#Misty pieced together that he must have painted them

[imagionary]

(AU, as is most the ttcc art I post)

Into the wilderness once again; the meaning of the word 'defunct' unearthed

Robotic gore under cut

[justmightyshadows]

The Three Lost Ones

Jaheira, Lae'zel and Minthara all yearn for the pieces of their home lost to them. I'm exploring how they dealt with/deal with that loss or how they feel about those places now or simply them in those places. These are all SFW.

This is from a prompt sent to me, enjoy! I made each one really different I think and may have gone off the rails a bit from the prompt, as is my way.

Lae’zel and Saamrel (Tav)

It was always after a hard fought battle that Lae’zel would look up into the sky as if she would hear the chants of victory coming from her childhood home and her people. Today felt different, she settled into the hot springs and sighed. “I would like to see it again.” Tav didn’t have to ask what she meant, ever since Vlaakith had turned against her, Lae’zel’s yearning for K’liir had only grown. Every time she sank her blade into another Githyanki’s heart it seemed as if a piece of her was there again.

“We can return, but it will not be a peaceful visit.” Saamrel says to her as they rub their aching shoulders into the water.

“It was not a peaceful upbringing, it would be foolish to be there and not be think their will be battles of all sorts. At least there my glory will be painted on the stone, at least there it will be a sign of my prowess.”

Saamrel let’s the silence settle over them, what Lae’zel seeks may be youth or freedom, it is almost certainly not that she yearns for the sight of her home but she will not know that until she has faced the past herself.

“Then we should show them what has become of Lae’zel of Creche K’liir and when we are done with the hard work of battle, will there be a hot springs?” Saamrel wanted nothing more than to relax after following Lae’zel into what felt like the hundredth battle of the week. She was a warlock not a warrior and keeping up with Lae'zel made them realize it more and more.

“Tchk, the springs here are minuscule and the water only heats sore muscles. On K’liir the water heals wounds as well, the minerals of the tears bind the flesh back together and leave it brand new.” Lae’zel looks at the misty water around them with disdain, as if staring at it hard enough would get it to do flesh mending on command.

Saamrel moves closer to her, resting their head on Lae’zel’s chest. Lae sits up to give them space and looks down with soft eyes at Saamrel. She wraps an arm around them and kisses their forehead lightly.

“It sounds exceptional Lae. Tell me more about this place - you’re selling me so far.” They close their eyes and listen to the soft hum of Lae’zel's voice.

“On K’liir we can sleep under the sea of stars spread out around us, the colors are beyond your imagination, trying to describe them would take far too long. The halls of the Creche are made from solid stone - carved by hand over many years. For that reason it is one of the most unique Creche locations in that we made it completely ourselves. The younglings born there are put through rigorous battle training and grow to be some of the strongest and most fearsome warriors in Vlaaki-” She goes quiet at the mention of her former Queen’s name. This had been happening less and less but the shock Lae’zel was going through still seemed to catch her in moments like these where she was caught up in the dreams of her past. Saamrel massaged the arm she had wrapped around them, slowly working their thumb into the tense muscles until Lae’zel continued.

“I guess I should say Orpheus’ army. I am not sure though if they know he has returned.” She held Saamrel gently in her arms and placed her head against theirs.

“Would that I could go there again, would you really join me?”

Her voice was soft and full of longing, longing for a world she had not yet created.

“I fear we must - Xan has already started to fall behind. He has yet to kill a beholder like you had at his age.” They say with a crack of a smile on their lips.

“Nonsense, Xan could never be such a failure. We must bring him there at once, he is proof of Orpheus’ return. He is free.” Lae’zel says shooting out of the water, her feet pattering against the stones of the bath house and going to get her things “We leave at first light.”

Jaheira and Thalwyn(Tav)

The sun spilled in small waterfalls of light upon the forest floor, as you and Jaheira work your way, on top of the branches of the old grove trees, into the darkened patches of the forest. Stalking. Your prey had made it’s way past the river trying to lose you in the bramble on the other side but Jaheira’s sense of smell had found its trail. You heard a crunch of leaves and freeze, your elf ears swivel to take in the surrounding area and then you see it, the powerful Buck that had been on a rampage this entire season. It stood near 10 feet tall with 2 feet extra of antlers adorned to its head. Silvanus had sent Jaheira out here just to fell it and she had brought you along, as a gift.

It made its way into the clearing as Jaheira silently leapt to the forest floor flattening herself into the shadows. You drew your bow as it bent its long neck to graze on the dew covered grass and with a mighty thunk - hit right between the ribs by its front leg. The deer let out a wounded cry but labored on, doubling back in confusion towards the forest, towards Jaheira. She leapt forward in her panther form and bit down on the back of its neck, but it continued on smashing into trees and bucking its hind legs. Only one option, you think and with blade extended you drop down upon its head, sinking your bladed into the thick layer of bone, ending its final rampage with a crash.

Jaheira stayed in wild shape, but became an owlbear to move the carcass back to the cottage you had set up together. It was a long walk but you stopped occasionally to pick mushrooms and flowers that you held up to her for her opinion. She gave a nod or shake depending on if she wanted to keep it. Near the base of a hill, within a small meadow you see your home - a negligible wooden structure with several gardens adorning the sides. You’d set up a small shrine in one of the sunny spots for Khalid, sometimes you’d see your lover stop and talk to it. Sometimes, you'd stop to talk to it yourself offering your thanks for his continued love.

In human form Jaheira took a moment to stretch towards the sky and turned to you “I think next time you can just aim for the head! You picked the most difficult shot, I'm starting to think you just enjoy the heroics.” She grabbed you by the waist and planted a kiss on your lips, smiling into your mouth as she did. Her body, never idle, went to break down the kill for yourself and any other animals and the like who may need food within the forest.

It had been 100 years since you left Baldur’s Gate and brought Jaheira here as a dying wish. You had brought your favorite bow and placed it in the heart of the forest as you called on Silvanus to protect her in this life and the next. At least that is what you told Jaheira, really, you had offered up your life, in perpetual service to Silvanus for a chance to spend more time with your beloved. The God of Nature was enraptured by your love and gifted you both with eternal life while within the bounds of the Dalelands as its stewards.

The sky opened up on your heads and you both ran quickly into the home. Jaheira waited for you to light the hearth and put the kettle on as she sat deep within the cushions strewn around the one room shack. She ran her fingers through her hair and enjoyed the moments without someone looking to her for the next thing to do or decision to make.

“How are you feeling, Jaheira, older than ever?” She laughed at your joke with a wry smile and noted

“I only have forever left now it seems.”

Minthara and Eurydice

Waking in Menzoberranzan was nothing like the surface world, the drow only meditated for a couple hours before rising, so, the excitement of waking was lost on them. Without the sun the days would blend together if not for the fanfare of dressing in the appropriate garb for the occasion.

A servant entered Minthara’s room and placed two outfits of elegant material along the chaise, one for her and one for her consort, Eurydice. When they awoke from their slumber they dressed promptly and feasted on mushrooms and wine underneath the iridescent light that permeated their room. As the head of House Baenre and the Queen Mother of the city of Menzoberranzan, Minthara had matters of state and diplomatic affairs to attend to for some hours each day.

“I will be back as soon as the affair of House DeVir has been taken care of.” She kissed Eurydice on the cheek and delighted in the blush that it elicited.

“You were right to pick up the pieces of that forgotten House and have them as our vassal- they have proved to be especially proficient at espionage. Viconia, brings the followers of Shar into the land which is good for the new face we are trying to build. Acceptance as long as there is obedience.” Eurydice nodded slightly and held tight to Minthara’s arm, her body pressed against her.

“Always on your guard my love. No matter how I adore Viconia she is still a challenger to our throne.” Minthara let out a sly grin -

“Oh, of that I am very aware my dear.” She said with a hint of malice. The doors to the room were opened for her as she left and the hallways were full of servants bowing low to the ground as she passed. Her office overlooked the interior of the diplomatic building and she watched as others mingled and discussed topics of state below her.

House DeVir will be awarded their ancestral home along with gold for 2 generations, at which point they must provide funds for their own wealth outside of House Baenre.

She looked over the last bit of the treatise and smiled - if after 2 generations they are penniless, which they will be, we can force them to continue as our vassals. She left the office, taking a couple of wide opulent corridors to the top floor where she stared out at the city. The glowing pillars of light that punctuated the landscape were like nothing that existed on the surface.

‘I am home’ she muttered to herself and calling a servant forward sent word to Eurydice to be prepared for visitors at the late meal. They needed to host the heads of two of the newer houses to make bonds before the coming vote of the parliament.

At home, the servants ran quietly through the marbled halls making sure arrangements were made for the guests. The great hall was adorned with ever-flame candles and flicker lights, the table set with gold goblets and plates and each chair was slightly warmed to keep the chill of the Underdark to a minimum.

The guests arrived on time and Eurydice took her place next to Minthara. Minthara led them in a toast, smiling broadly at her consort as she did, caressing the small of her back and then pulling her in close. It was over in an instant - Eurydice clutched at Minthara’s gold trimmed jacket forcefully as she dropped her cup. The wine splattered across the floor down the set of small steps that led to where they stood. She fell to her knees with Minthara clutching her shoulders in disbelief - the poison was overtaking her faster than she had ever seen such things happen before. Blood dripped from her ears and mouth as Minthara rest her down on the ground her body going numb and her eyes welling with tears. The guests did not react -standing still with small grins upon their faces as a dagger lodged itself into Minthara’s back.

She awoke with a jolt to find herself in the soft cushions of a bed. Her body was hot and she felt herself slick with sweat at the dream she had just had. Eurydice turned to her and looped an arm lazily over her body.

“Bad dream, my love?” She planted soft kisses on the arm and side closest to her before sitting up to pull Minthara’s face to her chest - caressing her head lightly.

“You are safe here. We are together, remember? We’re in Baldur’s Gate still.” The dreams had turned to nightmares as soon as Minthara had mentioned that they should return. Minthara curled into her tightly, pulling her legs over her lover's body.

“We should stay here.”Her voice was soft and lingered gently on Eurydice’s ears.

“So, we shall stay. We have conquered here and that is enough for now.” Minthara felt the heartbeat of her lover lull her into a peaceful state. She would have to ramp up the poison resistance of them both far more than she had already.

[tennessoui]

if you wrote obikin for #4 with anakin as a single parent and obi-wan as luke and leia's teacher i would simply die happy!!

here it is!!! thank you so much!

4. Teacher/Single Parent AU (modern!AU)(DinLuke shows up as little kids)(2.4k)(whoops)

Anakin stares across the table at Luke, who gnaws on a slice of grilled cheese, carefully leaving the crusts behind. Oh god, he’d forgotten to cut them off of Luke’s sandwich, had cut them off of Leia’s instead, even though she didn’t mind them. And of course they hadn’t told him either. He can’t tell if he’s been forgiven for his error or if it will come back to haunt him later tonight when he tries to put the twins to bed at eight.

“Luke,” he says carefully. “I think I’m just a little confused.”

Leia looks up. She loves when her father is a little confused because it means Luke is probably a bit in trouble and she gets to be the one to set the record straight for him.

Which isn’t to say Leia is a tattle-tale. Anakin’s seen her watch Luke hit another child upside the head with a toy train and then say absolutely nothing when questioned by the daycare instructor.

Daddy’s interrogations are just a special case where she can become a guilt-free turncoat.

“How did you get a Unicorn sticker in art class?” he asks.

The Unicorn stickers, of course, mean unsatisfactory.

He pays extra money for his children to be coddled and kept away from words like Fail and Unsatisfactory, even though that’s what all the parents know the stickers mean. As long as the children don't yet.

“And I don’t understand the rainbow sticker at all,” he continues helplessly, regarding the piece of artwork in front of him, where a handful of dried macaroni noodles are lacklusterly glued to the page.

“The Unicorn sticker means it was bad, but the rainbow sticker means that Mr. Kenobi forgives him,” Leia pipes up, leaning across the table to take the icky crusts from her brother’s plate and dipping them into her tomato soup.

“But it was dry macaroni,” Anakin says incredulously. Luke’s eyes start getting misty as he stares resolutely down at his plate. That’s the last thing Anakin wants. But he just doesn’t understand. Luke’s the most creative of both of his children, has seemed to take after Anakin in that way. Last Christmas, Anakin had given him a model train set that he’d put together inside of a week. If he can do that, he can do a self-portrait in dry macaroni.

“He gave Din all of his noodles,” Leia reports.

“Didn’t Din have any?” Anakin asks, feeling completely out of his element and also sort of like a detective trying to solve a cold case.

“He wanted to save them for his puppy,” Luke mumbles. “They just got him and they can’t figure out what he eats, so Din thought he could try macaroni because I told him I like macaroni and cheese a lot.”

Anakin is on the cliff of despair, but he can’t exactly ask whether or not this Din knows there’s a difference between the dried macaroni from art class and boxed macaroni and cheese from Kraft. He’s not sure he even wants to know the answer.

“And then Luke didn’t have a lot left for his picture,” Leia finishes the story and her soup in one fell swoop.

“Couldn’t you have asked Mr. Kenobi for more?” Anakin asks Luke who shakes his head but doesn’t seem to want to elaborate. Anakin turns only slightly pleading eyes to Leia, who is the expert on anything her brother doesn’t want to say.

“Mr. Kenobi sits at the front, and Luke sat at the back today so it was really far.”

“But you always sit at the front!” Anakin says, appalled. Sure, he hadn’t managed to make it to the most recent round of parent-teacher conferences due to an unfortunately timed shift at the garage, but he knows where his kids sit in a classroom.

Luke mumbles something into his bowl.

“What was that?” Anakin asks.

Leia translates. “Din doesn’t sit at the front,” she says.

Anakin sits back in his chair and runs a hand over his mouth. Luke has a crush. His son, Luke, has his very first crush on a boy and he’s already doing stupid things in order to see the boy. Oh no. Oh god. Of all the things to take after Anakin on, it’s this one.

“Okay,” he says, mostly to himself. “It’s okay. Unicorns aren’t so bad.”

“Way better than giraffes,” Leia tells her brother bracingly, seeming to know instinctively that the gossiping part of this conversation is over. “And you got a rainbow, which means Mr. Kenobi isn’t mad.”

Anakin wonders, with the context, if that’s actually what the rainbow means, or if Mr. Kenobi isn’t just incredibly observant.

“TV time, kids,” he says, only feeling sort of bad about the screentime or whatever, as Luke perks up and runs with Leia into the living room.

After five minutes to make sure they’ve successfully turned on and found a child-appropriate show, Anakin gathers the dishes and loads the washer. Then he sighs as loud as he can without disrupting the kids.

Then he pulls out his phone and the school directory and finds the email for one Mr. Obi-Wan Kenobi, art teacher.

It takes him twenty minutes to figure out an email that doesn’t sound too judgemental, harsh, worried, skeptical, or angry. It takes another five minutes to figure out how to sign off on it. Kind regards? Best? Thanks? Sincerely? What is the etiquette for emailing your son’s art teacher to arrange a meeting because you’re worried your son will fail the class simply because he’s inherited terrible genes from his father?

It takes ten minutes, in the end, for Mr. Kenobi to email back, and he does so with a very straightforward message. He’s available to chat after school hours tomorrow, if it works for Anakin.

Anakin pulls up his work schedule. He’s supposed to work until five in the evening tomorrow, has already booked a slot at the after-care program for the twins. But.

He texts Ahsoka to ask if she could cover the last few hours of his shift. She texts back a string of rather offensive emojis, but settles down when he tells her it’s for his kids. Technically, he isn’t even lying. He’s just being overbearing.

He spends another fifteen minutes trying to compose a response email in between making sure the kids brush their teeth, wash behind their ears, and have their bags packed for the morning. He’s so stressed out by it that he’s not even sure he includes a signature at all before he hits send. God. Meeting Mr. Kenobi had better be worth all of this stress.

---

Finding Mr. Kenobi’s classroom is almost more stress than the correspondence from the night before had been. The only reason Anakin doesn’t sit down and cry against the garishly yellow brick lining the hallways is that he keeps telling himself that if his two seven-year-olds can do this, Anakin surely can.

The art classroom is tucked away in a forgotten corner of the school and it takes three wrong turns and one accidental entrance into a thankfully deserted first grade room for Anakin to find it. He knocks on the open door and then decides he should call as well to announce his presence. “Uh, Mr. Kenobi? I’m Anakin. Skywalker. We talked last night?” He takes a couple of steps into the room, which is lined in children’s art and paint-stained tables.

A man emerges from a backroom, dressed in a very loose and paint-flecked denim shirt over a white tank top and a pair of slacks. He’s wearing a pair of thick glasses that he takes off as soon as he sees Anakin. His beard is neatly trimmed and his hair, a sort of bronzed auburn, neatly combed.

He’s holding a paintbrush in one hand, and still, of course, Anakin’s dumb brain overrides the part of him that’s saying, This is clearly Mr. Kenobi in favor saying, quite politely, “Oh! I’m sorry. Is Mr. Kenobi back there?”

The man who could not possibly be more obviously the art teacher raises an amused eyebrow.

Look. No one told Anakin that elementary school art teachers could be so attractive. He’d not done anything to prepare for this.

“You must be Luke’s father,” Mr. Kenobi says, waving him forward.

“What makes you say that?” Anakin asks, a tad too defensively, thinking of his own self-deprecating thoughts last night about Luke taking after him when it comes to being sort of stupid around people they liked. He’s just being paranoid.

“The...last...name,” now Mr. Kenobi is definitely trying to hide his smile and Anakin wants to die. “Would you like to sit?”

Anakin does so rather graciously, given the circumstances. He even makes sure he keeps their chairs very far apart. Mostly in order to preserve his own dignity, but he thinks he should get credit for his self-control at this spur of the moment single-parent-hot-teacher conference.

“I’m sorry for my appearance,” Mr. Kenobi says, pulling the oversized button up closed over his tank top. “I must admit, I mostly forgot you were coming by. I was working on one of my own projects.”

“You paint?” Anakin asks.

Mr. Kenobi tilts his head slightly and flicks his eyes around the room as if in answer.

Anakin flushes but digs his heels in. “Well, I don’t know,” he mumbles mulishly. “Do math teachers do math in their spare time?”

This startles a laugh out of the teacher, which makes some long forgotten part of Anakin’s psyche sit up and preen. “I’m sure some of them do,” he says. “No, I do art mostly for the town right now. I’m working on a series of pieces for the public library at the moment.”

Anakin tries his hardest not to obviously melt, but Mr. Kenobi has not looked away from his face much so surely he can see it in his eyes.

“That’s quite. Nice,” Anakin says, coughing into his fist.

“And what do you do?” Mr. Kenobi asks in a way that’s just on the other side of polite. Anakin has the strange thought that if they had cups of coffee between them, he’d feel like he was on a very casual first date.

He has to shake his head to rid himself of that idea. “I’m a mechanic,” he says.

Mr. Kenobi looks interested, of all things. Most people don’t. Most people make some sort of assumption about him, about his life, his ability to parent his children, as if they’re not the ones rolling into his shop at 5:54 pm because their car is “making a funny noise”.

But Mr. Kenobi just looks interested.

“Oh?” He says. “That makes sense. Leia is always talking about how her father can fix anything.”

“Well,” Anakin blushes and looks away. “You know kids. Turn it off and turn it back on usually blows their minds.”

Mr. Kenobi smiles indulgently before clearing his throat. “You wanted to talk about Luke?”

“Oh! Yes!” He had come here with the express desire to talk about Luke with Mr. Kenobi. Not secure a date with Mr. Kenobi. “I saw that Luke got a... unicorn...and a rainbow on his last project, and it made me worry.”

It sounds very, very overbearing coming out of his mouth. This is an elementary school art class. Why did he think that he should come in and talk to a teacher over his son’s bad grade? Especially when it was pretty clear Luke deserved it.

Mr. Kenobi tilts his head in confusion. “Well, yes, I suppose I usually give Luke two suns on his work, so I understand if the change was upsetting to you.”

“And we’re saying that two suns are good?” Anakin checks, feeling very out of his element here.

“Oh, yes, very good,” Mr. Kenobi assures him. “But his last project wasn’t. Well.”

“He says he got distracted,” Anakin mutters, rubbing a hand down his face. “Over a boy.”

“Haven’t we all been there,” Mr. Kenobi murmurs, sounding very amused. Anakin peeks over his fingers at this declaration.

“Yeah,” he says roughly. “That’s sort of exactly what I thought.”

Mr. Kenobi clears his throat again. “Well. That’s why I gave him the unicorn then. It was a bit of bad work, but a very rare showing of it. And the rainbow, to signify that I know he’ll be back to normal again next time. You shouldn’t worry about this one project either, Mr. Skywalker. I do give final grades holistically, not weighted by any one assignment. This is, after all, a children’s art class.”

Anakin wants to thunk his head on the table in front of him. “You do know that all the parents think unicorn means unsatisfactory, right?”

“Why?” Mr. Kenobi has the nerve to look shocked.

“They both start with U, I don’t know,” Anakin says, waving an agitated hand through the air.

“Well, sometimes parents can be quite stupid,” Mr. Kenobi says primly and then looks horrified at himself. “Please don’t tell them I said that.”

Anakin laughs and gets to his feet reluctantly. His worries over Luke have been dealt with, but he finds himself very reluctant to leave.

“Well,” he says slowly, eyes firmly looking only at Mr. Kenobi’s face, “Thank you for meeting with me. I guess you don’t get many frantic parent-teacher conferences over a unicorn sticker.” He ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck with his hand in embarrassment. He can admit now that perhaps he had overreacted.

Mr. Kenobi places his hand delicately over the hand Anakin still has on the table, just for a second, squeezing it with enough pressure that Anakin has to look up at him again. “Only the best parents,” he says with a half-smile.

Anakin finds himself grinning back, unwilling to move his hand now that Kenobi’s touching it. “And, um. If you ever take the kids on an art museum tour or something, and you need chaperones….give me a call.”

“Would I have to wait that long?” Kenobi asks innocently.

Anakin’s never shaken his head no so quickly before. “Any time,” he tells the man very seriously, already backing out of the room. “Before you think too much about it and decide not to would probably be preferable.”

Mr. Kenobi laughs. “I’m sure I’ll think about it a lot,” he says as he turns to go back to his art studio. He calls over his shoulder. “In bed, tonight.”

Anakin trips over a child-sized easel with a loud clatter and an even louder curse, and he can’t decide which of the two should be more thankful school is out for the day. Probably Mr. Kenobi. Yeah. Probably definitely Mr. Kenobi.

[pocketseizure]

A Noble Pursuit

None of the lessons from the Gerudo Classroom have prepared Rhondson for married life with Hudson, who has grown restless and disappeared from Tarrey Town a year after its founding. She travels to the Akkala Citadel Ruins to hunt for her husband while reflecting on the bridges that will need to be rebuilt in order for Hyrule to embrace a peaceful future.

This story about archaeology, castles, ruins, cultural differences, giant monster friends, and what it means “to live happily ever after” was written for @memorabiliazine​, and it’s also on AO3 (here). The accompanying illustrations are by the stylish scholar @pocketwei​.

. . . . . . . . . .

This wasn’t the first time Rhondson had set off on a husband hunt.

It was late summer, almost a year after the ghost of the Great Calamity vanished from the castle. Most of Hyrule was still green, but the first touches of red and gold had already begun to appear on the trees of Akkala. It was chilly when Rhondson left Tarrey Town, but the morning fog had lifted and the sky was crystal clear.

Rhondson had always enjoyed mornings. Most people woke up early in the desert and took a nap during the worst heat of the afternoon so that they could stay up late into the evening. Rhondson kept the same schedule in Tarrey Town, a practice that Hudson found inexplicably upsetting. He complained, almost every day now, that she never went to bed with him. He insisted that a man and his wife should fall asleep together. Rhondson explained that she enjoyed sewing by lamplight at night, when the world is quiet and even the plainest thread shines like gold, but he refused to understand.

Hudson had recently grown restless. Perhaps it was because of the tension in their relationship, or perhaps it was only the change of season, but he left Tarrey Town one afternoon and never returned. Ashai’s classes hadn’t prepared Rhondson for this. They’d talked so much about how to catch a man, but never about how to keep him. She wondered if other vai had the same problem. All of the romances she read when she was younger ended with a “happily ever after,” but what was supposed to happen the next day? And the day after that?

All things considered, Rhondson was content with her life in Tarrey Town. Her feelings about the settlement had been ambiguous at first. The location was out-of-the-way, to say the least, but the town received more visitors than she’d expected. The son of the two Sheikah researchers who lived in an old lighthouse up on the northern cliffs made his living as a traveling merchant of fine clothing, and he saw to it that Rhondson always had work. Tarrey Town was unique in its appeal as a marketplace for goods from all over Hyrule, and Hudson’s brightly painted modular houses had become something of a tourist attraction. He’d been flooded with orders for summer rental homes, and a satellite community had sprung up on the other side of the bridge to satisfy the demand.

Hudson managed to keep himself busy, but he seemed to harbor doubts about establishing Tarrey Town on such a small island. To make matters worse, many of the people who’d come to town for the summer were starting to drift away as the days became shorter. Perhaps they were worried about Akkala’s infamous autumn thunderstorms. Rhondson happened to enjoy the heavy rains, whose gale winds and lightning crashes reminded her of the sandstorms back home, but she understood how the violent weather and sudden drop in temperature might put off people who weren’t accustomed to the climate. She’d camped at more than a few oasis waystations during her travels, and she knew it was perfectly natural for the population of a place like Tarrey Town to wax and wane with the season.

Rhondson tried to explain to Hudson how it was normal for people to come and go. Many of the town residents were nomadic by nature, she said, and they had no excuse not to indulge their wanderlust now that it was safe to travel. Hudson adamantly refused to listen. He insisted that a man’s home was his castle. But why not have two castles, Rhondson objected. And people would come back next summer, she reasoned. They’d had to hire new workers to perform upkeep on the vacation homes during the winter, after all, so it wasn’t as though the population was shrinking. If he was feeling ambitious, she added with a wink, they might be able to add their own contribution to the town’s population.

“I’m just not sure how long this town will last,” Hudson replied, ending the conversation with a sigh.

His admission put Rhondson ill at ease, and she couldn’t help recalling Hudson’s anxiety when she realized that he hadn’t come home during the night. “Sometimes you have to treat voe like children,” Ashai had once explained. “There will be times when they take action without thinking about how it will affect you, but it’s likely that their behavior comes from simple thoughtlessness, not spite.” Rhondson didn’t know about that. She’d met enough silly and immature vai in her life to understand that voe didn’t have a monopoly on being pigheaded. Still, if Hudson had gone out and gotten himself lost, purposefully or otherwise, she might as well go find him.

Rhondson set out from Tarrey Town and walked due south, pacing herself as she made her way up the gentle slope of the hills leading to Upland Zorana. Once the mountains began in earnest, she turned west at the road leading to the old stone quarry and kept going until she could see the waterfalls at the source of Lake Akkala.

