#OR when he threatened lieutenant?? when he was like i know youre not my michael. hand me the bone cleaver. be very careful or else

[felixcosm]

Say whatever you want about Dylan's Russian being rusty but WOE.BEGONE is like one of the only podcasts out there that has slavic characters that aren't the big bad villain.

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Do we have any swapfell!sans x reader?

Like..the purple dude

Nox

Or blackberry

I dont know what he is called

👁👁

Howdy, thanks for asking! Here are some fics that might fit what you're looking for!

The Ruse by pannsy (Mature, Incomplete)

It’s ironic how one’s plan of goodness, a grand gesture of kindness; can become skewed by an outside view, tainted and seen as something vicious and menacing. So much so, the lines become blurred from right and wrong for a person who had only wanted to do only good. The public unable to view them as anything other than a corrupt villain. A person who wanted to save the world, not to burn it. Well…Watching the world burn a little before putting the flames out, wouldn’t damn it any more than it already was… (SWAPFELL! AU. SANS X FM! READER.)

Play with Me by grimrester (Explicit, Incomplete)

When you decide to pursue your childhood dream of running an arcade, the developing monster city at the top of Mount Ebott seems like an obvious choice to set up shop. The community is growing quickly, you'd have very little competition, and commercial renting space is dirt cheap. The only problem is you've never run a business by yourself before, and you're not very good with numbers. When you find a monster accountant advertising his services online, you jump at the chance to work with him. The skeleton seems formal, professional, and detached, which is just fine by you. Who needs the distractions of friendships and relationships when you've got a business to run?

Having a skeleton husband is not that nice by Naryhey (Not Rated, Incomplete)

Monsters have come to the surface, and with that a lot of probelms have been caused, so maybe a marriage between two people from the two races might help?

He's My Bodyguard by FantasySpices (Explicit, Incomplete)

Monsters arrived to the surface and have been successfully integrated into human society. You are the daughter of Michael Verlin, the Governor of Ebott, and going to college in another city. Everything is fine until your father begins to receive emails and phone calls filled with your personal information and location, threatening to have you killed. Despite your annoyance at having to return home you make the best of it as you meet the queen of Monsters and her lieutenant who appears to have a distaste for humans, or more specifically you. Despite his attitude and your annoyance, when you meet his gaze you find yourself drawn in and unable to look away. It wouldn't hurt to to talk to him, right? What could go wrong?

Overboard (Swapfell!SansxReader) by MorseCode312 (Teen And Up, Incomplete)

((Monsters have been surfaced for a year now, and the government has finally allowed them to begin integrating slowly but surely into human society)) Sans, Queen Toriel’s advisor/personal guard hasn’t been getting much sleep. He falls off Toriel’s boat in the middle of the night and wakes up in a human hospital with no recollection of who he is. You know who he is of course- he yelled at you the night before and embarrassed you for something that wasn’t even your fault. With some encouragement, you take Sans into your home and convince him that he is your husband, and the father to your young children. How long will it take him to figure out otherwise? (Completed July 9th, 2019)

[thatchickwithtoomanyhobbies]

Limits (Stiles)

*****This is kind of based off of my personal head cannon of Stiles having a rough childhood. What makes me think this? I don't know. Its just a vibe I get from him.*****

Everyone had always told him war was awful, and didn't he know it. Andrew Stiles- Drew to his friends (or Stiles to the military) was stuck in a forest in the middle of Europe never knowing if that day could possibly be his last.

"When he got up this morning, he didn't know that today was his last," he thought to himself. Remembering that just mere hours ago Lieutenant Turner had given his life for his platoon so they could escape. Tears sprung.to his eyes at the image of Turner lying dead. on the forest floor. He did his best to swallow down the tears along his 4th cup of coffee Something about losing someone so close to you so unexpectedly makes you think of your own mortality.

"Stiles!" barked Pierson, the Sargent who was now in charge. "You're on watch tonight! Drop that joe and move it!”

"Yes, sir!" he replied scrambling to his feet. He did not feel like keeping watch that night, but he figured the fresh air would do him good. Grabbing his gun, he headed off to the watch point.

Settling in with his canteen and rifle, he prepared himself to sit in that spot for the next four hours until someone else took over. The first hour went by relatively quickly, as did the first half of the second. By the time two hours had passed, the poor man was bored out of his skull.

"I can't wait to get back to Chicago," he whispered to himself. "Then I'll never have to deal with Pierson again. That is, if I even get out of this mess alive. With him in charge I doubt it."

This wasn't the first time the negative thoughts has entered his mind. He was usually able to distract himself with tasks around the camp, but this time he couldn't for obvious reasons. So he decided the next best thing to do was to distract himself with memories of home.

He had always loved the days when school has been cancelled because of the snow. The snowball fights with his brother and sister had been great. Although sometimes they were a bit one sided considering Timothy has been confined to a wheelchair since the age of 6 and Esther showed little interest in the game.

"I'll have to go back to Rainbow Cone with them when I get back." he thought to himself. He remembered the day it opened. Their father had taken him and his three older brothers- eight year old twins Michael and David, and a five year old Timothy- the day the ribbon was cut and they enjoyed a lovely day out together.

It was the only clear memory he had of his father, as the following year he had gotten in a car accident on the way back from taking his older brothers to a play at the local theater. His father and the twins perished in the accident, and it had been the thing that left Timothy paralyzed from the waist down. Esther had been born two months later when Drew was four.

Right now he was grateful his brothers weren't here to see the mess he was in. Timothy was a big softie.

"Just like I am," he thought to himself. "I gotta visit their grave when I get home." They'd buried the twins in their father's arms, a point of contention between his father's parents and Drew's mother. A singular tear rolled down his cheek. What if his mother had to bury yet another child? This one lost not in an accident, but in the fields of war.

"Dad," he whispered under his breath, his voice threatening to break into sobs if he spoke any louder. "Dad, Davey, Mikey, please get me through this. Somehow, someway just get me out of this so I can go home." He was crying now.

"I just want to go home and see Mom again. And Timmy and Essie. I miss home. I miss home so bad." Taking off his already tear-stained glasses, he leaned up against the sand bags and tried to pull himself together, but he just couldn't seem to stop crying. As Zussman had said a few weeks prior, everyone has their limits. And he had finally hit his.

[justanalto]

I want boots so bad

well...there is a boot...

"I — when you told me we had a wildlife emergency on deck 6, I didn't think this was what you meant." To be fair, the term wildlife emergency is ambigious to begin with, but here in space, the whole 'life-threatening vacuum' tends to take out most of the possibilities.

Still, Michael (and what appears to be their entire bridge crew) squints in unison the latest conundrum on their ship — a small, black snake wriggling in a Federation boot. The boot, she presumes, is Adira's, judging by the younger engineer's single socked foot, but the snake... "Lieutenant Stamets, what happened?"

"I told her not to touch it!" Stamets exclaims almost automatically. "I had the device suspended in the corner, and I specifically told her not to touch it, but you know how she gets when you tell her not to do anything, and the next thing I knew —"

The snake lets out an enraged hiss. "Yes, I know, you could have been told that it would horizontally splice your DNA with the last animal programmed into its archives," Stamets continues, shooting it a dirty look. "But I did tell you not to touch it."

Michael sighs. Of all the things she'd expected to have to handle while Saru was off-ship, this was not one of them. (Why had Tilly needed to go with him, anyways?) Never in her seven years on the Shenzhou had she been confronted with a snake on a starship, much less said snake being the Terran counterpart of her former captain.

"Nilsson, you have the conn. Stamets, see if you can find out how to reverse this process," she tells the engineer, who looks all too happy to scuttle off into the depths of the lab. "Bryce, Rhys, see if you can get me a...a claw, or something. Lorca probably had some sort of restraints in his lair of horrors — oh, don't give me that look, you did this to yourself," she scolds the snake. "I'm not risking getting bitten if I pick you up with my bare hands."

Snake-Georgiou looks almost satisfied with herself as she settles back into the boot.

"You know, we could just keep her like this," Culber muses. "She's a lot less dangerous this way."

"She would probably stop trying to set me up with Michael," Joann adds. "Or, at least, not quite so obviously."

Next to her, Keyla snorts. "Maybe that guy from sci-ops will finally stop showing up at my quarters."

Joann frowns. "I thought he was from engineering." Georgiou hisses at them almost impatiently. "He was from sci-ops?"

This time, Georgiou's disappointed hiss is covered up by the sighs of the rest of the crew's. "Honestly," Adira mutters to Culber. "What's it gonna take?"

Culber shakes his head. "At this point, we could probably spell it out for them and they wouldn't get what we were trying to say."

"Claw acquired, Commander," Bryce calls, though his expression is sheepish when he holds onto the claw. "May I?"

"Please," Michael gestures. "It may save me from accidentally squeezing the claw too tightly and strangling the poor emperor here. And we surely wouldn't want that." Personally, she thinks the ship would benefit from a lack of Georgiou's angry presence, but Starfleet code was Starfleet code.

Almost immediately, Bryce picks up Georgiou, boot and all, and lifts her in the air for all to see. "To quote the famous 20th century movie, Toy Story —"

"Oh god," Keyla mutters, shutting her eyes in preparation, "he's gonna do the Western accent, isn't he —"

"There's a snake in my boot!"

[webcricket]

Winter’s Eye

Pairing: AU!CastielXReader Word Count: 1560 (Ch. VII) Story Summary: Season 13 canon tells you how AU!Castiel’s story ends, this is how it begins. The deranged and damaged iteration of Castiel we met in the apocalypse universe - an obedient soldier to Michael’s cause barely in control of his vessel’s frayed and erratically firing nerves whose inherent kindness toward humankind appeared entirely obliterated - wasn’t always an unfeeling angelic weapon of interrogation. Once, he sympathized with the plight of humans; one, he loved. Outlined for 10 chapters (although, my muse is bad at maths and these things have a way of multiplying). Chapter Summary: As the connection between Cas and the reader finds firmer footing, a link from his past arises to threaten them both.

Previous Chapter: VI

VII.

“Are you kidding me?” The question explodes in a puff of breath on the frozen air; before you unfolds a pristine island of black tarvia, the filtered sun beating down on it with enough heated force to melt the snow anywhere pavement touches. Parking spaces outlined in regular intervals of yellow striping, and a handful of abandoned vehicles, radiate from the mountainous façade of a Mega-Mart.

Surveying the scene through the squinted blue optics of his vessel, Cas casts you a curious knotted-brow glance from where stands at the edge of where forest rings this convenient miracle of civilization seemingly constructed in the middle of nowhere. “Is something funny to you?” he asks, looking between you and a building too empty and too quiet for his instincts to trust; out here you’re exposed - a living breathing target unprotected by a buffer zone of wooded isolation – and he doesn’t like it one iota.

“No-” you laugh, further confusing his brow with the conflict inherent between your answer and attitude- “I guess I was expecting a rinky-dink general store fronting a small town main street. Not this-” You gesture at the looming building, a wonderland promising to contain anything and everything your heart could possibly desire and more. More, that is, beyond the surprise solace of sharing a cabin with your very own personal overly protective angel, of course.

“There is a highway not far from here, and a town like you describe – one whose populace was decimated by werewolves and worse. It’s not safe there or here,” he says gravely. And yet here you are, allowed to tag along against his better judgement because, in a moment of weakness of reason, he let an inexorably extant and angelically errant emotion of fondness for you overrule his head.

