Gwynn—momentarily—from his mind and letting himself return to relaxing, calming, blissful euphoria.

He breathed in, he breathed out.

He breathed in, he breathed out.

He breathed in, he breathed out.

Blissfully relaxed and unaware of the world, his eyes fluttered closed as he returned the needle to his arm, his hand trembling only slightly. He pushed the needle in, pushed the plunger down.

Bliss.

/

Sitting on a park bench with tumblers of tea in their hands, Gwynn and Sherlock were huddled for warmth. There was a bag at Gwynn’s feet: yet another gift from her...admirer. 

But she wasn’t inclined to see what it was just yet. Her tea was still warm and she intended to drink it before it got cold.

The wintery weather had started to let up, but there was still a bitter chill in the air. But clearly people were getting sick of being cooped up in their houses all the time—as Gwynn had, which is why she’d dragged Sherlock out of the dorms and into the town—as there were many people out and about, bundled up in scarves and coats.

Gwynn missed her favorite scarf. It had gone missing about a month ago. She had others—like the one she was wearing now—but she didn’t like it quite as much as the one she’d lost. This one wasn’t soft enough or warm enough.

A chill wind blew Gwynn’s hair from underneath her newsboy cap and a guy walking by whistled. Instantly, there was a blush of embarrassment and anger on her cheeks.

An arm came around her shoulders and pulled her close. Gwynn glanced over to find Sherlock staring the guy down with a murderous glint in his eyes.

This is nice, she decided and leaned into his protective hold. Sherlock’s eyes dipped to her, then back up as the guy scurried away.

“Thank you,” Gwynn said. 

Sherlock cleared his throat awkwardly and immediately moved his arm. He gestured to the bag with his chin. “So. Going to figure out what he’s left you this time?” He was suddenly very intent on that bag.

Gwynn sighed. “I suppose I should.” She really wanted to investigate why Sherlock was suddenly so protective, embarrassed, intent on that bag, but she leaned down and plopped it into her lap. Sherlock’s hands had returned to his own lap, clenched tightly around his tumbler.

Pulling away the tissue paper, Gwynn gasped. “My scarf!”

Sherlock lurched, nearly spilling tea in his haste as the lid of his tumbler popped off. “What?”

Gwynn pulled the scarf out of the bag, revealing the scarf she’d lost a month ago. “It’s my scarf, Sherl! My exact scarf that I lost! Either it’s the same one or a very good replacement.” She brought it to her face. “This...this is wonderful!” She swapped the one she was wearing for the scarf she’d lost. She sighed.

“You’re enjoying this,” Sherlock decided.

“What?”

“Being pampered, showered with gifts. You like it.”

Gwynn scowled but didn’t try to deny it. “So? Do you have a problem with that? Besides, why are you acting so strange? Why’d you get so protective of me when that guy whistled at me?”

Sherlock choked, cleared his throat, leaped to his feet. “Ah! Look at the time! I have a seminar to get to!” He hurried off without so much as a goodbye, his cheeks red and not just from the cold.

Gwynn stared after him, dumbstruck and confused. It was only several minutes after he’d gotten out of sight before she realized the seminar Sherlock had been complaining about and ‘rushed off to’ didn’t start for another hour and a half.

/

Instant panic. That was all Sherlock felt. So he barricaded himself in his dorm, took out the needle—Gwynn still hadn’t found out about the last time—and plunged it into his arm.

Escape. He needed to escape. He might be high for the seminar, but as long as it brought him to a place where Gwynn wasn’t suspicious or mad or upset with him, a place where he could imagine himself loving her as he wanted to, as he wished she wanted to, he didn’t care.

/

Sherlock’s behavior returned to normal in the following week. 

The gifts had stopped and Gwynn had taken to wearing the scarf once more. But there was no sign of anyone who showed any recognition of the scarf around her neck. The mystery continued.

But Gwynn had her own suspicions about who her mysterious gift-giver was: he obviously had to know her well, all the gifts were personalized to her; he had to trust she didn't report him to administration, which meant he had to somehow overhear her conversations with Sherlock; and Sherlock himself had deduced her gift-giver was a he quite quickly, and with reason, but...

Nearly a month had come and gone by the time Gwynn found another gift on her dorm mat one evening after a walk with Sherlock. She looked down at it with curiosity—a fairly large bag with wrapping paper and flowers poking out of the top.

She bent down to pick up and found it to be quite heavy, lifting it with a "ehhhherrr!" of exertion.

Hefting the bag through her dorm, Gwynn kicked the door shut behind her and placed the bag onto her bed. She studied it for a moment—should she wait to open it, as she had all the others, until Sherlock was with her...?

But it was heavy. She wanted to know what was in it...and it was doubtful she would be able to lug this to the library or wherever they met up to open it. So instead, she pulled out her phone and sent a text:

There's been another gift.

His reply came seconds later: Yes, and? What is it? - SH

Gwynn didn't hesitate a moment longer. She pulled the wrapping paper from the top and pulled the flowers out of the bag. The bouquet was a mix of yellow roses, jasmine, daisies, edelweiss, yellow honeysuckle, and both white and blue hyacinth. She lifted them to her nose and breathed deeply.

Well, so far flowers... They're quite beautiful. Do you want to see?

Not now, I can see them when I visit you tomorrow. - SH

Okay, then. I'll keep looking.

She dug through the bag again and gasped as she pulled the wrapping paper away. The rest of the bag was filled to the brim with books—the pile of them contained at least twenty, maybe twenty-five.

BOOKS!

...Books? - SH

Yes! Lots of them! There's at least twenty of them! I am not going to be bored for the next month or so!

How nice. - SH

What books are they? - SH

Gwynn sent him a list of all the titles, picked up one, and began to read.

/

Their break was upon them. Gwynn would be staying with the Holmes family for two weeks—something she was quite looking forward to. She had always enjoyed the Holmes's and family dinners were quite entertaining.

She'd read fifteen books from her last gift in the span of a month, and no new gifts had arrived. She wondered if her gift-giver (her suspicions were increasing with every book she read) was trying to give her time to read through all of them before he surprised her with another gift, or if he was done for good.

Two weeks prior, Gwynn and Sherlock had gotten into a fight. She'd found out, once again, about his drug use. She'd berated him, then held him, talked him through it, and then went back to her dorm and cried. Her dorm mate knew to leave her be when this happened—nothing could stop her from crying.

Crying because Sherlock was her best friend. She'd learned from his older brother, Mycroft, that he'd overdosed before. What if he did it again? What if he had to go to the hospital? What if no one found him in time? What if, God forbid, he died?

She would never be able to live with herself.

So after cleaning out his dorm and making him swear he wouldn't use again—at least keep away from the drugs until after vacation, because she knew he wouldn't last forever—they had reached their peace once more.

Which was how they were sitting side by side on a train bound for Sherlock's home laughing and talking quietly.

At last, Sherlock fell asleep, slumped against the window. Gwynn took the opportunity to pull out the sixteenth book—Sorcery of Thorns by Margaret Rogerson—and begin to read once more.

An hour passed and still Sherlock slept on. Gwynn reached the bottom of page 343:

He didn't answer with words. Instead he leaned forward and kissed her, his lips as soft as crushed velvet, his fingers tangling in her hair.

Afterward, he drew away. Disappointment flooded her, but he only moved far enough to rest his forehead against hers. "God, Elisabeth, I've been doomed since the moment I watched you smack a fiend off my carriage with a crowbar. How could you not tell? Silas has been rolling his eyes as me for weeks."

Her eyes chasing hungrily across the page, she flipped it only to find a folded piece of paper squished between the pages 344 and 345. She frowned and withdrew the paper, reading what quickly became a...a love letter, a confession of love, a billet-doux, if she wanted to be that fancy about it. It had been typed out.

Gwynn—

I'm not one for this kind of jargon—romance and love and eating each other's faces in empty hallways. But when it comes to you...I'm hopeless. There's just something alluring about you, something that draws me in and I can't figure out what it is. Maybe it's because I don't know why I find you so appealing that I do.