She’d crossed the Sokkala Bridges when she first came to Tarrey Town instead of taking the longer road to the north, and she was just as impressed by them now as she was then. The log bridges were simple structures, really, not much more than planks laid over support pillars embedded in the banks of the rivulets flowing from the waterfall basin, but they were sturdy and well-constructed. A traveler could cross them with ease, secure enough in their footing to look up and appreciate the rainbows that danced in the misty spray of the waterfalls.

Not every bridge needed to be the Bridge of Hylia, Rhondson thought. Perhaps it was better if most bridges weren’t, in fact. The Bridge of Hylia was a magnificent piece of work, to be sure, but it seemed as though it was already in a state of disrepair even before the Great Calamity. Judging from the conversations between Hudson and his former boss Bolson, no living stonemason had any idea how to repair its gargantuan supports. Meanwhile, more modest structures like the Sokkala Bridges could be maintained whenever the need arose. In their own way, the Sokkala Bridges were just as important at the Bridge of Hylia, even if they never became monuments.

As she crossed the final bridge, Rhondson could see the hazy outline of Akkala Citadel rising in the west. Its massive size was impressive, but she couldn’t imagine it being particularly beneficial to anyone. Truth be told, the ruins weren’t much more than a glorified pile of old stone bricks that could almost certainly be put to better use elsewhere. Speaking of which, Rhondson was starting to get an inkling of where Hudson might have gotten himself off to. “A man’s home is his castle,” he liked to say, and how intriguing it must have been to have an actual castle so close to home, especially if its materials could be repurposed.

Rhondson headed north when the road forked and made her way across the old high bridge over the river, carefully navigating the deep fissures in the stone. Once she was safely on the other side, she began climbing the winding path up the mountain.

The leaves of the trees on the upper slopes of the hill had already turned a bold shade of crimson, and the weathered steel of the Sheikah Tower gleamed in the sun. Rumor had it that the citadel used to be patrolled by Guardians, but nothing confronted Rhondson save for a few moss-covered remnants of ceramic casing. Parts of the road had been washed away in a landslide, probably after the Malice swamp dried up, but the majority of the paving stones were still intact.

Rhondson entered the gatehouse at the foot of the outer wall surrounding the citadel. The inside was littered with rubble from a century-old battle, and the remains of more recent Bokoblin campfires were scattered across the floor. A partially overturned Guardian occupied a corner of the room, its segmented legs folded neatly underneath its casing like the paws of a sleeping cat. When she first set out from the desert, Rhondson had been terrified of encountering a Guardian, but she’d grown fond of the broken bits and pieces of their chassis that had been left beside Hyrule’s roads to remind travelers to remain vigilant. Their round faces and decoratively textured bodies were actually a bit cute, like oversized toys.

Rhondson passed through the gatehouse and entered a small courtyard. The walls of the citadel rose on every side of the open space, but the gaps between turrets were wide enough for the sun to shine through and warm the paving stones. One side of the courtyard was dominated by a large alcove that was probably used to shelter horses. The bare soil under the dilapidated wooden awning was covered in pale green scrub bush and dotted with bright yellow wildflowers.

A covered walkway ran along the opposite wall, connecting the gatehouse to the larger body of the citadel. As Rhondson followed the shaded path, she imagined how heavily the snowfall would accumulate at this altitude. She didn’t envy the soldiers tasked with shoveling duty. She glanced at the enormous wooden door that marked the entrance to the main hall, but its iron fittings were orange with rust. Thankfully, the smaller door at the end of the walkway was barely hanging by its hinges, and Rhondson had no trouble pushing it open.

She called Hudson’s name into the shadows of the citadel. Aside from the echo of her own voice, there was no answer. It probably wasn’t safe to go inside, but she had already come so far. Rhondson figured that she may as well make sure that Hudson wasn’t here before she left. 

The interior of the fortress wasn’t nearly as impressive as its silhouette. The entryway was much smaller than she expected, and the floor was made of packed earth. As Rhondson’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, she could see that the wooden beams of the ceiling were exposed. They were dark with ash. The smoke had probably come from the tall braziers secured to the pillars set into the stone walls.

Rhondson walked across the hall, glancing around her with interest. A few piles of old leaves moldered just inside the open service door, but the room was remarkably clean. The tapestries displayed in the bays between pillars still retained some of their color, and wooden weapons racks still clung to the stone walls next to the main gate. Rhondson realized that the earth floor must absorb the humidity of summer and the chill of winter, keeping the wood and cloth relatively preserved. The layer of ash coating the wooden beams of the ceiling probably helped protect them from the elements as well.

Large passageways ringed with shallow arches connected the central hall to the east and west wings, but Rhondson was more interested in a spiral staircase carved into the back wall. Although she had to bend her head to enter, the stairs bore her weight. Each step dipped slightly toward the middle from centuries of use. As she climbed to the next floor, Rhondson was amused by the thought of walking in the footsteps of people who had lived so long ago.

The room above was much smaller than the citadel’s entrance, but its ceiling was almost as high. The walls were constructed of the same unpainted white limestone as the fortress exterior. Their rough surfaces were irregularly broken by small rectangular windows positioned slightly above eye level. Some of the glass panes were missing, allowing a cool breeze to enter the bright and sun-warmed space, but the floorboards were level and seemed solid enough

Rhondson began to make her way from room to room. Her first thought was that the haphazard layout was due to poor planning, but she gradually realized that different parts of the Akkala Citadel must have been built at different times, more than likely after various battles. Very few furnishings remained in the deserted fortress, but the architecture differed so drastically between rooms that it was clear she was walking through different periods of history. Rhondson was amazed by the evolution of the windows, which became larger and more ornate as she walked. She imagined that this was what Hyrule Castle must look like, an amalgamation of architectural styles that had grown and transformed along with the kingdom itself.

Rhondson enjoyed her stroll through the ruins, but Hudson was nowhere to be found. The sun was already low in the sky, so she made her way outside and began her descent. From her vantage point at the top of the path, she could see a flat patch of land at the base of the hill. The soldiers stationed here must have used it as a parade ground for exercise and training. It would be as good a place as any to make camp.

Dusk had begun to gather by the time she arrived on the field, and the shadows lay long across the tall grass. Rhondson didn’t see the Hinox immediately, but she could smell it. The odor wasn’t unpleasant, but it was unmistakable. As soon as she realized that she wasn’t alone, Rhondson turned to leave. Most Hinoxes tended to ignore the travelers that wandered into their vicinity, but she didn’t want to take any chances.

Without warning, the Hinox bellowed. Its scream sent startled birds up from the nearby trees in a rush of beating wings and angry squawking. Rhondson prepared herself to make a run for her life, but she was stopped in her tracks by a voice she would recognize anywhere.

“Don’t cry, you big baby. It only stings at first. You’ll feel better in two shakes of a blupee’s tail.”

Rhondson shook her head with amusement as she walked across the field toward the source of the voice. The Hinox pouted at her, giant tears spilling from its eye.

“Hudson?”

The broad-shouldered man crouching beside the Hinox jerked his head up. “Rhondson? What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing. I came looking for you. Is this where you’ve been this whole time?”

“I meant to come back last night,” Hudson replied, averting his eyes. “But this oaf hurt his foot while helping me clear away the rubble on the path up the mountain, and I couldn’t just leave him like this. The wound would have suppurated, and he’s all alone out here.”

Rhondson gave the Hinox a closer look and saw that it – he – had a deep gash on his heel. Hudson was cleaning it with a balled-up wad of fabric. If she wasn’t mistaken, it was the first workshirt she’d sewn for him. She’d made it just as they were starting to get to know one another, before she knew his measurements, and it fit him poorly. She asked him to throw it away and bury it with the compost months ago, but he’d apparently kept it. Hudson was surprisingly sentimental for a man who insisted on utility over decoration. It was one of the things she liked about him.

Rhondson smiled as she shrugged her pack onto the ground and dug out a jar of safflina salve. As Hudson helped her dress the Hinox’s wound, he explained that he had indeed come here to assess the state of the stonework. He assumed the citadel would be in ruins, but the structure was still sound. It would be a shame to dismantle it. With a few minor renovations, it would be almost as good as new. Still, making it more habitable would mean reducing its efficacy as a fortress.

“But what does that matter?” Rhondson asked. “Who’s going to attack it?”

“There are monsters roaming about, and…”

“Does this ‘monster’ look like he’s going to attack anyone?”

The Hinox had fallen asleep as they talked and was snoring lightly.

“He’s not a monster,” Hudson replied with a frown.

“Exactly. It seems to me that you’re already thinking about hiring him to work for you.”

“I’m not… Well, I guess I am. Having a Hinox around would be useful, especially if I decide to fix up this place, but we’d have to knock down some of the interior walls to make more room for him.”

Rhondson winced as she remembered all the times she’d banged her forehead on Hylian doorways. Now that she thought about it, there was no reason for those doors to be so low in the first place, especially not when her husband could so easily make them more accommodating. “Weren’t you planning to knock down the walls anyway?” she pointed out. “You could use the materials to repair the bridge.”

“But it’s disrespectful not to honor the past,” Hudson objected. “Shouldn’t the history of the Akkala Citadel be preserved?”

“It’s in ruins.” Rhondson put a hand on his shoulder. “One day you’ll have to come with me to visit my family. Everything in Gerudo Town is built on top of history. Nothing gets done if you worry about preserving the past as it once was. Living things change, and that includes old castles like this.”

“Maybe it includes towns too,” Hudson replied. “I guess it won’t be so bad if Tarrey Town grows. We could have a sister city maybe, right here on this hill. It would be a convenient waystation for travelers.” He thought for a moment. “And a good place for Hinoxes, too. It’s built on their scale, at least, and they’re all over Akkala. It’s a shame they always have to sleep in the open. Besides, Mason looks like he could use a friend. He’ll be lonely without me.”

Mason? Rhondson grinned at the name her husband had assigned to the Hinox. “Are you going to bring him home, then?” she asked.

“Home is wherever you are, Rhondson. We’ll go wherever you like. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, but we can spend a night or two away from Tarrey Town. I’d like to go back to the citadel tomorrow morning. I don’t think anyone has been inside this place for at least a hundred years.”

The sun had finally set, and stars were beginning to shine in the deepening indigo of the twilight sky. Rhondson smiled as she pictured the castle on the hill once again filled with lights. There was a certain charm to speculating on what the past might have been like, but the future held much more potential for imagination.

[thewidowsghost]

Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 3

Percy's POV

Confession time: I ditch Grover as soon as we get to the bus terminal.

I know, I know. It was rude. But Grover is kinda freaking me out, looking at me like I am a dead man, muttering, "Why does this always happen?" and "Why does it always have to be the sixth grade?"

Whenever he gets upset, Grover's bladder acts up, so I'm not surprised when, as soon as we get off the bus, he makes me promise to wait for him, then makes a beeline for the restroom. Instead of waiting, I get my suitcase, slip outside, and catch the first taxi uptown.

"East One-hundred-and-forth and First," I tell the driver.

A word about my mother, before you meet her.

Her name is Sally Jackson and she's the best person in the world, which just proves my theory that the best people have the rottenest luck. Her own parents died in a plane crash when she was five, and she was raised by an uncle who didn't care much about her. She wanted to be a novelist, so she spent high school working to save enough money for a college with a good creative-writing program. Then her uncle got cancer, and she had to quit school her senior year to take care of him. After he died, she was left with no money, no family, and no diploma.

The only good break she ever got was meeting mine and (Y/n)'s dad.

We didn't have any memories of him, just this warm sort of glow, maybe the barest trace of his smile. Our mom doesn't like to talk about him because it makes her sad; she has no pictures.

See, they weren't married. She told us he was rich and important, and their relationship was a secret. Then one day, he set sail across the Atlantic on some important journey, and he never came back.

Lost at sea, my mom had told us. Not dead. Lost at sea.

She worked odd jobs, took night classes to get her high school diploma, and raised me and my twin on her own. She never complained or got mad. Not even once. But I knew I wasn't an easy kid.

Finally, she married Gabe Ugliano, who was nice the first thirty seconds we knew him, then showed his true colors as a world-class jerk. When I was young, I nicknamed him Smelly Gabe. I'm sorry, but it's the truth. The guy reeked like moldy garlic pizza wrapped in gym shorts.

Between the two of us, we made my mom's life pretty hard. The way Smelly Gabe treated her, the way he and I got along...well, when I came home is a good example.

I walk into our little apartment, hoping my mom would be home from work. Instead, Smelly Gabe is in the living room, playing poker with his buddies. The television blares ESPN. Chips and beer cans are strewn all over the carpet.

Hardly looking, he says around his cigar, "So, you're home."

"Where's Mom and (Y/n)?" I wonder aloud.

"Your mom's working," he says. "You got any cash?"

That was it. No Welcome back. Good to see you. How has your life been the last six months?

"I don't have any cash," I toll him.

"Here," comes a voice, holding out a ten to the man.

Instantly, a smile sneaks its way onto my face.

"Hey, Perc," my twin sister says with a smile.

(Y/n)'s POV

I grab my brother's suitcase and carry it into his room; I set it down on the bed.

"You wanna come sit in my room?" I ask and Percy nods, a smile still on his face.

I lead the way to my room and when I open the door, Percy sinks into my desk chair.

"Percy?" comes our mom's voice.

She opens my bedroom door.

Our mother can make me feel good just by walking into the room. Her eyes sparkle and change color in the light. Her smile is as warm as a quilt. She's got a few gray streaks mixed in with her long brown hair, but I never think of her as old. When she looks at me, it's like she's seeing all the good things about me, none of the bad. I've never heard her raise her voice or say an unkind word to anyone, not even me or Percy or Gabe.

"Oh, Percy," she hugs her son tightly. "I can't believe it. You've grown since Christmas.

Percy's POV

Her red-white-and-blue Sweet on America uniform smelled like the best things in the world: chocolate, licorice, and all the other stuff she sold at the candy shop in Grand Central. She'd brought me a huge bag of "free samples," the way she always did when I came home.

We sit together on the edge of (Y/n)'s bed. While I attack the blueberry sour strings, (Y/n) stealing a few pieces of candy from the bag, Mom runs her hand through my hair and demands to know everything I hadn't put in my letters. She doesn't mention anything about my getting expelled. She doesn't seem to care about that. But was I okay? Was her little boy doing all right? The whole time, (Y/n)'s eyes were sparkling with amusement.

I tell Mom she is smothering me, and to lay off and all that, but secretly, I was really, really glad to see her and (Y/n).

From the other room, Gabe yells, "Hey, Sally—how about some bean dip, huh?"

I grit my teeth.

My mom is the nicest lady in the world. She should've been married to a millionaire, not to some jerk like Gabe.

For her sake, I try to sound upbeat about my last days at Yancy Academy. I tell her I'm not too down about the expulsion. I'd lasted almost the whole year this time. I'd made some new friends. I'd done pretty well in Latin. And honestly, the fights hadn't been as bad as the headmaster said. I liked Yancy Academy. I really did. I put such a good spin on the year, I almost convince myself. I start choking up, thinking about Grover and Mr. Brunner. Even Nancy Bobofit suddenly doesn't seem so bad.

Until that trip to the museum...

"What?" my mom asks. Her and my sister's eyes tug at my conscience, trying to pull out the secrets. "Did something scare you?"

"No, Mom."

I feel back for lying. I want to tell her about Mrs. Dodds and the three old ladies with the yarn, but I think it'd sound stupid.

Mom purses her lips. Both she and (Y/n) could tell I was holding back, but neither push me.

(Y/n)'s POV

"I have a surprise for both of you," Mom says. "We're going to the beach."

Percy's eyes widen. "Montauk?"

"Three nights - same cabin."

"When?" I ask excitedly.

Mom smiles. "As soon as I get changed."

I can't believe it. Mom, Percy, and I hadn't been to Montauk the last two summers, because Gabe said there wasn't enough money.

Gabe appears in my doorway and growls, "Bean dip, Sally? Didn't you hear me?"

"I've got it," I offer, rising from the bed and walking out into the kitchen to make the dip for Mom.

An hour later, we are ready to leave.

Gabe takes a break from his poker game long enough to watch me and Percy lug Mom's bags to the car. He keeps griping and groaning about losing her cooking - and most importantly, his '78 Camaro - for the whole weekend.

"Not a scratch on this car, you two," he warns us as I load the last bag. "Not one little scratch."

Like we'd be the ones driving. We're twelve. But that didn't matter to Gabe. If a seagull so much as pooped on his paint job, he'd find a way to blame us.

We get into the Camero, me in the passenger's seat, and Percy in the back.

Our rental cabin is on the south shore, way out at the tip of the Long Island. It is a little pastel box with faded curtains, half-sunken into the dunes. There is always sand in the sheets and spiders in the cabinets, and most of the time the sea is too cold to swim in.

Percy and I love the place.

We'd been going there since Percy and I were babies. Our mom had been going even longer. She never exactly said, but I knew why the beach was special to her. It was the place she'd met mine and Percy's dad.

As we get closer to Montauk, Mom seems to grow younger, years of worry and work disappearing from her face. Her eyes turning the color of the sea.

We arrive at the cabin, open all the cabin windows, and go through our usual cleaning routine. We walk on the beach, feed blue corn chips to the seagulls, and much on jelly beans, blue saltwater taffy, and all the other free samples my mom had brought from work.

I guess I should explain the blue food.

See, Gabe had once told Mom there was no such thing. They had this fight, which seemed like a small thing at the time. But ever since, Mom had gone out of her way to eat blue. She baked blue birthday cakes. She mixed blueberry smoothies. She bought blue-corn tortilla chips and brought home blue candy from the shop. This - alone with keeping her maiden name, Jackson, rather than calling herself Mrs. Ugliano - was proof that she wasn't totally suckered by Gabe. She did have a rebellious streak, like Percy.

When it gets dark, we make a fire. We roast hot dogs and marshmallows. Mom tells us stories about when she was a kid, back before her parents died in the plane crash. She tells us about the books she wanted to write when she gets enough money to quit the candy shop.

Finally, it seems that Percy gets the nerve to ask about what was always on our minds when we come to Montauk - our father. Mom's eyes go all misty. I figure that she was going to tell us the same things she always said, but neither Percy and I ever got tired of hearing them.

"He was kind, Percy," Mom says. "Tall, handsome, and powerful. But gentle, two. You have his black hair, you know, Percy, and you both have his green eyes."

Mom fishes a blue jelly bean out of her candy bag. "I wish he could see you, Percy, (Y/n). He would be so proud."

Percy's POV

I wondered how she could say that. What's so great about me? A dyslexic, hyperactive boy with a D+ report card, kicked out of the school for the sixth time in six years.

"How old were we?" I ask. "I mean . . . when he left?"

Mom watches the flames. "He was only with me for one summer, Percy. Right here at this beach. This cabin."

"But...he knew us as a baby."

"No, honey. He knew I was expecting twins, but he never saw you two. He had to leave before you were born."

I try to square that with the fact I seem to remember . . . something about my father. A warm glow. A smile.

(Y/n) and I had always assumed that he had known us as babies. Mom had never said it outright, but still, we'd always felt it must be true. Now, to be told that he'd never even seen us . . .

I realize I feel angry at my father. Maybe it was stupid, but I resent him for going on that ocean voyage, for not having the guts to marry Mom. He'd left us, and now we are stuck with Smelly Gable.

"Are you sending me away again?" I ask her. "To another boarding school."

She pulls a marshmallow from the fire.

"I don't know, honey." Mom's voice is heavy. "I think . . . I think we'll have to do something."

"Because you don't want me around?" I regret the words as soon as they come out of my mouth. (Y/n) bows her head, looking at the ground and Mom's eyes well with tears.

Mom takes my hand and squeezes it tight. "Oh, Percy, no. I - I have to, honey. For your own good. I have to send you away."

Her words remind me of what Mr. Brunner had said - that it was best for me to leave Yancy.

"Because I'm not normal," I say.

"You say that as if it's a bad thing, Percy. But you don't realize how important you are. I thought Yancy Academy would be far enough away. I thought you'd finally be safe.

"Safe from what?"

She meets my eyes, and a flood of memories comes back to me - all the weird, scary things that had ever happened to me and (Y/n), some of which we'd tried to forget.

During third grade, a man in a black trench coat had stalked us on the playground. When the teachers threatened to call the police, he went away growling, but no one believed (Y/n) when she'd told them that under his broad-brimmed hat, the man only had one eye, right in the middle of his head.

Before that—a really early memory. I was in preschool, and a teacher accidentally put me down for a nap in a cot that a snake had slithered into. My mom screamed when she came to pick me up and found me playing with a limp, scaly rope I'd somehow managed to strangle to death with my meaty toddler hands.

In every single school, something creepy had happened, something unsafe, and I was forced to move.

I know I should tell my mom about the old ladies at the fruit stand, and Mrs. Dodds at the art museum, about my weird hallucination that I had sliced my math teacher into dust with a sword. But I can't make myself tell her. I have a strange feeling the news would end our trip to Montauk, and I don't want that.

"I've tried to keep you as close to me as I could," my mom says. "They told me that was a mistake. But there's only one other option, Percy—the place your father wanted to send you two. And I just...I just can't stand to do it."

(Y/n)'s POV

"Our father wanted us to go to a special school?" I ask, a little confused.

"Not a school," she says softly. "A summer camp."

My head starts spinning. Why would my dad - who hadn't even stayed around long enough to see me and Percy be born - talk about a summer camp?

"I'm sorry, (Y/n)," she said, seeing the look in my eyes. "But I can't talk about it. I—I couldn't send you two to that place. It might mean saying good-bye to you for good."

"For good?" Percy asks. "But if it's only a summer camp.

Mom turns towards the fire, and I know from her expression that if either of us ask her any more questions, she would start to cry.

I have a weird, vivid dream. It is storming on the beach, and two beautiful animals, a white horse, and a golden eagle are trying to kill each other at the edge of the surf. The eagle swoops down and slashes the horse's muzzle with its huge talons. The horse rears up and kicks at the eagle's wings. As they fight, the ground rumbles and a monstrous voice chuckles somewhere and beneath the earth, goading the animals to fight harder.

I run towards them, knowing I have to stop them from killing each other, but I am running in slow motion. I know I am too late. I see the eagle dive down, its beak aimed at the horse's wide eyes, and I scream, No!

I wake with a start.

Outside, it really is storming, the kind of storm that cracks trees and blows down houses. There is no horse or eagle on the beach, just lightning making false daylight, and twenty-foot waves pounding the dunes like artillery.

With the next thunderclap, my mom and Percy wake. Mom sits up, eyes wide, and says, "Hurricane."

I know that's crazy. Long Island never sees hurricanes this early in the summer. But the ocean seems to have forgotten. Over the roar of the wind, I hear a distant bellow, an angry, tortured sound that makes my hair stand on end.

Percy's POV

Then a much closer noise, like mallets in the sand. A desperate voice - someone yelling, pounding on our cabin door.

My mother springs out of bed in her nightgown and throws open the lock.

Grover stands framed in the doorway against a backdrop of pouring rain. But he isn't . . . he isn't exactly Grover.

"Searching all night," he gasps. "What were you thinking?"

My mother looks at me in terror - not scared of Grover, but of why he'd come.

"Percy," she says, having to shout to be heard over the rain. "What happened at school? What didn't you tell me?"

I am frozen, looking at Grover. I can't understand what I'm seeing, and I see (Y/n) looking at my friend.

"O Zeu kai alloi theoi!" he yells. "It's right behind me! Didn't you tell her?"

I am too shocked to register that he'd just cursed in Ancient Greek, and I'd understood him perfectly. I am too shocked to wonder how Grover had gotten here by himself in the middle of the night. Because Grover doesn't have pants on - and where his legs should be . . . where his legs should be . . .

Mom looks at me sternly and talks in a tone she'd never used before, and (Y/n) flinches: "Percy. Tell me now!"

I stammer something about the old ladies at the fruit stand and Mrs. Dodds, and my mom stares at me, her face deathly pale in the flashes of lightning.

She grabs her purse, tosses me and (Y/n) our rain jackets, and says, "Get the car. All three of you. Go!"

Grover runs for the Camero - but he isn't running, exactly. He is trotting, shaking his shaggy hindquarters, and suddenly his story about a muscular disorder in his legs makes sense to me. I understand how he can run so fast and still limp when he walks.

Because where his feet should be, there are no feet. There are cloven hooves.

Word Count: 3041 words

[cunninginstinct]

NWN2 - A Draconian Encounter

(A completed thread put together, written by @shinycollectingteifling as Aku and myself, @cunninginstinct as Sand.)

Fiction is T-rated Genre: Comedy, Fluff Word Count: 3836

Warnings for: Implied Romance, Nausea-Related Sickness, Combat

Neverwinter Nights 2, Act 3: Akumamika (the Barbarian Tiefling Knight-Captain) and Sand begin their descent down Mount Galardrym post-Tholapsyx. Alive - and somehow each still in one piece! Along the way, however, they run into some less-than-friendly obstacles... Is nothing ever easy?!

shinycollectingteifling

The roars could be heard for miles around the mountain, for several minutes it was the loudest sound anywhere near the mountain. Until an almighty crack of thunder silenced them, the sickening crunch of scale and bone went unheard, as did the heavy breathing.

A little scratched up and singed but otherwise looking alright, the blue teifling panted hard until her rage subsided, leaving her a bit shaky for a few moments. It took some effort to uncurl her fingers from her hammer, leaving it in what was once the face of a young but arrogant red dragon.

While the group were picking each other up and heading back to the path down with what they could carry from the disappointing pile of treasures she turned and spotted her favourite wizard nearby. She waved to the others to keep going, that she’d catch up in a few minutes. Not too worried since most of the dangers up here had been quite thoroughly dealt with.  

Moving quietly so as to not alarm him any more than he seemed to be already she crouched before him and tried to offer a reassuring smile, somewhat diminished by the smears of crimson across her face and chest. Her one working eye flicking over the elf to make sure he’d been unharmed, and her shoulders dropped with releif.

“Hey...”

cunninginstinct

Sand could never remember so desperately flinging spells in his life. The incantations left his lips with little pause between one and the next, he must have gone through at least twenty potions, and on more than one occasion he found himself hiding behind Khelgar - Khelgar! Of all people!

And at the forefront of the battle was Aku, incandescent with rage, her muscles visibly straining under taut scarred blue flesh. She leaped and struck with all the proficiency of a warrior of her caliber. The fact that she faced a dragon seemed to daunt her very little at all. Sand did not have enough time between screaming wards and protections to envy this about her.

Together, a force combined into one synergistic effort, they vanquished dread Tholapsyx at last. Sand had been hanging on with great effort to the remains of rational strategy up until the telltale crack of bone. He stood there for many moments, panting heavily, and his shoulders eventually relaxed. With relief he shakily sank down onto the top of a rugged chunk of volcanic stone, gathering his bearings.

Distantly Sand heard the voice of the knight captain trying to reach him. His eyes were still wide with terror, somewhat glazed as he reached up to rub his forehead. Every part of him was still intact. Singed, but intact. He never thought he would be so happy to find everything just the way he’d left it.

Shakily, he ducked his head and held up a hand to brandish a gloved finger. “Aku, darling,” he gulped. “Give me three seconds - my life is almost finished flashing before my eyes.” And it was just as underwhelming as he remembered it… well. Aside from his recollections of misadventures in the hosttower and running along after Aku.

shinycollectingteifling

While it would be the easiest thing in the world to assume Aku possessed all the intellect of a drunken chimp with the power of speech, she did in fact pick up on things very quickly. Some things at least. It was more her priorities for giving things thought were a little different, and she certainly wasn’t (as someone once said to her face before his got broken) a heartless killing machine.