“We should hurry-” haste propels his feet forward; he curls a beckoning arm backward- “Stay close.”

You obey, legs scissoring at a trot to try to keep step with his purposeful stride. On level ground, it’s even more punishing a pace than the hike that hurried you here. Feeling the bite of blisters forming on the boney points of your heels and on the tops of your toes, you make note on your mental shopping list to search for a pair of better fitting boots and Band-Aids.

As you thoughts wander, he begins to outpace you. “Hey, where’s the fire?” you pant across the growing gap of distance.

Gradually getting the gist that not all questions you pose want answering given he observes no indications of a blaze in the immediate vicinity, he ignores the query, but not the subtext of comment on his speed, and slows until you catch up.

Approaching the sliding glass doors of the entrance, he notes they are intact and locked just as he last left them. A scattering of stone spilling outward from the threshold, not so accidental as it appears, lies undisturbed.

Strategically speaking, this would be the easiest egress for an intruder to gain entrance inside. The rear and side admittances are steel, chained, and padlocked. Still, with you to watch over, he does not permit these subtle reassurances to soothe his caution.

A flick of two fingers to focus his grace frees the dead bolt. He pries the doors apart with brute strength just far enough to permit you both to squeeze through. On last look out at the parking lot as he secures the doors shut, his regard is drawn heavenward to the horizon to a solitary silvery vapor streaking the otherwise uniformly tarnished gold glow of the sky – a wisp of airy nothingness so slim as to barely be noticed and the sort of smoky linear disturbance a plane would create in its wake as it passed - a contrail disturbing the pressure of the low atmosphere.

Except there are no planes, and there hasn’t been anything save the bodily bound bombs of angels skimming the firmament in flight - or, like him, falling in a smoldering ruin of fate - since the day Michael donned a crown formed by the flayed flesh and bone and souls of billions of humans and the emptied glory of the thousand and more angels who opposed him and whose snuffed existence stains, in a bloodied shadow of once brilliant light, Castiel’s hands.

In the seconds he spends considering the cloud, it dispels in a freshet of cool wind. It wouldn’t make sense, angels scouting here where there is nothing. They’ve done with him, banished him to dwell in and on his defeat, and ever since he etched a warding sigil upon the curved carriage of your ribs, they cannot so much as sense you exist.

Besides, with what you’ve told him of the holdouts of human resistance groups, why waste heavenly resources hunting one human in a haystack of the wild when bigger targets persist.

The tear of a candy bar wrapper loudly resonates in the benumbed and stagnant space; the crumpling of plastic and crunch of chocolate crust is swallowed up as eagerly by the silence as your gullet.

“I missed these,” you mumble and moan in immodest taste bud titillating pleasure around a mouthful of melted sugary goodness as his gaze rounds to seek out the source of the sound.

“Shh-” he scolds; the grit of worry in the warning hushes you instantly.

Terror tightens your throat so that you cannot swallow the amalgam of sugar and saliva held amid your teeth and tongue. Heart seizing, then pounding with such ferocity each ferried beat of fear shudders your frame, bits of brown moisture ooze at the trembling corners of your clinched jaw.

In the depths of the store, somewhere down a darkened aisle, winding to reach his celestially superior discernment, a soft scraping of fabric and rubber soles, slightly sticky on the tiled floor despite the feather-lightness of the footsteps, faintly perforates the calm.

Lashes widened in alarm quickly narrow again in a lethality of resolve; an inner luminance of blue burns in his searching gaze as he shifts a few steps into the eerie fringes of where the window light bleeds into the dimness. When he shakes his sleeve, you see a glint of metal flash into his grip.

Adrenaline opens up your veins and, also oiling your muscles to fight or flee from this place, it permits you to thickly and audibly gulp the wad of partially chewed chocolate nougat.

He extends the hand unburdened by a blade out at you, a movement meaning to say that you should do neither and duck out of sight behind the register.

You misread the purely practical physicality of his request and instead cede to the instinctive tug at your emotions to meet his fluttering fingers halfway, meshing yours into the warm sanctuary of their apertures and securing your other arm through the crook of his elbow to flatten his entire weaponless limb to your chest.

To say the action – a clingy suggestion of deeply rooted trust, concern, and consequently of a firm belief in his ability to shield you in the face of danger - catches him off guard would be an understatement.

However, with a hiss of his name in a tone familiar to him as that of his unwaveringly loyal lieutenant and sister – Rachel – slicing through the dark loud enough, even, for you to hear the anger and resentment whetting the knife of feminine voice, he has no time to analyze the exhilarating effect your embrace and corporal nearness exerts upon his being, nor does he permit more than a speck of added anxiety to alter the determination of his affect.

Pivoting, his typically stony rigidity a balletic display of swiftness, grace, and fluid urgency, he covers your mouth, pins you flush against the waist-high wall of the register, and very briefly steals your breath in the press of his hips against yours. The dynamism of his blues, desperately sparking hue dancing less than an inch from your flared lids, implores you to stay there no matter what happens.

He’s certain she heard you - can hear the wild banging of pulse within your body just as clearly as he can – she is, after all, an angel, and a sometime ally sympathetic to humanity who is not as dead as he presumed and evidently has an axe to grind with him.

If you stay out of her way, you may yet survive. Castiel maintains less hope for himself, and before he found you, he would’ve welcomed whatever retribution she required up to and including his life – a life sunken into meaninglessness and seeped in suffering; but now, staring into your eyes, their pleading concern begging him to be careful, to not leave you alone, he feels reason to fight.

Numbed by panic, limbs turning into immovable lead weights of worry for him, you feebly nod against the electrically charged scent of his skin a promise to stay put for his sake and collapse as he pushes you down to your knees and into the alcove underneath.

You watch the lower portion of his legs retreat from your sight and disappear into the gloom. Straining to hear what is happening, the pain pinching your heart in his absence drums dully in your ears and pulls with each strung and stinging beat at the fluid filling the blisters on your feet.

Castiel tag list:  (Closed, if you’d like to be removed please let me know!)    @jeepangel  @sammiesamness  @willowing-love  @blueicevalkyrie   @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11  @thesugargalaxy​    @bluetina-blog​  @dont-trust-humanity​  @afanofmanystuffs  @honeybeetrash​  @bucky-thorin-winchester​  @superwholockz​   @tistai​  @wordstothewisereaders​  @gill-ons​  @mrswhozeewhatsis​  @marisayouass​  @stone-met​   @castiel-savvy18​  @samualmortgrim​  @trexrambling​  @magnificent-mantle​  @kdfrqqg  @xdifsx​   @mandilion76​  @rockfairy​  @peaceloveancolor​  @unicorntrooper​  @anisolatedship​  @itsilvermorny​  @aditimukul​  @kudosia​  @goofynerd-67babylove​  @uninspirationalsonglyrics​  @gray-avidan​  @mishascupcake​   @mishapanicmeow​   @praisecastielamen​  @roseyhxnt​  @jessikared97​  @let-the-imaginationflow​  @warriorqueen1991​   @sebastianstanslefteyebrow   @hisnameisboobear  @kristendanwayne  @fuschiarulerinthebluebox​  @coolpencilpie​  @jenabean75​  @luciathewinchestergirl​  @morganas-pendragons​  @heyitscam99​  @fangirl-and-stuff​  @selahbela  @realgreglestrade​  @splendidcas​  @pointlesscasey​  @i-larb-spooderman​  @thewhiterabbit42​  @thelostverse​  @castieliswatchingoverme​  @beccollie18  @dragonett8  @dixie-chick​  @jtownraindancer​   @carowinsthings​  @passionghost​  @ladyofletters67​ @futureparent​  @gabbie7-11​  @myfandomlife-blog​  @dreamerkim​ @shamelesslydean​  @earthtokace​  @neaeri​  @justanormalangel​  @lone-loba​  @supernaturalymarvel​  @lilrubixx​  @wings-and-halo​  @x-cassiopeia​ @thehoneybeecastielfollows​  @musiclovinchic93​  @81mysteriouslyme​  @the-bottom-of-the-abyss​  @jaylarkson​ @pixiedusts  @spookysculderfiles  @laqueus-ludovicus  @missjenniferb @lexininja  @jessiekay2010   @skrratata  @rhiannonj79  @calicat79

[flightfoot]

A Convergence of Apollos Ch. 3

*Apollo’s POV

We arrived in Times Square. Hopefully we could find the Celedon BEFORE she started causing havoc.

I wasn’t optimistic.

But that did remind me of something...

“Percy, Meg, do you two need something to stuff your ears with? Grover and I should be resistant to the Celedon’s music, but I’m concerned about you two.

Meg split open a seed packet and poured a few seeds into each of her ears. “I’m fine.”

Grover dug out a small ball of warm wax from... somewhere (I did NOT want to know where, or how long it’d been there) and held it out to Percy. “I always keep wax handy. Like chewing gum!”

Percy looked at the wax with disgust, but he took it. “Gee, thanks Grover.” 

We wandered around the area searching for the Celedon. I wasn’t too concerned about not being able to find her. She wasn’t here to hide, after all. Finding her before she could cause harm though... I was less certain of that.

As the four of us walked around looking for the golden woman, my mind went over the events of the past hour.

I’d known I could be callous as a god. I knew that I hadn’t put much weight on mortal lives, or mortals’ feelings. But to actually seriously threaten a young girl, just for insulting me...?

Actually, that sounded exactly like something I would’ve done before all this.

The thought wasn’t comforting.

Threatening Meg, threatening Grover. Even if I couldn’t say for sure that I’d have gone through with those threats, I wasn’t sure that I WOULDN’T have, either. And even if I could say for sure that those WERE empty threats, THEY didn’t know that. 

‘It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both.’

I’d always felt weirdly about line, and I couldn’t figure out why. Everyone loved me! I could instill fear when I needed to, but I didn’t have to choose.

That had sounded hollow and false even in my head, but I’d ignored it, like I’d ignored so many other uncomfortable truths throughout the millennia.

Subconsciously I always knew I wasn’t as beloved as I liked to tell myself. So whenever I felt like I might not be getting as much deference as I deserved, I compensated with fear. That’s why I’d stoked that rumor that I’d skinned Marsyas alive, so that no one would DARE to claim that they were better than me.

I didn’t care about the negative effects it had on the people around me. Why should I care about some random kid’s feelings?

Being down on Earth, truly being a part of the mortal’s world, and not simply a visitor... I couldn’t help but care.

I glanced over at Percy. This was only two years in the past, yet this version of -Percy seemed so much lighter. Softer. Less disillusioned. But he’d already been through so much.

At twelve years old, only a couple weeks after discovering he was a demigod, he’d been framed for a crime he did not commit, and forced to prove his innocence and return Zeus’s Masterbolt, or else suffer his wrath.

I remembered Zeus’s thundering around when he discovered that his Symbol of Power was missing, his certainty that Poseidon MUST have gotten his son to steal it for him. This despite there being no evidence that Percy had even known the mythological world existed. And being only twelve years old. And not being on Olympus at the time.

All us gods knew that Percy was innocent. That Zeus was taking his anger out on him as a way of getting back at Poseidon, who he also didn’t have sufficient evidence to suspect. But when had he ever cared about such things? He’d decided that Percy must be involved with the theft in some way, and even if he wasn’t, Poseidon surely was, and hurting Percy would hurt Poseidon. 