But for whatever reason I love you, I truly do. I want to spend every minute of every day of every year with you for the rest of my life. This roundabout way of telling you, of leaving gifts...I didn't know if I'd reveal myself. I didn't know if I'd follow it through. But after that scarf...I had to.

So now you know how your mysterious gift-giver knows everything about you. It's because it's me, me who you've confided in.

It's me.

Sherlock

The signature was signed in a magnificent scrawling penmanship. It was undoubtedly his hand writing.

Gwynn's heart stopped in her chest for several beats. She looked at Sherlock's sleeping form, the letter in her hand, and then back to him. She finished reading the chapter with a smile, tucking the letter back in the pages she'd found it in, and then closed the book with a grin.

He was good, wasn't he? To slip the letter in between pages so full of love...he must've planned it all out.

The idea of Sherlock reading such a book made Gwynn giggle. Sherlock was always one for practicality. What would he think of demons and sorcerers and grimoires, books with life in them?

She'd have to ask him one day.

But for now, she sat on the train, resting her eyes, and soon fell asleep.

/

No one was at the Holmes residence when they arrived. So they settled themselves, Gwynn taking her usual guest room, and decided to take a shower. Traveling on trains always gave her a severe case of germaphobia.

She'd only just turned the shower on and taken her shirt off when the door opened. Gwynn let out a screech and the door slammed in shock; but Sherlock was already in the bathroom with her, his cheeks blooming red, so she jumped into the shower, not even caring the rest of her clothes were becoming soaked in the running water.

"Sherlock!"

"Gwynn, oh no, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to barge in! I should have realized..."

She poked her head around the curtain and they stared at each other. At last, she let the curtain fall away and said, "I read your letter today. On the train. While you were sleeping. Do you really...?"

He cocked his head, embarrassment and nervousness overcoming him. "Do I...? Love you? Truly?"

She nodded, unable to speak.

"Yes," he breathed. "Yes."

"But how do you know? You don't fall in love with anybody so—"

Margaret Rogerson's description of Nathaniel's kiss could definitely apply to Sherlock. His lips were softer than anything she had ever felt, more gentle than a slight summer breeze.

She hardly knew what she was doing, but Gwynn's arms went around Sherlock's shoulders and pulled him close—into the shower with her. Both in clothes—though Gwynn less so, her shirt discarded on the floor and her bra the only thing covering her chest—they found themselves snogging in the shower. That first moment of Sherlock's tender kiss faded into something more, something filled with need.

Evidently, they had both been longing for this for a very long time without realizing it.

How right Gwynn's suspicions of her gift-giver turned out to be and how pleased Sherlock was that she returned his sentiment.

He was very pleased indeed when his family returned home and he could proudly introduce Gwynn not just as his friend but as his new girlfriend (to which Mycroft nearly had a heart attack).

And none of the rest of the Holmes family was any wiser to the make-out session in the shower.

**AUTHOR’S NOTE: Sorcery of Thorns is an AMAZING book by Margaret Rogerson. I don’t usually choose favorites, but this one is definitely at the top of the list. Also, I mentioned Mycroft for the first time (I think it’s the first time), yaaaaaay!

[lenfaz]

Longing

For @sambethe and @kliomuse, who’ve encouraged me to put this idea to paper

“I’ve only loved two people in my life, Catalina…. The first wasn’t meant to be. He went on with his life and married your sister.”

“And the second one?” She was almost afraid to ask, as the air thickened between them and his eyes met hers. The façade was gone and there laid Augustine in all his humanity. The sheer agony she saw there took her breath away.

“It’s ironic, isn’t it? There’s only one way to be immune to your magic and it seems I have been able to acquire that particular skillset in the past few years.”

She tried to reach for him, but he pulled back.

“No, darling, don’t. I know my place. I know that this is preposterous. I’m all kinds of wrong for you. Connor would beat me to a pulp, and with all reason. Your mother would shoot me. Your cousin would dispose of me in the most efficient way.” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “I know my boundaries and I know this is not meant to be. That’d never meant to be.”

“Augustine.”

“I beg you do not pity me. I’m the Head of a very powerful house and I will get over this feeling. I will. You, in the meantime, will go live your life. Marry your count, Catalina, and do not give this another thought. I’m too old, scarred and jaded for you.”

/-/

10 years later

She looked like a vision. The years have been good to her. She looked poised, intelligent, strong. She looked - was - like everything a Prime should be and still maintained that bright eyed kindness that had driven him to her more than a decade ago.

Sagredo was an idiot to let her go.

“What brings you to my office, Miss Baylor?” he asked

“Why the formalities… we’re practically family, aren’t we?” she adjusted a crease on her black pencil skirt, and his eyes couldn’t help but roam over her figure. Gods have mercy on him. Connor was going to dump a building on his head. And with reason.

“They haven’t made it official yet and until he puts a ring on her finger and the contracts are signed, we are not family.”

Besides, I’ll never be able to look at you as a sister.

“A Montgomery marrying the Beast of Cologne… I hope your brother is ready for temper tantrums.”

“You’re being awfully harsh on your sister. She’s grown up to be a lovely young woman. She’ll bring nothing but joy and dignity to House Montgomery.” He leaned in, because he couldn’t help himself now that he had her so close after all these years. “Although I do fear the day they take over MII and House Montgomery.”

“If you’re so worried, Augustine, you can easily fix that by taking a wife and producing offspring, like a good Head of House.”

He closed his eyes, sighing. Not a chance of that happening.

He could hear the clicking sounds of her heels as she came closer, her scent enveloping him. It was torture, and yet he didn’t want it to end.

“Open your eyes, Augustine.”

He drank her features, allowing himself this one moment of weakness after all these years. “Why are you here, Catalina?” He let threads of his illusion go, letting her see parts of the real him, hoping that his vulnerability will push her away.

She gave him a lopsided smile. “Ten years ago, you had a proposal to make to House Baylor.”

He chuckled. “You mean when I tried to arm twist you into becoming my vassal?”

She bit her lip and he almost groaned. She was too close. “That is one way to look at it…. You remember what I said to you?”

As if he could ever forget….

“You told me that you - that House Baylor - needed to stand on its own. That our relationship would be unbalanced and that I would crush you under me. That you’d lose yourself.” Her words had been clear and concise. They were not equals. There was an unbalance. And she didn’t want it. It was a statement on the impossibility of an agreement as much as it was on the everlasting impossibility of them. Of why they would never be.

She shifted and for a moment he thought she was going to sit on his lap. But she wouldn’t, would she? That’d be preposterous.

“That was the reality then, Augustine. But it’s been ten years.” She leaned over him, her fingers tracing a pattern on the sleeve of his suit. “Things have changed. I - our house- it’s more mature. We stood on our own. We survived. We succeeded. We thrived.”

She’d done all those things and more. He knew it as he hadn’t been able to resist the temptation of keeping tabs with her. Silently, in the shadows, he rejoiced in every one of her triumphs over the last decade.

“You’re a success, Catalina. House Baylor is a success. You’ve done it. But that still doesn’t answer my question.” He needed her out of his office before he made the biggest mistake of his life. “Why are you here?”

“Because I have a proposal for you.”

“For me? Or for House Montgomery?”

“Aren’t they one and the same?”

No, they aren’t.

She stroked his hand and he lost what was left of his sanity. He almost growled at how great her fingers felt on his skin.

“I think we’re ready to enter that agreement in equal footing now and considering the ties that will bind our families, it wouldn’t be far fetched for us to enter such agreement. The Montgomery-Baylor International Investigations. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

If she leaned any closer she was going to collapse into him. He should stand up, put distance between them and yet all he could do was intertwined his fingers with hers and pulled her until her legs touched his.

“Why?”

She shrugged… “If you’re worried about them taking over, let’s build something so strong that even they cannot ruin. Think about it, we could even be bigger than House Rogan if we set up to it.”

Considering House Rogan was busy raising several offspring that have burst with the most unexpected magic combinations and enjoying every minute of it, he didn’t have any doubts that he could one-up his best friend business wise. But not all in life was house business.