She nodded and waited on her haunches for Sand to recover, poised ready to help if she was needed. Though she was smiling, her eyes held a great deal of worry for him.

Thinking maybe her state might be a bit unsettling she emptied a bit of her waterskin into he rhand to get most of the blood off of her face, but realised it would take a bit more effort than they had time for up here. At least her face was clean now.

Glancing up again at Sand she thought for a moment then offered the skin to him, remembering their earlier battles the gentle reminders to drink water after all the excitement, which made it easier to recover. Hoping it would have the same affect now.

cunninginstinct

Sand eased his eyes towards Aku again. She was squatting before him, and in her calloused hand she held a waterskin. His mouth suddenly felt very dry - another reminder that he was still living and breathing. “Oh… why, thank you, dear girl.” With a wan smile, he reached out to accept the offering of a drink and their fingertips lightly brushed against each other.

His hand shook as he rose it to his lips and drank steadily, though he took care to leave plenty for Aku to slake her own thirst. For many moments after he finished taking a drink, he blinked at the scorched earth where spatters of blood painted the scenery. Now that he’d found the time to ground himself, he became acutely aware of his heart hammering in his chest.

“We’re alive,” Sand acknowledged at last. He wheezed in something that might have been a chuckle, were he not so exhausted. “Aku, how in the realms did you muster this kind of fortitude…?”

shinycollectingteifling

The teifling let out a breath she’d been holding, and relaxed a bit, though looked around to make sure nothing else would be making an attempt to munch on them unawares. Looking back only to take the waterskin back, corking it and tying the loop back to her belt.

“Yes we’re alive. I promised I wouldn’t let anything hurt you.” She grinned,but it faded with the follow up question. She shifted a little uncomfortable while thinking how to answer that.

“Uh I think you probably wont like the answer. Short answer would be I got into fights a lot, like probably way more than I should’ve. Even as a kid. Not my fault. Guess I wasn’t too popular.” She tried a weak smile for him and bounced a little,eager to get going.

“You gonna be alright?” She leaned forward a bit and in a motion as tender as she could make it, placed her hand over Sand’s forehead, growing worried again.

cunninginstinct

“Hm? Oh - yes,” said Sand, reaching up to close his fingers over the tiefling’s rugged hand. “Quite fine. Nothing like a little fresh volcanic air to really set one righ–” Seconds after this incomplete utterance he turned approximately the color of the Waterdhavian algae that he sold in his shop. Unceremoniously he lurched to the side and heaved, puking up the lunch he’d picked at earlier that day. “…To set one r–”

Again, he retched. And again. Only twice more did he attempt to repeat his unfinished sentence before he gave up. At last Sand spat up the last of the foulness and he groaned. Suddenly he felt very faint and beset upon by the violent onset of vertigo. The sight before him dimmed as he swayed in his seated position. Before eventually tipping over, he faintly recalled murmuring: “Aku, would you be a dear and catch me before I flounder in my own vomit? Thank you…”

shinycollectingteifling

Seeing what was coming, Aku moved aside and very carefully pulled Sand’s hair aside, and held onto his arm. Politely looking away till he seemed to regain himself. She began to ask him a question but she could see the lights going out and quickly looped her arms around him.

It took a bit of careful maneuvering, but eventually she got him up on one arm, using her tail to keep him upright and pulled his arm over one shoulder. Satisfied he was secure she began to long trek back down the mountainside, taking things a considerably more careful path so she wouldn’t jostle Sand around too much. While dragging her hammer behind her as well.

The heat began to diminish after a while and the air was not as thick and noxious. The heavy clouds above them began opening up and a (Thankfully) cool drizzle started to soak them through. As much as Aku hated water and the rain she kept going, able to see the camp a ways further down.

cunninginstinct

Were Sand in a more controlled state, he would have recoiled to see himself giving in to such graceless displays. However, his hero was there to rescue him before he could splash about in the remains of his lunch and dignity on the scorched stone below. Suddenly he felt himself moving through the air, held above the ground by a firm, muscular arm. As reality slipped away from him, he sighed and pressed his cheek to Aku’s forehead and finally went still.

He did not shift around a lot at all and his eyes remained closed throughout most of the trip down Mount Galardrym. Even as the rain started he was still retreated into reverie for the most part. Every now and then his fingers would shift along Aku’s skin where they made contact.

If Sand were ‘awake’ he would have spared them both with a spell to protect them from the elements… except they were all used up in the scrap against Tholapsyx. Burning, scorching fire? Or a little bit of drizzle? Still, once he would finally stir from his state of semi-consciousness, they would have the luxury of being able to avoid the misty raining.

shinycollectingteifling

The slow walk down, while wet and slippery, not to mention dangerously narrow pathways, was made bearable. At least in Akuma’s mind. Finding she quite liked being this close to her favourite wizard.

A slight prickling feeling ran up her spine as she edged her way very carefully over a narrow rock pass over a very painful looking drop below. She turned just enough at the way she’d come from and felt ice drop into her stomach.

Clearly on their way up they hadn’t quite finished off one of the giants who had been hindering their progress all damn day. This one, while not the largest by any means looked angry. His flaming beard flickering as the weather turned from drizzle to a downpour, muscles bulging as he began charging at them and this narrow little bridge.

Had she been on her own Aku would have charged right back, but… She looked at Sand in her arm and at her hammer in the other and whimpered for a moment. She shouldered her weapon and pulled Sand closer to her chest as she began to run across the bridge, flinching as she heard a loud crack behind her.

Her hooves clicked rapidly across the stone and her tail thrashed side to side to help her keep her balance, she began muttering under her breath. “Don’t panic, I’ve got you I’ve got you, I promised. I promised.”  Trying desperately to look only at the end of the bridge and not at Sand or what was coming behind them.

cunninginstinct

Sand’s eyes snapped open and he tilted his head upwards, furrowing his brow against the intensifying rain. He recalled fighting the dread Tholapsyx - and surviving, successfully subverting expectation - and his exhaustion suddenly and rather nauseatingly catching up with him on the mountaintop. Everything past that was beyond his mental reach. Except… Aku caught him, held him, carried him. He recalled comfort and bliss in her arms. And she was still lofting him around, but at a scurry rather than a leisurely trot.

Sudden lightning highlighted the giant behind them and his eyes widened.

“Oh for the love of the Seldarine,” he croaked.

At least the wizard’s impromptu rest did him some good to replenish his spells. As Aku hurdled down the stone path, the elf she carried with her hurriedly chanted a haste spell on her. Hopefully that should put some distance between her and the fire giant, but it would not be enough… Without missing a beat, he began to rattle out the incantation to Polar Ray, aiming true at their cranky pursuer.

shinycollectingteifling

As the magic took a hold of her, Aku took the hint and began a full on dash across the bridge, legs blurring as she crashed through the driving rain. The edge was in sight, and she felt the creeping cold from behind her and heard an almighty roar and something heavy hitting the bridge. Which then shook.

The giant had run right into the spell and started to slip, unable to hold his balance fell backwards and hit the bridge with such a force that it was beginning to crack under his weight. He shook his head and sat up to hurl his axe at the retreating duo, just as the rock gave way and his yells quickly grew quiet then silent.

The teifling glanced back and let out another whimper before looking at her companion. “I am so so sorry about this.” She twisted and spun around, launching the wizard towards the safe end of the bridge in an upwards arc, biting on her lower lip with worry while she made a much less graceful but much faster sprint across. Sliding the last few feet on her side.

She sprung up at the last moment, arms up and got bowled over backwards in her attempt to catch Sand on his return to the ground. Going horn over tail down the muddy slope.

When they came to a stop she slowly uncurled herself from around the elf, breathing hard, and looking up to make sure they weren’t still being hunted then looked down at him, ears turned downward, and a very apologetic look on her face.

cunninginstinct

If moon elves were meant to fly they’d be avariel. That’s what Sand always thought, anyways. Yet here he was, airborne, without so much as a hint of a plan of what in the realms Akuma thought she was doing. So, he did what he’d naturally do - he screamed.

Now whatever mystique he built up over the years was gone, but dire life-threatening situations had a certain way about them that put a person’s true priorities into order. And this? This was the least of his concerns at the moment.

The wind tore at his lungs as he sailed gracelessly in an arc through the air, wailing all the while. At last gravity caught up to him and he began his journey (perhaps not so much that as it was a harsh plummet) earthwards. The ground was coming close. By Mystra, there had to be something there between his sharp ears that would save him from a squashed state! However, even with all the racing his mind was doing in that moment, all he could begin to think of was whatever eulogy he’d get once whatever smears was left of him could be collected and buried. Here lies Sand, hedge-wizard, unconventional lawyer, elven pancake.

Serendipity by the name of Aku saved him from his perilous descent through the air. His yelp was cut short quite abruptly. A mass of blue muscle tumbled into him, Sand’s ragdoll body held tight against the knight captain in a protective grasp. For a while yet they traveled, but at last when their surroundings ceased its spinning Sand found he was still, miraculously, alive.

His breathing was ragged. The twitch in his left eye was sustained for several moments until his gaze found Aku. The elf’s chest continued to heave with greedy gulps of air.

“Thank you. And also never,” Sand groaned hoarsely, “ever, throw me again.” His palm found his forehead shakily, pressing against the surface in a fed up manner. “But… more importantly, thank you.”

shinycollectingteifling

Akuma let out a sigh of relief at hearing him speak and sounding (all things considered) fine. She nodded, agreeing to his terms. “You’re welcome. I uh, wasn’t exactly thinking…just sort of uhm…”  She shut up quickly, not wanting to be any more of an idiot than she was making herself already. Besides, ‘Wanted to get you across safe’ didn’t want to leave her thoughts via words anyway.

Once the adrenaline wore off, she checked Sand for any obvious injuries, though there wouldn’t be much she could do about that at the moment. Satisfied nothing life threatening was going on she began to shift to stand up but hissed softly. Seems sliding over bare rock was not an ideal method of travel. She grit her teeth for a moment and tried again, managing to get upright and offered her hand for her companion. Wishing she could do something about the rain.

“I don’t think the camp is that far away now, we got quite a bit of distance covered.” She picked up her hammer, looking around the pass, it didn’t look quite the same in the dark, since her vision only made things black and white in the low light. Yet while she was figuring out where they were her gaze kept being drawn back to the hedge wizard.

Another flash of lightning impressed the urgency of the situation. So she took point and picked out the safer places to step down along the path, not quite going as quick as she would’ve liked.

She checked back over her shoulder fairly frequently, making sure Sand was still there. Feeling the need to lighten the mood somewhat she smiled. “You know, If anyone asks I’ll say that was me. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you be that loud before.”

cunninginstinct

“Well! At least some part of my dignity is maintained.” Sand rolled his eyes heavanward in fond exasperation. A delicate elven hand found the side of her face, fingertips lightly tracing her cheekbone. “Aku, dear girl,” he sighed with a sly little half-smile, “what ever am I going to do with you?” Rivulets of water trailed down the surface of her face like tears at his touch.

There was a pause and his ears twitched, soon afterwards his keen eyes zoned in on the commotion of camp quite a ways below them. His smile was slow to broaden, but it found inspiration with the offer of her hand. The wizard’s fingers closed around her palm, but not before he took advantage of the lack of surveillance upon the two of them to kiss where he caressed her cheek earlier. “Consider this the first part of my payment for saving our lives.”

He ran his fingers through his coal black hair and frowned in distaste at the sodden texture. “Mm,” he hummed thoughtfully. “And consider this the next part.” While still grasping her hand, he wove a spell to protect them from the elements for the duration of the rest of their descent. And if Tymora smiled upon them, hopefully it would be a slower and less treacherous one. “You saved me from a dragon, so naturally I must rescue you from the clutches of a dreadful cold. Ah, don’t thank me all at once.”

shinycollectingteifling

Seeing the hand close to her face she couldn’t help flinch slightly but relaxed almost immediately.

It was the strangest most surreal thing in the world to her that with the barest hint of a touch Sand could make her simply melt against his palm, eyes closing for a few moments.

She couldn’t have answered his question even if she wanted to, her brain and stomach were becoming quite fuzzy, enough to distract her until the brief kiss against her cheek.

Then the fuzz became a blaze of heat and she felt like she’d been stunned for a good while, and simply followed where he was leading her, hoping the walk down to the camp wouldn’t be too short after all, and for once thankful the dark was hiding the new colour on her face.

“Uhm yeah rescue the cold from a dragon…” She grinned, clearly hadn’t paid quite full attention and walked a little closer, looking far too happy in the dark and pouring rain when usually she’d be the first to complain about the weather. “Best wizard ever.”

cunninginstinct

Sand chuckled. “I’ll take that as a ‘thank you’.” He was not so disoriented that he would miss the flush spreading across her face, but he accepted his success with a smug, knowing smile.

They strode down the path steadily, hand in hand, protected from the rain by a magical bubble. Still he took care with his steps... it would not do well to ruin the moment by taking another impromptu tumble down the slippery hill. There would always be a better time and place for the two of them to be sprawling, and the rocks here were not looking particularly comfortable for it. With a twinge of amusement he tucked that thought away for a different time.

The gods graced the rest of their journey without any more dragons or giants, or even sudden natural disasters, that would have no doubt put a damper on their walk. Despite the dark and the rain he would dare say he even enjoyed these moments, more since they were not burdened with the risk of being watched by prying eyes. They were for each other in this simple stroll. Any lingering fire giants would just have to form a queue and wait until Aku and Sand’s precious rare time alone was over.

But alas, all good things must come to an end, and far too soon it seemed. The camp was within reasonable distance and the risk of being seen together like they were was too much of a risk for comfort. Quietly Sand kissed her hand before releasing it, gazing about warily as they continued on. The last thing they needed was a tattletale, and it was blessing enough to not be caught by any further enemies on their journey down.

[comic-book-jawns]

Closure

“Dani? Dani, what’s wrong?”

Jamie cups her cheek. Dani wants to be able to explain, wants to assuage the concern etched all over Jamie’s face. But her mind feels simultaneously like it’s racing and not working at all. All she can do is hyperventilate, which isn’t even her doing, just her body’s automatic response to what she just saw — or more specifically, who she just saw.

She can’t even get a word out, but Jamie seems to understand. She feels Jamie take her hand and squeeze it.

“You’re okay, Dani. You’re with me. Hold on to me, yeah?”

Dani manages to wrap her other hand around Jamie’s upper arm and lean in closer.

“Good, baby. Good job.”

She hears Jamie whisper it as she stares down at the floor, not wanting to see the eyes inevitably turning toward them. It’s pathetic really that she should be a focal point amidst an array of world-renowned paintings, but she gets it. It’s human nature. But that doesn’t make her feel any less uncomfortable.

“You okay to walk?”

Dani jerks her head and then feels Jamie gently pull her along. She keeps her eyes down, trying to focus on Jamie — her warmth, her scent, the callouses on her hand.

When’d they first gotten together, on that fateful night a decade ago now, Jamie had been embarrassed of them, felt the need to apologize.

“I like them.”

Jamie had almost laughed as she’d lain on her back next to Dani, who’d lain on her side facing Jamie, propping her head up with one hand and holding Jamie’s hand on top of the covers with her other.

“Dani - ”

“No, I’m serious. They’re like - ”

“Sandpaper?”

Dani had rolled her eyes.

“They’re like you... They’re... ” She’d sighed. “Grounding.”

In the dark, Dani hadn’t been able to see her blushing, but she’d heard it in her voice.

“Oh.”

*****

“Did ya see her?”

Dani whips her head up. How could Jamie possibly know that? She didn’t even know what... oh, that her.

Jamie had sat her down on the closest stairway she could find. It wasn’t secluded, exactly. But the people passing by aren’t really paying them any mind. And Jamie’s crouched down in front of her, partially blocking her from view and holding her hands.

Dani shakes her head.

“Eddie- ” She sees Jamie’s eyes go wide. “Eddie’s mom. She’s here.”

Jamie opens her mouth but doesn’t seem to know what to say. She nods.

“Okay.” She nods again, processing. “Okay, we’ll leave when ya feel up to it.”

“Jamie... ”

They had a limited amount of time on this vacation in Philadelphia, and today had been specifically designated for the Museum of Art. If they leave now, they won’t be coming back.

“Poppins, what d’ya think I care more about: you or some bloody art?”

Dani laughs, despite herself. It was hard not to when she put it like that. It was hard not to laugh around Jamie, period. And she feels even lighter when she hears Jamie chuckle after a moment.

“Danielle?”

Just like that she feels all of the tension come flooding back to her body. That voice — older, but just as gentle, just as kind. Before she can react further, she feels Jamie squeeze her hands, then watches her stand and turn around.

“She’s okay. Just a little lightheaded. Needs to eat.”

It’s not entirely a lie. They had been planning to take a lunch break sooner than later.

“Oh, here... ”

Dani hears Judy step closer and leans over just enough to see her take something out of her purse. It’s a bag of pretzels, Dani’s favorite childhood snack. It’s coincidental, of course, has to be. But Dani can feel her eyes water ever so slightly. She ducks back behind Jamie as the woman who practically raised her looks back up.

“I know we’re not really supposed to bring food, but — well, everything is just getting so expensive these days.”

She laughs as if she’s making small talk, Dani thinks — as if she’s not trying to feed her former almost daughter-in-law, whom she hasn’t seen since she abruptly disappeared from her life without a word. Dani hears Jamie take the bag.

“Thank you. That’s very kind ah ya.”

“You’re not from around here.”

It’s not said with judgment, Dani notices, more an air of curiosity.

“What gave me away?” Dani smiles as she hears Judy laugh again. Jamie is charming — she, of all people, should know. But she also knows Jamie is fairly shy, especially around strangers. She usually leaves the talking to Dani, but here she is stepping up for her sake. “I’m from England, originally.”

“Oh, how lovely. I am, too, actually.” Dani furrows her eyebrow, unbeknownst to Judy, but Jamie must be wearing a similar expression. “My family, I mean.” She hears Judy chuckle. “I try not to talk about it too much because my husband was Irish.”

“Was?”

The words are out of her mouth before Dani even processes what she’s doing. Jamie turns back to look at her, inadvertently putting her in full view of Judy.

“Danielle?”

She says it more softly this time. Realizing her mistake, Jamie moves in, but Dani puts a hand out. Jamie takes it, helping her up, and she finally comes face-to-face with Judy. Her hair is still brown, clearly dyed; and her face is wrinkled.

But her eyes are unchanged, warm as ever — though Dani had noticed them widen for a moment. But she’s grown accustomed to it. Even people who haven’t know her since childhood don’t expect her to have different colored eyes.

Dani swallows.

“Mr. O’Mara... ”

Judy smiles sadly.

“A few years ago.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Dani hadn’t been as close to him, but he’d always been welcoming. In fact, he’d helped teach her how to drive, readily loaned his car for practice, so she wouldn’t have to wait for the one reserved for her Driver’s Ed class to be free.

Eddie had pushed back, insisting that he was the one who would be driving them around, so what was the point. But Mr. O’Mara had also pushed back, with a laugh. “I will be buying the car, and I want it to remain in one piece, so I think Danielle will be doing the driving.”

Eddie had barely spoken to her for a week after that, so Dani had not been entirely grateful for the support — always worried about keeping Eddie comfortable at her own expense. And she had also been aware that Eddie’s insecurities partially stemmed from his father being hard on him, on all his sons, in a way that he wasn’t on Dani — not that it was an excuse for Eddie’s behavior.

In the end, it was Eddie who drove them around, but Mr. O’Mara had made Dani follow through with the class; and, upon her getting her license, he'd told her she was welcome to drive the car whenever she wanted, even by herself.

Judy’s smile brightened.

“Oh, it’s all right. Thank you, sweetie.”

She goes to reach out, but then hesitates. For a moment, Dani just continues looking at her, taking the moment in, and then she takes a breath and reaches out herself.

And suddenly, it’s as though no time has passed. She’s nine years old again, and Judy is walking her home from ballet class.

Her mother was supposed to pick her up, but she hadn’t showed. Dani had called and an intoxicated Karen had insisted Dani must have told her the wrong day. Crying, Dani had tried to explain that she hadn’t. She’d been attending the weekly class for two months now, and it had always been on Wednesday nights.

Karen had refused to accept that Dani was right or even apologize. She’d told her to walk, which was what Dani usually resorted to. She’d only called because it was raining, and she didn’t have an umbrella or even a jacket. But, out of options, tears still streaming down her face, she’d set off.

Halfway home, hugging herself as she shivered, she’d heard it.

“Danielle?”

She’d looked up to find Judy a little farther down the sidewalk, wearing a jacket and holding an umbrella.

“Hi... Mrs. O’Mara.” She’d said through chattering teeth.

She’d seen her a couple hours ago, having gone home with Eddie after school. She’d offered to drop her off, but Dani had explained that she needed to go home first anyway to get changed and that her mom would be picking her up.

She’d then walked to the rec center from her house, having reminded her mother where she was going when she’d walked out the door. Her mother had responsed with an “uh-huh” that had told Dani she wasn’t really listening, but she’d still held out hope.

Judy had run to her and wrapped her in her jacket, hugging her and rubbing her back and arms to try to warm her up. Then, she’d taken her hand, and they’d set off together. Judy had invited her to come back to her house, but Dani, having not called her to pick her up out of embarrassment, had declined. She’d even told her that she had told her mom the wrong day, that it was her fault.

Dani had been able to tell, even then, that Judy didn’t buy it, but Judy hadn’t pushed back. She’d simply said that if it happened again, she wanted Dani to call her, and she would come get her. Dani had tried to decline, graciously, but Judy had held her ground.

So Dani had promised to do so, smiling shyly, and Judy had offered to at least make her some hot chocolate — Eddie would want it, too, anyway — before walking her to her own home. Dani had agreed. The next week she’d called Judy after her mother was a no-show yet again; and the week after that, Judy had been waiting for her outside when class had let out.

And that was their Wednesday night routine for years, through middle school, anyway. Sometimes Eddie would be with her, and she’d take them out for pizza or ice cream. Sometimes it would just be them, and she would take Dani to go get their nails done; or she would just walk her home, and they would talk. And Dani would smile and laugh and relax, in a way she never could around her own mother.

And even with everything that had happened, all the pain that had come later, Dani feels herself slipping back into it now, just a bit, into that comfort that she’d felt in presence for so long. She doesn’t even realize she’s crying until she feels Judy, still smiling, gently brush her cheeks with her free hand, then lower it back to her side.

Dani turns to Jamie, who’s still holding her other hand. Jamie smiles at her, and even looks rather misty-eyed herself, if a bit in shock too. Dani has a question to ask her, but there’s no subtle way to do it. She’s about to ask Judy if she can talk to Jamie alone for a moment, but then she feels Jamie squeeze her hand. Dani raises her eyebrows, then feels Jamie squeeze her hand again.

Dani smiles herself now. She wants to kiss Jamie so badly, but she settles for squeezing her hand back.

“Oh, this is beautiful.”

Dani turns back to her, and her eyes go wide. She hadn’t thought of which hand she was giving Judy when she’d reached out. But it’s too late now — Judy is lifting her hand to examine the Claddagh ring up close. And then her panic is replaced by anger, at herself. She loves Jamie, and how dare she feel uncomfortable about it.

But that wasn’t it. She’d wanted to tell Judy, but not like this. If she’d just -

“It’s Irish, too, you know.”

Well, the name was rather a dead giveaway. But Dani holds her tongue. She knows Judy is just making conversation. Surely, this was awkward for her to. She did almost marry her...

“Who’s the lucky man?”

Dani feels her heart break as she feels Jamie shift her hand in hers so Jamie’s own ring is facing away from Judy’s. But Dani understands. Jamie isn’t ashamed, either. She hasn’t let go. She’s just giving Dani exactly what she wanted — control over the situation.

Dani takes a deep breath and proceeds her original plan.

“Mrs. - uh, Judy.” Dani clears her throat. “Would you want to join us for lunch?”

*****

“So you go by Dani now?”

“What?” Dani has been so preoccupied planning out how she wants to tell her, her comment doesn’t register at first. “Oh, uh, yes.”

Judy smiles.

“I like it.”

Dani feels herself blush slightly, then feels rather pathetic for Judy’s acceptance of her name meaning that much to her, but...

“And I like her.”

She watches Judy glance over toward the bathroom. Jamie had gotten up a few moments ago as part of the plan Dani had come up with, which she’d relayed to Jamie before they’d left the museum, having asked Judy to go on ahead. They would meet her outside in a moment. She just wanted to freshen up in the bathroom.

She had, in fact, done so while explaining to Jamie that she wanted to tell Judy alone, if that was alright. Nodding, Jamie had suggested she come back to the table in two minutes, either way. Dani had nodded and then started crying as Jamie slid off her ring.

“Jamie!” She hadn’t fully realized what she was asking of her. They’d literally just celebrated their 10-year anniversary a few months ago. “I - ”

Jamie had put the ring in her front jean pocket, then looked up and cupped her face.

“S’alright, Dani. Doesn’t change anythin’. We know, yeah?”

Jamie had smiled softly, then leaned up and kissed her forehead.

Dani is smiling now as Judy turns back to her. This would either makes things easier or even more painful, if she immediately changed her mind once Dani told her. Dani takes a deep breath.

“How long have you two been together?”

She should be relieved, but instead Dani feels all the air being sucked out of her lungs. Of all the scenarios she’d played out in her head over the past half hour, none of them had involved Judy figuring it out on her own.

“I - ”

She feels Judy lay a hand on top of both of hers, which she’d been wringing incessantly for the past thirty seconds.

“I’m sorry about before... for assuming.” Judy laughs awkwardly. “It hadn’t even occurred to me, considering you and - ”

There it was. The person neither of them had yet acknowledged. Dani feels herself starting to get lightheaded again.

“I’m sorry! I - I shouldn’t’ve... ” Judy sighs, closes her eyes briefly, then looks down. “This is like Carson all over again." Dani furrows her brow, not sure what Eddie's younger brother has to do with her and Eddie. But before she can ask, Judy looks back up and presses on. "What I’m trying to say is... I love you, Dan-Dani... and I’m very happy for you... Jamie is a very... a very lucky, uh... woman.”

For a moment, Dani says nothing as she feels her eyes watering once more. And then she completely breaks down.

*****

“Can I ask - ” Judy nods encouragingly. “How - how did you, umm - ”

Judy smiles warmly.

“I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you think at her.”

“That so?”

Jamie is back with them now, sitting beside Dani in their corner circular booth. Jamie’s arm is wrapped around her shoulders, and Dani is leaning against her, breathing her in. Sitting even just a few inches away from her before had been torture. Dani turns her head to catch Jamie’s smirk.

“And I noticed the tan line on Jamie’s finger.”

“Ah, fuck me!”

Jamie’s left hand has been resting on top of Dani’s on the table. Her ring is back on, so the line is no longer visible, but instinctively, she starts to lift her hand for a closer look. And then she freezes, blushing. She puts her hand back down and clears her throat.

“Sorry.”