He never stopped to think about Percy as a person. As a kid who was dragged into this through no fault of his own. He was just a tool, one he wouldn’t mind breaking in a sibling spat.

All demigods were disposable tools, acknowledged when useful, ignored when they were not. 

I wish I could say that I had thought better of demigods than that. And I suppose I had - of some of them. Of my own children certainly. But as for other gods’ children? It was more hit-or-miss. I’d help them sometimes, but I rarely considered their thoughts and feelings important, unless I had a crush on them. Aside from that? Not really. Not until now.

When Thalia’s tree had fallen ill, all of us were concerned about the Camp’s waning defenses. Yet Hermes was the only one who had DONE something about it, who had gone down and helped, despite not having a child involved in the quest itself. He’d encouraged Percy to go on the quest, even though he hadn’t been chosen for it. He’d even given him tools to help on the journey.

I smiled a little. My younger brother was a rebel. Always had been.  He’d had the guts to go against Zeus’s general directive to not interfere with demigod quests, to help someone he barely knew, on the off chance that he could bring his son around.

My smile faded. Luke... his methods may have been bad, but he had reason to hate the gods. We’d wronged the demigods - wronged our children - wronged the children of others’ - so many times. We hadn’t cared about the destruction we left behind.

I’d only been mortal for a few months, yet I already felt some stirrings of resentment at the lack of help I and the other mortals had received. I understood why most of the gods couldn’t help me. But couldn’t they do more to help the others?

I hoped I was wrong. I hoped that the divine side of my family had helped Leo get to Camp Jupiter. That they’d helped to repel Caligula’s attack.

Somehow, I doubted it.

Percy’d snuck out to go on a quest AGAIN when my sister and Annabeth were kidnapped.

I tightened my grip on my lyre and grit my teeth thinking about it. I remembered the moment our bond had clouded over. I’d tried to tell myself that she was fine. She was my sister! She wouldn’t be taken down easily.

But I couldn’t help but remember that time Ares had been trapped in a jar for months. How lifeless he’d looked. How he’d nearly faded away...

When I’d heard that a quest had been sent out to find Artemis, I’d been relieved. Moreso when I found out that one of the participants was Percy Jackson, and another was Zoe Nightshade. I’d been impressed with Percy’s previous exploits. Not just anyone could traipse out of the Underworld and immediately defeat Ares, especially after only having had a week of training, nor could they enter the Sea of Monsters and escape with the Golden Fleece, WITHOUT losing anyone along the way.

As for Zoe, she was one of my sister’s oldest hunters, her most trusted lieutenant, and her best friend. She’d had my sis’s back on many, MANY hunts over the millennia. She must have been as desperate to get Artemis back as I was.

Still... I had to help. Even though Zeus had told me not to. Even though he’d threatened to hurt me if he caught me interfering. 

It would hurt to be incinerated with lightning, again and again, until I had trouble reforming.

Losing my sister would hurt more.

I’d helped in what little way I could, providing transportation to the group so they could get to Atlas - and my sister - faster.

I remembered seeing sis again just after they’d freed her from her imprisonment. After Percy had freed her.

She tore into Olympus as fast as she could, flickering silver. 

I understood what that meant. My sister didn’t cry often. But her aura’s flickers betrayed her distress. As soon as I saw her, I enveloped her in a hug, determined not to let her go. 

She hugged back.

“Zoe...” she’d murmured, her voice cracking.

I understood what must have happened.

I held her even tighter.

My sister may have been safe.  But she’d lost someone close to her.

I knew how that felt.

After things had calmed down, I asked her how Atlas had persuaded her to take the sky in the first place. She’d told me that Annabeth, a young maiden, had been trapped under the weight of the sky, and would have died if she had carried the burden much longer. Taking it from her was the only way to save her life. It may have meant trapping herself, but she had had no other choice.

I’d always known how far my sister would go to help girls in trouble, so I wasn’t surprised. But I’d never understood why she’d go so far to help mortals she barely even knew.

I understood now. The lessons I’d been learning the past few months, of the value of mortals, she’d learned long ago. Or perhaps she’d always known them. 

I smirked, remembering my encounter with Ares a few months later. He’d mentioned cursing Percy to drop his sword in retaliation for Percy kicking his butt during the lightning-bolt-stealing incident. (Not in those words of course, but we all knew what’d happened.) I’d given him a tight smile and left as quickly as possible, not trusting myself to speak.

I’d headed straight to Artemis, relishing how easily our bond let me find her. I’d insisted on checking in on her every other day for months after her capture. She hadn’t protested.

I told her what Ares had done. How he’d cursed Percy to drop his sword when he needed it most. Cold fury filled her eyes. She’d made arrangements with her Hunters and left with me to track down Ares.

We’d found him less than an hour later. He’d made for good target practice.

About eight months after Artemis’ kidnapping, while we were hunting down monsters that might be turned to Kronos’s cause, I’d heard that Kronos’s forces had invaded Camp Half-Blood.

And that they’d killed one of my sons.

Lee...

I hadn’t gotten to know him as well as I wanted to. 

I’d visited him in his dreams, of course, like I did with all my children. But I’d only seen him in-person a handful of times. And I REALLY hadn’t seen him - or any of my kids - much since Kronos started stirring.

I didn’t have much time to mourn. So I shoved the thoughts away, buried them under the need to party. To have the adoration of a crowd.

I’d lost many, many children over the millennia. I’d gotten good at coping with it.

Hopefully with Percy’s help, this universe’s version of me wouldn’t have to cope with Michael’s loss as well.

“THERE SHE IS!”

My head snapped upwards at Percy’s yell.

A gleaming golden woman was walking across a nearby stage to the center microphone.

We rushed over, elbowing people out of the way. Truthfully, Grover and I mostly just followed in Percy’s and Meg’s wake. Percy could have a pretty intimidating presence when he needed to, which was helping him get the crowd to move apart, and Meg was... well, Meg. I winced slightly as I heard another swear from one of the poor pedestrians Meg had elbowed out of the way. 

Just as the Celedon reached the microphone, the four of us reached the stage.

Percy and Meg summoned their blades.

Grover fumbled for his pan-pipes. 

I moved my lyre into playing position.

The Celedon opened her mouth and sang.

It was only one note, but the sorrow in it caused the mortals to drop to the ground, weeping uncontrollably. 

Meg and Percy were only a little better off. Both froze as the note rang out, though at least they remained standing.

Oh. They’d both forgotten to put in their hearing protection. Crap.

Grover frantically started playing on his pipes, trying to drown out the Celedon’s song. He didn’t entirely succeed, but he did disrupt it enough that the mortals - and our friends - began to stir.

“PERCY, MEG!” I shouted. “YOUR HEARING PROTECTION!”

Percy quickly stuffed wax in his ears, while Meg closed her eyes. Moments later, bluebonnets sprouted from her ears. 

Now that my friends hearing situation was fixed, I turned my attention to my lyre. I needed to trap her, obviously. Now how could I do that...?

My fingers started moving before I could finish that thought, weaving a familiar melody on the lyre. Walls rose up around the Celedon, twenty feet high. surrounding her - and Percy and Meg - in a nearly impenetrable cage.

Then she turned into a bird and flew out, leaving my friends trapped in a now-quite-unfortunately nearly impenetrable cage - so long as you couldn’t get out the top somehow.

Right. I forgot my Celedons could do that.

“APOLLO!” I heard Meg’s muffled shout from the other side of the wall. “LET US OUT!”

“Well, uh, you see,” I stammered, embarrassed. “I... can’t exactly do that. The lyre creates. It doesn’t destroy.”

I could practically feel Meg’s unimpressed stare. “You can’t...? Never mind. Just make a ladder or something so we can get out.”

I strummed on the lyre a melody about climbing out of deep holes. A rope manifested. I threw it over the wall and quickly secured the other end to a lightpole.

A minute later, Percy and Meg climbed out of my open-air cage. I noticed that the flowers were gone from Meg’s ears, which explained how she could hear me before.

Meg set her hands on her hips, glaring at me. “You never said she could turn into a bird.”

“I forgot.”

She grunted, looking annoyed. “Well is there anything else we should know about the Celedon that you forgot?”

I wracked my brain, trying to think of anything. I’d been getting a feeling I was forgetting something about the Celedons, but what? I mean, I used them as my back-up singers for concerts, but they could also amplify my singing for other... things...

Oooooh. That wasn’t good.

Percy noticed the look on my face. “I don’t like that expression. What else can she do?” he asked, clearly dreading my answer.

I licked my lips nervously. “Well, you see, the Celedons are my backup singers. But they don’t just back me up at concerts. They can back me up when singing anything. Healing songs, plague songs, burn-everything-with-fire songs...”

Percy’s face twisted into an expression I had dubbed the “Oh Crap” expression. I’d worn it often over the past few months.

“Great,” Meg grumbled. “More fiery charmspeakers.”

“Technically, the Celedons don’t charmspeak-”

“They make people want to do what they say. Close enough.”

Percy cut in urgently. “She could burn New York to the ground, or start an epidemic?!’

“Well they’d be a fraction of the strength of what I’m normally capable of, so she could hardly affect ALL of New York. A block at most.”

Percy paled. “We have GOT to stop her. NOW.”

I nodded. “That’s great, but we need to FIND her first.”

“She went over that way,” Grover said, pointing to a tower.

We all turned to look at him. He looked back at us, annoyed. “What? I needed to do something to help while Apollo was getting you two out of that cage, so I kept my eyes on her, so we could find her later.”

I blinked. That made sense.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Meg asked. “Let’s go.”

We took an elevator to the top floor. Luckily the Celedon had chosen a public building to perch on. I wouldn’t have wanted to explain to some secretary why four teens urgently needed to get to the roof of some private business building.

We found her standing on to rooftop, singing “New York, New York” to the enraptured crowd in Times Square. Her voice REALLY carried.

At least this song only compelled people to dance.

“So what’s the plan?” I whispered to my friends.

Percy gauged the situation. He whispered back, “We need to shut her up and trap her, this time in something that she CAN’T fly out of. Apollo, can you make a birdcage? Out of Celestial Bronze, preferably?” 

I nodded. I could see where this was going.

“You’re going to force her into bird form and then stuff her into the birdcage. How’re you planning to get her to change form?”

“Gag her, then wrestle her until she changes form, and stuff her into the cage.”

Simple plan. I respected that.

Percy turned to Grover. “You still have that blindfold from Pin-the-tail-on-the-human?”

Grover handed over a small strip of cloth.

Percy looked at Meg, “Ready?”

She nodded.

Meg and Percy reinserted their seeds and wax, respectively. They weren’t about to make the same mistake as last time.

They snuck up behind the oblivious Celedon just as she was belting out the final lyrics of ”New York, New York”.

Percy clamped the make-shift gag around her mouth as he and Meg wrestled with her.

I got to work making the birdcage, singing about strong, gilded cages. It manifested within seconds.

I looked over at the demigods. The Celedon was bucking and kicking, trying desperately to throw them off, but the two of them stubbornly clung onto her. 

She edged closer to the edge of the building and spun quickly, breaking Meg’s grip. 

Percy acted quickly, releasing his hold on the Celedon - and subsequently releasing the gag he’d been using to silence her - and dove quickly to Meg, catching her just as she started falling off the building.

I breathed a sigh of relief, my heart still hammering.

Then the Celedon began singing an ode to me.