“Your proposal does bring a lot appeal. As Head of House, I’d be an idiot not to consider it.”

“And as Augustine?”

“Why would I feel any different?”

“Because you love me.”

Sharp and to the point. Like the daggers he knew she carried around and were her favourite weapon.

He averted his eyes. “That’s ancient history, darling. I got over it a decade ago.”

“Look at me,” she commanded. And the final pieces of his facade dropped and he looked into her eyes as anything but Augustine Montgomery.

Her hand reached for his face and he wanted to recoil, but he was weak to her touch. He leaned into her palm, savoring the moment. “Catalina… don’t do this. I’m trying to do the honorable thing here. Not to mention, preserve my physical integrity. You can’t illusion a corpse.”

She chuckled and the sound was like music to his ears. He was in his forties and he felt as giddy as a teenager whenever she was near. “You foolish idiot… you really don’t have feelings for me?”

“I don’t.” He was going down a rabbit hole with his last piece of sanity.

“Take a closer look, Augustine.” She closed her eyes and hummed briefly. The air around her started to shine as if tiny twinkle-twinkle little stars surrounded her. And suddenly he could see it all: her wings spread wide around her, bent and cocooning the both of them, threads of her magic weaving through him. It was mesmerizing.

“Catalina,” he rasped.

She opened her eyes, her smile wide and almost childish. “I picked up a few tricks here and there in the past few years. And I’ve been hitting you with all my magic since I walked into your office, Augustine, so don’t you dare tell me you don’t love me.”

As if I could have ever stopped.

The words were out of his mouth before he could catch them. And finally - finally - she did what he’d been hoping she’d do since she leaned into him. She lowered herself down and sat on his lap, her arms circling his neck.”You once told me you knew your place. That you were too old, too scarred, too jaded for me. And you were. Perhaps you still are. But the reality is… I would have never wanted you any other way, Augustine.” Her lips brushed his. He didn’t stand a chance. He crushed his mouth into hers, giving into a decade of wanting, of longing, of loving.

“Your family is going to kill me.”

“Ffft, I’d like to see them try. My sister married the Scourge of Mexico, for crying out loud.”

[calzona-ga]

“Oh brother!” had nothin’ on “Oh sister!” in Thursday’s Grey’s Anatomy. While in New York with Link to perform (what ultimately turned out to be) a vertebral column resection on an 18-year-old named Jonah, Amelia wound up agreeing to have dinner with her horrible sister, Nancy (Embeth Davitz)… who surprised her by inviting her even more horrible sister, Kathleen (Amy Acker), whom she described as being like “Martha Stewart if Martha Stewart also had a license to diagnose you with a personality disorder.” Sensing that his bedmate was the “Good Shepherd” that gave the episode its title, Link not only stuck up for her, he went along with her charade that he was her husband, Owen — yep, she’d never told the relatives that hadn’t attended her wedding that it had been followed by a divorce!

The non-couple probably would’ve gotten away with their exercise in role-play, too, had Kathleen not “accidentally” mentioned the family reunion to their mother, Carolyn (Tyne Daly). Having met Owen on a visit with Derek, she no sooner was through the door than the jig was up. “Fake Owen,” Nancy told the so-called black sheep of the Shepherd family, might just be “the most demented thing you’ve ever done.” At that, Amelia stood up for herself, not that her siblings would give her credit for anything if their lives depended on it. When Link attempted to help, he only complicated matters by mentioning Betty and Leo. Finally, off the dinner from hell, Amelia kinda-sorta broke up with Link — he now knew too much about her for their non-relationship to remain uncomplicated!

Thankfully, before the duo returned to Seattle, Carolyn reached out to her daughter and expressed her remorse for pushing her away in the wake of her father’s death. “If you don’t think you’re worthy of love, you’re wrong,” said Mom, “and that’s on me.” So go ahead and blame her, and by all means, move on. What if Amelia couldn’t? “Then that’s on you.” Taking Carolyn’s words to heart, Amelia apologized to Link — with his favorite donuts, even. “You are more than a human blue light,” she admitted, “though you’re very, very good at blue-lighting.” And as if they were ever really off, they were now extra on. What does it all mean for Amelia — and for her and Link — going forward? Fresh off another knockout performance, here’s Caterina Scorsone with the answers.

TVLINE | Biiig episode for Amelia — and, thanks to her mom, a big turning point, too. Oh my gosh, yeah, huge! And when I heard Tyne Daly was actually coming, my heart leapt. I was terrified. All these years, I’d been playing creatively with the image of her as Amelia’s mom. Whenever Amelia’s thinking about her past, I’m picturing Tyne Daly in those inner narratives. So when she walked on the set and I met her for the first time, I burst into tears. It was so embarrassing!

TVLINE | Would you agree that the trick for Amelia going forward will be not falling into old patterns — in other words, not going when the going gets rough? I think what her mom gave her was consciousness. In the early years of childhood, there’s so much information being laid down in the unconscious brain, and for Amelia, that story had a lot of trauma. So as she became older, a lot of her reactions to external stimuli were informed by a fear response or a trauma response as opposed to a consciousness about why she was doing things. So when her mom was able to generously and courageously reflect back to her, “I wasn’t able to help you with attachment to heal after that trauma, and that might be why some of your reactions in relationships are a little broken,” she gave her that consciousness that she was too young to have as a 5-year-old. She now has the missing puzzle piece. She can move on. Not only that, [but Carolyn said, in essence,] “I believe that you can. You have the tools and the grit and the heart to take this missing puzzle piece and do amazing things with it.”

TVLINE | I thought it was so bittersweet that, after Amelia promised Owen she’d try be less wary, it wound up being Link, in a way, that she wound up doing that with. One of the things that’s always been difficult for Owen and Amelia is they both have some pretty severe trauma, so even when she’s trying to be conscious and practice contrary action when she’s afraid, if Owen goes into his fear reaction, they just kinda bump up against each other and their amygdalae are at war. [As the season goes on,] he starts to understand how traumatized he’s been in life, too, so hopefully, they’ll both continue this healing process and become more functional in the love department.

TVLINE | Since Link accepted Amelia’s apology, can we now say that they are officially, totally in an actual relationship? [Laughs] I don’t know if we can call it a relationship. It’s not like she’s wearing his pin or anything! But it’s definitely moved beyond the kind of alternative pain relief [that she initially called it]. She was trying to keep it very surface, but she has definitely realized that he’s more substantive than she had hoped. He’s actually a pretty stand-up guy. We’ll see where she goes with that. I think she’s wise to be a little cautious. She doesn’t wanna jump in with both feet, because that would be crazy — she just got out of a marriage.

TVLINE | Really, he should be sending a thank-you note to Nancy and Kathleen, because he never would’ve gotten quite such a golden opportunity to show Amelia what he was made of if they hadn’t been so utterly horrible to her. [Laughs] I know! And I feel like it’s so unfair [to their portrayers]. They’re just the most delightful, charming women, and they were forced into being these kind of “wicked stepsisters.” But yeah, Amelia’s kinda bewildered by Link. He’s so tirelessly supportive, and yet he has boundaries, where’s he’s like, “Mm, that wasn’t OK with me.” He’s got so much psychological health, it would seem, and Amelia hasn’t really encountered that, so it’s almost like he short-circuits her short circuit. She’s like, “What is this that’s happening here?”

TVLINE | Did you know that Amelia and Link were going to become an item way back when he gave her, I believe the term was, “pants feelings”? [Laughs] I did not. I thought that that line was only serving the storyline with Meredith, but here we are. You never know on Grey’s Anatomy.

[areadersjoy]

Summary: Sam and Dean split up to figure out what needs to be done.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: N/A

Note: the boyos go and be boyos in this one. another boring one, my apologies. but, we’ve got to start somewhere! - K

Posted: 05/14/2018

Chapter 3 : White Lie

"What the hell was that? Why did you have to go and give him a card?!" Dean turned to ask his brother after pulling over.

"He's just a kid, Dean. He doesn't have anybody," Sam said, eyeing his brother in a confused matter. Why was he acting like this?