Even with her grey hairs — which Dani finds incredibly attractive, as she’d told Jamie when they’d started coming in and Jamie had grown self-conscious — Jamie looks adorably like a schoolchild who’s just been scolded for using a bad word. Dani can’t help but giggle. Jamie looks back at her and smiles sheepishly, blushing even harder.

“Edmund would be happy for you, too.”

Dani feels herself tense up again. Jamie must too because Dani feels her squeeze her shoulder. But this was why she’d wanted to talk to Judy alone. It wasn’t fair to Jamie.

She knew Jamie didn’t feel that way, would never feel that way, but that only made Dani feel more strongly that it was. She needed to protect Jamie from her own selfless — Jamie, who was already trying to ease her nerves. Knowing Jamie wouldn’t leave now, even if she asked her to, Dani turned back to Judy, sighing.

She could go along with it, pretend. But they were past that now. If this undid everything, so be it.

“I’m not sure that’s true.”

“Honey - ”

“You don’t - ” Dani swallows. “You don’t know everything that happened... that night.”

That stops Judy. A bit wide-eyed, she waits for Dani to elaborate. Dani takes a shaky breath and feels Jamie squeeze her shoulder again.

“I wasn’t his fiancée... when he... at the time of his death.”

She feel Jamie massage her shoulder as she watches Judy, who opens and closes her mouth several times, before landing on a response.

“I see.”

Dani doesn’t elaborate further. Jamie, of course, had helped her come to terms with it years ago, not that she hadn’t her moments here and there — on his birthday or even when she’d see a young boy and a young girl playing together — but she’d still known that Jamie was right: it wasn’t her fault, never had been.

Judy is silent for almost a minute, and Dani feels the time has come. She’d accomplished what she’d set out to do, said all she’d needed to say, right? She’d known it might end like this.

But just as she sits up more, preparing to stand, Judy take her free hand.

“Well, that... that doesn’t change anything... You’ve always been like a daughter to me... Dani. And you always will be.”

For what seems like the millionth time that day, Dani feels tears springing to eyes.

“Thank - ” She chokes on the word and clears her throat as she feels a few tears break free. “Thank you.”

She feels both Judy and Jamie squeeze her hands and then sees Judy look over her shoulder.

“And Jamie, too. Welcome to the family.”

Dani feels Jamie tense up and turns to find her gaping at Judy. Then, Jamie looks at her, and Dani sees the corners of her mouth twitch upward, but she’s still wide-eyed and rather pale.

“I’m sorry if I... I didn’t mean to overstep.”

Dani sees panic now creeping onto Jamie’s face. Dani flips their left hands so that hers is on top and squeezes Jamie’s. Then, she turns back to Judy, smiling as she lifts the same hand to wipe her face.

“You didn’t. Jamie is very grateful.” She feels Jamie nod behind her as she places her hand back on top of hers. “As am I.”

Judy smiles, relaxing. For a few moments, they sit in companionable silence, almost silence. Dani is still sniffling a bit.

“Oh, honey. Here.”

Judy grabs a napkin and reaches over. Dani feels Jamie’s hand slip out from under hers.

“I’m sorry.”

Dani hears Jamie’s voice crack as she takes the napkin, and she turns around in alarm, kicking herself as she sees Jamie’s face crumple. She’d miscalculated, assuming Jamie would cry once when they were alone. Jamie rarely let herself get emotional in public. She slips her hand out of Judy’s, takes the napkin out of Jamie’s and turns around more fully.

“It’s okay, Jay.”

Cupping Jamie’s cheek, she lifts the napkin, but then thinks better of it. This is about making Jamie comfortable, not Judy. She puts it back on the table, cups Jamie’s other cheek and closes her eyes as she leans in until their foreheads are touching.

“It’s okay.”

She hears Jamie’s stifle a whimper and feels Jamie bring her right arm, that had been draped across her shoulders, in closer until Jamie’s hand is rubbing the back of her neck. After a few moments, she hears Jamie starting to breath more evenly, then she feels her pull back.

Dani opens her eyes. Jamie looks better but embarrassed. She can feel the heat as she brushes her thumbs across Jamie’s cheeks to wipe away the remaining tears. But it’s Judy who speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

Dani glances back. Judy looks a bit uncomfortable but more out of concern, it seems.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Dani turns back to Jamie. “My wife doesn’t take compliments well.”

Dani grins as Jamie laughs. It morphs into a cough, and Jamie pulls away, bringing her elbow up to cover her mouth. But when she turns back, letting her arm drop back onto the table, she’s smiling. It’s her crooked smile, and it’s then that Dani decides she can’t wait any longer.

Cupping face again, she kisses her, softly and quickly. Even around someone other than Judy, she wouldn’t really feel comfortable doing more than that, and she knows Jamie wouldn’t either. That’s not their style, and they are still in public.

When she pulls back, she looks Jamie over. She appears to be mostly recovered, and as if reading her mind, Jamie nods, still smiling. Dani smiles back, then turns back to Judy, who, as it turns out, is smiling herself.

Dani feels her smile widen, though she’s not quite sure what to say, what there is left to say. But Judy, apparently, has something in mind.

“Jamie, now that you’re a part of this family, I think I owe you some Dani stories.”

“If that’s all right with Dani.”

Jamie’s arm is back around her shoulders. Dani leans against her once more, squeezes Jamie’s left hand and nods to Judy.

“Has Dani told you about the first grade pageant?”

For a moment even Dani draws a blank, then she feels her cheeks start to burn as she laughs.

“Oh, god.”

“Ya know, I don’t believe she has, Judy.”

Dani hears the smirk in her voice and feels Jamie nestle in closer.

As Judy begins the story of her six-year-old self going completely off book after her class had spent a month learning a choreographed dance, Dani squeezes Jamie’s hand three times. She hears Jamie’s breath catch for a moment, then hears her sigh and feels her squeeze back three times.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Code: Light

Part of my Series based on the in game dungeons lol. Just for fun.

In fact… there was a boy who lived here… 20 years ago…

The words echoed in Lu Mingfei’s mind as he looked over the rundown landscape in front of him. He was sitting on a dirty pillow on a broken, rotted out porch, rain pouring down on his head through the holes in the overhang. Spiders skittered about and made him pull his feet in. In front of him was a table of rice, vegetables and tea. Outside the porch was a small garden with a pond, green and overgrown with algae. It was pouring down rain as it had been all day. The pond was at capacity and it would soon overflow its banks. From the gloomy surroundings, frogs creeled out a constant serenade.

He was led there by a woman, an elder in that particular village, who had first reported what turned out to be dragon activity in this small town. Lu Mingfei, Chu Zihang, and Caesar Gattuso were called to investigate. According to the report on the dossier, a young child in a red coat, carrying a red balloon could be seen standing at the edge of the village. His face was impossible to make out. Japanese towns could be full of local ghost tales, but this one occurred with disturbing regularity. EVA, the Cassell Supercomputer then detected an elemental anomaly. Plants seemed to be growing at such an incredible rate, that the rain clouds over this small area of Japan never seemed to stop. The rain would fall, the plants would soak it up and transpire the water again. It was as if the Amazon Rainforest took up residence in the far East.

After explaining about the child, the old woman took them out to that ramshackle ruin of a place. “If it’s that boy you’re seeking, why not try making him something to eat?”

Then she left.

“Guys I’m so over this ghost hunt. This is so creepy and the lower the sun gets the more I want to leave.” He said. He was wearing his usual combat suit, that skin tight but extremely durable wear that was close enough to the body to avoid catching on anything, but strong enough to withstand the cut of a knife. But was it ghost proof? Who was to say they wouldn’t get eaten by this ghost and the rice be left cold and moldy with no sign of them?

“Are you excited to be on an actual ghost hunt? It’s a shame that the ghost is a boy though.” Caesar sat smoking his cigar and looking out over the grey sheet of rain in front of him. He was dressed similarly, with his Desert Eagles at his side. Of course, he made a much more handsome figure in the muscle-hugging suit.

Lu Mingfei wanted to pull his hair out. “You’re engaged! Don’t lust after the dead you freak!”

Chu Zihang slid his sword part way out of his sheath to check his equipment. “There’s no such thing as the dead coming back to life, unless it’s a dragon. And dragons don’t really die. They just sleep until they can be reborn. What we’re looking for is not a real ghost… but something that has the properties of a dragon.”

“Ghost… dragon… whatever. Do we even know if it’s attracted to rice?”

“It’s not about the rice, Lu Mingfei, it’s the routine. If the boy had a family or cared for anyone at all, wouldn’t it miss sitting at a table with a family meal?” Caesar bit his cigar, 

“And we’re supposed to be its family huh? Who are you? The mom?” Mingfei shot back.

“Well…” Caesar looked down at the food. “I cooked it.”

Lu Mingfei opened his mouth to say something else but Zihang suddenly tensed. His golden eyes stared into another pair of golden eyes. A boy in a red raincoat, stood at the edge of the mossy pond. He was holding a red balloon. Only those glowing eyes were visible under the red hood. It didn’t seem to have a face.

Lu Mingfei’s face went white and then grey with terror. He shook so hard his teeth chattered “G-ghost!”

A small child’s voice echoed clear despite the pounding rain. “Outsiders. I need your help. Come with me.”

The rain suddenly stopped but the sky grew darker, like a great shadow from something large coming over head. The air suddenly cooled. They were still in front of the table but the garden was replaced by sand. The sand was grooved in artistic circles, like an elegant Japanese rock garden. Looking around, they seemed to be in a ruined ancient village. The piece of land they were standing on was floating in mid air, like it had been torn from the earth. There was no sun. The way was lit by ominous paper lanterns that floated in place, painted with a red swirl pattern. In the distance an ancient Japanese castle tower rose out of the misty horizon.

Torii gates were seen floating in the grey, foggy surroundings. Most were shattered. They seemed frozen in the middle of being demolished, their broken pieces spraying at odd angles, their elegant cross bars tilted, but they never collapsed. 

What was most noticeable about this place however, was the sudden sense of crushing sorrow. The feeling one got when they received some sort of horrible news. Like a loved one had just died. It hit Mingfei in the chest and took his breath away.  “Guys. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to …” Mingfei eyes filled with tears. “What’s happening. I’m so scared.” He hugged his own arms and tried to stop the tears from falling. “We’ve got to get out!” 

He turned to Chu Zihang who always knew what to do in times like this. But the man was frozen, his jaw tense and locked, staring at the ground in a trance, trying to control his out of control emotions. He was breathing fast and trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

Apparently, sorrow drove Caesar Gattuso to action. He drew Dictator and pointed it up towards some broken stairs framed by a bright red Torii gate. Caesar suddenly roared. “This place sucks! Let’s get out of here as soon as we can. The only way out is up!”

His sudden yell seemed to break whatever emotional spell had been cast on the other two teammates. Lu Mingfei wiped his face. “What was that all about?”

“I’m not sure. Likely the owner of this place had a terrible life.” Chu Zihang said gravely. “I’ve heard of Longwei, the natural fear that dragons give off to other creatures, but I’ve never heard of a Dragon’s sorrow being projected like this.”

The stairs were floating over empty air, made of uneven, ancient grey limestone. There were dozens of stairs leading up into the ominous grey sky with broken Torii gates at intervals every twenty steps. Chu Zihang held up his hand to catch what appeared to be snow flying in the air. He sniffed at it. “Ash. Like something is burning. This must be some sort of Nibelungen. But I’ve never seen anything like it.” Chu Zihang said. “We should watch out. Where there’s a Nibelungen, there’s always…”

A sudden loud screeching interrupted him. A flock of bats the size of geese suddenly dislodged from under the stairs.  A whole flock of them swept forward in a single black cloud mass. Lu Mingfei ducked his head as the claws and teeth scraped at him. “I hate this place already!”

Caesar drew his pistols and fired. The bats were flapping and tilting and whirling, but he just needed to aim for just a moment before shooting one out of the air without missing. Likewise, Chu Zihang quickly slashed once and twice, neatly severing their bodies in two without trouble.

“Bats are better than snakes!” Caesar yelled, reloading his Desert Eagles.

“At least Snakes don’t fly!” Lu Mingfei yelled.

 As they climbed the stairs, they stayed back to the back, firing and slicing through the endless swarm of screaming bats. The sound of it was like a constant siren. Mingfei held his hands to his ears and allowed himself to be shielded by his two older students. He could hardly see anything between the endless assault of black bodies.

Caesar’s eyes glowed yellow. “There’s something big at the top of the stairs. That’s where they’re coming from!” He had sent out his Scythe Itachi and they returned with a huge heartbeat up ahead. “Chu Zihang, get rid of these things!”

“Get down.”  Chu Zihang closed his eyes for just a moment and then an evil snarl emanated from his throat. Black waves of heat drove back the bats and then exploded outward into violent flames. The bats were instantly set alight and hundreds of burning bodies folded their wings and fell into the endless pit below. Lu Mingfei didn’t even want to think of what it meant to fall down into that grey void. Would he just continue to fall forever?

“Eugh…” Caesar pinched his nose to escape the smell of burning flesh and hair.  “Good.” He said, reaching down at pulling Mingfei to his feet.

A loud roar shook the stairs and cracked them.  Then the stairs started to crumble, starting from the bottom. If they didn’t hurry, they would be the ones falling. “Run! Run!” Caesar yelled. 

Ahead of them was a large gap. The stairs were falling apart around them, coming to pieces, like the mortar that held them together suddenly lost all its strength. “We’ll have to jump it!”

It looked to be ten feet across over the nothingness. They’d never make a jump that far. But it was either try to jump or fall to their deaths anyway. Chu Zihang suddenly grabbed Lu Mingfei’s arm and without explanation took a leap and dragged him with him. For a moment, there was nothing but empty air under him. And then a sudden blast of heat and a loud boom! Chu Zihang used Royal Fire to blast himself over the gap, dragging the terrified Lu Mingfei the extra few feet needed. They landed and Lu Mingfei collapsed on shaky legs. “Are you out of your mind? You could have at least told me!” He gasped.

Chu Zihang looked at him with no expression. “You would have hesitated.”

Lu Mingfei froze. “I- n.- No…” Lu Mingfei looked away and then looked around. “Where’s Caesar?”

Caesar pulled himself up onto his arms. He was hanging from the ledge, having barely made the jump himself. He looked at Chu Zihang, annoyed. “Sure. Don’t mind me. I’ll just help myself up.”

His eyes suddenly widened at something behind Chu Zihang and Lu Mingfei. They turned around and saw a looming snake with a thick human-like torso and bulging human arms. It glared at them with yellow eyes shining from the skull of an ancient predator it wore as a mask. It brandished a spear as long as a car with a sharp bone tip.

[baconsoupforthesoul]

The Ink Demonth - Day 25 - Sunshine

A New Dawn

A/N: Spacy continues her au craze with another piece for the Bioshock au. However, this one is for the Bioshock au offshoot called Silver Linings. In this version, things happened a little differently in Rapture Studios, and I enjoy this version of the au just as much as the original. If you want to learn more about it, I suggest looking through the Silver Linings tag on one of the amazing creators’ blogs. So, without further ado, Henry belongs to @inkspottie, Ross belongs to @doberart, and Delta belongs to @trashboatprince. I hope you all enjoy~

Henry can feel himself nodding off. His eyelids were heavy as he started to slump forward, before jerking himself back awake. He knew he should sleep. After what happened, his body could use the rest. But he just couldn’t.

He looked down at Ross laying in the hospital bed. He looked rough, covered in bruises and scratches, and that horrible gash in his legs that he’d had to bandage up multiple times. He was so thankful that they had finally gotten the man proper medical attention. Goodness knows the nurses here did a much better job than he had.

It almost didn’t seem real. After spending his entire life in Rapture, both as an experiment and slave to Joey Drew… he was finally free. They all were. It had been shocking when the bathysphere had come up and he had seen the sky for the first time. The moon had been full in the sky, and if Henry hadn’t been too busy helping him and his friends to the nearest hospital, he’s sure he would have been memorized by it.

He had yet to see the sun though. That was what he was looking forward to the most. To be honest, it was both his worry for Ross and his unquenchable need to see that sun, the first sunrise he would ever see, that kept him from his slumber.

He thought back to what Ross had said to him, after that awful fight in that colosseum where Joey had forced Delta to fight Ross. When the three of them had been getting what little rest they could, planning their next move. 

“So save those tears for when we see the sun. Yeah?”

“Til we see the sun,” Henry murmured to himself, lost in the memory as he looked out the hospital window.

He supposed he was lucky to see the sun at all. Henry’s hand reached up to his right eye, feeling the scars running across it. An eye he would never see out of again. It still hurt to think about it. That day when Joey had forced him to stay still with his “Would you kindly” phrase as he clawed at Henry’s eye. He had done his best to push the memories back while he had been in Rapture, he had enough to worry about as it was. But it was starting to hit him a little more now that he was stuck like this now, half-blind.

It could have been worse though. Henry glanced over at Delta, asleep on another hospital bed that had been rolled in here. The three of them didn’t want to be separated, not after everything they went through. The big daddy was snoring away, Bendy curled up in his lap. The crystals though, poking out of his side, his drill, his head... it made Henry wince just looking at it. It wasn’t that he was disgusted by it, but he knew how uncomfortable they must be. How painful it must be, to be spliced up like that. Hopefully, Norman could find a way to reverse the process.

They were lucky to have Norman with them, the man who had done everything he could to help them down there in that forsaken city. And even more lucky to have reached the surface on Halloween night. While Henry had only a vague knowledge of the holiday, it was apparently a day where people dressed up in costumes, so the three of them hadn’t turned too many heads when they reached the hospital. But Henry knew upon closer inspection, it would become clear that Delta’s crystals were very much not fake. Thankfully Norman had managed to pull aside the nurses caring for them, a kind woman named Linda and a… beautiful red-head named Lyra, and had somehow managed to explain at least some of it to them. The two of them seemed to be taking the whole thing in stride. Perhaps, even as unbelievable as their tale was, when looking at the raw evidence of what happened, one would have no choice but to believe it.

As Henry sat there, lost in his thoughts and memories, a light caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He looked out the window and his eyes widened.

He could see it. The light beyond the horizon. The sun rays had just managed to peek through the clouds, making a halo in the sky. Henry stared in wonder as he saw the sun’s light illuminated the sky for the first time. He knew it would be beautiful… he knew it would be breathtaking… but he hadn’t been prepared for how magnificent it truly was. He sat there in complete silence, unable to pull his gaze away. The sun lit up the clouds, painting them in red, orange, and yellow. It was like the sky was ablaze, a fiery spectacle of light. A single tear slipped down his cheek as he was transfixed by the promise of a new day. A new day in the light.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Henry startled, looking down to see that Ross had finally woken up. The white-haired man looked up to him with a warm, albeit tired smile on his face.

“Sorry,” He murmured softly. “Didn’t mean to startle you, Henry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Henry assured him. “Are you…. Are you feeling okay?”

“Physically? I feel like I got run over by a truck,” Ross told him honestly. “But right now,” Ross glanced up at the window, watching the sun rays poke through the window pane. “Seeing that sunrise… I feel pretty good.”

“Yeah, I understand,” Henry said, turning his gaze back to the window. Even as exhausted as he was, even feeling the pain from his own injuries… he honestly had never felt better. Seeing that sky, that sun… it made all the pain worth it.

“Heh, it’s even got me crying,” Ross let out a dry chuckle as he wiped tears from his own eyes.

“Hey, we did say we were going to save our tears till we saw the sun,” Henry reminded him, wiping away a few tears of his own.

“I suppose we did,” Ross said, his eyes misty but filled with so much joy. “It was worth it. How can you not get a little teary-eyed, seeing something as beautiful as that?”

“Mmhmm,” Henry hummed in agreement. 

“And I suppose… it’s actually my first time seeing it…” Ross realized, his voice taking a more solemn tone. Henry frowned, remembering the revelation Ross had learned down there. That he was a clone too, that the memories he had of the surface were someone else’s, remnants of a dead man, the original Henry Ross.

“Well, it’s my first time seeing it too. It’s a first for all of us. So… we can all enjoy our first sunrise together,” Henry told him and Ross smiled at that.

“I suppose you’re right,” Ross agreed, returning his gaze to the window. As the two of them continued gazing out the window, a thought suddenly struck Henry.

“Wait a second… Delta’s missing this!” He realized, quickly getting out of his chair and stumbling over to the big daddy.

“Delta,” Henry shook his brother’s shoulder gently. “Delta. Hey Delta. Wake up, you have to see this!”

“Huh?” Delta said groggily, his eyes only half opened. “What is it? I’m tryin’ to sleep here.”

“So, you didn’t want to see the sunrise then?” Henry asked, trying to sound innocent but he couldn’t keep the cheekiness out of his voice.

“What?!” Delta’s eyes shot open as he tried to sit up. “The sun’s coming up?”

“Hmmmm?” The little devil in his lap stirred, blinking his eyes slowly. “Mr. Sun’s come to play?”

“Yeah, come on little buddy. Let’s go see the sun,” Delta grinned down Bendy.

Henry carefully helped Delta stand up, being mindful of his sharp crystals, and helped him walk up to the window. Bendy crawled up onto his dad’s shoulder, wagging his tail excitedly. 

“Wow…” Delta stared out the window in awe, the sun lighting up the green in his eyes. “Would ya look at that…”

“It’s so pretty!” Bendy exclaimed, his eyes practically sparkling. “Look, daddy, look! It’s coloring the sky!”

“It sure is buddy,” the big daddy smiled as he reached up to rub the little devil’s head. “It sure is…”

A couple of stray tears rolled down Delta’s face as the sun slowly made its way up through the clouds, brightening up that blue sky. After all the tears of pain and despair they all had wept, they finally were crying tears of joy. They had made it through the darkness and into the light, free of the chains that had once shackled them. And as the light chased away the night, the three of them stayed there for some time, enjoying the warmth of the sun for the first time.

[georgemackayhey]

Rules For Falling In Love: #4

summary: In which George wants to get married. But… you’re not dating. Why should you say yes?

a/n: Hey yall! There were some interesting predictions mixed among the super sweet feedback from the last chapter and all I can say is, I hope you dig this one just as well! There's only ONE MORE chapter left after this one. Can you believe it? Thanks for everyone who've stuck with this sweet little story so far ♡

w/c: 3k

───※ ·❆· ※───

Finally, for once, you had no worries. No work, no award ceremonies, no pending run to the market you were dreading. You threw all the things essential for a weekend getaway into one big bag and watched out of the passenger window as George drove to the little beachside town where Dean, or rather, his lady, had invited you to stay.

You met Dean and Claire outside of the town's main drag, where markets and buskers and icecream stands gathered along a winding boardwalk that looked out over the distant ocean. Introductions were hurried as Dean had his eye on a paper map, with a bistro circled. Food driven as always, you chuckled to yourself.

The four of you strolled along the wooden path that creaked under every dragging step. The wind tousled your hair as families of all kinds crept past, laughing, and posing for photos in front of pop up shops and the view of the roaring ocean in the opposite direction.

George threw on arm round your shoulder as you both soaked up the sights, listening to Dean tell a story. He walked backward to watch your smiles crack into laughter when his punch lines hit. Claire lingered by his side, looking to him with a wide grin, leading the way all the same.

She went well with Dean, you thought. Her dark hair and her bright eyes contrasted his own in perfect harmony. The sun to his moon... Claire kept her sights on Dean, clearly love-struck. And even when she spun around to answer one of George's long-winded questions, Claire glanced to Dean as she spoke, and he watched on with a similar grin. If there was any question of the girls fitting in with the group you and the other two men made up, her clear adoration for your friend was answer enough.

When you made it to the bistro at the end of the walk, and a tired eyed host informed your party would have a bit of a wait, none of you seemed to mind. You settled on a bench in the crisp shade, watching Dean pull Claire into the sun for a round of selfies.

"They're made for each other, aren't they?" George gushed, watching your friend and his lady from across the way.

"A good match indeed." You chuckled, nodding approvingly. You joked for a while how it felt like you were both watching Dean grow up and bring a date home for the holidays. And when you finally got to sit around and enjoy a meal together, it seemed as if Claire had been a permanent fixture long before now. She asked about your life and listened on with care. She gushed over George's talent in the film he and Dean had just finished promoting. And Dean babbled over her, telling the story of how he'd met Claire and what kind of a fool he made of himself in his attempt to ask her out.  You all laughed and ate and kept on laughing when it was time to roam around the main drag once more.

Then, you all darted after window displays that caught your eye, stopping to greet a very excited dog who couldn't help but sniff your shoes on it's trot past. It was the perfect afternoon full of simple fun.

You split up inside a bookstore that seemed to sell little bits of everything besides rows of novels. Dean and George were taken by a large collection of war-torn photographs, huddled together to turn the pages and spout facts. You shook your head with a chuckle as you floated on past them toward a wall of fake flowers and handcrafted bookmarks.

As you reached out to admire some of the trinkets, Claire floated closer to do the same.

"Dean's told me you and George have only just gotten married. I thought surely you'd been together for years, the way you two go together." Claire turned her pleasant smile in your direction. You couldn't help but let out a laugh. This was a different version of the same type of question you always got. But it didn't make you nervous as it had the first couple of times, all those years ago. You'd come to expect it, now.

"Yes, we've known each other for almost ever." You shrugged, pulling a marble toned bookmark from the shelf out of curiosity. "Only now I suppose we're 'official'."

Claire gave you a slow, sage nod, grimacing at a gaudy display of paperclips as you sauntered through the aisles.

"I feel like I've known Dean for decades." She smiled, and you did too, coming upon a row of children's books under an entrance of paper planes hanging by string you couldn't see. "And I can't imagine being with anyone else, but the idea of marriage has never settled with me." The girl shrugged, speaking toward her risen shoulder as if making a confession. It was your turn to nod, understanding more than she probably knew.

"It's a hassle to change your name." You let out a soft laugh, glancing to notice George and Dean pointing to another book in the same section you'd left them behind in. "And you don't need a piece of paper to prove anything, but... it is nice." You seemed to decide. Claire listened, watching the wheels turn in your head as you spoke your thoughts aloud. You spun off into some ill rehearsed monologue about how seriously George had taken his commitment to remain a team with you, how valued it made you feel. All while forming your thoughts into words, new thoughts nagged you in the back of your head. You and George had only ever agreed to get married for convenience, what gave you the right to preach the value and meaning of the tradition you'd gone through with so unconventionally?

"Shit, that was beautiful." Claire let out a stunned chuckled, looking to you as if she'd just met you for the first time all over again.

"I really don't know how I got so lucky." You spoke, realizing that if you'd failed to see the importance of the decision you'd made until now, you must not have been worthy of the title that linked you to George. You realized just how deeply rooted your connection with him was. And you were suddenly wrought with nerves that the foundation on which you built your promises to George, weren't valuable enough to make your marriage last. And you suddenly realized just how desperately you wanted it to last. And that was a scary new thought.

///

Claire had found the perfect cottage in the hillside near the ocean, up and away from the bustling beachside town. She raced up the paint chipped the front porch and waved you all into the front door, as the sun started to set through the dense leafy trees that surrounded the place.