Now you might be thinking, “Why would you mind her singing a song about how great you are, Apollo, and all of the awesome things you can do?”

The answer to that, dear reader, is that I prefer when the song about my awesomeness DOESN’T SUMMON A FIERY INFERNO TO TRY TO SCORCH MY AWESOME SELF OUT OF EXISTENCE.

I dove for cover, dropping the lyre in my haste. I quickly picked it up again, strumming a tune about raindrops, rain, and storms. Stormclouds quickly gathered and let loose, putting out the fire.

Then Percy rammed into the Celedon like a freight train.

Oh yeah. Son of Poseidon. Well this just became very one-sided.

Percy held onto her with a vice-like grip. No matter how hard she struggled, she couldn’t shake him. She opened her mouth in an attempt to sing, but Percy just shoved water in her mouth, gagging her. Thankfully she didn’t actually NEED to breathe, so he didn’t have to worry about choking her.

As a last ditch effort to escape, she turned into a bird and attempted to fly away before Percy could adjust his grip. Since Percy had been TRYING to get her into bird form, this didn’t happen. He captured the bird-Celedon in a water bubble and threw her into my Celestial Bronze birdcage. It clicked shut, locking the squacking Celedon in.

Percy picked up the birdcage, carrying it over to me and Grover. Meg walked over to me, scowling, her hair and dress completely soaked from the rainstorm I’d summoned. Belatedly I realized I was also completely drenched, and that Grover smelled badly of Wet Goat. 

Looking at the three of us (Percy was completely dry and looked like he could run three marathons in a row. Cheater.) I asked, “So... what size clothes do you two wear?”

We walked out of the building wearing (in my opinion) incredibly stylish new outfits, courtesy of my magical lyre. Well, except for Percy. He’d declined for some reason. His loss.

I admired my sparkly golden tight pants and white shirt festooned with rhinestones and glitter. It felt good to be able to strut around for once. Maybe I didn’t have my usual good looks, but I could still pull off the glitz and glam!

Meg and Grover, sadly, had opted for far less extravagant outfits. I pouted a bit - I was sure I could make them outfits that would make them look FABULOUS - but complied. I summoned a simple tie-dye t-shirt for Grover, and a plain black shirt and denim jeans for Meg. Apparently they were really paranoid about me going overboard after seeing what I’d made for myself.

Meg carefully tucked her sopping green dress away. I smiled a little. She cared for that dress, that present, so much. It’d gotten burned, covered with mud, and torn again and again, but she insisted on mending it each time.

Together the four of us (plus one feathery Celedon) entered the subway again.

[sweetshadcw]

waddup   pals,   it’s   e   again   picking   up   a   second   character   because   first   of   all   andy   samberg . . . . my   father . . . . and   also   i   love   drama   so   here’s   eric,   actual   ball   of   sunshine   who   deserves   the   whole   world   !   u   know   the   drill . . . message   me   or   like   this   for   plotsss

[   MUSE   61   ]   ●●   is   that   ANDY   SAMBERG   ?   no,   that’s   just   ERIC   OAKLEY,   the   40   year   old   CISMALE   who   is   a   DEFENSE   ATTORNEY.   some   say   they’re   HISTRIONIC   AND   ARROGANT,   but   their   family   and   friends   will   swear   they’re   PASSIONATE   AND   PRAGMATIC.   when   i   think   of   them,   i   think   of   freshly   brewed   coffee   in   the   morning,   sleepless   nights   in   front   of   a   desk,   neckties   with   unique   prints,   singing   songs   on   road   trips,   pausing   for   dramatic   effect.   i   wonder   if   HIS   family   knows   that   HE’S   BEING   THREATENED   BY   A   PAST   CLIENT.   ●●

QUICK   STATS   !

full name: eric michael oakley

nickname(s): ricky (childhood nickname, no one other than his siblings use it)

age: forty

date of birth: august 30th

zodiac sign: virgo

place of birth: orange county, fl

gender: cismale

sexual orientation: heterosexual ⁽ˢᵃᵈˡʸ⁾

romantic orientation: heteroromantic

occupation: defense attorney

language(s) spoken: english, french, asl

hogwarts house: hufflepuff

ABOUT   ERIC   !

eric oakley was born the youngest of five boys to michael oakley, a police lieutenant and rowan sawyer-oakley, a veterinarian. he and his father never saw eye to eye. ever since he was young, eric always believed that nothing was ever just black and white — that there was a grey area and that there were always two sides of a story. that didn’t exactly jive with his father, who was a police officer with pretty set principles.

so one could only imagine how livid eric’s dad was when he told him he wanted to study law and become a defense attorney. at least his mom was supportive ?? anyway, eric went on to study pre-law at the university of south florida, where he met mama oakley whom he ended up marrying and having two beautiful children with.

u know what i just realized i haven’t talked about what he’s like yet so let’s do just that. so eric...sweet precious eric...what a lil bean. he’s kind of always been a goofball, always one to make jokes and lighten the mood. he was the complete opposite of his father, who was always serious and stoic.

eric is most definitely one of the most extra people you will ever meet. on top of having a flair for the dramatics, eric is the type of person who feels fervently for the people and things he loves. if he loves a person or if he loves what he does, it’s clear to everyone. he’d do everything for them or to make things work.

okay so his secret is that he’s being threatened by a past client. a couple of years ago, he lost a pretty big case that ended with his client being arrested. eric was reasonably upset, but hey, at least the bad guy’s in jail now ?? it wasn’t until a couple months ago when he was released, that eric received a message from him threatening to hurt him and his family for putting him behind bars.

obviously he’s informed the police, but while they’re investigating he decided it’d be best to move, with the reason being they ‘needed a change of scenery’. cut to them finally moving to ashcroft. although they’ve moved and eric’s trying his best to be a trusting father, he can’t help but start to become a bit more protective of his kids (and even his wife) ever since the threat.

WANTED   CONNECTIONS   !

ngl i haven’t come up with anything yet because i wrote this all at the last minute but since eric’s only been in town for like what ?? a week ?? give him some new friends !! maybe some co-workers (like they work at the same firm or something) or clients if your muse is wild like that. idk man anything

[the-noodle-king]

Lance 15) Do they have nicknames or titles? How did they earn these? How do they feel about them? 17)Do they have any scars? How did they get these? 33) Give us an in-game interaction between your character and Reaper. 45) Give us an in-game interaction between your character and Reinhardt. 68) What is your character’s opinion of omnics? 74) Does your character have any enemies? What is their relationship like? 76) what are your characters hobbies? 84) favourite music genre? 88) can they cook?

15) Do they have nicknames or titles? How did they earn these? How do they feel about them?

He earned his title “Lancealot” when he started bringing vigilante justice to villains who would prey on the innocent, doing so by way of a custom order rocket-lance, and more than a few other pieces of experimental tech from all over the place (Paid for in earnest by Lance, but not, not stolen by the mysterious woman who sold it to him (It was Sombra)). He’s quite proud of the name he’s made for himself, proud of the noble deeds he performed to earn it.

17) Do they have any scars? How did they get these?

Yes quite a few, most noticeably on his face but also his arms and chest. Training to fight villains, armed or otherwise, is bound to bare a few scrapes and bruises in the early days, and the same goes for fighting villains, armed and otherwise. several of his facial scars are from explosions, some aimed at him, some not, some from his lance, in the early days. Many of his other scars are from bullets, knives, other explosions, his own lance again, once, and one on his left hand is from a cat none to happy about being “rescued” from a tree.

33) Give us an in-game interaction between your character and Reaper.

Reaper: “Great, another wannabe dragon fighter...”

Lancealot: “Like the edgy ghost thing’s so much more in fashion...”

or

Reaper: “Where do you even get this stuff, a museum?”

Lancealot: “Likewise, didn’t Hot Topic close down 30 years ago?”

Lore Note... I think?: I don’t know if Lance would actually be this bitchy, but the opportunity presented itself and I just had to do it to Gabe. Also I guess my headcannon is that Hot Topic went under around the start of the Omnic Crisis and never recovered? IDK man it’s more lore than Michael Chu will give you.

45) Give us an in-game interaction between your character and Reinhardt.

Lancealot: “Reinhardt! Er, I mean, Mr. Wilhelm, I mean... Lieutenant? I’m sorry it’s just good to see you again sir!”

Reinhardt: “Bwahaha! Calm yourself my exuberant friend! Reinhardt is fine!”

or

Lancealot: “I’ve tried to follow your example, to help those in need and protect the innocent, like a knight would.”

Reinhardt: “Hmm-hmm! And it seems you’ve done a fine job of it! Makes an old man proud!”

or

Reinhardt: “You know, I can see a lot of myself inside you.”

Lancealot: *Blushes, splutters, coughs, passes out*

Reinhardt: “What? Was it something I said?”

68) What is your character’s opinion of omnics?

He, like many people, was wary and distrustful of omnics after the Crisis, but he was never a hateful man. A couple years after he took up the mantle of knighthood he was confronted with the scene of some hateful humans harassing a pair of omnics, threatening violence, and knew in that moment which side he stood on. After he’d scared off the omnic-haters, he escorted the pair of omnics to their home where they invited him to stay for tea. Since then he has stood staunchly in defence of omnics and their rights.

74) Does your character have any enemies? What is their relationship like?

Lancealot actually has quite a following of enemies, a large portion of the criminal underbelly of his home country of The Netherlands making up not a small amount of them. A few larger crime bosses he has rather personally thwarted more than once, and privately thinks of himself like a comic superhero, and them his nemesis’. 

76) What are your characters hobbies?

Lance is a bit of a Gym Bunny, taking his spare moments between sleep and crime fighting to hit the weights, run on the treadmill and do pushups with his elderly neighbour Mrs. Pedersen perched on his back with her weeks shopping and a good book. (Mrs. Pedersen likes the company, and, in her own words, “Having a big strong man lift me up again”. Lance originally just wanted to help her with her bags...)

84) What’s their favourite music genre?

At the gym? Inspirational pop songs all the way. Hosting guests? Classical for neighbours, pop-punk for friends and family. Alone? Hard rock.

88) Can they cook?

Sure can! Oh wait you meant something other than microwave lasagne, protein shakes and the occasional campfire smore? Then... No. No not at all. Literally not to save his life.

[kroabot]

pt 93 medical journaling

You should stop participating in extortion and kidnapping, Ricardo Coca. If you don't want your family's extortion and kidnapping victims to threaten to kill your family members. You should stop them from crime Ricardo. Not help them.

Sleepover at suicide slumber party is over, Star. Time to return to your one remaining sane law abiding parent.

I don't even think that is Star Monique Gonnerman, who posts and removes pictures from her instagram account. It's probably her mother Elizabeth Monica Coca posting and removing old photos, so you don't know that Star is locked away safely like a piece of capital. Star's instagram account doesn't interest me at all. Because everything Elizabeth Monica Coca do online is a distraction. So you don't suspect what is really happening. Those are old photos, of rare social events from the previous year.

Vulture over the custody auction human trafficking situation. See if anyone dies of covid19 family emergency. Ratero family of delincuentes lost a loved ratero to covid19. Can i have my daughter Star Monique Gonnerman back now? I'm her father Kurt Gonnerman.

Nick the prick Boyd, the dead Boyd lawyer he's been awfully quiet. Full of lead Boyd.