"Is there... Something you want to talk about...?"

"No. But now that kid might call us and that's just gonna throw us off track of what we actually need to get done," Dean huffed.

"So... You're worried about him interfering with the job?"

Without a reply, Dean pulled back onto the road again, and took right off back down the road in silence. He was clearly angry about something. Sam knew better than anyone to not to bother Dean. It wasn't wise to play with fire.

When the brothers got back to the motel, they began to talk strategy. It was decided that Dean would go out and figure more about the recent disappearances and their relation to Penny's. Sam was going to be dropped off at the library so he could work on his laptop and dig deeper into anything that he deemed as necessary. Normally they would do these things together, but they had been to this town before, so they knew the basics already. They just needed to clarify some things and get a new set of eyes on the situation.

When Sam was dropped off at the library, he sat himself down at a table and dug straight into the disappearances. When they had been there eighteen years earlier, it was obviously Vampires, there was no doubt in the world about it. And when their father had hunted them down, he and Dean took care of things. Or... Had they? Was history repeating itself?

As he dug deeper, Sam found that things with this Vampire theory he had pieced together wasn't adding up. Eighteen years back, the Vampires were going after younger-aged people. But now--if these were Vampires--they were going after both younger, and middle aged people. More people had disappeared now versus back then. Only four people had went missing eighteen years prior in a span of two months, and over the last three months, twelve people had gone. So if these were Vampires, were they from the same pack? And if they were, why were they changing their patterns? This left Sam to think about more things. What could they actually be after?

Without thinking twice, Sam's fingers went over the letters on his keyboard, his mind not even fully comprehending what he was doing, until the name appeared on his screen: Daniel Price Kentucky. He knew Dean would have something to say about this--probably something to dismiss it--but Sam just wanted to know more about this Danny Price character. It couldn't hurt to look, could it? After all, he was Penny's son. And now his mother was missing--he was alone. How could Sam not sympathize with a boy who's mom was gone--even if it was temporarily.

When his search finally appeared, Sam took a few minutes to file out the results that didn't correlate with what he had looked up. Since he didn't want to sit there for eternity to file out every person named Daniel Price to ever be associated with Kentucky, he just spent a few minutes before finally opening a few different pages to begin a different, side investigation.

Spending the next hour and a half with his eyes glued to his laptop screen, Sam figured out everything he could about this Danny. It wasn't the easiest to find anything on him apart from yearbook and class pictures. When he attempted to expand from the pictures, nothing much came from it. Deciding to dig deeper into his ancestry, Sam discovered that the kid really had no family other than his mother, and his late grandfather. So that leaves one question... Who dined and dashed? Whoever the guy was, he wasn't going to be easy to find, especially with the clean record that Penny had. It's not like he mattered anyway at this point... Right?

With the information that he had gathered, Sam had decided that the time had come for him to head back to the motel, in hopes to beat his brother back. In the back of his mind, he was hoping that he could settle down at least a little bit before Dean showed up again and started giving directions.

--

On Dean's end, he had made his way to the hospital. There was a blood drive being held that week--ironically. What better of a situation for those blood suckers to come a-running?

Dean made his way in, his eyes going over every square inch of the room he had just entered. As the dirty blonde arrived at the desk, he looked down at the clipboard, and picked up the pen, scribbling down his name. There was at least ten people ahead of him. He knew he wasn't about to sit there for two hours to get his blood drawn by some trainee and then get a child-sized apple juice. He could go outside and take his own blood and go buy his own damned apple juice! Deciding to go at this the classic Dean Winchester way, he looked right to the young nurse behind the desk. "Hey there, sweetheart. Do you know how long I'll have to wait? I have a little brother that I have to pick up at the library soon. He's studying up for a big test he has coming up over at the library," he grinned.

At first when he began to speak, a scowl was over the young woman's face. But the second she laid eyes on Dean, she went starry-eyed. "Oh-I... I think I can... Move you up if you-you need me to," she paused to take a look at the clipboard, "Dean. We can't leave your brother waiting, now can we?" The woman bat her eyelashes.

Dean just smirked, nodding his head. "I would really appreciate that, ma'am. And little Sammy would, too," the smirk upon his face turned into a smile.

Standing up, the nurse made her way out from behind the desk, and across the hall. Dean turned around, and began to smugly lean against the counter.

In seconds, the young nurse returned, a bright smile on her face. "They're ready for you now, Dean!" She exclaimed, holding the door wide open for him.

Making his way over to the open door, he sent the young woman a wink before entering the poorly-lighted room. And soon, the door was closed behind him.

"Hi, I'm--!" Dean was cut off by the older nurse.

"Winchester, I know. Morgan brought in your file," she paused, pointing to the chair as she began to prepare everything, "sit. Pull up your sleeve as high as it will go."

Dean stared at her for a moment, blinking before he complied, sitting right where she had told him to, pulling up his sleeve. Clearing his throat, he decided this was as good a time as any,

"So, I'm in town to visit a friend, but I haven't been able to get a hold of her. But I know she works here. You might know her though."

"Really?" She asked in an extremely uninterested tone. "What's her name?"

Dean paused, licking his lips as he watched the nurse tie a rubber band around his upper arm. "Do you know a Penny Price?" He questioned.

Immediately, the scowl on the woman's face left, a sad look replacing it as she turned away, going to prepare the needle.

"I wanted to go visit Danny, Her son?" Dean pressed, "but I didn't want to scare the kid. I haven't seen him since he was... Five or six? Plus, I would want Penny to be there. And I can't get a hold of her." The nurse turned around, gloves on and all. Dean could tell she wasn't going to give him anything, so he decided to brainstorm. She wouldn't go for my charm--but it wouldn't hurt to try, right...? No--it would hurt! She's about to stick a needle into my arm! Damn it!

But then it struck him. He just had to lie even more than he already was! Screw the white lie he just tried to go with! Just go all the way! Looking away for a minute before looking back, Dean let out a deep sigh.

"It's just... Danny is my son," he let out. "And--I know it's way too late for this, but I want to help out with his life. It would be the right thing to do," Dean explained. The nurse stared at the man before her, his arm in her hands, in search of a vein to drain blood from. Dean could see in her eyes that she actually did believe him. Or... Maybe she was just as good as an actor as he was? Before Dean could open his mouth again, she found a place she liked, and roughly pushed in the needle, making Dean grunt. 

"So you're the dad, huh?" She asked in a dull tone, glaring right at him. "I can see it. Penny didn't talk about Daniel's father very much. But I can see a lot of you in the boy," she told him.

This made Dean nod, as he gave a fake smile.

"I'm... Glad. My legacy lives on, I guess," he attempted to joke. This made the woman give him an even darker look--if possible. Clearing his throat, he asked,

"so, is she here today at work?" 

"She... No. She hasn't been for a few days."

"What? Why not? Is she sick?!"

"No... I don't think so. She... She's missing," the woman sighed, shaking her head. "Poor boy of hers. After her father passed away a few years back, it was just her and Danny, no family at all. That boy's gotta be overwhelmed with all of those police officers on his back these passed couple of days," she paused, "now really wouldn't be the best time for you to see Danny. He needs family. Not a man he hasn't seen for most of his life."

"I understand," Dean said, pretending to hold his breath as she finally removed the needle from his arm, quickly beginning to patch him up. 

"The whole situation is strange, really. She didn't even show up at work that day. Her car did, but she didn't. So, Winchester," she paused once again, placing the bandage on him, "I suggest you get in your car, and drive right back out of town."

Taking in the information she was given, Dean nodded once again. Pulling down his sleeve and standing back up, he thanked the woman as he headed to the door, and soon outside, back to his beloved Impala. Once he sat back down, the only thing that went through his mind was the fact that he got no new information. But the more he thought about this whole situation the less it seemed like it had to do with vampires.

It was time to head back to the motel to see Sammy so they could talk everything over.

[anhed-nia]

5/3/17: FIRE WALK WITH ME vs PHENOMENA - The Comparative Analysis No One Asked For!