"Oh, it's so perfectly cozy!" Claire exclaimed, skipping through tight doorways. The dull white trim and narrow wooden hallways were charming as could be. The living space was complete with a stone fireplace, and there was a massive patio out of the kitchen that managed to overlook the distant ocean, inside the gated confinement of the lush back garden.

George insisted his friends take the master bedroom since they were the hosts. The small spare would be just fine for the two of you, wouldn't it? You'd been on more than your fair share of trips and surprise sleepovers where you'd had to share close quarters with George, before now.  

But until the time came to fight over which side of the bed to stay on, everyone found themselves out back in the comfy cushioned patio furniture, watching the sun turn the beach golden while dense clouds turned the sky dark overhead. You all stayed there for a while, chatting about the places you'd wound up earlier in the day. Laughing about some of the people you'd met in passing. George insisted you tell some old story he knew the details of just as well. Dean already knew most of your stories, together and apart, but he still laughed along as you told them to Claire.

When it was her turn to speak, she mostly spoke of Dean, how he'd charmed her family, how some of their adventures together panned out. He kept his moonstruck gaze settled on her, as you and George exchanged knowing glances to one another.

When the air grew misty and cold, you headed in to start a fire in the living room. Claire said something about having brought along drinks to mix and headed to the kitchen after you. George went in search of a sweater as a chill sent Dean in too.

You listened as everyone flutter about the rented space, spouting lose plans for the next, and the last day you'd spend on the mini getaway. You managed to spark the perfect fire in the stone place, as someone chose a record from the vintage player in the corner. How lovely for the renters to leave some albums for their guests, you thought.

Dean soon stole your attention by creping into the room and clearing his throat. You whipped around from studying the flickering flames to see Dean giving you an expectant glare, as if you were the one who'd approached him with something to say.

"What?" You worried.  Dean only grabbed you by the elbow and led you closer to the crackling fire, away from the open kitchen doorway.

"Is something... going on?" He asked in a nervous hush, glancing back to where George had taken to help mix drinks.

"Oh God, why did George say something? Is he mad at me? He'll cry if he sees me cry and so he'll go too long without telling me if-."

"No..." Dean laughed unbelievably, stalling your rambling. "No, that's the thing. You've always been a convincing couple. But this is- you both seem... different. Has something changed, at long bloody last? Are you, ya know... down to one-bedroom, back home?"

"Dean. Nothing has changed. George and I still have never slept together, and I can't believe you're asking, after all this time." He was always supposed to be the friend who understood, who was the only one saving all the dumb questions people at parties would always ask.

"First of all... you said never have, not never will. See? Secondly. You're married. Things obviously aren't the same as they were when I met the both of you."

"You are reading in between lines that aren't there."

"No, I'm looking across the room right now and watching George watch you, and as his best friend I can tell you that there are lines you're not acknowledging."

Another voice cut through your frantic whispered argument with Dean.

"What are you two up to?" George quirked a brow, holding out two perfectly mixed drinks for either of you to take.

"Nothing." You responded to George, but looked to Dean, more so making your point clear that there was nothing to argue about any further. He pursed his lips, rolled his eyes, and turned to smile and thank George for the drink.

Your group took to the cozy living room, around the warm fire as rain started to pelt at the windows. As you sat, like usual, unfamiliar thoughts crept out of the shadowy dungeons of your mind. A few dozen "what if's?" floated about your head, growing louder every time George locked eyes with you, asked you to remember a certain story, told his own on your behalf. You watched him speak, sipping your drink as you silently studied George. You watched his hands fan about as he spoke, before his fingers rested on your knee. Was it just a reflex? You felt him sink lower into the sofa at your side, leaning toward you to rest his drink on the coffee table, letting his shoulder stay pressed against yours while Claire told a crazy story about her time at Uni.

You caught Dean's glances, the question in his eye. He was silently asking you what he dared to address earlier. The question that hadn't left your mind since he'd brought it up.

When the fire started to die, and the rain became more than just background noise, you decided to call it a night. Everyone went their separate ways, parting with quips about how excited they were for the last day of roaming about the quaint seaside city.

You sat up in the warm, blanket dense bed while George took his turn cleaning up for the evening. You opened a book in your lap, but you didn't read.  You totally zoned out, lip trapped between your teeth as your brian drifted completely away from the lines on the pages.

Only when George eased into his side of the bed with a stretch were you broken from the daze. You turned to him with a question you hadn't realized was on the tip of your tongue

"What did you think of me when we first met?" You recalled the very day you moved across the neighborhood, how Georges parents were the first to offer your family baked goods and a friendly smile. You didn't meet George until school began, but when you realized he belonged to the neighbors your family had become accustomed to chatting with at the end of the block, it all made sense.

"I thought you'd be a big bully." George teased, settling under the covers as you scoffed in reply. "Really, you were too pretty. I thought surely you'd torment the school like in all the pretty girls do in American teen dramas."

"Well, you looked like all the boys on the rugby team, so I supposed I thought the same." You jeered, shutting your book. "I was truly shocked to learn there was a big brain inside that lovely head of yours."

George smiled, nearly rolled his eyes.

"Remember bonding over being little teenaged nerds, together?" You asked with a breathy chuckle, setting your book aside. George seemed to study you seriously for a beat before responding.

"Course I remember. Just because we've spent every day together since then doesn't mean the details blur together."

"So then you haven't blocked out that embarrassing New Year's Eve party, then?" You laughed, watching George bite back a reluctant smile.

"Unfortunately, no I haven't managed to forget." He grinned. "There's this girl who likes to remind me of it every holiday season, and sometimes more than that." George playfully glared your way. You'd both been keeping each other secrets for so long, there was no worry over using them as blackmail. Your only fear was the day you and George stopped keeping tabs.

For another few minutes, you rambled over the silliest times you'd spent together. The time he got so scared in the middle of haunted house maze that he let out a shriek, that you took the blame for when your friends stalled ahead to make sure you two were alright. Or the summer you had a reoccurring dream about meeting Robert DeNiro that ended up coming true when George introduced you to the icon at some award show.

George laughed along as memories kept popping into your mind. You chattered about them until your heart grew heavy, for reasons you couldn't begin to understand. When George started telling some story about Dean, you remembered your friends suspicions from earlier. You were no longer questioning how George might have felt. You've moved on to wondering exactly what it was you were feeling.

You were zoning out again, Georges rambles sounded distant and muffled as you tried to process what was going through your head. Why your throat was going dry? What was going on? And right when you felt the threat of tears burning the backs of your eyes, you snapped out of it, and determined you were being utterly ridiculous.

"Hey, what's wrong?" George turned toward you, worried, noticing your glossy eyes. You were quick to suck it all back in, shove it all way deep down.

"I... I really don't know." You shrugged because you didn't. You reached over to flick the bedside lamp off with a pathetic sniffle. When you turned back to settle in for the night, George was there, reaching out to you. You couldn't help but follow his lead, as he nudged you toward the pillows, leaving a warm comforting hand splayed across your shoulder as his ocean colored eyes searched yours.

"For better or worse, right?" George asked in a hush. His way of assuring you could tell him anything. But you didn't have words for feelings you didn't understand, yourself. You just gave him the nicest smile you could muster and closed your eyes for the evening.

///

You woke up early, you could tell by the way the sun was peaking over the frame of your window. What you couldn't figure out, though, was how Geogre had stayed so close to you all night long. You were pinned under his arm, close enough that you debated staying there to relish the comfort. But your eyes wouldn't close again, and you didn't disturb his peace on your silent mission to get up. So you did, headed for the kitchen to fix some tea and try and sort out your jumbled thoughts in the blip of time you had so quietly all to yourself.

But you mustn't have been as clever as you'd hoped, because no sooner than you'd started the kettle and found some breakfast to cook, George was up. He looked like he'd rather be sleeping, as he shuffled in the room, musing his flaxen hair and holding back a yawn.

You gave him a hushed good morning, in case the others were still down for the count. George hardly greeted you. Instead, he sauntered closer to peer over your shoulder at the food you'd found to cook, and wrapped his arms around you in a loose hug. Maybe he thought you were still upset. He was always quick to comfort...

"It's very hard to make breakfast this way." You laughed, all the while savoring the contact like you hadn't been touched in ages. Geogre hummed, reluctantly letting go when the kettle rang. He went about fixing tea for the both of you when Dean shuffled in.

The dark-headed fellow traded chipper good mornings and gave Geogre strict instructions on how to fix his tea. While Geogre spun around with a chuckle, he brushed past you and letting his fingers trail across your arm before he was too far away to reach for another cup. That's when Dean shot you a look reminiscent of the one he kept flashing you last night. You gave him the smallest shake of your head to confirm you hadn't gotten a better idea of what was going on. In fact, you were more confused than ever.

You and Georg always discussed everything. Game planning was your best combined talent. From what to watch on movie night, to how to deal with disasters and destruction, you'd always talk through everything as it happened, together. But you couldn't talk to Geogre about this... you tried last night, and look what kind of confused mess that conversation made you into. That's when you realized how easily you settled under his quick comfort. And that you longed to cuddle just as close for no good reason... That's when you realized that you weren't very confused at all. You realized exactly what you were feeling. Now you just needed to accept it...

───※ ·❆· ※───

taglist: @whenthe-smokeisinyoureyes @andux @imaginationandlove @velvetgoldsilver​ @queen-bunnyears @maria-josefin @dearevansamham @belledamsceno@nilletellsstories @loulouloueh @visionsofmelodrama @haileymorelikestupid

[shi-daisy]

The Phoenix and the Dragon

Yet again we've arrived at Ulquihime week! Gotta confess I'm not much of a Christmas person but I do look forward to December for my OTP week. Everyone puts so much love and effort into their entries that it's hard not to be excited. Okay so today's theme is Crossover and I wanted to pick something that wasn't likely to be repeated by someone else, so leave it to my nostalgic mind to go 'What about a Winx Club crossover?' Thus here we are! This little one-shot is based on one of my fave childhood shows and one of the first villain ships I ever had. (Yes, my 10-year-old self hardcore shipped Darkar & Bloom) 😅 Hope you like it! (Spoilers for some aspects of season 2 of Winx Club. I'm taking from the 4kids version of the show and Nickelodeon special btw. And some mild spoilers for the second movie.)

Also for those who do know the winx cast and want to know who is who in the crossover here it is.

Orihime- Bloom

Ulquiorra- Darkar/Avalon

Tatsuki- Stella

Shizuka- Layla

Ichigo- Prince Sky

Isshin- Errendor

Sora- Daphne

Unohana- Faragonda

Okay now that's all set, here's the fic!

@ulquihimeweek​

Ulquihime Week- Day 1 Crossover

The Phoenix and the Dragon

Orihime awoke in a dimly lit room. She didn't remember much, just going into Professor Schiffer's office and then...'And then he changed and turned into the Phoenix.'

"I can sense you. Just come out of the shadows already." She muttered.

Ulquiorra obliged, no longer looking like a human but in his true form as the Shadow Phoenix.

To her he didn't look much different, his skin was paler but his other features remained the same. He had large dark wings and a tail, along with tear markings.

"I should've known it was you. We get warmed about a Shadow Phoenix and next thing we know a new professor shows up at our school."

He chuckled. "Yes well, that didn't occur to you as we bonded, Ms. Inoue."

She lowered her head in shame. Since Ulquiorra arrived at Alfea he had become her favorite teacher, and even offered to teach her about her home kingdom, Sparx, which had been destroyed when she was just a baby.

"Is that why you brought me here? To taunt me?!"

"No, darling. I have other plans for you. Or should I say us?"

"I'll never collaborate with you!"

"You say that now, but you might change your mind after I explain my plans to you."

She frowned, but at the moment there was nothing she could do. Orihime sighed. "Fine. I suppose I can listen to you for a while."

"I appreciate it. First I must ask you something. What do you know about me, Orihime Inoue? Who do you think I am?"

"Headmistress Retsu told us you were once human. That you came to the underealm to try and find the shadow fire, but that it's power consumed you and that now you're seeking to take over the magic universe.

I also know that you came to our school and posed as a professor until now..."

"The headmistress is a wise woman, studious too since she appears to know my origins well, the one commonly excepted that is."

"What do you mean?"

"Indeed, I was once human, that I came here to study the Shadow Fire, but it's power didn't overtake me. For you see, I willingly submitted to it. I'm the one in control, always have been. And while I do wish to take over the magic dimension it is not for my own gain."

"Why else would you want to take over?"

"I want this dimension to change. I want to tear down the structures that bind its kingdoms. I've wanted that since I was a human.

You see, darling, the structures of this dimension are so very ancient and so very obsolete. The squabbles between kingdoms have led to so much war, to destruction, to sadness... Just look at what happened to Sparx."

"My kingdom was destroyed by the ancient witches. Not by war."

"You're right, but your kingdom had a close ally. An ally that should've saved you from the witches, yet instead bargained to have them take your kingdom and spare them. The king of Eraklyon made said bargain."

Orihime grew dizzy. 'No, no it can't be! Ichigo's father wouldn't do that! This is a lie!"

"You think I'm lying, don't you?"

"Of course you're lying! King Isshin wouldn't do that, neither would Ichigo!"

"Analyze the situation, darling. Eraklyon was your closest ally, and yet they didn't suffer any damage as Sparx was destroyed. Your parents vanished, your brother died saving you, your planet is now an icy wasteland. Yet Eraklyon stands as the richest land in Magix. As for your little prince, he was merely a child when this took place, but I don't doubt he'd keep it a secret from you, he has done so before."

Orihime felt as if her skin was catching fire. She hated to be reminded of that lie, to think back when Ichigo had hidden his royal lineage and engagement to a princess. She'd forgiven him, of course, and they were a couple once again, but deep inside she still distrusted him. And a part of her did think Ulquorra's words were true.

'Maybe that's why his father disapproved of us. Not because I'm a princess of a destroyed kingdom, but because my kingdom's destruction was partly his fault...'

"You see, darling. That's only one example of plenty I can give you. All of these realms need someone truly wise to rule them."

"Even if I believed you, that doesn't mean I'll join you. I don't want to kill anyone."

"Who said anything about killing? There are plenty of ways to dethrone a ruler. That's what I crave to do darling. Imagine it, a dimension without destroyed kingdoms, without arranged marriages, without squabbles for the throne. We'd be the only rulers, the royals would be our regents, they'd have to abide by what we demand."

Ulquiorra's eyes glowed green as he spoke. She had seen him like that before in his humanoid form. His eyes always sparkled as he thought her class about History and asked them to be part of the change.

"Ulquiorra, I think it's wonderful that you're trying to make the universe better, but I fail to see why would want me to join you. I'm no leader."

Orihime felt Ulquiorra's cold hand gently lift her chin. "Orihime, you're the only person I've ever met worthy of wearing such a crown.

The reason I posed as a teacher at Alfea wasn't to further my plans, or to steal the codex but to observe you. In just a few months you made such great progress that I couldn't help but be convinced you were worthy of sharing my crown, of carrying the dragon flame, of ruling over Magix.

You came from Earth yet quickly adapted to this dimension, to its power and its costumes. You're kind, fierce, strong, I couldn't ask for a better queen."

He noticed Orihime's pale skin turn bright red, and her sliver eyes grow misty. "No one's ever really praised me like that. Thank you."

He smirked. "I'll be sure to do so more often in the future then."

With a snap of Ulquiorra's fingers, her bounds disappeared. Orihime stood up, directly facing Ulquiorra.

He took her hands in his and directly stared into her eyes, silver meeting emerald. "Orihime Inoue, will you join me in my quest to bring peace and order to the magic dimension?"

It wasn't easy, she didn't want to leave her friends, her school, or even Ichigo. Even after what she learned it felt wrong to vanish without a word.

'But it must be done. Tatsuki-chan will be free to choose who she marries, Nemu-san won't be forced to follow the path her father wants for her, Shizuka-chan won't have to take the throne of the harmonic nebula...even Ichigo would now be free to make his own choices. This would be for the best.'

With a beautiful smile and newfound determination, Orihime finally responded. "Yes, I will."

"Then it is done, our power is now bound."

She could feel a surge of dark magic taking over, but it wasn't unpleasant. Her characteristic blue fae dress was now black and her fairy wings had turned grey. Orihime also noticed Ulquiorra's form slightly changed, his dark wings now had accents of green and he resembled his humanoid form a little more.

"It's the bond." He told her after noticing her confusion. "Light cannot exist without dark and vice versa. As such my darkness had to take some of your light and your light had to take some of my darkness."

Shadow Fire & Dragon Fire were united at last. Orihime was certain that now she and Ulquiorra would be unstoppable. 'We'll fix everything soon.'

"What shall we do now?"

"Since I've acquired all the pieces of the codex, I was thinking we could go to the Relix dimension. Your parents might've vanished there after the destruction of Sparx."

"My parents...I never thought it'd be possible to reach them."

"It is, my darling. We'll bring them back and then return Sparx to its former glory. After that, we can finally reshape the magic dimension into what it should've been from the beginning."

For the first in a long while, Orihime felt like she was doing things right. It would take her friends some time to forgive her, but she knew in time she would join them again. 'I'm doing this for all of us. For me, and for him.'

She gently kissed Ulquiorra's cheek, he blushed at the gesture. "I was not expecting that."

"I'm still a little miffed at you for pretending to be a professor but if we're to be in harmony as rulers this is a good place to start."

"Then I guess I should do my part too."

Ulquiorra wrapped his arm around her waist and gave her a passionate kiss. Orihime quickly blushed and playfully shoved him as he let go of her.

"Show off."

"Guilty as charged."

"Y'know, I remember seeing paintings back on earth with dragons and phoenixes together as a couple. Do you think that was a prediction?"

"It could be, after all, the most enduring romances are likely to echo through many universes."

[dustedmagazine]

Dust Volume 7, Number 2

Bitchin’ Bajas

The whole country is snowed in and Texas is starting to look a lot like the Terrordome, and we can see how people might not be laser focused on music right now, especially if they’re cold or sick or out of food. But music continues to pour in, in great quantities and beguiling diversity, and a fair amount of it is very, very good. So, while we encourage you to take care of your brothers and sisters first (by donating to organizations like Austin Mutual Aid, Community Care — Mutual Aid Houston, Feed the People Dallas or the Austin Disaster Relief Network), we also present another collection of short, mostly positive reviews of new-ish records that have caught our attention. Writers this time around include Ray Garraty, Jennifer Kelly, Bill Meyer, Justin Cober-Lake, Eric McDowell, Bryon Hayes, Jonathan Shaw, Tim Clarke and Mason Jones.  

Babyface Ray — Unfuckwitable (Wavy Gang)

On his new 7 song EP Unfuckwitable, thanks to his technical skills, Babyface Ray grinds through a great variety of trendy topics under a great variety of beats: from “not rap” rap to “bad bitch” rap to “we got it off the mud” rap. It’s all very professionally done, as you expect from a professional rapper, despite Ray’s claims that he’s not one. But midway through it, behind the misty fog of bouncy production and some lines catching the ear, you can clearly see at least two problems, with the EP and Babyface Ray. First, he doesn’t have anything to say (unlike some hip hop artists who ran out of things to say, he never had any in the first place). Second, he either doesn’t rhyme or goes for a lazy rhyming. The standout here is “Like Daisy Lane”, a catchy little song, with absolutely no substance behind it.

Ray Garraty

 Bananagun — The True Story of Bananagun (Full Time Hobby)

The True Story of Bananagun by Bananagun

Ooh look, it’s tropicalia from Australia! The five-piece Bananagun hails geographically from Melbourne, but metaphysically from 1960s Sao Paulo or swinging London. Their first album swaggers like a long-haired hipster in wide-flared hip huggers, fingers snapping, funk bass slapping, keyboards and flutes gamboling in hot melodic pursuit. Multiple band members got their start in similarly 1960s-aligned Frowning Clouds, so the psych garage freakbeat elements are, perhaps, to be expected. But Bananagun runs hotter, wilder and considerably less Anglo. “People Talk Too Much” rattles the foundations with scorching funk percussion, big flares of brass and a vintage Afro-beat call and response chorus. “Mushroom Bomb” likewise heats up psychedelic apocalyptica with seething syncopations of bass and drums. Most of these tracks are a bit overstuffed, with a pawn shop’s worth of instruments enlisted in happy, dippy, everyone-get-in-the-jam exuberance, but am I going to complain about too much joy? I am not. Bring on the Bananagun.

Jennifer Kelly 

 Andrew Barker / Jon Irabagon — Anemone (Radical Documents)

Anemone by Andrew Barker + Jon Irabagon Duo

Some names tell you exactly where you stand, and others raise questions. Take the name of this record, for example; did drummer Andrew Barker (Gold Sparkle Band, Little Huey Orchestra) and tenor saxophonist Jon Irabagon (Mostly Other People Do The Killing, I Don’t Hear Nothin’ But The Blues) have the aquatic or land-lubber variety in mind? To get specific, is this record a buttercup, or a bottom-dwelling, plant-lookalike life form that waits for other aquatic species to come close enough for it to lance them, paralyze them with venom and chow down on their still-living bodies?

“Learnings,” the first of the album’s four tracks, is true to its name, being a distillation of instrumental tones and free jazz attacks that might remind you of moments from various Coltrane and Pharoah records. It feels familiar, but invigorating. The title tune comes next, and it’s a slower, more laconic performance, attractive enough to be either the sea or land variety. Then comes “Book of Knots,” which suspends an intricate percussive construction over slow-bubbling pops and barks. The record closes with “Branded Contempt,” a juxtaposition of pathos-rich blowing and restless brushwork. One can listen most of the way through this record without guessing whether it owes allegiance to Poseidon or Persephone, but the coarse intensity of Irabagon’s playing in the last minutes is the tell; this record packs a sting.

Bill Meyer

BBsitters Club — BBsitters Club & Party (Hausu Mountain)

BBsitters Club & Party by BBsitters Club

Label Hausu Mountain specializes in weird experimental electronics. Its release of a rare rock record might raise a few eyebrows. BBsitters Club, with the label's founders making up half the quartet, pulls off a tricky feat in becoming an arch rock band. BBsitters Club & Party has enough old-fashioned blues and psych-based rock to suggest a group taking itself seriously. Naming the opening track “Crazy Horse” immediately calls attention to its meta status, even if the track sounds more like Pink Floyd than Neil Young's collaborators (and there's a touch of hair metal in there, too). No group with songs called “Joel,” “Joel Reprise,” and “Joel Reprise Reprise” can take itself too seriously, and that kind of playfulness runs throughout the disc. At the same time, BBsitters Club does take its musicianship seriously. They avoid conventional forms, working in complicated structures full of surprising twists. The group can get a little proggy, but then twist it toward an Allman Brothers-style jam. If it starts to settle into the Woodstock era (see the clear nods to Hendrix and Cream), it jumps to the 1980s with an unlikely easiness. The band goes wherever they feel like rocking, with everyone invited to the party.

Justin Cober-Lake 

 Bitchin Bajas — live ateliers claus (les albums claus)

Bitchin Bajas - live ateliers claus by Bitchin Bajas

If we can all agree the pandemic has dealt musicians some dizzying blows, that’s hardly to say they had it easy before. Squeezed between tech platforms and spurned by a hostile federal government (speaking for the US, anyway), even on tour they had to contend with iffy financials, physical neglect and — because why not say it louder for those in the back? — literal theft. So Cooper Crain, Rob Frye and Dan Quinlivan found themselves over 4,000 miles from home in May 2018, playing Brussels’s les ateliers claus on borrowed equipment after having their gear stolen (twice) on a European tour in support of Bajas Fresh. “Um, we’re, ah, Bitchin Bajas, from Chicago ... Illinois,” one of the trio says over the set’s first tentative tones. “And thanks ... for coming. This is gonna be great, I think. Or, we’ll see.”

Perhaps it’s not a question of either/or but both/and, the cosmic “we’ll see” of COVID-19 only amplifying how truly great it is to receive this music in the unimaginable future of three years later. As ever with the Bitchin Bajas, there is pleasure in the subtleties, whether that’s an excited concert-goer whooping as “Jammu” picks up momentum or the way each turn of the musical kaleidoscope seems to bring out new hues. That the recording doesn’t represent any dramatic departure from what we hear on the studio album or during other sets on other tours is part of its appeal and part of its power as a balm. We don’t need any more startling revelations right now. In this sense, the whole live ateliers claus series is a reminder that this venue and these artists — from Michael Chapman (vol. 1) up through Will Guthrie (vol. 12) — are still here today. If we can help repay what’s been stolen from them, they’ll be here tomorrow, too.

Eric McDowell  

 Loren Connors & Oren Ambarchi — Leone (Family Vineyard) 

Leone by Loren Connors & Oren Ambarchi

This is the first time that Loren Connors and Oren Ambarchi have collaborated, despite the myriad ties that bind the two guitarists across the global exploratory music scene. Leone offers a trio of pieces arranged like overlapping globs of paint on a painter’s palette: the two artists each perform solo with a collaborative piece in between. “Lorn” is a side-long Connors piece with the guitarist in an experimental mood, hammering the reverb-drenched strings to create a glorious cacophony. Ambarchi’s “Nor” recasts the guitar first as a church organ and then as a subaquatic communications device. When the two pair up for “Ronnel,” it is a symbiotic meeting. Connors picks out notes around which Ambarchi weaves contrails of tone. It is a mesmerizing piece, and, we hope, just the first of many joint efforts from these two.    

Bryon Hayes

Buck Curran — WFMU 'The Frow Show' Live Session (Feat. Jodi Pedrali) (Obsolete Recordings)

Buck Curran: WFMU 'The Frow Show' Live Session (Feat. Jodi Pedrali) by Obsolete Recordings

When we last caught up with Buck Curran, he was hunkered down at then ground zero for the COVID epidemic, socially isolating in Bergamo, Italy while recording the lovely acoustic-guitar-and-voice album, No Love Is Sorrow. Half a year later, still deep in the grip of a worldwide pandemic, he made this record, a duet with Italian keyboard player Jodi Pederali, revisiting one song from the previous album and adding three others. The tracks with Pederali fuse Curran’s electric blues with the bright, meditative melodies of Pederali’s piano. The two players interact and overlap in intoxicating dialogue. “Deep in the Lovin’ Arms of My Babe,” reprises the finger-picked folk of Curran’s earlier album, adding a glittering sprinkle of piano to its mournful, wistful melody. The set was recorded for Jess Jarnow’s show on WFMU and released on Bandcamp, and while not as long or as weighty as No Love Is Sorrow, it’s well worth hearing.

Jennifer Kelly  

 Jürg Frey — l’air, l’instant - deux pianos (Elsewhere)

l'air, l'instant - deux pianos by Jürg Frey

When you put two pianos together, there must surely be a temptation to see how much sound you can get out of them.  Swiss composer Jürg Frey does the opposite on the two compositions that make up this CD. Each is so sparse that an inattentive listener might think they are hearing one patient pianist, when in fact they are hearing a pair of deeply skilled interpreters.  The task assigned to Reinier van Houdt and Dante Boon is to place their notes in such precise relation to each other that they can influence each other’s pitches without interfering with them. Each musician is, as the title “toucher l’air (deux pianos)” (2019) suggests, inducing a slight disturbance in the atmosphere, lightly pressing transitory shapes into the silence that absorbs each note. “Entre les deux l’instant” (2017/2018) allows the two pianists to decide how closely they will match paces as they trade the roles of melodist and accentuator. Immune to gauche temptation, Frey seems drawn instead to see how much attention and how little sound it takes to accentuate the beauty of silence.