Kind of exposed that Joseph Taylor learned professional cyber stalking skills on his bribe jobs of bribing warlords in Afghanistan. Being cyberstalked by Moroccan isis al qaeda human traffickers. Or being stalked by Joseph Taylor for custody papers. Or being stalked by military Lieutenants trained by the KGB by Maduro in Caracas, and feeling like whatsapp is Red October. I start to have counterintuitive skills. And i know a lot about American cyber stalkers. But you don't know about KGB trained pirate gangs of Caracas, who include lieutenants. Their narcotraffickers, not like the DEA. They are deported prison gangs like the DEA, but the DEA is not trained by the KGB nor does it have screaming military lieutenants taking over hotels, and filling Hostal Bolegnesi up witb pregnant young women.

What happened in June 2018, is that Elizabeth Monica Coca finally accepted her deportation which was announced to her at immigrations when she returned from dropping me (Kurt Gonnerman) off in Perú, she got her deportation notice in June 2013. Joseph Taylor thought that he could use Mormon bullying to get custody papers from me. As if Lima, Perú, population 10 million is the same as Salt Lake City, Utah. And the large Mormon family can routinely visit your home in a large group, and demand custody papers. But you couldn't do that in Lima, Perú, could you Joseph Taylor?

--------------------++++++

It has been narrated on the authority of Abdullah b. 'Umar that the Messenger of Allah said:

I have been commanded to fight against people till they testify that (la ilaha illallah) there is no god but Allah, that Muhammad is the messenger of Allah, and they establish prayer, and pay Zakat and if they do it, their blood and property are guaranteed protection on my behalf except when justified by law, and their affairs rest with Allah.

Sahih Muslim 22 Book 1, Hadith 36

------_-----+++++

...which is funny. Because like Charro (Rosaria Rodriguez), or Gladis and Michael Tahan. Or Raquel and Dave Jensen or whatever your name is. Carlos and Pocha Coca Cabra, Julia Coca Cabra. You have your American homes. No one cares about your mortgage debt or property taxes. Sell it all and go back to Perú then. Your children file out of the big show-off home and begin a life of their own. You ever hear of that? A life of their own? Your big expensive house is empty and always in need of repair.

They need Islam. They need the Word of salvation, La ilaha illallah, that there is no God but Allah swt. Look how lost and meaningless the lives of Mormons. Doing the ancestry of ancestors so you can baptise their dead?! Focus on your own repentance and salvation, filthy fools! Turn to your One Creator, Word of salvation, la ilaha illallah, 5 salat prayers at specific time frames of the day. Save yourself from the Hellfire, stop this materialistic Mormon or Christian madness! You are criminal psychopaths you will murder out of jealousy and competition over other people's children! Sick filthy fool! May Allah guide you away from the shirk and the sihr, the polytheism and black magic and turn your heart to Allah Alone, seeking His Face in actions words and intentions, in Islam, leave Morgen Mormon basura behind no more Christianity now is Islam, Ameen.

Why don't you go take your V2K DEW gun to a mountain and drink mountain dew?

At the last week of March 2021, Jose Felix of the department of child welfare services in San Diego, told me Kurt Gonnerman, that Star Monique Gonnerman had attempted suicide with a belt in the home of Tamara Bangerter Coca and Enrique Coca. And he only told me this for his own sick control and manipulation game. And to record incriminating evidence against me, while i was furious of the neglect being reported about my daughter Star, and seeing this spic who should build his professional reputation in San Juan, Puerto Rico, not San Diego. Was only going to send Star back to Tamara and the extended family member kidnapping ring. And the house of belts with the BYI Idaho lynch squad. Which he did, and there was no rescuing Star from extended family member kidnappers. Because Jose Felix is a baby peddler. He confiscates babies for international Mormon CPS adoption crime networks. Not sixteen year old problem child who is showing signs of neglect and delinquency. That's not worth money to San Diego child welfare services crime ring adoption agency baby peddlers.

Ratero familia de delincuentes lose a loved one to the delta covid19 variant yet? Bismillahir rahmanir rahim. I'm nesting for Star and Alina at the Havasu City Perú / México transaction kiosk. We've got some phenomenal coin operated cyber machinery set up, for crypto wallet online phishing for transaction fee games.

Coca Cabra Taylor Tahan Link, "morally incapable."

...when Kurt Gonnerman got dropped off in Lima, Perú in June 2013.

The Coca Cabra family has American citizenship. But they still need to divorce their spouses and enslave many children to pretend to prosper as Americans. Like they are still in Peru where child slavery and exploitation is normal.

You arranged for Joe to abuse Star so that Star would be depressed.to.give your mom her SSI check becaise your mom can't afford to live in USA even with the rent money of illegal Mexiicans who live in her basement. And collecting rent from her home in Lima. She still needs to drive a grandchild to depression for SSI checks.

Everything you own is a burden which will need to be sold when you die. Do you think anyone wants to inherit your property taxes and home mortgage debt fees? You didn't even try to leave something positive for your future generations. You're like Joe Gonnerman, you worked all your life and can't even give your son a penny now.

Star has to be a child slave of your Coca Cabra Tahan Taylor family instead of having a normal life with consistent friends. Because your stupid brothers and sisters can't afford the USA. Everything you own is a burden which will need to be sold when you die. Do you think anyone wants to inherit your property taxes and home mortgage debt fees? You Mormon Epsteins didn't even try to leave something positive for your future generations.

No child should be a slave to the Coca Cabra Taylor Tahan crime ring of her aunts and uncles and deported mother Elizabeth Monica Coca. Star Monique Gonnerman should not have to serve this crime ring as leverage for Star's uncles and aunts to be able to afford living in the United States. They should all.go back to San Juan de Miraflores and Churacan where they came from. Not enslave and kidnap family members, hide and harbour them around so Star Monique Gonnerman can visit you in Tijuana and serve her grandmother her SSI disability check for home improvements Julia Coca Cabra even though Julia collects rent from illegal alien Mexicans in her basement and really you are a family Coca Cabra Taylor Tahan low life scum bag crime ring.

Okay well, all your worthless family go back to Perú. Star Monique Gonnermam and Kurt Gonnerman don't need you.

...okay well your brothers and sisters should all go back to Peru and live in the house in San Juan de Miraflores. Instead of hiding the child Star Monique Gonnerman of their deported family member Elizabeth Monica Coca who the aunts and uncles are hiding Star in the USA when they have no legal rights to do this. So Star has to move from house to house, and becomes depressed and suicidal. Because Coca Cabra Tahan Taylor family crime ring is hiding Star, and abusing her and neglecting so Jose Felix calls me from San Diego department of child welfare services to say Star did a suicide attempt with a belt in Tamara Coca's house in Chula Vista. BYU Lynch squad Tamara didn't try to hang Star or anything.

Okay well Ricardo, Enrique, Tamara Carlos Pocha Gladis Michael, Dave and Raquel, Milagros and Charro Rosaria Rodriguez can all go to prison. Because they are hiding someone else's child they have no legal rights to. And Elizabeth Monica Coca has been deported, but her and her husband Joseph Taylor can still go to prison too. Amin.

[writesandramblings]

The Captain’s Secret - p.88

“I Grope About the Embers”

A/N: We remain in episode 13, "What's Past Is Prologue."

Full Chapter List Part 1 - Objects in Motion << 87 - Captain Lorca 89 - The Man Who Sold the World >>

"How do I look?" asked Lorca, leaning down to give Lalana a closer look. They stood in the hallway. She inspected his face carefully. Larsson watched them with half his attention, the other half alert for trouble because they were still in territory that could only be described as hostile. This whole universe was hostile.

Lalana half-tapped, half-spun her fingers, as if she was having trouble deciding whether she liked or hated his current appearance. "There is still blood on your face, as you desired. Are you sure I cannot clean it more?"

As it was, she had restricted herself to removing any imminently harmful bacteria that were already threatening infection and reduced any lingering redness around his eyes. To her, the former action was more important. To him, the latter.

Lorca harrumphed smugly and straightened. "Maybe I like it," he said.

Larsson snorted. "It's a good look for you. Evens the playing field for the rest of us."

"Some women like a rougher look," retorted Lorca. "Adds character." He had seen his reflection in Lalana's eyes and found it not entirely unappealing, blood and all. It was easy to feel like an action hero when you looked it.

Larsson rolled his eyes. As if Lorca, of all people, needed more character. Lorca was, in Larsson's estimation, entirely too vain. Larsson was five years younger and turning thoroughly silver—exactly who did Lorca think he was fooling? Himself, Larsson decided, because it surely wasn't anyone over the age of thirty-five. That Larsson could think of at least three women who had recently fallen for it did not help, and he highly suspected the Landry in this universe had been as receptively pliable to her Lorca as the Landry on Discovery because the way the two of them moved in sync as they rolled out on a tactical deployment was entirely too telling.

Lorca was oblivious to Larsson's internal monologue. "You have your orders. Stay out of sight," he told them and headed off down the hall towards Landry and the others. After everything that had happened in the communications station, he felt relieved, more awake, his mind lighter. There was even a spring in his step.

"Well," said Larsson once he and Lalana were alone, "let's go cause some havoc." Lorca had given them a new objective: disable power systems connected to some of the Charon's batteries so Sarek and Voq would have a safe zone upon arrival. Not all the batteries—Lorca might still need them himself—but some.

As they moved through halls mostly emptied of threats thanks to Stamets' biological weapon, Larsson realized Lalana seemed to have a second sense for approaching danger, almost as if she could see around corners. "I can see around corners," she said when he mentioned it. "Not entirely, but enough to know if something is there." Her multitude of pupils gave her a limited ability to differentiate between the reflection of light in the penumbra of a corner, where images of what lay around those corners hid.

"How did any of your people ever get hunted?" asked Larsson. Being on an operation with Lalana was entirely shifting his perceptions of her. None of this had ever come up the many times they had gone swimming or fishing together over the years. He completely understood now why Starfleet Intelligence had recruited her back in 2250.

"Partly luck, partly because if none of us showed up at all, they would burn parts of the forest. A few lului is an acceptable trade to preserve the forest."

Larsson already knew this fact and kicked himself for asking a rhetorical question. Lalana always answered them.

The shipwide comms suddenly activated. It was Lorca. Larsson heard the familiar tone of a speech. Though Larsson had not been aboard the USS Buran at its launch, he had heard about the launch speech from his former crewmates, and they had supplied him with a recording for a laugh.

This speech was very, very different.

"Hello, Philippa. I've watched for years as you let alien races spill over the borders and flourish in our backyard, then have the gall to incite rebellion. The Terrans need a leader who will preserve our way of life, our race. Try as you might, it's clearly not you. Even Michael knew that. It was her great shame. Well, it's indecorous of me to share pillow talk. To the rest, many of you know me, some of you served with me. To all, I make this offer: renounce Georgiou. The Empire is dying in her hands, but you don't have to. Not today. Michael Burnham is not to be touched. She is integral to our future plans. A future where we, together, will make the empire glorious again."

It was more than a speech, it was a directed taunt at Emperor Georgiou.

"What the hell," said Larsson as the audio terminated. "It sounds like he's gone native."

Lalana's tongue clicked. Larsson had no idea how right he was.

They were not the only ones that heard this speech and found a crucial flaw in it. Someone else considered Lorca's words, weighed them against the full breadth of the situation, and initiated a transport.

The light of the transporter was obvious enough even Larsson could see someone had just beamed around the next corner. He and Lalana immediately tucked behind the nearest bulkhead defensively.