TWIN PEAKS: FIRE WALK WITH ME (1992) and PHENOMENA (1985) is a pairing that may not immediately leap to mind, but they have two obvious things in common: They are products of two of the world's best loved genre filmmakers, and they were thought to represent the nadir of each director's career at the time of release. Incidentally, they are also both predicated on a sort of Alice through the looking glass structure, and as such, they may have more to offer as a duet than a cursory consideration would suggest. 

When FIRE WALK WITH ME made its debut, after David Lynch’s groundbreaking television series was cancelled, the former suffered a lot from the preciousness with which audiences regarded Twin Peaks. A show fan (as opposed to a Lynch fan) might accept cutesy kookiness but not psychoanalytic abstraction; they might welcome a few good scares, but not constant terror and misery; and importantly, they might enjoy the idea of a cheerleader with a dark side, but sicken when the facts of Laura Palmer's life are laid bare unromantically in all their R-rated glory. Topping all that off with the absence of most of the show's beloved characters and/or actor (many of who expressed bitterness over Lynch more or less abandoning the program in its oft-maligned second season), it is unsurprising that the film met with boos, walkouts and scathing reviews upon release.

After a fashion, FIRE WALK WITH ME enjoyed a favorable reappraisal by its public, but no such forgiveness would come for Dario Argento's PHENOMENA. (At least, not for a while) This grisly fairy tale in which Jennifer Connelly uses her psychic connection with insects, and the aid of Donald Pleasance's wayward helper monkey, to solve a series of murders, was considered by many to be the beginning of the end of Argento's envelope-pushing career. Up to that point, fans delighted in the logistical acrobatics of manic detective stories like PROFONDO ROSSO and TENEBRE, and happily accepted the rather loose story structure of a fever dream like SUSPIRIA in light of its astonishing aesthetic powers. However, even these adventurous viewers had a hard time with PHENOMENA's delirious dialog, its hysterical musical blend opera with speed metal and surf rock, and its entirely preposterous premise. I have yet to come across a piece of critical writing that values this film as more than a collection of extreme examples of Argento's defining characteristics as an artist. With that said, I have preemptively congratulated myself for attempting to say something about it as a story.

Both FWWM and PHENEMONA tell a little-girl-lost tale, in which the girls are specifically lost in a world of intimate violence and betrayal, with supernatural overtones. Their similarities are cosmetic, too: The mountain town of Twin Peaks, where prom queen Laura Palmer (Sheryl Lee) lives and dies, is bathed in a searing white light by day as if to parody the pretended purity and simplicity of its people. A similarly blinding daylight bleaches the eerie environs of the Swiss Alps where a movie star has sent his beautiful daughter, Jennifer Corvino (Jennifer Connelly), to a fancy boarding school. By night, an evil darkness seeps out of the pines surrounding both settings, laying cover for libidinous young men and bloodthirsty murderers. Our schoolgirl heroines have to battle the mundane evils of ignorant adults and predatory peers, as well as real monsters disguised as loving fathers.

Although FIRE WALK WITH ME is a prequel to Twin Peaks, Laura Palmer is already in deep trouble at the beginning of the movie. Because she is the most popular girl in the world, seeming to have it all, no one in a position to help thinks to wonder about her erratic behavior, nocturnal flights from home, and often-transparent misery. With nobody watching out for her, Laura's fate is determined by the men in her life: her boyfriend Bobby, who is more a rabid dog than a person; her secret lover James, who lacks the humility to imagine anything more important than his shallow puppy love; and Jacques, the owner of a bar on the wild Canadian border, who feeds Laura's cocaine addiction and her compulsion to endanger and degrade herself. As per the unfortunate cliche, Laura's relationships are patterned after her relationship with her father, who in this case is essentially the devil.

Jennifer Corvino is also haunted by the specter of her father, who has a huge impact on her life, even though he never materializes. When she arrives at the elite Richard Wagner Academy for Girls, she is burdened with the stigma of having a rich, famous, and desirable daddy. Her social life basically has two facets, which her new roommate Sophie demonstrates succinctly: Jennifer is either subject to other people's sexual obsession with her father, or subject to their sadism and jealousy of her supposedly desirable station in life. When Jennifer reveals that she knows movie star Paul Corvino, Sophie mindlessly assails her with a lustful rant about his body, and an invasive question about whether she has fucked him yet, before Jennifer patiently explains that he is her father. It's hard to completely blame Sophie for her behavior, since Jennifer has brought armloads of pinups of her dad to decorate their dorm--a strange way for a person to relate to a parent. The oedipal vibe of this scene is underlined by a weird comic touch in which Jennifer, hungry from her long journey, eats a jar of baby food left behind by Sophie's family. Throughout the film, the infantilized Jennifer pines for the father who has abandoned her for a foreign film shoot, longing for his protection from even less caring adults.

Where Jennifer's character is colored by this subtle form of romance with her father, Laura's life is ruined by the very real affair that her father (Ray Wise) carries on with her during the twilight fugue states shared by both of them. Her repressed awareness of this ongoing trauma bubbles up to her consciousness in the form of hallucinatory visions of a demonic older man called Bob (Frank Silva) who has been raping her since childhood. Laura sees Bob lurking in her bedroom, blames him for pages torn out of her secret diary, and believes he that he intends to fully possess her and thereby incarnate himself as her. Laura has only one real friend in the world, who she can't possible tell about Bob: innocent Donna Hayward (played here by Moira Kelly rather than Lara Flynn Boyle, to pretty much universal dismay). Donna loves Laura with the kind of unconditional love that easily blooms when a person doesn't really know anything about the object of their affection. Donna's naivete is so total that Laura must shield her not only from the story of Bob, but from her crippling drug addiction and forays into prostitution. Inevitably, Donna martyrs herself on the cross of their friendship, attempting to prove her devotion by borrowing some of Laura's sluttier clothes, getting wasted and almost screwing a young tough in the middle of Jacque's bar. The harrowing sequence concludes with Laura, who has been perfectly evil to Donna all night in an attempt to scare her off, giving vent to a shattering scream at the sight of her friend being molested. Still, she is unable to experience or express actual love, screeching at her best friend, "DON'T YOU EVER WEAR MY STUFF!" 

Donna's love for Laura is only as deep as her maturity allows, and FIRE WALK WITH ME and Twin Peaks frequently touch on the way in which teenage relationships are exactly as passionate as they are shallow. PHENOMENA takes this a step further, describing the corrosive, sadistic social environment that stereotypically sprouts up between girls. After Jennifer tells the heartbreaking story of her philandering mother walking out on the family on Christmas (which, apropos nothing, bears a curious similarity to Phoebe Cates' dead santa story from GREMLINS), Sophie says, as if she hadn't heard a word, that she's glad Jennifer has arrived because she gets so lonely at night. Throughout their entire conversation, in fact, Jennifer's dialog and Sophie's dialog never seem to quite match up, as if they were in two separate movies. This makes for an acute description of the way in which young women readily perform the drama of being best friends forever, while not really acknowledging each other as individuals, or even liking each other very much. Shortly hereafter, Sophie absconds with Jennifer's black and gold Armani pullover (all of the apparel in this film is provided by Armani, which contributes excellently to the film's slick, icy look) to rendezvous with her boyfriend along the shadowy treeline. She brags about knowing the daughter of a celebrity and stealing her clothes, but when she realizes that her boyfriend is now interested in Jennifer, she changes her tune. "She wears her hair like mine," Sophie boasts, as if she were the influencer, and then cattily divulges that Jennifer sleepwalks, and must be crazy. PHENOMENA being essentially a slasher movie, Sophie isn't long for this world, but Jennifer responds to her gruesome murder with a spirit of vengeance for her supposed friend. Jennifer’s sweetness is offset by her stuck-up peers, and PHENOMENA boasts the mother of all mean girl sequences, a psychotic update of CARRIE's "plug it up" scene in which Jennifer's classmates attack her for believing she can speak to bugs. A fabulous swirling tracking shot gathers a growing gang of girls around Jennifer, as they taunt her with insect noises which transform into a chant: “WE WORSHIP YOU! WE WORSHIP YOU!” Naturally, Jennifer's insect friends descend on the school, threatening to crash through the windows as she declares messianically, "I love you. I love you all." Of course, the grownups at the academy are partially to blame for the atmosphere around Jennifer. This revelation about her powers came to light because, guided by the psychic voice of a firefly, Jennifer discovered one of the missing Sophie's gloves, which contained a helpful maggot. This is another one of the film's great and powerful scenes: Jennifer, cherubic in a white nightgown and dwarfed by the cold luminous cube of her dorm, glides across the pitch-black lawn as if in slow motion--while, in stark contradiction to this dreamy image, the soundtrack blasts a scathing speed metal anthem. It's a fascinating aesthetic device that Argento will employ again later in the film, accompanying slow, quite action with crushing, thrashy music. In any case, when Jennifer naively admits that a maggot told her about Sophie's murder, the domineering headmistress (the astonishing-looking Dalila Di Lazzaro, who is no Alida Valli but she gets the job done) calls the men in the white coats. Jennifer is subject to a number of humiliating experiments and tests to evaluate her mental health ("Do you take anything? Like, do you understand...DRUGS?"), on which she storms out. Where Laura Palmer is almost totally alone in the world due to her perceived perfection, Jennifer Corvino is alienated by constant scrutiny.