Bill Meyer

 Chris Garneau — The Kind (The Orchard)

THE KIND by Chris Garneau

Chris Garneau’s lush, stunning art-pop swoops and whirls and flutters in wild arcs of drama. In this fifth album, the New York City songwriter works in a restrained palette of guitar, piano, electronics and drums, but colors way outside the box with his vibrant, emotional-laden voice, which flies up into a falsetto register with an ease not heard since Jeff Buckley passed. “I know you loved me truly, but we don’t love one way, do we?” he croons on the gorgeous “Telephone,” lofting up into whistle range without losing the purity or the trueness of his tone. Cuts like the title song and “Now On” are prayerfully simple, just framing piano chords and Garneau’s highly charged delivery. But others like “Not the Child” are more intricately constructed with a lattice of picked strings, an antic syncopated beat and staccato vocal counterpoints that dance around the main line. The Kind’s songs are deeply personal and rooted in Garneau’s experiences as gay man, but they’ll resonate with anyone who’s ever loved or longed or regretted.

Jennifer Kelly

Gaunt Emperor — Femur (Self-released)

Femur by Gaunt Emperor

Some would-be emperors may no longer have clothes (looking at you, Trump), but Gaunt Emperor is unabashed about wearing its influences on its sleeve. Femur is the first LP by this California project, and Sunn 0))) and the first few records released by Earth are large presences, looming hugely just behind the sounds Gaunt Emperor generates. If you’re familiar with those other bands, you get the essential idea: deep (really deep) notes and long (really long) sustain from loud (really loud) guitars, and not much else. That said, Gaunt Emperor has an aesthetic vision that seems to be attempting to survey its own territory. While compositions like “Slow Submersion” and “The Birth of Obsidian” work from the playbook established by O’Malley and Anderson, the textures of Gaunt Emperor’s guitar tone have their own sort-of-subtle qualities. They’re pretty good. “Conception,” the second track on Femur, expresses a similar inclination towards melody that Earth began to demonstrate on The Bees Made Honey in the Lion’s Skull (2008), but Gaunt Emperor retains an unrestrained relation to volume; you can feel the heat inexorably building in the overdriven amplifier stack. In any case, this is suitable music for pondering massive, ongoing phenomena, like the calving of icebergs off Antarctica’s coast or the steady disappearance of the Amazonian rainforest — not that Femur will make you feel any better about that stuff.

Jonathan Shaw

 Luka Kuplowsky — Stardust (Mama Bird)

Stardust by Luka Kuplowsky

Soft jazzy reveries coalesce around this Toronto songwriter’s offhand, semi-spoken melodies. Little accents of acoustic bass, slide guitar, hushed harmonies dart in and out of focus, but the songs themselves come up on you obliquely, filtering in from the vents in evocatively scented clouds. Rhythms sway in undulant, bossa nova syncopations, while chords slide into resolution from slightly off center. A half-remembered jazz flute lick lick lofts through the window. At the center of it all is Luka himself, posing, but not insisting on koan-like observations. “Perfection is a noose,” he confides amid the muted wreck and roll of massed jazz sounds in “City by the Window,” but he seems unbothered by it. Perfection is an accident, and if you look at it too hard, it disappears.

Jennifer Kelly

 José Lencastre / Hernâni Faustino / Vasco Furtado — Vento (Phonogram Unit)

Vento by José Lencastre / Hernâni Faustino / Vasco Furtado

Vento is the Portuguese word for wind, and the name conveys that combination of purposeful and chance operations that converged to make this record happen. The trio of alto saxophonist José Lencastre, double bassist Hernâni Faustino and drummer Vasco Furtado didn’t book a studio with the intent to record; they just wanted a place to play for a couple hours. But the engineers had just obtained some microphones and wanted to try out their new toys. Likewise, this improvisational trio did not bring an tunes to the session, but they play with a purposefulness born of shared aesthetic values. Whether are sailing a brisk clip, as on the title track, or gradually unwinding the music at low volume and velocity, as on “Ruínas,” they operate as a real time compositional cooperative, developing their music in linear fashion. While they share a direction, they also value contrast. For example, Lencastre’s breathy tone during the latter tune’s early moments balances Faustino’s pointed twang. Since remorseless microoganisms and anti-cultural politicians are each doing their best to keep live music down, records like this serve a necessary function in reminding us of the life force that motivates improvised music.

Bill Meyer

Lilys — A Brief History of Amazing Letdowns (Frontier)

A Brief History of Amazing Letdowns by Lilys

Kurt Heasley’s Lilys made some of the most ebullient and inventive guitar music of the 1990s. The best Lilys songs sound as though they’re flying apart and being put back together as they hurtle along, killer hooks tossed aside as quickly as they start to drag you in. Though they’re perhaps best known for their Kinks-indebted breakthrough Better Can’t Make Your Life Better, this was actually a sharp turn away from the dense shoegazey atmospherics of their first couple of records. Thus far, Frontier Records has reissued their first two albums, In the Presence of Nothing and Eccsame the Photon Band, both of which are superb. The A Brief History of Amazing Letdowns EP was originally released in 1994, a transitional period when Heasley was still exploring the textural joys of distorted guitars while starting to throw down pop hooks with aplomb. Opener “Ginger” hits similar pleasure centers as Weezer’s debut, released the same year, while on “Dandy,” Heasley’s vocal sounds uncannily like Stephen Malkmus. The previously unreleased “G. Cobalt Franklin�� foregrounds searing guitar tones and bulbous bass, the bulk of the melodic layers sounding like they’re bleeding through from the next room, peppered with swirling flange and voice recordings. The second half of this expanded edition comprises songs originally demoed for Eccsame the Photon Band, and later released in 2000 on a split EP with Aspera Ad Astra. They’re decent enough, though feel like they’re missing the spark of the best Lilys creations. So, while this amounts to a far-from-essential Lilys release, it’s fascinating to hear Heasley in transition, working out how to reconcile his love for melody with his immersion in guitar noise.

Tim Clarke

 Fred Lonberg-Holm — Lisbon Solo (Notice)

Lisbon Solo by Fred Lonberg-Holm

As befits a guy who has also recorded a “solo” record in the company of a Florida swamp full of frogs, Fred Lonberg-Holm picks his recording locations strategically, and location has a lot to do with how this album turned out. It was done at an old and well-appointed studio in Lisbon, Portugal, where he could be sure that the microphones would catch every creak, groan and polyphonic wail he might draw out of his main instrument. But he also knew, from prior visits, that he would have access to some seriously over-the-hill pianos. While most of the album is devoted to savagely bowed attacks, the odd digressions into detuned, radiant chimes deliver just enough respite to keep you off balance and on the edge of your seat.

Bill Meyer 

 Dan Melchior — Odes (Cudighi Records)  

'Odes' by Dan Melchior

Dan Melchior is likely a recognizable name to Dusted readers; he has made quite a string of releases over the years. This cassette/digital release, recorded in 2016, is a subdued affair, nine songs for the most part following the same blueprint: a track of strummed or lightly picked acoustic guitar with a fuzzy electric lead layered on top. The foundational guitar tracks establish a calm, repetitive cycle, giving some of these songs an almost raga-like feel, in some cases through a hazy reverb: "Tybee" feels like you're sitting in the next room listening to him play through a closed door.  

Calling the overdubs "guitar leads" implies the wrong feel. While played through fuzz or distortion, the mood is a woozy one, more opiated than energetic, but in a drifting, pleasant way. There's an over-arching melancholy throughout these songs, one person alone playing to satisfy a need. Knowing Melchior was facing the recent loss of his wife Letha certainly colors it, but even a listener ignorant of that back-story would feel the emotional resonance.  

These nine ramshackle, loose instrumental pieces are personal, incomplete, and like having someone entrust you with private stories in song form.  

Mason Jones

Mint Field — Sentimiento Mundial (Felte)

Sentimiento Mundial by Mint Field

Mint Field, from Mexico City, filters the feedback and noise of shoegaze guitars through a pensive screen, finding an aura of nostalgia in between and among blinding walls of scree. Estrella del Sol Sánchez contributes two of the band’s signature sounds, the dreamy, delicate vocals and the swirling masses of altered guitar. She is supported by Sebastian Neyra on bass and Callum Brown on drums. The volume level varies song to song, but it’s all mesmerizing and good. “Delicadeza” breezes in on the tenderest sort of sigh, the softest, most lyrical strummed accompaniment, but “Contingencia” digs in and pounds, drums cranking, bass thudding and guitars winging out in wild arabesques of distorted sound. The easiest comparison might be the similarly hauntingly voiced Lush, but there’s something special here in the soft, keening soprano calm at the center of even the most agitated cuts.  

Jennifer Kelly

 Roy Montgomery — Island of Lost Souls (Grapefruit)

Roy Montgomery 40th Anniversary 2021 LP Series by Roy Montgomery

In 2021, guitarist Roy Montgomery celebrates 40 years of music-making with the release of four new LPs, beginning with Island of Lost Souls. Though 2018’s fantastic Suffuse included vocals from artists such as Haley Fohr (Circuit Des Yeux), Julianna Barwick and Liz Harris (Grouper), Island of Lost Souls is entirely instrumental, comprising four pieces, each dedicated to a late artist (actor Sam Shepard, and musicians Adrian Borland, Peter Principle and Florian Fricke). Though wordless, Montgomery’s guitar speaks volumes, flickering and flowing with the liquid grace of a player intimately familiar with both his fretboard and the effects pedals at his feet, sending waves of tone cascading with delay and reverb. Plus, on the side-long, climactic “The Electric Children of Hildegard von Bingen,” Montgomery pitch-shifts his guitar so it really ascends to the heavens, where it takes up residence for 22 minutes. Fans of Windy & Carl, Flying Saucer Attack and The Durutti Column, take note.

Tim Clarke

 Jon Mueller — Family Secret (American Dreams)

Family Secret by Jon Mueller

A family secret is usually a multigenerational skeleton in the closet that is either sorrowful or sinister. For percussionist and Volcano Choir member Jon Mueller, it is the former: a series of familial rifts that became the unlikely muse for this collection of reverberating drones. Mueller employs instruments that produce multiple resonant tones, such as singing bowls and gongs, to create rich pools of complex sound. Metallic hues brighten subterranean rumblings while enigmatic dapples of condensed steam coalesce into liquid shapes. The drummer conjures ghastly creatures through extending the vocabulary of his drum kit. Cymbal scrapes become banshee wails and scoured skins emanate uncanny whispers. With Family Secret, Mueller manifests his personal demons as phantom signals. He transmogrifies emotional strife into physical actions which then become ethereal. Ironically, the resulting sounds are actually soothing. Pain has never sounded so sweet.  

Bryon Hayes 

 Primitive Motion — Descendants of Air (Kindling)

Primitive Motion is the Brisbane-based duo of Sandra Selig and Leighton Craig, and Descendants of Air is their seventh album, previously only available as a CD given away at live shows. You can immediately imagine what the album sounds like based on the artist name and album title alone: rustic yet cosmic, full of space and open to spontaneity. Recorded on the banks of the Enoggera Reservoir, these eight meandering pieces prominently feature the sounds of wind and leaves, plus the calls of raucous Australian birds, while Selig and Craig insinuate suggestions of melodies and chords on nylon-string guitar, woodwinds, and battery-powered keyboards, and gently massage the air with percussive patters. Though part of the appeal of the recording is its deliberate vagueness, the most affecting piece, and the shortest, is “True Orbit,” where a strident theme built around melodica, keyboard and voice seems to emerge fully formed from the aether.

Tim Clarke

 Socioclast — S/T (Carbonized Records)

Socioclast by Socioclast

In heavy music’s current moment of endless genre-hopping and hybridization, it’s nice to hear a record that understands exactly what it wants to be. Socioclast is a grindcore record. Like Assück’s grindcore’s records. A lot like Assück’s grindcore records. You get all the high-velocity chugging crunch and guttural grunting — vocals so deep in the gullet that it’s pretty hard to pick up any lyrics. The song titles, however, suggest the ideological dispositions you might expect: “Surveillance, Normalization, Examination,” “Specter Signal,” “Psychodrone,” “Propaganda Algorithm.” There can be a fine line between paying tribute and being derivative, but Socioclast creates an homage rather than an outright imitation. This is 21st-century music. It sounds a lot clearer and slicker than anything Assück or the early Slap A Ham bands committed to vinyl. Like Slap A Ham, Socioclast is a California-based musical phenomenon, featuring dudes who have played in bands like Deadpressure and Mortuous; Colin Tarvin’s death-metal grooves are especially prominent on some of the record’s best tracks, including “Eden’s Tongue” and “Omega.” But this is assertively a grindcore record. Given that version of traditionalism (and yes, events have come to such a pass that grindcore has a tradition), it turns out that Socioclast isn’t all that socioclastic. So goes the strangeness of semantics. But the music is good.

Jonathan Shaw

 Space Quartet — Under the Sun (Noise Precision Library)

Under the Sun by Space Quartet

Space is a persistent and multi-faceted theme in the music of the Portuguese electronic musician, Rafael Toral. And while his name is not appended to the Space Quartet’s, make no mistake, this is his band, playing his music. But it is a music derived from ideas that can’t be realized without the right people. So, while Toral has delved repeatedly into the sounds that people imagine they might make and that they actually find in outer space, and he has explored empty and variously filled spaces as starting points for his music, the point of the Space Quartet is to find the right people, and give them enough space to realize a new kind of jazz. Under the Sun is the combo’s second recording, made with a substantially different line-up than the iteration that recorded the self-titled debut for Clean Feed Records. Toral has sacrificed the all-electronic front line and switched drummers, but in doing so he may have found the right crew to take him where he needs to go. Across the album’s two 21-minute-long tracks, there are usually several ongoing dialogues taking place between the players, which manifest intriguing degrees of mutual challenge and support. But the way that Toral’s elongated feedback lines and Nuno Torres’ stuttering alto saxophone phrases flow around Hugo Antunes’ stark, elastic double bass figures and percussionist Nuno Morão’s lightly deployed, carefully modulated streams of textures and beats that extends a lineage anchored in the language that Cecil Taylor’s trio first released into the air at the Café Montmartre back in 1962.

Bill Meyer 

 Stinkhole — Mold Encrusted Egg (Mangel Records)

MOLD ENCRUSTED EGG by STINKHOLE

The name sort of says it all, but to clarify anyways: Stinkhole languishes in a slimy musical ditch, bottoming out somewhere between the No Wave skronk of Mars and the transgressive caterwauling of Suckdog. As was the case with both of those acts, the dissonance and the gross-out antics can obscure some interesting ideas. Clawing your way through the dense layers of yuck (or, depending on how you’re wired, enjoying it) is integral to the challenge posed by the experience. All the gagging vocalizations, primitivist drumming and semi-tuned bass whomps on Mold Encrusted Egg occupy prominent positions on the surface of songs like “Orange Juice.” But listen to Mold Encrusted Egg a little more closely: there are some rabid grooves, feral guitar breaks and a lot of impenetrably weird environments of sampled sounds, tape manipulations and unidentifiable scree. Is it fun? Does it sound good? Fuck no. The band’s name is Stinkhole. They write songs with titles like “Slippin’ on Slug Slime” and “Emancipated by Hair.” They roll with the whacko punk and noise bands that have congregated around the Berlin-based Flennen digital music zine and its accompanying label. Dig the stink. Rock has rarely been so richly rotten.

Jonathan Shaw

 Styrofoam Winos — S-T (Sophomore Lounge)

STYROFOAM WINOS "S/T" by Styrofoam Winos

Stryofoam Winos brings together three old friends to swap songs in Nashville. You might recognize Lou Turner from her solo album, Songs for John Venn, a sly and subversion of the songwriter’s wholesome alt-country charm. Joe Kenkel is a kindred spirit, a folk rock singer with respect but not reverence for the certitudes of Southern life. Says Nashville Scene of his solo Dream Creator, “Kenkel, a sophisticated folk-rock songwriter, documents Music City’s idiosyncrasies on his debut LP, with acutely observant lyrics.”  And Trevor Nikrant completes this anonymous all-star line-up; his 2017 debut caught the ear of Aquarium Drunkard’s J. Steel who called it “Oddball baroque psychedelia broadcasted from a basement on the east side.” The three kicked things off with a lo-fi and charming debut, Winos at Home, in 2017, but this self-titled LP takes things up a notch with songs that balance craft with eccentricity. “Stuck in a Museum” jangles and rambles in an antic, neurotically intelligent way, as the narrator finds himself entrapped amid the exhibits, staring fixedly at a teapot from the Tang Dynasty. “Roy G. Biv” turns contemplative—and twangy—as Turner sings plaintively about rainbows and colors, the way things change and how hard it can be to keep up. “Maybe More” glints with mandolin, but remains pared back, as a down-trodden singer (one of the guys, not sure which) sings about a life stuck in neutral, same book, same coat, same jokes, but beautiful. The disc has the feel of a warm, casual gathering, with friends jumping in on harmonies or picking up the bass. The songs are sharp and lovely without a lot of fuss.

Jennifer Kelly

[starstruckmyths]

Tender is the Love of Yellow and Green

For @stuckys-hot-dogs​, who inspired this little plot bunny to come hopping through the meadow of my head. I blame you and your annoyingly gorgeous piece of magnificent art. This is all your fault. 

                          ┍━━━━━━━ ♡ ━━━━━━━┑

                                                   Chapter 1

                          ┕━━━━━━━ ♡ ━━━━━━━┙

Light scattered, wavelengths expanding and multiplying, and the complicated tapestry of soul and mind broke, only to grow back together in the midst of a wonder of colors, displayed beyond the borders of his soul. The universe reflected in his eyes, twinkling with the thousands of stars, planets and supernovas, all forming patterns from their joined energy, shattering like the stained glass he saw his reflection in.

With the stars still twinkling in his eyes, he closed them, light scattering once more and all joining back together to form a body, two bodies, the many patterns like a kaleidoscopic configuration, reflected in all mirrors around.

In his hand, he clutched his trunk, the new leather pressing hot against his palm. The large thing offered a comforting presence, a certain weight that grounded him while they spun; a sign in the dark, one of safety. Watching the world form around him, was like watching a child fill in a coloring page, only with so much speed it left him slightly disoriented.

A white canvass flowed out before his eyes, lines appearing rapidly like a sped-up video, colored in with green hues; a field of grass. Dark blue streaked above, the night sky forming like wool knitting together, painted by a great big hand that held the brush tightly. 

Beneath his feet, a stone road unfurled, stretching out until it touched the closed doors of a large building, a castle. There was a short flash, no more than the light of a camera when it captured an image. He stumbled forward, feet a second too late to catch up with him, his hands thrust out to catch himself before the fall would ensue. 

The trunk that he had been gripping so tightly, dropped from his hand, the weight gone, nothing to hold on to anymore. As he swayed his arms to regain his footing, the trunk hit the ground, a heavy thump spinning up at any ears close enough to hear. The air around him was hot, though the gentle breeze did much to compensate. There was dust hanging around him, a wet scent of dirt adding something he was not quite used to. Carefully, he stood straight; muscles, fibers, cells, all disoriented, all new to the sensation he just went through.

A deep breath; a new smell; a new experience; a new way of being. He blinked again, eyes slowly opening and closing, turning all that existed dark for the mere half of a second, nothing to be seen while he did. Once reopened he looked into a set of worried eyes, crinkled at the corners by years of age long past.

"Are you alright, mister Rogers?" the woman asked in the dark robes asked, looking him up and done as he stood unsteady on his feet.

He nodded, though still a tad hesitant. "Yes, professor. Just a little dizzy."

She hummed in response, watching him take his trunk before they approached the large building, the castle, mumbling something under her breath about certain dangers and passing by Poppy later if he was still dizzy. Knowing the low murmur of words was not meant for him, but for herself, he kept quiet, stepping alongside her firm stride with a funny feeling rising in his stomach. Something that had nothing to do with the fact he had just been pulled apart at home, and put back together again somewhere completely else.

They entered the large castle, and he felt as if the two eyes that he possessed were not enough by far, and he widened them to take in all that expanded around him. That which they walked through was so tall, grey stones rising like mountains everywhere he looked, covered in a sea of paintings. The echo of ancient magics flew like a spring breeze through the air, and he could feel brush along his skin. The gentle wisps of energy caressed his cheeks like the touch of an old lover, purring as it sensed the new source of magic entering their domain.

The faces of the paintings looked at them curiously as they passed, stretching out their necks and even rising to their feet to grant themselves a better look at the newcomer. He supposed it was strange, the two of them walking around the castle while the rest of the school was readying themselves for the Beginning of the School Year’s Feast in the Hogwarts Train, and the First Years were fluttering about in excitement for what soon would come.

Truth be told, he had rather seen himself arrive here with all them, watching the landscape blur by as he stared out of the window while sitting on the couches of the famous train. Sadly, various reasons and delays had made it impossible for him to arrive at the right station at the right time. Judging from her demeanor, professor McGonagall had rather seen it differently as well, though it was also clear that she did not fault him in any way. She told him to put down his trunk in the corridor at the beginning of the large stairs that led towards the main hall, not offering an explanation why, or what would happen to it.

Their steps echoed around the corridors, the professor held her wand before her, the tip glowing by an unspoken magic spell, that Steve knew by memory. He contemplated taking out his own wand as well, whispering Lumos to it just to see it light up, but he did not. Some of the paintings grumbled and muttered, angry about the bright light that was not quite yet needed, and he wondered how something that was painted could ever be bothered by a light. The evening was falling, and soon it would be dark.

Eventually, they stopped before a large stone gargoyle, standing tall and proud before them, though he had his doubts about the construction. Art was as beautiful as the observer’s eyes saw, but he could hardly think of anyone who would find this piece of work appealing. The professor stopped, watching the stone creature.

"Licorice coins," she said, then she waited patiently.

It moved.

Like a real creature of flesh and blood rather than stone, the gargoyle unfurled its wings and snapped its beak towards the two standing in the hallway. It looked at them with a large eye, moving to the side to reveal a large wall behind itself, which split in two. The gargoyle snapped its stone beak again, arcing its neck with a curious glance towards the two. There was a spiral staircase behind the wall, moving smoothly upward, much like an escalator.

The two of them stepped onto it, the wall closed with a heavy thud, and the gargoyle was out of sight. They rose upward in circles, higher and higher, until at last, dizzy again, Steve saw a gleaming oak door ahead, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin. It must be the headmaster’s chamber. Professor Dumbledore’s chamber. Professor McGonagall raised a hand, fingers curled to a slack fist, and then rapped on the door.

"Come in," said a voice, sounding so old and yet so strong at the same time.

As if by itself - which, at this point, wouldn’t surprise him at all - the door opened ajar, far enough for professor McGonagall to take the handle and open it further for the both of them. Steve saw a flash of a most beautiful, circular room, full of funny little objects that shimmered and shone in various lights he could not yet see.

McGonagall stepped inside the room as sure as her whole stance always suggested she was, and, after taking a deep breath, much less certain and confident, Steve followed.

                                                    𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 

When the time came for the First Years to pass through the large entrance hall that awaited them, the thousands of delicate candles, as they floated so gently in the air, seemed to curl and flicker as if to greet them warmly, and the stunning sight did much to the nervous flitter of bugs in Steve’s stomach.

The flames of those pale yellow candles twitched in that vulnerable, yet so powerful way fire does, the bright flames pushed by a breeze from the newly opened door. They twinkled in the dawning darkness of the ceiling above, that looked as if it was a window opened to the very heavens themselves, sparkling with a thousand stars, and lazy clouds sailed by. The candles swayed through the air like a sea of lights above their head, and briefly Steve did wonder how they managed not to drip any wax on the students below. That question was soon answered with the very one word that explained everything around here. Magic.

Those flickers and flutters were caught in the shine of golden goblets and plates that lay perfectly placed on the long tables in the hall. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years - and Steve - up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver.

Feeling like an odd fish out of the water, standing there taller than the rest of the First Years, Steve averted his gaze to the floor as to refrain from having his heart clench in his chest upon the sight of mocking grins. The thought that no one would mock him for being the older one among the First Years had not yet come to mind. Then, he looked at the four-legged stool that professor McGonagall silently placed before the table of the professors, in full view of the entire hall. On top of the stool, she put a pointed wizard’s hat. Steve frowned slightly at its patches and frays, and overall how dirty it looked.

Still, he could feel the magic ooze from it as if it were a river of ancient spells.

When the hat did twitch and twist, his brows raised, and he truly thought that this would be the most strange it could get. Of course, he would be surprised many more times, but though the spells he would learn, and the facts he would memorize, and the creatures he would see were all special and mind-boggling, none of them could be quite as weird as a moving, living hat. When said hat then opened a rip near the brim wide like a mouth, and began to sing as well, Steve could only stare.

Once the hat had finished the song in its deep, surprisingly melodious voice, the whole hall burst into applause. With something that could only be described as a smile, it bowed to each of the four tables before falling to a motionless silence. With a thick swallow, Steve gave the hat a fleeting glance, then quickly looked away.

"We only have to try on a hat, thank goodness," a young voice piped up next to him. Steve turned his head, regarding a young kid who was wobbling and twitching on his feet, hands unable to keep still as they plucked at his robes. The kid’s hair was messy, almost in complete disarray, and his bangs hung in front of his large, brown eyes. The kid was looking back at him, looking positively thrilled to be here. So much so, that he was practically jumping in place with his feet on the floor. "I’m Peter, by the way. Peter Parker."

"Steve Rogers," Steve answered, mustering up a smile to ease both himself and the kid, "Nice to meet you, Peter."

The kid’s jaw dropped.

Professor McGonagall began to read the names from a large scroll of parchment that she was holding. Peter’s head perked up shortly, but hearing that they started with ‘A’, he did not pay much more attention to it. By his side was another First Year, a chubby kid with dark hair, who had been looking left and right into the large hall, but once he heard Steve name himself, his head snapped their way, eyes equally wide as Peter’s.

"Steve Rogers?" he whispered, rushed, breath thin, "You mean, the Steve Rogers? The guy who- umph!"

"Shhh, Ned!" Peter shushed while jabbing his friend with an elbow, a little too loudly, which earned them a pointy look from one of the teachers at the table.

Curious to the teacher, Steve lifted his head, seeing that the man was much, much smaller than the other teachers, having to sit on a special chair to reach the table. He had a shock of white hair, and was wearing green robes. The two of them crossed eyes, and the man’s lips curled up, nodding just slightly before clapping for a student who had been sorted into Ravenclaw. 

Right. The ceremony. He spared a brief glance to the two kids, who now whispered furiously to one another, before looking back at the hat. He dreaded his own turn.

"Rogers, Steven."

Stepping forward, his breathing thin and almost painful, Steve went to sit down on the stool. Whispers broke out like fires across the hall, heads whipping around to meet up with others, and as he sat there, he could just see them look surprised and crane their neck, before the hat was placed on his head. 

The wide brim slipped across his eyes, showing him nothing but a darkness made with old fabric.