Whoever was coming took no steps to disguise their approach. A single set of flat footsteps, no hesitation, an almost casual gait with a faint shuffle to it. The footsteps came closer and closer. Larsson readied his rifle. When the footsteps were almost upon them, he spun out from his hiding place with weapon drawn.

It was Petrellovitz. She stopped when Larsson jumped out but seemed unsurprised by his emergence. She was holding Groves' pineapple in her hands. It was a relief to see a familiar face, even when it was unfamiliar, because at least she was not one of the emperor's people.

"You disappeared," said Larsson accusingly. "Captain was displeased. You went to get that?" He jerked his rifle at the pineapple.

Petrellovitz did not answer his question. Instead, she went, "Lieutenant Larsson. I need you to take me to your ship." She turned her head, looking for telltale signs of visual anomaly along the niche where Larsson had been standing. "Where's that thing?"

"What thing?" said Larsson.

Petrellovitz glared fiercely. She had no time for games. "The thing that's with you. The... alien."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I am quite certain Emellia means me, Einar." Lalana dropped down from the ceiling, startling Petrellovitz. She was wearing a pattern of colors replicating the texture of the ceiling panels. Despite this camouflage, in such a low-ceilinged corridor with almost-adequate lighting, the thing that had made her hard to spot had not been the color and texture of her filaments but her location. Most humanoids rarely looked up unless there was something abundantly obvious above them.

Petrellovitz recovered her composure quickly. "You're coming with us."

Lalana tilted her head to the left, wondering about the state of this universe's version of Mischkelovitz—her matted, stringy hair, her multitude of scars. "Did Gabriel send you?"

It took Petrellovitz a moment too long to answer. "Yes."

The lie was obvious. Lalana pressed her fingers together and said, "We are already on a mission. You are welcome to join us, but we must adhere to Gabriel's plan."

"New mission, take me to your ship," said Petrellovitz with a petulance in her tone and posture that was entirely like Mischkelovitz.

Petrellovitz had no weapon, only the pineapple. "Come, Einar, let us continue," said Lalana, and they turned to do so.

"Wait!" went Petrellovitz. She held out the pineapple. "Can you hold this?"

"My hands are full," said Larsson, indicating his rifle.

"My arms hurt," said Petrellovitz, almost breathlessly. There was something distant in her intonation. "They hurt so much. Everything hurts." Her eyes seemed to be fixed on Larsson without seeing him.

Larsson and Lalana exchanged a glance.

Petrellovitz's gaze shifted to Lalana as she realized, unbelievably, that Larsson took direction from an alien. "I'll go with you. I can handle a weapon. Let me carry the rifle," she said forcefully.

Larsson only shook his head. "No way."

"I will carry the pineapple," offered Lalana, stretching her arms out. This seemed to suit Petrellovitz. She handed the misshapen blob of components over, careful to position it so the parts that stuck out were not under any stress that might bend or break them.

Then Petrellovitz rolled up one of her sleeves and ran her fingers across the wounds on her forearm. The pineapple really had been painful to carry around. Larsson repressed a shudder at the sight. He suspected this universe's O'Malley was the source of those marks. Petrellovitz shuffled half a step back from Lalana, seemingly engrossed in the mess of bloodied, torn flesh.

What happened next happened very quickly. Petrellovitz appeared to be rolling her sleeve further up or trying to scratch an itch above her elbow. Her fingers closed around something hidden in the upper part of her sleeve the size of a pen cap. She pulled it out and simultaneously lunged towards Larsson, stabbing it through the fabric of Larsson's sleeve. Larsson gave a surprised "Gah!" at the sharp and sudden pain as Petrellovitz launched herself backwards, intentionally sprawling onto the floor with the intent of rolling or springing away, but Lalana's tail whipped around and hooked Petrellovitz's ankle, making escape impossible.

A lancet hung from Larsson's arm. He pointed his rifle down at Petrellovitz and lifted his arm to inspect the lancet. There was something resembling an insect wing attached to the back of it—a membranous ampule attachment which had collapsed into a vacuum as it emptied during injection.

"Explain yourself or I will crush your ankle and remove your foot," said Lalana sharply, her tail tightening and her filaments wriggling into Petrellovitz's skin.

Though Petrellovitz had been intending to dash to a safe distance to deliver this information, the fact that Larsson and Lalana were not killing her outright rendered this action unnecessary. She smiled unpleasantly up at them from the floor. "It's a biological agent. If you don't get the antidote, you'll be dead. I'll make the antidote on your ship. The one with the spore displacement drive. You have... two hours. I hope your ship is nearby."

Larsson pulled the lancet/ampule combo out of his arm and held it between two fingers. To him it seemed like an overly large mosquito.

"Let me see," said Lalana, releasing Petrellovitz's leg so she could pluck the offending object from Larssons fingers with some of the filaments of her tail. Her filaments circled around the collapsed ampule and snaked towards the injection point. She trilled in alarm and the lancet fell to the ground, a few epithelial filaments still attached and fading from blue-grey to brown. "What is that!" went Lalana, head turning between the lancet and Petrellovitz.

"What?" said Larsson, alarmed.

"It was so toxic, my cells immediately sealed and detached themselves to protect the main matrix from contamination."

Larsson hastily pulled up his sleeve, never mind that this meant taking his gun off Petrellovitz. There was an ugly patch of browning skin the size of a penny.

"I suggest we get a move on," said Petrellovitz, standing and rolling her sleeve down. "The sooner you get me to your ship, the less permanent damage."

"We should contact Gabriel," said Lalana, but they could not access the communications system. Even Larsson's communicator was not working. Larsson noticed the control indicator on the pineapple was red instead of green. He attempted to reactivate it. Nothing happened.

"You're wasting time," said Petrellovitz. "I've biolocked the pineapple to my signature and commands. So long as you are within range of it, all systems will react only to me. You can leave me and the pineapple and reach Gabriel, but how long will it take you? And I'll disappear and you'll never have your antidote."

Larsson pointed his rifle at the pineapple. "Then no more pineapple," he said.

Petrellovitz stepped between Larsson and Lalana. "No," she said. "That won't undo the lock. It will just remove the key. You'll seal the systems permanently." She slid back half a step, turning to address Lalana and Larsson both. "Listen up. I know you have great scientists in your universe, the same as we do. I'm like Einstein, Hawking, and Curie combined. You think you can outsmart me? You can't. But if you take me to your ship right now, and if we reach it in time, then Lieutenant Larsson can live."

There were a few details to this comparison which were lost on Larsson and Lalana. Curie, for example, was renowned in this universe for tricking people into being her research subjects as she unraveled the mysteries of radiation. Hawking, though physically debilitated, had provided the foundational work for many of the Empire's most devastating weapons, planet-busters particularly. Einstein's scientific crimes were too numerous to list and dwarfed only by the magnitude of his scientific achievements. The three of them were Petrellovitz's personal idols.

"Take Einar to the ship then," said Lalana. "I will complete Gabriel's objective on my own."

"No," said Petrellovitz. "Either you come with me or he dies. I'm not here for Einar." If she could have, she would have injected Lalana with the toxin directly. The only reason she chose Larsson was that she had no idea how the chemical agent would interact with Lalana's biology or even if it would have had any effect. Her attempts to remote scan Lalana had resulted in null data.

Larsson pressed his hand against the mark on his arm. It ached faintly, but he felt otherwise fine. "Never mind this. Let's get those power relays. Captain's counting on us."

"You must go to Discovery and get help," insisted Lalana.

"You're not listening," said Petrellovitz. "They'll never synthesize the antidote in time. You need me, and again, my help is conditional."

Lalana's hands twitched. She was still holding the pineapple. Her fingers stretched towards one another, only the fingertips able to touch across the circumference of the pineapple, tapping lightly but rapidly.

At her distress, Larsson smiled thinly. "It's fine. I'm not as old as you, but I had a good run. I don't care if I die."

Lalana's fur began to writhe. Her pupils were widening and she was beginning to shake. She felt like balling up onto the floor. "Einar! You're my best friend! And there is no other copy of your face for me to find!" The other him was already dead.

Larsson's face twisted with helplessness. "But we came here for you. I can't let you give up on this for me."

Watching them, Petrellovitz felt revulsion. The Larsson she had known would never have had an alien as a best friend. He loved killing and cooking them. The whole premise of the other universe was abhorrent to her. Its denizens were just as abhorrent, human and alien both, with their endless declarations of goodwill and friendship and love as if any of these were real things you could experience with anyone, human or alien.

Lalana twisted towards Petrellovitz, stilling the tapping of her fingertips by pressing them tightly together. "I will go with you, Emellia. But you must tell Gabriel we are unable to complete our objective."

Petrellovitz smiled, this time with sinister delight. "You have a deal. But please, call me Petra. And I'll take that pineapple back now." Maybe it did hurt to carry it in her torn-up arms, but Emellia Petrellovitz was no stranger to pain.

Lorca was leading his forces towards a fight against an approaching group of Imperial soldiers when the comms beeped. Targeted systems were supposed to be disrupted right now to prevent Georgiou from finding them and launching any remote countermeasures, but when Lorca realized who it was, it made perfect sense.

"Petra," he spat. "You ran off. Didn't take you for a coward. Michael'd be disappointed."

"Are you alone, Gabriel?" she intoned lowly in reply.

Lorca glanced at Landry and Stamets. "No time for your games. Now get down here and make yourself useful."

Petrellovitz's voice immediately triggered Stamets' ire. "Captain!" he practically squeaked. "As I have told you time and time again, there is absolutely nothing Lieutenant Commander Petrellovitz can do that I can't—"

"Shut up, Stamets!" said both Lorca and Petrellovitz.

"Eggheads," said Landry disapprovingly.

Petrellovitz followed this up with, "Captain, I met a friend of yours who regrets to inform you that the power relays for the starboard batteries aren't going to be disabled."

Lorca froze and looked at Landry. He signaled for her to lead everyone ahead. As his people moved past him, the tromp-tromp-tromp of their footsteps echoing down the hall, Lorca said, "Petra, if you've done anything to Larsson and—" He couldn't say Lalana's name in front of the soldiers streaming past him. Even if the name meant nothing to them, it was clearly not human. Suddenly the solution struck him. "—Eleanor, there's no rock, no stone will hide you. You understand me?"

The footsteps echoed away down the hall.

"I'm not hiding from you. I heard your speech. It was a good speech, but it did confirm something I've always suspected. You're different. You always have been, but since returning from the other world, I can see it more clearly. I know your secret, Gabriel."

The frowning grimace on Lorca's face was both true and a cover for the gnawing worry in his stomach. This was exactly the reason he had wanted Lalana off the Charon in the first place. "Petra. Where's Lalana?"

"Your pet is safe. I won't harm it. It's proof, after all, that you aren't who you claim to be. I've always known. Ever since that night. You're the one Michael would be disappointed in. So I'm keeping your pet as insurance."

Lorca inhaled deeply. "Lalana is no one's pet," he growled, each word sharply hissing through clenched teeth.

"So then, she's a useful toy? Would you believe she's also expendable? There's a recording of you in a room talking with some rebels. Makes for very interesting viewing."

It was Cornwell all over again. He was naked and exposed and being stabbed by something too close to his heart. He stared in shock at the emptiness around him, his hands tightening on his phaser rifle.