Laura has just one, tragically ineffectual source of aid--generically, forces from the Black Lodge. The backwards-speaking Man From Another Place (Michael J. Anderson) seems to try to warn her and Special Agent Dale Cooper (Kyle MacLachlan) of her fate, but he speaks only in poetic code. Cooper himself tries and fails to advise her through her dreams, and Laura also receives strange messages from one of her Meals On Wheels recipients. Mrs. Chalfont (Frances Bay) and her grandson, a mute junior magician who hides behind a disturbing pagan mask, try to intervene with Laura, but only manage to terrorize her further. Ordinary sources of support are absent or utterly corrupt, including Laura's mother (the inimitable Grace Zabriskie), who exists in a state of fragile, attenuated silence, unable to confront what she must know is happening between her husband and her daughter. Although Sarah Palmer also receives visions from the Black Lodge, she retreats from them in terror and resigns herself to her circumstances. She even accepts an obviously drugged libation from her husband before bedtime, when the trouble begins.

The great power of FIRE WALK WITH ME, and also Twin Peaks, is that Laura's father is not pure evil. Leland Palmer is given profound depth by Ray Wise, with his limitlessly expressive face, and unpredictable vacillation between warmth and violence. We simultaneously pity and fear him: He truly loves his daughter, urgently consoling her when they are confronted by the One-Armed Man (Al Strobel) in traffic, and making a tearful bedside appearance that amounts to a tacit admission of guilt. He evinces a genuine desire to be close to his daughter, which is unfortunately inseparable from his desire to be with her as a man. Leland is much more than a good guy by day, and a bad guy when possessed by an evil spirit; he caught in the unbridgeable schism that yawns between the aspirational ego-self, and the id, the self taken over by trauma and pathology. Within David Lynch's supernatural fable is a completely authentic story about mental illness and incest that strikes all the right psychological chords.

While Jennifer's father never becomes more than an idea, she does attract a separate father figure in the course her search for Sophie's killer, who may in fact be a serial killer. Donald Pleasance plays paraplegic forensic entomologist  Dr. John McGregor, who happened to have been close friends with a previous victim. Jennifer meets him after one of her somnambulistic excursions, when she is led away from the scene of a near-gang rape by McGregor’s chimpanzee Inga. McGregor, who apparently has a way with teenage girls, quickly determines that Jennifer has a special connection to insects--specifically, he notes that a certain beetle in his care is trying to get it on with her: "You're arousing him, and he's doing his best to arouse you." While McGregor is meant to be charming, and never does anything explicitly inappropriate, his role in the story contributes to a feeling that Jennifer can never escape a certain freudian pattern, whether she is being accused of having sex with her father, actually pining for her father, or being eroticized by the nearest father figure in her life.

PHENOMENA takes much stranger strides in examining the maternal archetype in this saga--most often enacted by some form of wicked stepmother. By now we have been introduced to the idea of Jennifer's deadbeat mom, and the angry, jealous-seeming headmistress who tries to have Jennifer committed, but there is a third figure in play who the audience may have counted out at the beginning of the movie. Dario Argento's erstwhile creative and romantic partner Daria Nicolodi (from whom he separated the year of this film's release--and whatever it means, Argento cast his daughter Fiore, from another partnership, as the first victim) plays Frau Bruckner, an employee at the school who seems pretty dismissible at first. She suddenly becomes relevant toward the last act when McGregor is murdered by the mysterious killer. Seemingly sympathetic, Bruckner invites Jennifer to spend the night at her home--but once they're there, the helpful older woman becomes strange and threatening. Noticing a profusion of shrouded mirrors in the house, Jennifer prompts her hostess to deliver a disturbing monologue about her "sick" son, the product of a rape whom she considers a burden and a constant torment. "These things can happen in a woman's life," Bruckner observes darkly. Indeed, even a normal pregnancy is something that happens to a woman, something she cannot share with her husband nor her children. The child is under no natural obligation to empathize with the trials of motherhood, and inevitably, and a mother has little control over the person her child will become. This can be pretty bad news for the mother, but from the child's point of view, if you are primarily identified as something that has happened to your mother, then what can you possibly expect from her?

Things escalate quickly with the obviously bad-news Bruckner, leading to a chase that includes one of the gnarliest images ever to grace a screen: Jennifer, in her chic white-on-white uniform, plunges into a basement dungeon brimming with a stew of putrifying human remains. Jennifer struggles to tread water in this rancid soup as Bruckner taunts her; nearby, an interloping detective is chained to a wall, and uses Jennifer's diversion to break free and attack Bruckner with his chains chain. Jennifer flees the scene, and finds herself in the room of Bruckner's little boy. Foolishly, she sympathizes with him, perhaps as one abandoned and stigmatized child to another, and tells him that he is finally free of his evil mother. When she removes the shroud from a mirror, the child flies into a rage, revealing himself to be indescribably deformed and equally violent. He chases Jennifer out to a lake and onto a motorboat, in a scene curiously reminiscent of the end of FRIDAY THE 13TH. She summons a swarm of insects that skeletonize the boy, and makes her way to shore, only to be confronted by Bruckner. The madwoman confesses to murdering McGregor and others in order to hide her son's taste for schoolgirl blood, and nearly decapitates Jennifer with a piece of sheet metal--before she is attacked by Inga, the monkey, in a climactic battle that defies description, even by the standards of a movie that already stretches the definition of “over the top”. Then, as Wikipedia eloquently puts it, "With the ordeal over, Jennifer and the chimp embrace."

Even detractors of PHENOMENA will usually admit that its high camp is extremely entertaining. FIRE WALK WITH ME, on the other hand, has hardly a shred of humor, unlike the frequently kitschy and nostalgic Twin Peaks, making it a constant stream of wrenching terror and sadness. Laura's appalling fate is sealed by a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy: She is being raped by her father, which produces in her a suicidal self-loathing, which leads her down a path of dangerous prostitution, and then when her father discovers this activity, he does away with her. Although FWWM is much easier to identify as a work of art, its finale has problems that are not dissimilar to PHENOMENA, and I personally find it less easy to like. Half-possessed by Bob, Leland drags Laura and another young sex worker off to a disused train car. There, he savagely brutalizes both women in an aria of sadism, punctuated by hysterical confessions from Leland and Bob about their collaborative, lifelong victimization of Leland's child. It is hard to watch, and even harder to look away. This is all well and good, but then, as if Lynch had painted himself into a corner, something utterly untrue to the world of the film takes place. Referencing a gaudy religious painting in Laura's bedroom, an actual angel appears to her as her soul leaves her body and is relegated to the Black Lodge for eternity. If it is meant to be a hallucination, this is a lousy place for it, since Twin Peaks features literal ethereal figures all the time. If it is meant to be taken literally, and I believe it is, an angel is a lousy choice, since the Black Lodge is dominated by a distinctly non-Christian ideology, usually with Native American overtones. There is a single reference to a guardian angel in an especially terrible piece of the second season of Twin Peaks, but I would refuse to accept that as a reasonable excuse for this. Just to pour some salt in the wound, the angel is accompanied by opera music, marking a jarring aesthetic departure from the entire rest of the film and the show, which is characterized as much by Angelo Badalamenti's jazz score as anything else. Lynch could at least have cast Julee Cruise as the angel to help keep us in the mood, but no such luck. This interruption makes it hard to stay focused on the film's concluding image of Laura weeping in terror and relief, under Dale Cooper's benevolent gaze, in the Black Lodge. Oh well; fortunately, the rest of the film is so forceful that its resonance survives this gaffe.