"Well," the hat spoke up, like a hush of voice in the back of his head. Somewhere, Steve hoped that the other students would not be able to hear what was said. Like a strange bird on his head, he could feel the hat move. "This is interesting. Very interesting. Hm-mh. You’re a rule breaker, aren’t you? Yes. A reckless one, but in service of others. The greater good, that seems to be reoccurring. I see talent here, certainly. A need for friends. Hufflepuff would give you friends, give you what you need."

Steve gripped the edges of the stool, bowing his head and closing his eyes. He could not care less about where he would end up, he just wished for it to be over. He wished that Hogwarts had no houses at all, so that the sheer dread and fear that slithered coldly through his stomach like a worm would not rear its ugly head. Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Gryffindor, he did not care. He was alright with every single one of them.

He wished the hat would just pick one and be done with it.

"You have ambition, that’s for sure. Needs to be discovered yet, but that’s alright. A brave heart, oh yes, so brave. Selfless. You need to get your head right first, a purpose. How about we go with that?" Unsure if it was a question or not, Steve gave a minute shrug of his shoulders. He did not know. He just did not know, and it ripped his heart. Almost as if reading his mind, which it probably did, the hat said, "That is alright, young wizard, you will figure out where you belong. They all do. Until then, how about we just put you with..."

The hat was silent for just a fleeting moment, then it shifted again and called out, "Slytherin!"

A roar of cheers rose from the hall, most so from the table of students wearing green scarfs. The hat was lifted off his head, but the pressure had not gone away at all. If anything, it seemed to have become even heavier. He could not bring himself to smile as he walked to the table, though he knew it had nothing to do with the house he had been sorted in. Slytherin was fine. Hufflepuff would have been okay. Gryffindor would have been alright.

A few of the students quickly scooted over to make room for him, and he settled down next to a girl who had hair that was even brighter than the flames above, and redder than the banners of the Gryffindor table. The locks curled around her face to pool across her narrow shoulders like lava pouring from a volcano, and her bright green eyes took him in both curiously and openly. Her scarlet lips curled up in something of a smile, and she reached out her hand to lay it, oh so gently, on top of Steve’s.

"You’ll figure it out," she said, her voice somehow perfectly audible through the pandemonium of cheers and voices.

Steve swallowed once more. "I hope so," he answered.

[goddessofeternity]

Love Amidst the Darkness

Chapter 9: Knight's of Melodia

“So I’m meeting them today?”

 “Yes they should be at the outer courtyard right now...I’ll go get them.” Duran started moving toward the library's door. 

 “No I’ll go with you...I have been sitting for far too long.” Althea smiled and straightens her dress. “My mother has started giving me more and more documents to look over. I guess she wants to introduce me to all sides of different politics.”

 Duran made a noise of agreement as he followed behind her. Althea smiled to herself as she thought of the interactions she has had with him. He would indulge her and answer her questions quite openly at times, but sometimes he would just grunt and make noises of agreement. He stopped immediately when he realized how rude it was. Althea didn’t get upset because it seemed to be something older siblings did. Evelyn often did it when she didn’t want to be bothered by conversations with Fiona or Aileen. The day seemed to be moving slowly, but it was nice because it meant she could learn more about Duran. She was also a bit nervous to meet Liam and Honora, a strong willed girl, and a mysterious boy. Meeting new people always made her nervous, and she always stuttered horribly. Duran had reassured her that they would be nothing short of respectful. All she could think of was how nice it would be to talk to another girl her age. Meeting another boy her age also made her a bit nervous, since she never had much interaction with boys. 

 Althea smiled as she remembered earlier in the morning when Marina had left. Althea figured with the extra guards, Marina could use a well deserved break. Of course however, Marina had kicked up a fuss because she didn’t want to leave Althea. Althea’s face lit up a bright red as she remembered how good that had made her feel. The thought of her leaving did make her sad, but Althea was confident that her knights could take care of her. Marina was a bit misty eyed, but it was clear that she was happy to see her family again so soon. She wouldn’t see her for at least another month, but she deserved a nice time away from the palace. Althea descended the stairs toward the outer courtyard and thought about what Marina’s family was like. She knew her mother owned a flower shop, and that her father was a general. Marina was the only girl, and she had five brothers, four older and one younger. Her youngest brother was trying to be an architect, her oldest brother Kent was living in eastern part of Edrion, she didn’t see him often but he was planning to live a bit closer. Her second oldest brother Seth lived in Melodia and was a scholar.

 “I swear the paintings don’t do her enough justice!”

 Her third brother Matthew was a painter and his works decorated some of the halls in the palace. Althea had actually met him a year ago when her mother wanted to decorate the palace some more. He was the only person in her family she had met. He had the same kind blue eyes she did, and he was very handsome. Her fourth brother Samuel moved to Dragleic to study the dragons, Marina had said he was always fascinated with the beautiful creatures.

 “The Princess is so damn hot!”

 “Liam shut up! That is not appropriate! You’re gonna get us in trouble! ”Althea had always wanted to meet her whole family, Marina had been her lady in waiting for long enough that it would make sense to meet them. She had always wondered if Marina looked more like her mother or her father…

 “I mean Princess Althea is a fine piece of a-”

 Althea finally took notice of her surroundings and noticed she was standing near a wall at the outer courtyard. Duran was standing next to her with an annoyed look on his face, the girl,  Honora, looked between Liam and Althea with a worried expression. Liam looked nervous and terrified as he kneeled next to Honora. Duran gritted his teeth as he rubbed his temples, Althea tilted her head in confusion.

 “Your Highness! I swear I meant no disrespect! Please forgive my rudeness!”

 “Your...have you done something wrong?” Liam and Honora both looked at each other taken aback as Duran shakes his head at them. They both stand up and Althea smiles and clasps her hands together, and Liam rubs his hands together.

 “Um...er…”

 Honora grumbles and pushes Liam aside as she smiles at Althea. “Your Highness, my name is Honora Stark and I swear to protect you at all times and make sure no harm comes to you. I also swear to take this task seriously.” She gives a pointed look at Duran and Liam. “I also will keep these two in line as well.”

 Liam mumbles “kiss ass,” under his breath as he shoves Honora away, which she retaliates to quickly by elbowing him. “My name is Liam Kalderon and I swear to put my life on the line for you princess,” he gently takes her hand and kisses it, he smiles and deeply gazes into her eyes. “I will be there for anything you need...anything at all.” Honora makes an annoyed face at the insinuation and Duran swats Liam's hand away as Althea feels her face get hot.

 “Princess Althea, I hope that we haven’t offended you in any way, but please understand we are taking your protection very seriously. We will make sure you have nothing to worry about, what happened at the tournament will never come to pass again.”

 At hearing Duran’s words it made her feel a lot better than she had the other day. However, it made her heart ache thinking how they would sacrifice everything just for her. They had lives outside the palace, yet the determined and serious looks on their faces told her they were serious about what they said. Having that much undying loyalty towards her made wonder if she would feel like that towards someone someday. She pushed her thoughts away as she smiled at the three of them, as she thought about trying to enjoy her time figuring her three knights out.

 “I...would like to thank the three of you for taking on this task, and I appreciate your bravery as well. I hope that we can cooperate well together and have a good relationship. Although I...would like to ask something of you all…”

 They look at her in confusion as she fiddles with her hands and she blushes deeply. “I would...like it if you all weren’t so...serious…”

 “Serious?” Honora says confused. “What do you mean, Your Highness?”

 “Well…” She shuffles in place nervously, and they patiently wait for her to speak. “You all seem like such good friends...and at the tournament you seemed so carefree. I want you to be relaxed around me, I understand if it’s an odd thing to ask. I just don’t spend much time around other people my age. I thought...it would be refreshing and nice...I’m sorry if this is a strange thing to ask.”

 The three of them look at her in pure silence as they think about her request. Honora smiles at Althea warily. “Your Highness, I hope we can have a good relationship...but I really don’t think it’s professi-”

 “Well shit...this is perfect! I mean if you want us to relax then I will gladly do that!” Liam laughs as he sits on the ground, and puts his arms behind his head. “Being serious all the time doesn’t really fit my personality.”

 “Liam! Must you always try and be the wild card!? Honestly this is serious...we must do our jobs efficiently and diligently!”

 “If the princess wants us to not be serious all the time,” he says waving his arm nonchalantly. “I think I should listen to her orders.”

 “You don’t always have to go against the grain Liam!”

 “You are such a stick in the mud Honora...loosen up, come take a seat, and maybe we can strengthen our relationship…”

 “Ugh! You are such a damn pig!”

 “A pig? I think I’m more of a majestic stallion...”

 Althea glanced between the two nervously, wondering if she said something wrong. Maybe they weren’t as close as she had thought? Perhaps she misjudged their closeness at the tournament. Honora looked as though she was going to draw her sword on him. Liam seemed perfectly calm opposed to Honora’s red face. Duran took one glance at Althea’s worried face and groaned deeply. He stood between his friends and gave them stern looks.

 “Ok ok you two enough...Liam get up we have a job to do. Honora calm down, take some deep breaths and ignore Liam’s smart mouth. Princess Althea I’m sure we can honor your request,” he smiles at Honora as she makes a face. “But we can also do our job effectively as well, we will find a balance and work with what makes you comfortable.”

 “O-Ok…”

 After Duran gave the two of them a talking to, the four of them made their way back into the palace. The day was reaching its end as the three of them walked the halls. Liam and Honora walked by her sides, while Duran walked directly behind her. Duran seemed alert even within the palace walls as did Honora, Liam just whistled to himself, but he kept a loose hand on his blade. Althea started getting concerned and she also looked around the strangely quiet halls. Just the other day it was filled with knights...now it was empty. 

 “.....” As she stopped as did the others. There weren't any events planned for the evening. She hadn’t seen either of her parents for most of the day. They had been acting strange the other day, but she had pushed her thoughts to the side. Although now, they seemed to be creeping back up on her, and her knights were making her nervous with their guarded movements. Just as she was about to get very worried, her mother turned the corner.

 “Mother…” Althea sighed happily as she made her way over to her. “The palace is...strangely quiet today.”

 “Yes, your father figured it wasn’t necessary to have that many knights walking around the palace,” she smiles gently at the kneeling knights behind Althea. “It’s wonderful to see you’ve met your knights. You may all stand...I would love to get better acquainted with you all, but I’m very busy at the moment...perhaps another time then?”

 The three of them nod enthusiastically and Althea giggles softly as her mother smiles. “Oh and Althea, Lord Derrick is coming to the palace tomorrow to discuss some things about his land. You must be up bright and early princess...ok?”

 “Y-yes mother…”

 “Good,” she gives them all one last smile before walking down the hall.

 “Wow…” Althea looks over at Liam as he watches her mother walk away. Honora elbows him in the ribs and Duran sighs.

 “Honestly Liam...that’s the queen! Must you drool over every woman that passes you by?!”

 “Well I don’t drool over you. Besides I prefer a woman... not a little girl such as yourself. Besides you’re not packing much in the way of the chest area.” Duran runs his hand over his face as Honora looks down at her chest with a red face. She wraps her arms over them defensively, while Liam snickers.

 “You’re an asshole! Nothing but a damn pervert!” She grabs the hilt of her sword, but Duran grabs her hand.

 “Easy there Honora...you two have really been acting like a bunch of children these last few weeks.” He says sternly. “We are in the presence of the princess, show some respect guys.”

 They both mumbled their apologies and Althea just smiles. “It’s quite alright Duran...I think their arguments are very refreshing...it doesn’t bother me at all. You aren’t being rude or disrespectful at all.”

 “If you say so, Your Highness…”

 As they started to walk her to her bedroom she felt a sickening feeling in her stomach. The last time she had seen Lord Derrick, he had made her extremely uncomfortable. The way he touched her and how his eyes would travel up and down her body, it wasn’t something she wanted to experience again. As she bid her knights goodnight, she stood in front of her mirror and looked herself up and down. Liam’s words rang in her head as she touched her breasts.

 “Mmm...I don’t have much either...so small…” She sighed as she pulled on her nightgown and blew out the candle by her bed. She brushed out her hair and opened her window, the moonlight illuminating her bedroom. Walking over to the window she looked down at the inner courtyard, the night was very still and quiet. She rubbed her arms as a chilly breeze blew through her room. Although it wasn’t just a breeze that made her rub her arms. It felt as though someone was watching her at the moment. Looking out the window once more she backed away and shut her window, and drew back her curtains. As she climbed into bed, she thought about how nice it was to meet Duran’s friends. It would be nice if she could make more friends. She closed her eyes as she tried to forget the feeling of someone watching her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[averycanadianfilm]

SEARCHING FOR SAMUEL – A QUADRA ISLAND MYSTERY

Felt the need to re-blog this post: The script for the first film of "A Very Canadian Film" is written by Hubert H. Burke and is partially based on this short story. This is a story about Samuel H. Lawson, aka Tshi Nebre. Written by Peter B. Smith of Quadra Island. SEARCHING FOR SAMUEL – A QUADRA ISLAND MYSTERY By Peter B. Smith Every word you are about to read is true. It all began on a damp morning in mid-October, 2005, when my wife Amanda was walking our golden retriever Misty on Rebecca Spit, not far from where we live on Quadra Island overlooking Desolation Sound off the west coast of B.C. Just inside the turn off to Rebecca Spit Road, Misty chose to go sniffing near the door of the green-painted building housing the washrooms. Amanda checked, and there, neatly packed in the entrance to the building, under the roof overhang out of the rain, was a huge back-pack. It was one of those you strap on your back, really heavy, crammed full and with an additional tent and blanket strapped to its outside. It was so heavy, Amanda couldn’t lift it. A black briefcase, also bulging full and heavy, had been neatly placed on top of the back-pack. Amanda and Misty walked for a good hour, and on returning, Amanda saw the back-pack and briefcase were still there. No one was around, and Amanda had met no one walking who appeared to belong to the back-pack. When she arrived home, she told me about her mysterious discovery, and my curiosity was aroused. I was a newspaper crime reporter for 37 years, and now live on Quadra where as an author, I write true-life crime books. Mysteries on my doorstep pique my interest. I drove back to the Spit in the afternoon, and the possessions were all still there as Amanda had described them. I wandered around looking for an owner, and called out, but the Spit was deserted. I noticed three wood-bugs crawling over the pack. Only three would mean it couldn’t have been there very long, certainly no more than one night. Any longer and it would have been alive with creepy-crawlies. So I heaved the back-back into my van, without doubt the heaviest back-pack I’d ever lifted. Pity the poor hiker who had to travel any distance with this lot on his back. I picked up the briefcase, and took the whole lot to the RCMP detachment on the island, where I handed it in as “found property.” The corporal there had a glance at some files and papers inside the briefcase which seemed to have a name “Lawson” on them, and “Barnard College.” I gave him my name and telephone number, and he explained if the property wasn’t claimed in 90 days it would revert back to me as the finder. At home that evening Amanda and I discussed this strange find. Why would anyone leave all those possessions including all their personal files in the woods on Quadra Island? I came up with the immediate obvious answer, that whoever it was must have committed suicide. It was my first reaction, one borne out of 37 years of dealing with deaths, and murders and suicides on the crime beat. But if this person had walked out into the sea, they would have found a body by now. None had been reported. Of course, his body could be lying hidden somewhere in the woods on Quadra. That was a possibility. Our second thought was that perhaps the owner had been robbed of the property. That didn’t really make sense, because if he’d been robbed, he’d have reported the attack – well, unless he’d been robbed and murdered. It was the crime reporter coming out in my thoughts again. But anyway, if some thief had stolen all that gear, he would have sold it on by now, and turned it into cash. Where would be the sense in stealing it, and stashing it in the woods? Perhaps he was going to return to it later? We discounted that, because someone else could have stolen it again in the meantime. Anyway, we finally dismissed the whole thing in the knowledge if there were less drastic answers, and the owner was still around, he or she would claim the property back from the police very soon. Midway through November, I telephoned the RCMP and asked whether anyone had claimed the property I’d found. No one had. That made it all a lot stranger. Amanda and I were just a little more convinced now that my original take on it all, was right. No one would leave such a large quantity of personal possessions for more than two weeks without claiming it - especially if they had come to Quadra intending to go camping. What would they be using for a tent, and equipment and clothes, now all their possessions were sitting in the RCMP evidence room? One other explanation might be that the back-pack contained something criminal, a stash of heroin or crack cocaine maybe, and the owner knew the police would have discovered it, and daren’t call in for it. I called the corporal again in December, and was surprised to find the property was all still there, and the police hadn’t located the owner. I thought they would have looked through the personal papers, discovered the owner and contacted him or her - but no. The mystery still remained. January passed, and when I bumped into the RCMP corporal at the local store one morning in early February, I mentioned my found property. We agreed that 90 days had long since passed. If I wanted to drop into the detachment the next day, I could pick up “my” new-found property. This I did. The corporal heaved the items out of some back room and asked whether I thought there was a computer inside. “No, only paper files,” I said, remembering what we had seen the day I brought it in more than three months earlier. “That’s strange,” said the corporal, opening one of the files. “Oh, an American,” he said, from what he saw, and gave me the form to fill out. So it was that at 10:43 a.m. on February 7, 2006 I signed the form and staggered out of the detachment under the weight of my new back-pack and briefcase. Every crime reporter worth his salt reckons he’s as good as any detective in solving mysteries, and I was determined to solve this one. My first step when I got home was to make an exact list of everything in the briefcase and in the pack. To be honest, Amanda and I were struggling with a cash flow problem at this time, and we were greatly tempted to place a cash value on all we could find in our new property, have a grand garage sale, and immediately alleviate our financial burdens. But very quickly the instinct to discover what was behind the mystery overcame these mundane considerations. The very first folder inside the very first zip section I opened in the briefcase gave me the name “Samuel H. Lawson,” with a telephone number in Toronto, dating from the year 2000 – six years earlier. In the next few hours I became immersed in another man’s life. Amazingly, all his personal papers were here. His credit cards, banking documents, details of his bank accounts, and seemingly, all the important papers governing all the twists and turns of his life. He was a man with a quirk for saving receipts of all kinds. In these initial hours, I also discovered he was a man who had taken to conversing with himself about life, in a strange dialogue written on hundreds of small scraps of paper. Everything was printed in large letters, making it perfectly legible. But he was also a man very heavily into astrology and for every scrap of paper I could read, there were two scraps covered in unintelligible astral symbols and strings of numbers which were beyond my comprehension. The briefcase contained really heavy manila files which showed he was a physics and math professor, who had been the math instructor during the summer of 2005 at Barnard College, Columbia University, which appeared to be in New York. All this happily provided me with the answer to who the mystery owner was, but sadly, further strengthened my sure knowledge now that he had either committed suicide or had died in some way on Quadra Island. No one, certainly not a working university professor, would voluntarily abandon all his teaching files, his student records, photographs of everyone studying on his course, and his own text books and files in some remote woods on a tiny island off the west coast of B.C. in Canada. All these things were in the briefcase. There was a photograph of a heavily bearded guy with a toddler, and another of a blonde woman seemingly walking along a street in America, judging by the advertisements on the buildings behind her. Was this man in the photograph Samuel H. Lawson? When I unzipped one of the main sections of the briefcase, I discovered more evidence convincing me this man was now dead. In a pouch inside the case were three expensive watches, including a really top class Timex under-water time-piece, together with its warranty. I knew no one would leave such valuables as these lying around in the woods. The three watches were neatly aligned with parallel straps in the pouch. One was engraved “Samuel H. Lawson– 27-12-78” on the reverse. I had a mental picture of this man carefully placing these few valuables in the pouch before going away to end his life. Maybe he intended these would be found and passed on to his next of kin, whoever and wherever they were. Unconsciously, and without evidence, I felt that he was dead. It was like this all through my newspaper career. Other reporters would write stories about missing persons still thought to be alive, and yet whenever I came to write about the same case, the body would be found. Other reporters would write stories about extensive searches in mountains or in rivers where adventurers were lost, and when I came to write about them, their bodies would be discovered. It was a touch I didn’t want, but I had it. We hadn’t lived on Quadra long when a young man, Joe, was dropped off by taxi cab right outside the fence of our yard, not many yards from our kitchen window. He walked away and was never seen alive again. Everyone knew he must be dead. His family has even promised a reward for anyone with information which led to his body. Eventually they found his remains where he had taken his own life. But the last time he was seen alive was right outside my house. And now, I was handling Samuel H. Lawson’s possessions. I just knew I was the kiss of death. The more I found, the more I knew I was right. This man was carrying with him a huge manila folder containing a 180-page report on “The long-term effects of energetic healing on symptoms of psychological depression and self-perceived stress.” It had been sent to him from the Institute of Transpersonal Psychology in California in 2002. Was this connected with his professional life, or was he a man suffering “psychological depression and self-perceived stress.” Such a man would be the classic type to commit suicide. I calculated that if he’d carried this report around for three years, was he now just going to abandon it in the woods if he was still alive? I don’t think so. And alongside it was another huge dissertation, this time a 137-page report on “touch healing” from the same institute, which had been sent to him in 2003. And large numbers of weird astral charts covered in hieroglyphics filled another folder. His personal papers included all the kind of papers you would usually keep at home in a drawer of important documents, not the kind you’d take camping in a back-pack. His pension papers told how much he might expect to receive when he retired. His spouse had signed papers waiving her rights to his pension if he were to die. Was this important now that this could be the case? There was a large money transfer of thousands of dollars to a woman, apparently in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. He had seemingly worked at Colorado College, and at Rutgers State University, New Jersey, before tutoring at Barnard College. Legal documents from his lawyers were addressed to him at some time care of the “International Development Research Centre” in New Delhi, India. One explanation of why this man would carry all these papers on a camping trip was that perhaps he didn’t have a home. Perhaps he was homeless. Perhaps he had been a successful academic, now badly down on his fortunes. So far down that he had ended it all. Travel documents in the briefcase included airline tickets, Via Rail receipts, and bus tickets so it seemed clear he didn’t have a vehicle. This left a strange mixture of someone seemingly homeless, with no car, but with the resources to occasionally use trains and planes. I put all this to one side, and turned to the back-pack. Just at that moment, my wife returned home and joined me in this odyssey through another man’s life. I know she had found the property originally, but I simply couldn’t wait to start exploring it, hence I had completed the briefcase before she arrived. On the top of the back-pack all the camping gear appeared to be new, recently purchased and unused, including a new tent, tent pegs, a sleeping-bag and tent repair equipment. He had a heavy Afghan rug and sandals, and inside, everything was bagged into plastic bags. We experienced an excited expectation with every new revelation. What would be in the next bag? In which direction would each new find send us? It was like a treasure hunt. Many of the clues being revealed minute by minute brought more questions than answers. In one plastic bag were toiletries and a 14-carat gold chain inscribed “Italy.” What was the Italian link? And a leather wallet contained Indian and Ethiopian currency. What a strange mixture. Not a single Canadian coin or bill, but a folded wad of money from the other side of the world. What did that mean? With each new find, my heart sank. This man must be dead. He wouldn’t leave valuable gold jewelry behind, together with watches, and all these new possessions. My interest in the mystery began to be tinged with sadness over what I knew I would ultimately find. One plastic bag seemed to contain some horrible mush. My criminal mind immediately thought of magic mushrooms, or that heroin or crack cocaine, but we quickly realized it was only food – really rotten food that had aged badly while sitting for four months in a hot police station. More plastic bags, all tied shut, contained clothes, mostly sweaters and T-shirts, a pair of jeans, mostly all clean and folded as if they hadn’t yet been worn. We had found all this in October, 2005, and here I was looking at it all in February, 2006. What had this man been wearing for the past five months if all his clothing was here? Obviously he hadn’t needed it because he was no longer alive. And then, I made the strangest finds. Several white plastic bags, handed out in supermarkets, were stuffed full of years of receipts, and numerous pieces of paper covered in his printed writing. These were very depressing. Day after day he wrote of having no money, no food, of realizing his health was suffering, and sadly appealing to himself to provide the answer to extract him from this dreadful plight. It was becoming easier for me to understand how this man had come to take his own life. I filled pages of my notebook with details off every piece of paper. Amanda was fascinated and excited to rush forward to the next bag. She couldn’t believe I was taking this all so methodically and recording every item before moving on to the next. He seemed to be a collector of people’s business cards. One of them inside an envelope inside a plastic bag was from the “Heriot Bay Inn” here on Quadra. Perhaps someone there might remember him. I put it high on my list of calls to make in an effort to find him. I knew it was hopeless. I knew he was dead, but I resolved to trace every clue on all these thousands of pieces of paper, trying to find him. Only when I’d exhausted every avenue, would I decide what I ought to do next. Some documents had him living in New Jersey, others in various cities in Ontario, including Belleville, Pickering and Toronto. Others hinted at Vancouver, or Victoria, and there were definite links with Salt Spring Island, B.C. I hit on a plan. I took every detail I had and re-arranged them in a strictly chronological time-plan. This would give me an exact picture of how he came to be on Quadra Island, and hopefully, an explanation for why he had taken his own life. Only when it was finished, did I realize what a complete picture I had of his life. Samuel H. Lawson was born in Jamaica. His family took him to Ottawa, where he grew up and became a Canadian citizen. He worked in Manhattan, U.S.A. at some time, and earned a physics major at Earlham College in Richmond, Indiana in 1985. Various references indicated he had lived in Bombay, India, in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia and Hong Kong, and he’d worked as a professor and instructor at these various universities in the States. Let me share with you the exact detailed time-line of Samuel H. Lawson’s life, as I reconstructed it from the scraps of paper in his back-pack, since November 16, 2004. On that day he booked into the Day’s Inn hotel in Victoria where he lived permanently until January 7, 2005. On the day he left, his stay had cost him more than $3,500 in hotel bills and taxes. It was pretty clear the hotel stay had taken all his immediate resources, because within a month he was writing the most despairing, depressed and distressing notes to himself in his journal on scraps of paper. Throughout February the notes speak of fasting, being undernourished, having no money for food, and asking plaintive questions of himself. “OK. How much longer am I to exist like this? OK. This body is becoming ill, so food is my first priority. ”Receipts showed he was vegetarian, buying only fruit and juice at a grocery store, and a regular customer at Starbuck coffee houses, but it seems this life-style was hardly keeping him alive. On March 18 he wrote of “fasting and hopelessness.” Next day it was “despair and loneliness and still having no money for food.” The journal references went on day after day for almost three months through February, March and April. It wasn’t difficult to see how a man with such burdens could end it all. But I couldn’t understand how such an educated and intelligent man seemed to have no sense of reality. He could have acquired a position almost anywhere with his academic qualities but he didn’t. Instead, he wrote long painful questions to himself asking himself why he couldn’t get his first book – a thesis on applied physics – published. Why waste time writing a dialogue to himself? Why not pursue publishers or find employment? On April 21, 2005 he takes a ferry from Swartz Bay, Victoria to Tsawassen, Vancouver, and next day he’s at the Vancouver International Airport, where he has a veggie burger in the lounge and coffee at the Starbucks outlet in the domestic flights lounge. Next day he’s traveling by Trans Link in Vancouver, according to the ticket he saved. But on April 24, he’s back on the BC Ferries, traveling from Victoria up to Fulford Harbour on Salt Spring Island, a journey he makes several times back and forth in the next few days. I try to imagine what he’s doing there. Remember, this is all only six months before he chooses to end it all in a lonely wood on Quadra Island. His bank records show that his account is draining away at this time. At the end of April he’s down to less than $70, and by May 5, he only has $3.04 in his account. But it’s obvious from the files I found that he had to be back at Barnard College in New York State where he was scheduled to be the math instructor for his class of all-women students on the HEOP (Higher Education Opportunity Program) summer session, beginning in a few weeks. I find the answer. At 11:06 p.m. on the evening of June 14, 2005 he receives a money transfer of $240 from the director of the college, which appears to me to be his air fare back to New York. It looks as if it doesn’t arrive a moment too soon. Next morning (according to his air-line ticket) he catches the 8:30 a.m. American Airlines flight AA 360 from Vancouver International to Chicago O’Hare, and later that day, he takes the 3:30 p.m. American Airlines flight from Chicago to New York. The college schedule shows the staff orientation lunch was on June 17, two days after his flight gets in, and on July 4 he’s at work teaching math to his students. I wonder to myself what enormous character it must take to transform oneself from a despairing, starving, seemingly almost homeless stray to a fully functioning university professor – an amazing leap in my mind. On July 31, 2005, his fortunes improve when he receives his salary from the college of more than $3,400. Remember, by this time, he has only three months left to live. The words “Fly to Vancouver” written in his distinctive hand, which, by now, I had come to recognize, appeared on the college schedule for August 12, in his back-pack, presumably after the end of the summer session. Matching this reference, in another plastic bag, I found the corresponding air-line tickets. On August 12, he took the 4 p.m. American Airlines flight AA341 from New York to Chicago O’Hare, and after a short stay, took the 6:44 p.m. American Airlines flight from Chicago to Vancouver International. By August 30, Samuel was staying at the Seabreeze Inne on Salt Spring Island. Could there be a more incredible contrast anywhere in the western world. One minute he is embroiled in the frantic, noisy, stress-laden life of a New York college, surrounded by thousands of people, all rushing to get somewhere. The next, he is almost alone in an idyllic serene tranquility on a beautiful island, with forests growing to its shorelines, where there are more loons, cormorants and sea-birds than there are people. Next day he receives another money transfer, apparently from a family member. I worry about this entry. I feel responsible for all this property of his which I have. When one day I can confirm officially he is dead, should I return it all to his family members? I decide all that will take care of itself when the time comes. And then I came across documents which brought this wanderer right into my little corner of the world, right at the time when I think he chose to take his life. On September 2, he signed a tenancy agreement to take on tenancy of a single-dwelling unit at Hollyhock, a retreat on Cortes Island, a tiny island reached only by car-ferry from Quadra Island. What’s more, we had found his property no more than a 20 minute straight-line walk from the ferry terminal he would have to leave from to reach Cortes Island. He had paid the $600 security deposit, and was to have taken up his residency there on December 1, 2005, staying until February 28, 2006. For me, this was the final nail in the coffin, quite literally. No man who was struggling financially, would pay in advance, a $600 deposit for living accommodation, and then fail to turn up there. Something catastrophic had befallen him on Quadra Island in October. After paying his Cortes Island deposit at the beginning of September, he was then busy criss-crossing Canada before finally heading out west, presumably on his final run to Cortes. On September 17 he traveled from Campbell River on Vancouver Island to Nanaimo by Greyhound bus, then from Nanaimo to Vancouver. Receipts show he was staying at the Day’s Inn in Toronto on September 21 and 23 but five days later he had returned to B.C. and began a five day stay at the Day’s Inn, Victoria. By my reckoning, this was less than two weeks before I think he took his life. The last receipt I found was the last hotel bill when he moved out of the Day’s Inn in Victoria, presumably to head north to Quadra to catch the car ferry to Cortes. This would bring him here several weeks ahead of the December 1 date when he was to take possession of his retreat dwelling at Hollyhock. I guessed he planned to camp for a few weeks, hence the camping gear, prior to moving in at Hollyhock. Now I was satisfied I knew all I could learn from the bags of receipts and scraps of paper. I could place him on Quadra, as he’d obviously left his back-pack here, and knew the reason he was here, making preparations to moving across to Cortes Island. The only possession we hadn’t found was his wallet. No doubt when he’d walked into the sea, or took himself into some deeply wooded secret spot to die, he was wearing the final clothes he had chosen to die in, and his wallet was in his pocket. Now, I had to check every conceivable place where he may still be alive- Salt Spring Island, Victoria, Cortes, Quadra, Toronto, and the States. I knew this stage of my quest would be hopeless, as I knew he was dead. But I had to check. I wrote a new headline in my notebook. It read, “February 7, 2006 –Searching,” and I started working the phone. I decided to start with the most recent clues and work backwards. Obviously the first stop was to contact the Hollyhock retreat on Cortes Island. That was where I thought he had been headed. That was where he should be right now on February 7 - after all, he was scheduled to stay there until February 28. It all started with great frustration. I just hit answering machines, and no one was available, but repeated calls finally brought a result. No, they said, Samuel was not there at Hollyhock, he never had been. “He was going to stay here, but then he decided not to come. He has never been here,” said one of the staff members. I took this as another confirmation of what I already knew. He had ended his life in mid-October. I knew he wouldn’t have turned up at Hollyhock in December. I wondered if, when he changed his mind about going there, he’d ever had his $600 refunded. If he had done, the paperwork wasn’t in his back-pack. Then I tried to track down the people who must have known him best, the staff at Barnard College in New York. I faced another round of frustrations as every number in the college directory in the back-pack led to an answering machine. When I hit the switchboard, a receptionist searched the permanent staff directory and told me no “Samuel H. Lawson,” was listed. His personal residency number listed at the college rang “no longer available.” I was drawing blanks everywhere. It seemed from the several references to Salt Spring Island, that someone there must know him. On all documents, he gave an address on Salt Spring Island as his home address. We have a friend who lives on the island, and we called him, explained our quest, but he didn’t know him. My first day of working the phones had taken me no further forward. Next day, I resumed the hunt. Another call to Barnard College led me to the provost’s office, where I was told there was no “Samuel H. Lawson” on the registry, not even as a math instructor. I tried calling every instructor at the college, working methodically through the directory. No one was available. In one of his plastic bags was the business card of the manager at the Heriot Bay Inn, just a stone’s throw from the ferry terminal where Samuel would have caught the ferry to get to Cortes, if he had got that far. I rang the manager at his home and asked if he remembered meeting Samuel. He didn’t – and explained his business cards sit on the front desk at the hotel, and anyone could just pick one up, without having to meet him - another blank. I tried the most recent telephone number listed for Samuel in Toronto in the year 2000. It was another answering machine, with the voice of a younger woman. I was sure if he’d been apparently near homeless in the past two or three years, a telephone number from six years ago was a waste of my time. As it seemed to me Samuel liked to stay in Day’s Inns in various cities, I called the Day’s Inn in Victoria and asked for him. He wasn’t there. I knew he wouldn’t be, but the more negatives I could confirm, the more certain I could be that he was dead. It was a sad day for me making these calls. I didn’t want them all to be negative because I wanted him to be alive. But with each blank response, I felt a reassurance that my understanding of what had happened was correct. During his last stay at the Day’s Inn hotel in Victoria early in October, which I reckoned was only two weeks before he died, his receipt showed he had called a number on Cortes Island several times. Hopefully, I rang it, and a woman answered, saying she didn’t know who I was talking about. But she said another woman had been staying there in October, and she now lived in Victoria, and perhaps Samuel had been calling her. I rang the new number in Victoria.The woman there had no idea who I was talking about. But she remembered, a guy had been living at the same place who was now living in Ontario. I rang the Ontario number, and spoke to the man. Yes, he knew a Samuel on Cortes Island, but a few more questions quickly showed me this was the wrong Samuel. My hopeful “Cortes” lead had drawn another blank. Next day, I started again. I ran through the numbers at Barnard College again, and this time I had success. One of the directors of the course, knew Samuel, knew he was traveling in Canada, and thought he would be contacting her periodically. If he contacted her, she would pass on my telephone number to him and get him to call me. I thanked her, and made a mental note not to hold my breath. I knew that in the course of time the director would eventually realize he wasn’t contacting her, and her alarm bells would start ringing too. I started reading Samuel’s desperate journal again looking for new contacts I could reach. I found confirmation he was a black man. I knew he was born in Jamaica, and among his scribbled pages, I discovered he had strong views on racism, having obviously encountered some racist problems. Someone in Canada had once wound down a window in their car to shout the “n****” word at him. He had philosophized on how racism in Canada was not as violent as racism in America. To know he was black assisted me, as I knew it would help me describe him when trying to find anyone who had met him. It also meant I now knew the photograph in his briefcase of a heavily-bearded white man with a toddler, wasn’t him. In his desperate journal I found a reference to him “nearly fasting to death on Salt Spring Island in 2004.” I decided to track down all the Salt Spring Island references I could find. In his back-pack I found a Salt Spring Island telephone directory. First I rang the Seabreeze Inne hotel and asked if he was there at the moment. He wasn’t. I know he wouldn’t be, but I had to ask. A receptionist said he had stayed there in 2004 and 2005. I knew that. After all I had seen all his hotel receipts. But here I made progress. The receptionist gave me his telephone number on Salt Spring Island, the number he had given during his stay in August last year. This was his current telephone number. Before ringing it, I looked it up in the reverse telephone directory. It was the “Oh Goddess Herbal Products and Massage Therapy” shop! I rang the number and left a message on the answering machine. Several of the telephone calls Sam had made from the Day’s Inn at Victoria were to Salt Spring Island numbers. Seeking them out in the reverse directory I found more than one was to a chiropractor’s clinic. I rang it, and hit another answering machine. Another landed me on a woman’s cell-phone, and she’d never heard of him. And then I had my best break-through. One of the calls he made from the hotel in Victoria had cost him $12, so he’d obviously had quite a conversation with someone. Checking the telephone directory, I discovered the area code for this call was Allentown, Pennsylvania. I called the number. For the first time on any call, I reached someone who knew Samuel, a woman who actually knew Samuel H. Lawson. I explained what I was doing, that I’d found all his property and was trying to reach him to return it. She told me, “Yes, I know he is traveling in Canada. I am one of his friends from college days. He’d be thrilled if he knew you were taking all this trouble to find him. I can try to reach him for you.” She was a professor at St. Joseph’s University, and I gave her my number. I did confide in her my worst expectations that I feared he may have taken his own life, but that was only my personal thought and I could be wrong. I explained he’d left all his possessions in a wood and hadn’t attempted to retrieve them for at least four months, and he hadn’t turned up at a retreat where he had been expected. She told me she understood. “I have been worried about his well-being for a long time,” she said. I was saddened to know that someone who knew Samuel could understand that what I feared was possible. I was hoping she might say that such a thing was out of the question with him, that he wasn’t likely to do that, but she didn’t. She thought he had some family in Toronto. She thought his mother was living in Ethiopia. That could explain him transferring money to an account in Ethiopia. Perhaps he’d been sending money home to his mother. I had reached the stage where I needed to think about what to do next. I was sure he wasn’t staying at any of his usual haunts. No one had heard from him for months. He’d abandoned all his personal possessions. I considered my options. I could contact the RCMP again and see whether I could report him as a “missing person” but I doubted if they would take a report from me. After all, I wasn’t anything to do with him. My wife suggested we could place a notice in the Discovery Islander, the newspaper which circulates throughout the islands here, including Quadra and Cortes. Perhaps someone would remember meeting him and have a clue about what happened to him. I decided against making any attempt to reach his family. I knew if I found anyone, I couldn’t ask questions without causing them anxiety, and that wouldn’t help. If, one day, I could somehow get a “missing person” inquiry launched with the RCMP, then they, with all their resources, could discover what happened to him, and maybe even find his body. And they, as the professionals, could locate and contact his next of kin. I’d reached the stage where I’d almost exhausted the calls I could make. I had left plenty of messages on several machines. I would just have to wait until I received some calls back. Hopefully, anyone who called back would provide me with some new avenues to follow. Almost on cue, the phone rang. “Hello, Pete Smith,” I sang out. “This is Samuel,” said a voice with a Jamaican twang. “Samuel H. Lawson. Were you trying to get hold of me?”