"The thing is, I really like your plan. You helped set the rebels up, didn't you? To destabilize Georgiou. You really are something else. So, I've decided to delete the recording from the Charon and let you finish what you started. Georgiou is a failure who needs to be removed. When you've taken care of her, then we'll talk about your pet. I think it's time the Empire had some intelligent leadership."

Lorca's shock faded into a determined glower. "You think you can make a power play against me? No one's gonna follow you."

"I know that. That's why you can trust me. I need you. I'm not your enemy, Gabriel. I want to stand with you and the other Michael. That will ensure someone still has the Empire's best interests at heart." Petrellovitz did not believe in love, or friendship, or anything based on feelings. The one thing she did believe in was shared goals. "I'm even doing exactly what you asked and taking your pet back to Discovery. Besides, you don't need me here, you have Stamets, like you wanted."

Lorca snorted at that. "I didn't want Stamets. If you hadn't run off..." It was no secret what Lorca did to traitors, and Stamets had betrayed them all. "Come back, stand with me. We'll do this together. It’s what Michael would have wanted."

"I agree, but there's something I need to take care of first. Don't worry, I'll find you when I'm done. Now that we've conquered space, I think we ought to conquer time, don't you?"

The firefight was already in progress when Lorca caught up to Landry and the others. He dropped into the fray as seamlessly as if he had been there from the outset. Since they were using his tactical plan, in a way, he had been.

"Surrender and you don't have to die!" he bellowed over the bursts of phaser fire, the roars of retribution on both sides, and the occasional final screams of life. His forces were making mincemeat of the guards. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. Intentionally so; Lorca's people were fighting on a battlefield he had chosen for this precise reason. Victory was assured as a result.

The Imperial soldiers were dwindling down to a surviving handful. "We surrender!" came the call, and all the soldiers who remained standing threw down their weapons and stood with their hands in the air.

Lorca strode towards them, smirking, Landry at his side. "That's more like it. You must be pretty loyal to your emperor to charge into battle for her this late in the game. Loyalty's important. Good for you. Not so good for me, though, is it? I did say if you surrendered you'd live. Mind you, I didn't say how long, and unfortunately, we just don't have the logistical wherewithal for any prisoners right now."

Lorca raised his rifle. Landry and the others did the same. With a burst of phaser fire, the surrendering forces evaporated into licks of fire in the air save for one: their commander, Joann Owosekun. Lorca pointed his rifle at her. Owosekun's eyes were wide with shock and fear.

"Hope you're still loyal," he said. "I need you to deliver a message."

Landry started laughing, her shoulders shaking with mirth. How much she had missed Lorca's sense of humor. Lorca smirked at her. It was beginning to feel like old times.

The laughter subsided. "That thing Petra mentioned with the power relays, is that a problem? I can send a team."

Lorca shook his head. "No." The loss of that objective was a minor setback if even that. In truth, once they had the throne room, it likely wouldn't make a lick of difference. Mostly the point had been busywork to keep Lalana and Larsson out of the way. In the end, the task seemed to have done just that.

All of Larsson's arm was brown now. The color had spread across his shoulders and onto his neck like the roots and branches of a tree. His head was swimming as he sat at the shuttle controls. "We're coming—we're coming up on—nngh." He rubbed at his face. The shuttle was cold, but he was sweating. He had removed the armor and tunic of his Terran uniform and was in his undershirt.

Lalana wiped the sweat from his brow with her tail. "I'm so sorry, Einar."

"It's all right," he assured her. "I saw Matty, you know. Matty Kerrigan, from... from the Triton."

"I know," she said. He had told her this half a dozen times now in his delirium.

The worst part was, there was nothing Lalana could do about the toxin. Her attempts to negate it had been ineffective. Her cells shut down and detached upon contact. She was therefore protected from the contagion, but not in any way that could help Larsson.

Larsson's hands jerked on the controls, threatening to undo their course. His head shook in an attempt to clear the confusion in his mind to no avail.

"Let me pilot for a bit, Einar," said Lalana, nudging his hands aside with her tail. "We're almost there."

Petrellovitz watched Lalana and Larsson, still disgusted by the display of familiarity. Some aliens she could almost understand the attraction of. Risians, for example, were visually identical to humans, to the point where a few of them sometimes infiltrated the Terrans' ranks or lived as Terrans entirely. Vulcans had strange, pointed eyebrows and ears, but again, otherwise almost human in appearance, though their personalities always gave them away. Not so Lalana. The lului was grossly inhuman and looked like nothing so much as a giant blue kangaroo rat.

Besides, thought Petrellovitz, if Larsson was deteriorating beyond the point of recovery, well, that was Lalana's fault because she was the reason they could not use the transporters to get to the shuttle in the first place.

Another thing disgusted Petrellovitz. She was still holding the pineapple. While there was no denying it was entirely effective, it looked like it had been crafted by a five-year-old child. Not a QORYA child, the regular kind of whelp normal people raised. Lorca thought the person who made this could replace her? That was an insult too far.

She would settle this insult and the question of her expendability once and for all. There could only be one of her.

They were hidden along the back of a long, tall hallway awaiting Georgiou. Tendrils of light snaked up the walls without ever seeming to fully illuminate its vaulted length. This would have been an ideal deployment for Lalana. She could have hidden in the shadows at its peak, dropped down onto Georgiou from above, wrapped her tail around Georgiou's neck, fused herself to Georgiou's shoulders, and neutralized the emperor.

There was a flutter in the golden light at the other end of the hall. Footsteps marching towards them. Lorca had one hand on Owosekun's shoulder. He squeezed her shoulder and said, "Now be a good little birdie and fly on over." He shoved her forward.

A single figure emerged, silhouetted and alone. Georgiou, standing as tantalizing bait, seemingly exposed, which meant she wasn't. Moments later, a cadre of soldiers filtered in behind her and took up offensive positions.

"Don't shoot," said Owosekun, emerging from the shadows and approaching Georgiou with her hands in the air.

Georgiou looked at Owosekun, disappointed. She had thought perhaps Owosekun might take Michael's place in some capacity, but it seemed not. "Where are your troops, commander?"

"We were ambushed."

"How did you survive?"

It was not an easy admission for Owosekun. "Lorca spared me. He said he wanted you to know..."

"Know what?"

"That he was here."

One, clean shot from Landry reduced Owosekun to flickers of fire in the air. The red dots of charged weapons lit the dark end of the hallway, bobbing faintly like dancing fireflies.

Lorca stepped out from behind a column in front of his men. Georgiou had come exactly as he intended. She was on his battlefield now. He grinned. "Hello, Pippa. Did you miss me?"

Lorca's troops fired, their shots hitting the defensive shield Georgiou had erected in the hallway. In response, Georgiou triggered a command from an interface on her wrist and automated turrets popped out from the walls and rained fire back down towards Lorca's troops. Lorca easily ducked back behind the column. The front line of his forces took the brunt of the attack.

Landry was standing behind the column directly across from Lorca. He signaled her. One finger, one second. They both moved out at the same time and struck the pair of turrets, disabling them at once.

It was unfortunate, the bodies of the dead on the floor between them, but they had gone to their deaths willingly to expose the turrets and allow a path to be cleared for the others.

"Light her up," ordered Lorca. The remaining bulk of his forces fired at the shield between them and the emperor. "Mr. Stamets!"

"Containment field at 30%, 25%."

The shield was dropping. Georgiou raised a fist and withdrew back towards cover with her guards.

"Five, four, three, two, it's down!" shouted Stamets.

The firefight erupted from both sides. Lorca crouched down and rolled something down the hallway. A small, silver ball.

"Flash grenade!" shouted Georgiou, but not quickly enough. A brilliant white light filled the corridor. Georgiou and some of her guards managed to shield their eyes, but many were left screaming and blinded in the grenade's wake. Their screams were quickly silenced into wisps of fiery disintegration.

With her guards falling around her, Georgiou stepped out, fired a few shots, and called out, "Emergency transport!"

She was gone. Lorca strode forward into the golden light where Georgiou had been. His quarry had escaped. He turned to Stamets. "You didn't warn me she could do that, Mr. Stamets." Petrellovitz would have figured that out. Damn her for her absence.

"Please tell me we can kill him now," said Landry.

"Well that depends if he can disable an emergency transport system."

"I can," said Stamets, working on the padd in his hands. "I can do that."

"Good," said Lorca. Landry sighed in disappointment.

At least they had advanced their position. "Set up a perimeter around the throne room. Let's tighten the noose."

Part 89

[vintagemichelle91]

A Hard Lesson in Incrimination: Chapter 6

Authors’ Note: Happy SVU Wednesday!!! Time to check back in on the squad and Rafael and Natalia!! Just what exactly will be the ramifications of Rafael’s sudden confession? What about Mike and IAB?? What of Natalia and Maggie!?! So many questions!!! Read on and find out!! As always, @rauliskafan and I LOVE LOVE LOVE hearing what you guys have to say!! So thank you!! 

           “I need to talk to you. Right now.”

Seeing the rage in her sister’s eyes, devastated as she watched her husband taken away, unable to even touch him, Natalia felt faint. For the smallest of seconds, her eyes locked with Michael Cutter, who departed without a word. Looking to Liv, her gaze begged the lieutenant to rouse her from this nightmare. It was not within her power. What of her own? Was it possible to rescue her husband? To collect the girls and flee to parts unknown where they could escape these shadows?            No answer to those questions and Natalia was left with only the harsh tone of Maggie’s voice…

…and the ballerina’s eyes threatening to set fire to the spot where she stood.

“How long, Natty?”

The words sounded foreign as Natalia let them sink into her brain, straining to comprehend, almost on the verge of asking her sister to repeat herself when Maggie pushed her into another room and slammed the door shut.

“How… what do you mean?”

“Don’t do that,” Maggie hissed. “How long have you had my husband mixed up in all this?”

Seeing her sister’s lip start to quiver, Natalia forgot her fear and moved forward to hold her, to promise that everything would be alright even if it was a lie she barely believed while her breath hammered rapidly in her chest. But before she could begin the embrace, one of Maggie’s delicate hands flew into the air and swatted her back. Still so close to her sister and yet feeling many miles away, Natalia was reminded of the girl she first came across after too many years dancing in a fog of drugs, of domineering men and mothers.

But that wasn’t who she was any---

“Answer the damn question, Natty!”

Maggie’s voice grew louder, and Natalia swallowed hard before she spoke.

“I… since the night Eve died,” Natalia slowly confessed.

“Since the… unbelievable.”

“We didn’t call him, Maggie,” Natalia quickly continued. “He… Mike knew we were both on our way to Eve’s… I was following Rafael.”

“How’d you figure out where the counselor was?” Maggie asked through clenched teeth.

“Well… that was Mike, too. He knew where I was heading and---”

“And then there the two of you were with a dead woman!” Maggie cried, touching her sister’s arms, the feel of her fingers sending a sharp charge through Natalia’s skin.

“Yes,” she admitted. “It looked… you must understand what everyone would have thought. So Mike---”

“Exactly what they’re thinking now!” Maggie bellowed as she turned her back and scrunched her fair hair between her fingers. “Maybe then you could have explained it. Do you see that happening anytime soon?”

Peering through the blinds, unable to see what was happening outside the room, Natalia’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach. She found herself standing at Maggie’s side, struggling to stare through the smudged glass when her sister touched her again, giving her no choice but to look into the other woman’s eyes.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Maggie asked. “Didn’t you know how this could go down?”