Before I cut myself off, I would just like to make one further remark about FIRE WALK WITH ME. It is a serious shame that people remember Laura Palmer better than they remember the actress Sheryl Lee. Even fans who can easily name Lara Flynn Boyle and Sherilyn Fenn have a hard time calling Laura Palmer anything other than Laura Palmer. I'm not entirely sure what accounts for this, other than that the Laura Palmer character is so exciting to people that she has become more important as an archetype, than as a work of art executed by a skilled performer. It's completely unfair to Sheryl Lee, who gives us a performance that I wouldn't even want to live through myself. The woman has to cry throughout the entire film, which seems exhausting to say the least, but it's not a simple matter of emoting; she makes it so raw that it's terrifying to watch. Lee takes a simple line like "Who was that man? Do you know him?", and delivers it with the blistering urgency of a woman mounting the gallows. There is a lot to love about the formal composition of FWWM, but the truth is that without this actress's torturous commitment to making Laura Palmer psychologically correct, the whole structure might come crashing down. Everyone whose life has been touched by Twin Peaks, even those of us who relate more to the iconic Donna and Audrey, owe Sheryl Lee more thanks than we have given her.

[tehfloridaman-blog]

All Wars

Alright! So, below is my first fully-published story included in an anthology novel that was the ultimate product of about two weeks of work over last summer, though it’s hardly my best writing I’ve done so far, it’s not my worst, either! If anything I’d call it a fitting dive into my career as a writer. Taking a typical science fiction trope and adding my own unique touch alongside some thematic elements--but enough of that, don’t wanna spoil anything. Without further ado, I present...All Wars!

“All wars are civil; for it is always the man against the man who pours out his own blood, that tears his own entrails.” –François Fénelon.

             It had only been a few minutes after the alarms blared that Soicon, Oros, and Kaine entered the lower levels of the Defense Ministry. Surrounding them were reinforced walls, painted yellow by the various flashing lights. Despite being at least a mile underground, Kaine could hear the deafening noise through the elevator shaft.

           “Dammed alarms,” Soicon grumbled, clutching the datapad close as he stepped out of the elevator. “They’ll make us all deaf before they blind us.”

           “It’s standard procedure for this kind of scenario.” Oros sighed, rubbing his head with his hand. “We’re just unlucky to have not noticed the ships sooner.”

           “Perhaps mobilizing the army isn’t needed? After all, we’ve no idea what they intend for us.” Kaine said, his hands behind his back as he hurriedly followed after them.

           “Ever open a holo-book, Kaine? Or see a movie? It’s probably an invasion fleet, we’re right to prepare to defend ourselves and our planet.”

           “No, Soicon, it’s protocol. If the Defense Ministry was dictated by paranoid cynics such as you, this planet wouldn’t have unified by now.” Oros rolling of his eyes.

           “I disagree, Soicon. We can’t base real events off of fiction. For the longest time, we didn’t think life existed on other worlds.”

           Soicon narrowed his eyes at Kaine as they reached the war room door, leaning against it as he spoke. “Oh, I apologize, Kaine. I had no idea you understood the mindsets of aliens!”

           “Soicon, enough of this or I’ll have you detained. It’s bad enough that the entire ministry’s in a panic, we should at least represent a bastion of duty in this chaos.” Oros shook his head in disgust.

           “Understood, Commandant.” Soicon sneered as he raised the datapad, tapping on it while Kaine walked over to the door.

           “Has anyone considered the possibility that they’re just travelers seeking peace or companionship? Consider this-it’s what we would want.”

           “If they are like us, who’s to say they won’t desire war? They may not be coming here of free will, more so out of desperation. If they truly have achieved a higher technology level, imagine the state of their planet! It must be a ball of rock, unable to support any life whatsoever.” Soicon handed the datapad over to Oros, who then traced his finger down it as he mumbled to himself.

           “What would be the purpose in annihilating other sentients? We are equals, therefore we would benefit from cooperation.”

           “War is in the very nature of species!”

           “And what if we incite war by preparing for it?” Kaine snapped, narrowing his eyes.

           Oros got between the two men-each having neared closer to the other as they spoke.. Kaine and Soicon both stepped back. “Enough, both of you. We will do as our orders dictate. In the end we cannot predict the future, merely prepare for it.”

           “Aye, sir.” They said in unison, Soicon walking back over to the door as Oros approached Kaine with the datapad.

           “I’m afraid we can’t let you go in just yet, Kaine. Senator Gurrin isn’t present in the War Room.”

           “Ah, yes, he has… fancied visiting my sister’s housing unit as of late. Shall I head there posthaste? Perhaps she knows of his location...”

           “With Godspeed, Kaine. We’ll have to lock down the ministry if those ships arrive while you’re gone, in that event, perhaps it’s best to stay with your sister.”

           “Hah! Never in a thousand full rotations, sir.”

Within a cubic rotation he was outside the city, nearing an outer housing unit where his sister lived. As opposed to the larger inner housing complexes within the city that held many smaller units, outer housing complexes contained large, usually two floor, housing units owned by one or two people.

As he approached the complex, Kaine spotted a military troop-transport in the middle of the road; crossing the two lines that displayed the paths allowed to be taken by vehicles. He stopped his hover car and stepped out, waving over to the soldiers standing in front of the blockade. The highest ranking one- a Sergeant- walked over, blinking as he noticed the yellow uniform of Kaine.

“An attendant? I thought you all were over at the HQ…what’re you doing all the way out here?”

“Apologies for the surprise, sergeant. May I ask why you’re barricading the road?”

“Ah, well, that…that is because…” He paused, clapping his hands in thought before continuing. “…because we were told to? Didn’t the radio say something about staying indoors?”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know, I’ve had it off.”

“Well that just isn’t safe! You know, the radio knows what’s good for us! Like warning us about the bastards coming to seize our planet!

“…yes, uh. Can you move your transport now? Urgent business.”

“‘Course! You stay safe now, attendant, and enjoy the show when it happens!” He gestured for the transport to move ever so slightly, freeing the path. Kaine nodded in thanks as he climbed back into the hover car and sped off.

The various home units were different in mostly minor ways, be it the number of windows or their color or one floor versus two. The designs were always the same: a cylindrical shape alongside a domed top, with a platform in the center of the driveway to lower cars to prevent theft, although only one could be underground at a time.            

Kaine pulled up to the driveway of his soul-sister’s peach colored house, parking in front of the platform before stepping out of the car and heading over to the front door. The door itself was a flat slab of gray metal with some cyan along it in a circular pattern. Placing his hand on the door’s center, he spoke slowly and clearly towards the slab.

“Lana? It’s me, Kaine, can you-” He was cut off as the door slid up and he was pulled into a tight hug by his soul-sister, her green jacket hood falling off as she held him like a defensive beast would for a recently claimed catch.

“Soul-brother! Oh, how I’ve waited for you! What’s going on at the ministry? Will we be safe? Is Gurrin needed?” She bombarded him with fast, energetic questions as she bounced away from the hug, still holding Kaine’s arms as he blinked in surprise.            “…may I please see Gurrin, soul-sister? There’s little time to waste,” He replied in a slow, quiet voice as he reached up to put his hands on her shoulders. “You’ll be fine, though, I saw soldiers securing this area not long ago.”