THE END 

copyrighted by Peter B. Smith

[windup-dragoon]

【Ｔｈｅ　Ｔｉｇｅｒ　Ｐｒｉｎｃｅ　           ＆　ｔｈｅ　Ｓｔｒａｙ】

𝘎𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘕𝘰 𝘕𝘢𝘮𝘦

Word Count: 3,042

Hien x Kiri

Summer had only just begun in Yanxia’s rolling landscape. Mornings begun in a heavy haze of fog that lifted from the One River. The sheet of fog was then cleared away by the rising of the sun, soon followed by the humid heat that left cicadas singing well into the evening. 

It was on one such foggy morning that lead a young boy to the docks of the enclave. Armed with naught but a hunting knife and his own memory to guide him through the morning gloom along winding pathways, he went about his mission. Everyone would still be asleep, no doubt. Not until the cry of the cock would the others rise to greet the day. That was precisely why he traversed such an eerie morning. 

The ferrymen had spoken days before of a ghost that plagued the docks. Several had laid claim to having witnessed its appearance first hand. At first such fairy tales were dismissed, not even the mind of a child could be so easily swayed by men who spent their evenings in cups. But when the soldiers who kept watch over the enclave whispered of the ghost, armed to the teeth with rifles and science, he knew a thorough investigation was in order. 

“A ghost? Not likely.” Shun mused to himself as he marched on, into the thickest blanket of mist. Eyes of pale jade searched the silhouettes around him. A boat of Garlean make loomed yalms away, a hulking shadow but not worth causing a fright. Unloaded cargo stacked three high but hardly resembling a specter. Unless that specter was Gosetsu, perhaps. Still he pressed on, unfazed by his findings thus far. 

The beat of his sandals against stone came to a halt at the far end of the pier. Melodic in the stillness of morning babbled the One River before him. With the mist hanging like curtains across the waters, he could scarcely see the towering gates that separated Doma’s Castle from the enclave. Gates that kept his father imprisoned in his own residence. Shun felt a pang in his chest, one that he swallowed and buried deep for now. If only he were stronger. Old enough to stand a chance and fight against those who caged his countrymen. Who kept him from his father. But what could a boy accomplish? 

“… No spirit here…” He whispered to himself decidedly, turning on his heel to proceed back the way he came. The guards would be coming through soon to deal with the latest shipment. If he were spotted snooping, it would only cause trouble for Gosetsu later. But as he spun, his eyes snapped wide, all the air in his lungs suddenly sapped from him. 

Hardly even a shadow amid the mist she stood, a small outline of a child. Her dress and hair all but melded with the fog that encompassed them. If not for her piercing eyes and tan skin, she would have been the mist incarnate. 

Shun, shocked to his core, could only stare at the ghostly figure who stood a stone toss away. Neither could pry their eyes from the other. 

He had expected a widow mourning the loss of a sailor husband lost at sea, or perhaps a soldier out for revenge. No one had made mention that the ghost of their stories had been a child of his own age. 

“G-Greetings…?” The boy stammered out. He had never imagined he would truly discover the fabled ghost haunting the docks. What to do after finding her had been a task he left blank up until now. Do ghosts speak? Or wail? Cry perhaps? Could they understand the language of mortals? 

Still a bit shaken by his findings, Shun stepped forward. The girl matched his step but in reverse, keeping the distance between them. 

“Do you speak, Spirit?” He did his best to keep a level voice. He couldn’t risk the guards hearing him and letting the shade before him escape. 

Eyes of two different hues stared intently back at him. Or mayhap she was missing an eye? Perhaps blind in one? With the veil of mist between them, he was uncertain of everything. 

“Come now, I won’t harm you. You can trust me.” Soft, delicate. The way Gosetsu had told him to speak when addressing frightened animals. The lull of a tender voice could quell even a fierce rainbow tiger. One only needed to find the patience inside themselves and be earnest in their intentions. Shun extended a hand. 

“My name is Shun. No harm will come to you, you have my word.” 

Instead of a response, the figure before him collapsed without a sound, crumpling to the stone path beneath her. 

— 

“You should leave spirit hunting to professionals, Shun.” Gosetsu teased with a hum of laughter. 

“How so? If not for my bravery, the docks would still be visited by her, would they not?” Shun protested before taking a hardy bite of rice. 

Gentle rays of morning sun had begun to filter through gaps in the curtains. The enclave had been relieved of its mystifying morning fog, now left to glitter in the morning dew until the summer heat evaporated it. Already the air hung heavy with humidity. 

Gosetsu breathed a sigh. The boy and the Roe shared breakfast together in a small residence, made smaller still by a futon still in use beneath the window. The ghost from the pier laid on her back, eyes open but glassed over as she bore holes into the ceiling. 

“I am afraid not. She collapsed from starvation. The ghost stories would have ended for a different reason.” Gosetsu filled a bowl of rice, patting it softly into place while glancing back at the girl. 

Any appetite Shun had moments ago had vacated, the rumbling of his stomach now replaced with an uneasy feeling. How long had she been out there? Starving and looking for crumbs? It was no wonder the guards complained; she had been snatching food when no one would spy her in the early mornings. But even that seemed not enough. 

The giant roe carefully crossed the room, dish in hand, but stopped suddenly. Shun spun around immediately at the sound of a hiss. 

Despite having hardly the strength to stand on her own two feet, the girl had stirred in her bedding, a hunched but upright position. Her eyes were but daggers beneath thick lashes and unkempt misty white hair. Like a stray hound threatened by the roes presence, her upper lip curled while she snarled. 

“They had it wrong.” Shun announced while blinking curiously. “She’s no ghost but a girl possessed!” 

“Shun!” Gosetsu wheezed. 

“She made no noise at me before. You frighten her, Gosetsu!” The boy scrambled to his feet and took a stance beside his guardian. He stole away the bowl and chopsticks before nudging Gosetsu aside. He obliged, seating himself back at their table. 

“Be at ease. I have given my word that nothing will harm you and I mean to keep it. Remember?” Shun made no attempt to advance yet. Instead he kept eye contact with the girl and lowered his voice once more. 

Her eyes momentarily drifted between Shun and Gosetsu. The feral sounds rumbling from her throat had settled.

“He may be a terrifying sight to behold, but he is a friend and not your enemy.” Somewhere behind Shun, Gosetsu made a scoff but allowed him to continue without interruption. “Pray, accept this food. You must be in tremendous pain.” Shun stepped forward. The girl recoiled with narrowed eyes. “Nothing poisonous. See?” Armed with the chopsticks, Shun made a show of taking a bite himself and eating it. He took a step closer, taking another small bite. 

Before long he had crossed the length of the room, even managing to kneel at the foot of the borrowed futon with the bowl of rice extended as peace offering between himself and the former ghost. Although the tension of her shoulders never ceased, the girl accepted the bowl with two shaking hands. 

Gosetsu, who had watched the whole display in shocked silence, smiled. “Color me impressed, Shun. You could be a beast tamer.” 

Shun flashed him a smile in return, proud of his own accomplishment. “She is no beast, Gosetsu. Just a frightened girl.” He glanced back to her, immediately sighing. “However, it would seem she has no idea what chopsticks are.” 

— 

“Truly? Chopsticks are not difficult to use.” A small raen girl with hair of ebony commented, swinging her feet through the warm waters of the Ruby Sea. 

A trio of children sat perched on the rough, weathered stones of a tide pool. Shun had a collection of stones in his hands, casting them off into the vast expanse of sea before them. Yugiri thoughtfully watched as the stones skipped off the surface while their newest member laid on her stomach, elbow deep in the tide pool and exploring the waters with her hands. 

“Gosetsu has been teaching her. She would have no better teacher.” Shun announced with a grin. 

“A relief then that you should not be her mentor.” Hummed Yugiri, stifling a laugh. Shun croaked, fumbling with the rock he had attempted to throw. It thumped into the waters only yalms away. 

The girl perked her head at the sound, blinking curiously as if she had missed a jump of an eager fish. 

“Has she no name still?” The raen peered over at the girl with snowy hair, with locks so long they dipped into the tide pool and blended with the pale sand like paint on a canvas. 

“No. We brought her to see healers. They called her something but Gosetsu explained that she refuses to speak. She can make sounds and understands when others are speaking, yet she tells us nothing. Not even her name.” 

“Will you name her?” Yugiri tilted her head. 

Shun paused a moment to regard one of the stones in his mass collection. A white piece of sandstone, completely smooth and oval from thousands upon thousands of years beaten by the ocean currents. He shook his head, placing the stone on the girls head where it quickly slipped into the tide pool with a splash. 

“No. One day she will trust me enough to tell me.” The remainder of the stones were discarded into the pool before the children. Shun stooped low beside the two girls, laughing when the former ghost submersed her entire head into the pool, her hair adrift like bleached seaweed. 

— 

Birds sang gentle tunes that afternoon while cicadas cried all around them. The hills were alive with yanxia’s wildlife. From the smallest of insects to the massive rainbow tigers that stalked the rocky terrain, every form of life enjoyed the cool shade of the cliff side that day. Just beyond their perch, Shun and the girl could see pools of glittering water, interrupted by pale diamond crystals that struck out from the earth. 

They sat shoulder to shoulder in the shade, nibbling on onigiri provided by Gosetsu for their afternoon adventure. Weeks had already come and gone since his first encounter with the ghost. Never had he dreamed he would have an opportunity to sit so close to her without some form of growl or protest. Yet in her silence, he enjoyed her company. 

“See that?” Using the back of his hand to clean rice from his cheek, Shun quickly pointed out a figure emerging from a thicket of bamboo. A tiger slinking its way out of its territory to greet another of its kind. “That’s a Rainbow Tiger. They’re really dangerous, so be careful around them.” 

The girl had stopped eating to watch the creatures. Nothing but coiled muscle and snapping fangs. She leaned a bit closer to Shun, squinting against the afternoon sun. But when the creatures met one another with a gentle headbutt and a cheek nuzzle, she looked bewildered. 

“They’re mates. It’s how they greet each other.” Shun explained once he noticed her obvious confusion. She had expected them to fight. After all, he had just mentioned they were ferocious beasts. “They stay together for life, at least Gosetsu says they do. I am no expert.” He laughed, moving to take another bite of his snack. 

Except he was interrupted. A small but calloused hand cupped his cheek, encouraging him to look over at her. Shun’s pale eyes widened when the girl leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his. Almost as quickly as it had happened, she pulled herself away, returning to her abandoned lunch. 

“Yeah. We’ll stay together too. I won’t let anyone take you away. You have my word.” The boy grinned. 

— 

Rain. The enclave was darkened by the rain, all the houses closed up tight to stay warm and dry. Lightning split the sky before thunder rumbled. But it wasn’t the rain that made the day miserable. 

“Take her away?! Why?!” 

The docks were crowded despite the onslaught of rain. Garlean men stood in a uniform line, weapons of all sort at their ready. Behind them was a newly returned boat, metal and ugly compared to the make of Doman boats. 

“She’s been sold off, boy. There’s no need to keep an orphan around.” One of the soldiers spat with a twisted grin. 

Gosetsu, ever at Shun’s side, stepped forward. He towered over the soldiers, using his stature to impose on them. “No one has right to sell another living creature! Especially a small child!” 

The girl in question, her white hair slicked against her cheeks and brow, snarled at the men lined up before them. 

The soldiers were here to claim her. Since having been discovered, it hadn’t sat well with others that an orphan stalked the streets. Domans had begun to whisper, wondering where her mother and father were. It was clear to them she hadn’t been born in Doma, had the Garleans abandoned another lost child to them? Talk of this sort needed to be quelled. The only solution? Be rid of the menace that caused the stir in the first place. 

“Orders are orders,” Another soldier shrugged. 

Shun, who had been shocked into silence at this sudden uproar, finally gathered himself. They wanted to take her away? Then they would certainly have to find her. With a spin of his heel, Shun grabbed the girls wrist and threatened to flee. 

“You cannot have her!” The young prince shouted over another distant crack of thunder. He pulled her with all his might, willing her to run at his side. To quit this enclave and escape. And for a moment she complied, just as eager to leave her fate behind as he was to see it be forgotten. Until another crack tore through the pelting rain. It was no thunder this time. 

A soldier stood with a smoking rifle in hand, cursing his bad aim. 

The girl collapsed to the stone as pain ripped through her small frame. Shun turned with only enough time to see an arch of blood mixing with beads of falling rain. Immediately he dropped beside her, gathering her in his arms. Even with all the rage and anger he felt drumming in his heart, he first scrambled to check her wound. Her white robes, borrowed from a neighbor, had it’s left shoulder torn completely, blood spilling from a gash where the bullet had grazed muscle. 

She pressed a hand to the wound, knowing enough about injuries to apply pressure to stop bleeding. Shun covered her shaking hand with his own quivering palm, glaring at the soldiers responsible beneath rain heavy lashes. 

Gosetsu moved to stand between the soldiers and their line of sight of the children, only to hear a chuckle from behind. Casting a look over his shoulder, the roe felt his stomach drop. Another garlean stood at Shun’s side, a gun trained on the prince. 

“Gosetsu, is it? You have two options. Save the girl or Doma’s heir.” The soldier clicked his tongue, giving a disgusting, twisted smile. When no response came except for a sinking of Gosetsu’s shoulders, the man leaned down and grabbed the girl by the wrist. 

A cry filled the enclave. She was hoisted against her will to her feet with complete disregard of her injury. Yet, despite the pain and agony, or the fear of an uncertain future, the girl kept her eyes trained on Shun. Her lips quivered, torn between snarling and snapping her jaws at her tormentor, and calling out for Shun. 

“Struggling with a kid?” Laughed a soldier, amused that his comrade found difficulties restraining her. 

“She’s tough. A feral beast at heart.” Gosetsu spoke somberly, half proud of the struggle she put up, entirely heartbroken that he could do naught to save her. 

As if to punctuate his sentence, the girl pitched forward and latched her mouth around the mans wrist. Her teeth sunk against flesh, tearing into muscle while blood spilled between her lips. His grip loosened as he cursed to the heavens, casting aside his gun in favor to nurse his injury. 

The girl, free for a moment, dropped to her knees before Shun. Her mismatched eyes, fire and ocean beneath crystalline tears and beads of rain, looked his features over once more. For the last time. She raised her hands, despite the pain that racked her body, and cupped his face. Their foreheads touched, the tip of her nose matching his. 

Shun hiccuped on his tears. “…Forgive me. I cannot… M-My promise.” 

— 

The thunderstorm that hit the enclave that day lasted for several days. The heat of summer had come and gone. The cicadas finished their chorus and returned to the eerie silence of falls approach. Even the Rainbow Tigers fled into the bamboo thickets to hunker down with their mates and cubs. Time pressed on, life continued as planned. 

— 

“Hien, did you know Rainbow Tigers mate for life?” Kiri announced one day, standing on the rolling hills just outside the House of the Fierce. 

Hien quirked a brow, a sudden sense of deja vu overcoming him. “Hm? And how would you know that? Are you an expert?” 

But Kiri only wistfully smiled. “Unlikely. Probably read it in a book once.” 

“Huh…. Maybe you did.”