“Soldiers? Here? Or where? Did they say why? Are those ships close? And how close?”

Kaine sighed, avoiding eye contact as he sought an answer; managing to find his words a few seconds later as he attempted to calm her further. “To keep you safe just in case panic ensues, there’s no indication those ships mean any harm to us.”

“What if they do?”            “We’ll be able to fend them off or attempt diplomacy. Now, please, direct me to Gurrin.” Finding no further questions, she led him inside. Lana was his soul-sister, a sibling that came not from his mother but instead one that came from his father finding a new companion. In society this act of finding new companions was considered wise if the new relationship worked out better than the old one.  

Once inside, Kaine was met with the similarly peach colored interior along with a black, red, and green carpet covering the floor. Laying flat on his back atop a circular, dark green sofa in the center of the room was the uniformed senator. His arms and legs limply laid over the side of the sofa with his cape, once Kaine got closer he could see that Gurrin was wearing a rust colored mask over his nose and mouth; one of Kaine’s old injector units. A device that dispensed a recreational drug meant to remove stress and relax the user.

“Senator Gurrin, a pleasure to see-”

“Get on with it, Kaine,” Gurrin wheezed out, leaning his head up as his eyes narrowed at Kaine. “If you’re here to summon me for protection,” He spat the word out if it were a curse. “Then you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

“All high-ranking members of the Defense Ministry are needed in the War Room post haste, Senator. You’ll be far safer there than you will here-”

“Noooo. No. Kaine,” The senator sat up, his body movement indicating it was a colossal effort. He wheezed slightly, grasping at the mask to remove it from his mouth. After a few seconds, he finally managed to remove the mask-showing that the area around his mouth had become heavily wrinkled and parched from the substance he’d been inhaling. “I want no part in this farce of a meeting. I’d rather live a survivor of the conflict than someone executed for his part in starting it.”            Kaine nodded in defeat before making his way for the exit. If he could not convince the senator see reason, what was the point of wasting his time here? After bidding his sister goodbye, he returned to the highway. At that point, Kaine was so lost inside his thoughts that be barely avoided hitting a stopped hover car on the road; swerving out of the way just in time before he could collide with the car’s rear. Stepping out, he prepared to give the driver a piece of his mind before noticing just what the driver had been looking at.

There were four ships in the sky.

Large ones, their main bodies were white with the rear parts around the thrusters and what Kaine assumed was the main bridge-judging by the line of windows-being a light gray. The ship was large at the front, having a mostly cubical shape before turning into more of a rectangle at the thrusters. The most striking feature was the crest on the side of the ships: Two symbols above a blue planet with various green landmasses on it. The first symbol curved downward, stayed down, and then curved up. Like some kind of cup or glass. The other shape was a vertical, three pronged line that could be passed off as a tool of some kind. After the first and second symbol was a dot separating the first symbol from the second and the second from the empty space following it.  

Taking a closer look, Kaine noticed various metal barrels and boxes with holes in them starting to come out of the sides of the ship.

All four ships then fired on the capital.

It was an utter cacophony of noise, nothing like the quiet plasma weapons the army used. The city was consumed by explosions, the amount of light produced was blinding while the noise could deafen anyone. Kaine put his hands on the side of his head, closing all of his eyes as he waited for the muffled sounds of the barrage to cease. Eventually they did, with Kaine being greeted by the sight of the once gleaming capital brought to ruin; almost all of the buildings were missing large chunks while others were simply vaporized by the bombardment.

Kaine simply sat there on his knees in utter shock, both at what had just occurred and how utterly wrong he had been. After what seemed to be ages, the military transport stopped in front of Kaine; snapping him out of his daze as the door opened and the Sergeant from before leaned out.

“You wanna come aboard, sir? We’re offta kill some outsiders!” He said, holding up his plasma rifle with a smile. “Radio says that the ministry building’s still up an’ running!”

Kaine’s eyes widened at the revelation that most of his coworkers may have survived the inferno inflicted upon the city, quickly nodding in acceptance at the offer as he jumped into the back of the transport. Contrary to Kaine’s quiet stoicism, many of the soldiers inside -numbering at around eight- were laughing and expressing joy that they finally would be able to see some action. It disgusted Kaine how glad they were that the first sentient species they’d ever encountered sought to kill them. Who could desire such a thing?

And what purpose would it serve to spread war to other species across the cosmos? Or enslave them? Was Kaine’s race not equal to this unknown species on the galactic plane of existence? Even if these creatures sought resources, what could not be gained via diplomacy or communication? Kaine gripped his head, spinning within his thoughts up until the transport grinded to a halt.

“Why’ve we stopped?” He stood as the door began to lower, the other soldiers getting into position with rifles at the ready as the Sergeant answered.

“Spotted outsiders on the ground here, gonna make them regret bombing us!” Kaine apprehensively followed the soldiers outside, not wanting to be left behind. The city was in absolute ruin, the roads were torn to shreds with fallen chunks of building wedged within them. Luckily, the ruins provided Kaine and the soldiers plenty of cover as they cautiously crept forward.

Suddenly, a loud crack rang out as the troops ducked for cover and began wildly firing their weapons. The cracks increased with frequency, projectiles starting to hit the positions that the soldiers hid behind. Kaine ran, diving into a nearby ruined storefront as the automatic weapons fire continued. Briefly looking outside, Kaine spotted the soldiers in various states of disarray; attempting to organize against their unknown enemy, despite the fight clearly not going to end in their favor.

Though it took a few nano rotations, the fight eventually ended with the aliens as the winners. Kaine crept out slowly around the corpses of his deceased fellows, hearing one of the creatures speak in an odd tongue, one he didn’t understand:

“Zeta Actual here, hostile squad eliminated; they had no idea what hit ‘em. How copy, Zeta Command?” The creature spoke into a boxy object with a small pole sticking out of it, a mechanical voice coming out of it. Some kind of neural transmitter? Were these beings robots? Cyborgs? Clones? “Affirmative, command, unit suffered one casualty. Mhm. Yes, sir, we’ll be there right away. Glory to the Unified Earth.” With that, the leader gestured for the rest to follow him into a machine that looked somewhat similar to the troop transport; except theirs was far more angular and utilized some kind of tread system in lieu of hoverpads.

It was then that Kaine noticed the body they’d left behind.

It had on an all white uniform, with gray colored parts under its arms, gloves, on its shoulders, in between its legs, and on its sides. The patch it had on either shoulder matched that which Kaine had seen on the ships. The creature’s helmet was dome-like in shape, much like most buildings, and appeared to be tied to his neck. Kaine realized this after trying to tug it off, then reaching up to feel the thing’s...was that a nose? Kaine felt it all the way from the back to its front, pushing around the fleshy bit at the tip even while the harder rear resisted his attempts to move it. Kaine felt his own nose, two small slits along his face just below his eyes.

Kaine then poked the flesh on its face, the surface was soft, not hard like Kaine’s chitin, and easily malleable. Then onto what looked to be its mouth: as opposed to the smooth, featureless areas above and below Kaine’s mouth, this creature had some kind of pink, fleshy...covering? And its teeth! Not sharp and tilted back, flat and straight like blocks of marble.

Kaine felt dizzy, putting a hand on his head before looking down to the creature’s digits. Five fingers? How could such a being operate! He lifted up what was clearly a thumb, then the main finger, then the next one-which was somehow larger than the first finger, as opposed to Kaine’s symmetrical digits-and then the next that was yet again smaller than the second...and then the fifth finger. A deformed twig of a finger. Kaine shuddered before setting the hand down. So much was wrong with it. Two eyes instead of four, those eyes being round instead of line-like on Kaine’s head...and the color! Brown! Not a glowing blue at all.

Kaine sat by the corpse, eventually laying down next to it with his hand on his chest. Though the body next to him wasn’t remotely similar to Kaine, he still felt saddened by its death. They were both sentient beings with a history, and a homeplanet. A family with loved ones. Somewhere to go to buy new clothing, to see the next movie, to get food and drinks.

Kaine just couldn’t understand why these beings wanted war.