“Yes,” Natalia said quietly. “But Mike said---”

“Don’t you dare blame my husband for any of this!” Maggie spat, shrugging away with her face flushed and nostrils flaring. “Where was the voice of reason, Natty? Where was… where was the payback for all the times I’ve helped you?”

For an instant, Natalia’s mind flashed back to the tortured days before she knew the truth of the twins, and her mind grasped that idea like a lifeline in icy, unforgiving waters.

“Mike was doing what you would have done!” Natalia argued. “Keeping a secret to keep us safe.”

“Right,” Maggie scoffed. “And having me rattle on like a fool at your poor excuse for a dinner party was just the icing on the cake, right?”

“No!” Natalia swore. “Mike did this for you, too! For our family.”

“Family?” Maggie echoed. “I’d love to see your definition of the word.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Natalia challenged.

“It means that in your mind it starts, stops and altogether ends with Rafael,” Maggie said.

“I… he’s my husband---”

“And does that defy every other word in the dictionary?” Maggie demanded. “Any other concept? Keep quiet about the twins or your husband might get hurt. Cover up the fact that he’s at a dead woman’s apartment. Hell, even Carmen had to wonder what was wrong with you when you went charging into the night after that Ramirez prick.”

“Don’t do that,” Natalia said, backing Maggie into the wall and taking a few seconds to catch her breath before releasing the rest of her voice. “Someone didn’t make the smartest choices in London either.”

“Someone was taken by surprise,” Maggie shot back. “You knew the score. Then and now. But Rafael always comes first. I figured that out on day one.”

“When you treated him like something you’d stepped on and forget about just as fast?” Natalia accused

“When you defended him in that restaurant! He got a free pass, and you scolded me like a child.”

“Which is how you were acting,” Natalia reminded her.

“But Rafael can do no wrong.”

“How can you… after all that he’s done for you?”

“He’s left my husband vulnerable to internal affairs!” Maggie said. “I have a life too, Natty. We want a family. But you… you could care less about that. What’s going to happen one of these days when your daughters realize that their father is more important than they are? I pity those sweet little---”

Without stopping to think, Natalia raised her hand and brought her palm across Maggie’s cheek. The ballerina fell back and seemed too stunned to move. But just as quickly the wrath returned to her eyes. She lunged forward, pushing Natalia into the edge of the nearest table, and as a chair crashed to the floor, the door swung open.

“Hey!” Dodds yelled, reaching for his wife and holding Maggie back as Natalia sank into another seat and brushed a few fallen strands of hair from her face. “Why are the two of you fighting?”

“I don’t---”

“Because she’s a self-centered martyr who has to always be the star of the story,” Maggie sneered. “With Rafael as her leading man. The rest of us can go to hell.”

“Maggie,” Dodds started, slowly turning her to face him. “He gave you away at our wedding. You don’t mean---”

“I know what I mean, Mike!” she quickly fired back. “Don’t make excuses for them. Other people have lives, too. Not that she cares one fucking bit about it.”

Racing from the room, Maggie left Natalia alone with Dodds, and he glanced down at her hand.

“I’ll thank you not to hit my wife again,” he warned in a whisper.

“Sorry,” Natalia muttered. “What’s come over her? It can’t be just this.”

“No,” Dodds admitted. “This morning… we had another false alarm with the whole… the whole baby thing.”

“Oh, Mike, I---”

“This is all just coming at the worst time.”

And then she felt as guilty as Maggie’s words intended, reaching for Dodds’ hand and hanging her head.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have… I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I get that,” Dodds said. “But right now, we don’t have a lot of time.”

“What do you mean?” Natalia asked, back on her feet.

“They’re taking Rafael to Rikers.”

The words fell on her shoulders like two weights that she could barely balance, already crushing her. Not wanting to let them seep into her mind followed by images of cages and chains…

“Can’t Liv do something?” she pitifully asked.

“Maybe a delay,” Dodds said. “But Cutter doesn’t want this to look like anyone’s playing favorites. I’m sorry, Natalia.”

A clock started to tick in her mind. Come the morning, she would have to contact a lawyer, find a way to make any bail that was set, do whatever was necessary to get her husband back…

“My sister knows me too well,” she muttered under her breath.

“What?” Mike asked.

No time for an explanation now.

“I have to see Rafael.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

He almost opened the door when Natalia grabbed his hand.

“Are you in a lot of trouble?” she asked.

“I’ll be okay,” he promised.

“Your father must be a beside himself.”

“He’s already calling in favors… please don’t worry about me right now.”

But she was worried about the whole wide world as Dodds led her down a staircase and just past Liv.

“Natalia, my hands are tied here. Cutter---”

“I know,” Natalia said, her desire to argue squelched by the fact that she needed to be near Rafael and Dodds guided her towards a dark cell.

“Oh, Atticus.”

He sat on a cot, his head in his hands. Even in the dim light, Natalia still saw a faint gleam in his eyes when she spoke, and as she grasped the bars his fingers followed suit.

“I’ll give you guys a few minutes,” Dodds said.

“Thanks,” Rafael replied, and Natalia held their breath until they were alone.

Only then did she…

“Atticus, why… you were a victim, too. I found you knocked out cold and---”

“No proof of it. Cutter has my… conversation with Eve on tape. And after what Mike did… these waters are too muddy.”

“I don’t want you to drown,” she whimpered.

“I won’t,” he assured her, his breath moving through the bars so they could steal the smallest of kisses.

“Atticus…”

Suddenly a light went off her head, and she held his hand tighter.

“Eve had enemies.”

“Hermosa, it couldn’t have been Rollins.”

“There are others,” she said, her confidence growing, her focus on nothing but setting him free. “I’m going to look into it.”

“No,” he said. “I don’t want you to.”

“And I don’t want you trapped like this,” she pressed.

He appeared ready to argue when his shoulders sagged, and he leaned his head against the steel.

“I suppose I can’t stop you,” he said. “But don’t go it alone. Talk to Liv… maybe Mike.”

“I think Maggie wants me to keep away from him.”

“Is there a problem?” he asked, his voice sounding as normal as if they were in bed and ready to tie up the loose ends of their respective days before sliding into sleep. But now, on this night, they were doomed to endure the darkness alone…

“Don’t worry about… oh, Atticus… I don’t want to go,” she said, tears springing to her eyes. Her arms slipped through the bars, and she clung to him, Rafael’s nose buried in her hair as his lips made their way to her ear.

“Think about it; when this is all done, I’ll know how a case feels from every side,” he said. “Might make me a better lawyer.”

“You don’t need to be better… you just need to come…”

Home. Natalia never got a chance to speak the word when Fin and a uniform appeared.

“Sorry, Barba,” he said.

“Nothing personal,” Rafael said. “Please… if you could… see that Natalia gets a ride.”

Nodding, Fin took her aside, and Natalia watched as the door opened, and another pair of metal cuffs were affixed to Rafael’s wrists. She saw him shiver for a second and rushed forward to hold him once more when he suddenly stood up straighter and glanced down at his hand.

“My wedding ring, hermosa.”

“I… you want me to…?”

“They’ll only take it from me,” he continued. “Keep it safe. Until this is over.”

The act felt like a kindness and a crime in the span of the same motion. But still, Natalia took the ring, recalling what it felt like to place it on his finger the first time… swearing then that nothing would ever tear them apart.

“Soon,” she said through her tears, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him one last time until he was snatched away and forced down a long corridor.

“Te amo, mi hermosa flor,” he called out before he disappeared from her line of sight. Sinking to her knees and feeling Fin close, Natalia stared down at his ring and clasped it to her chest.

“Very soon, Atticus. Whatever it takes.”

[jedwashere]

A Billion Years Away - Chapter Ten

This Is Never Going To Go Our Way If I’m Gonna Have To Guess What’s On Your Mind

***

So open up my eyes,

Tell me I’m alive,

This is never going to go our way

If I’m gonna have to guess what’s on your mind.

***

Starbase 93 dock.

Lorca.

“Technically this ship has been ready to launch for over two weeks, but between bug tests and a certain lacklustre effort on Starfleet’s part, what with it being an older class of ship with comparatively minimal utility, the ship has not been named or fully commissioned yet…”

Alpha-32 was talking, and Lorca wasn’t listening. Which, he supposed, was better than being driven to distraction by her. Ignoring the wave of conflicting emotions that threatened to bubble up inside him, he looked about as they walked, taking everything in.

The corridors of this ship were bare and utilitarian, the panels lined in computer access consoles, the crew wandering about in the same neat, jacketed uniforms Jallistra’s crew had worn. It was almost heartening, in a way, but somehow, he had trouble thinking of them as ‘his’ crew.

“Captain?”

Lorca blinked, looking at Alpha-32, who was looking at him with that same patient, neutral expression.

“I’m sorry, Commander,” he said without meaning it. “Where were we?”

“I was just informing you of some of the ship’s quirks, sir,” Alpha-32 replied, giving one of those neutered, empty smiles of hers. So unlike Michael. “According to all of my research and data on the subject, it is beneficial for a commanding officer to know their ship.”

That was true, but he didn’t say so. He didn’t really want to give her the satisfaction of knowing that she’d said something accurate to the situation.

“Have you considered a name for the ship, yet?” Alpha-32 asked after a moment.

“No,” Lorca said dismissively. In all the ‘excitement’ of meeting Alpha-32, he’d simply forgotten that he had been given that option.

“If I may, sir, I would like to choose the name,” Alpha-32 said, almost hesitant.

Lorca gave her a sidelong glance. “You would?”

“Only if said name meets with your approval, of course, sir,” Alpha-32 clarified. “I find it an intriguing prospect, naming a vessel. Not something asked of a crew often.”

“Hm,” Lorca grunted. He let out a low chuckle. “Just make sure you don’t pick anything inappropriate. I don’t want to fly a ship called ‘daisy’.”

“Noted, sir,” Alpha-32 said. There was an infinitesimal pause before she added: “I will remove ‘Daisy’ from the list of potential names.”

Lorca sighed. He didn’t know whether she was messing with him, or whether she was genuinely that dense. Neither option was particularly appealing.

“Come on,” he said. “There’s probably more to this bucket than you’ve shown me.”

“I was not considering ‘Bucket’ as a name for the ship, sir,” Alpha-32 replied, “but there is more to see.”

God save me from literal-minded robots, Lorca thought, rolling his eyes.

“If you’ll follow me, sir,” Alpha-32 continued, “I will show you to the bridge.”

***

Alpha-32.

“If you’ll follow me, sir, I will show you to the bridge.”

Captain Lorca was not enthusiastic about his command. That was… unexpected. The Exeter-class’s similarity to the 23rd Century Constitution-class alone should have been enough to garner a measure of positivity, if only on the basis of nostalgia. That had been, after all, one of the reasons Commodore Hayne requested this ship (which had only previously been slated for training missions and the occasional bout of diplomatic or scientific busywork).

Still, Alpha-32 thought as she walked. There are other options still available to improve the Captain’s morale, and I have yet to undertake the two emotionally-charged actions that will foster an attachment to the ship and myself.

Asking to name the ship was the first. Alpha-32 was certain that she had picked a choice that was fitting, especially when she added in her complementary choice for her own new designation.

Considering the two designations that she had picked made her pause. If she had activated her emotional subroutines, she might have found a certain hesitation at the thought of the names. Had she chosen correctly? However, despite her probabilistic calculations having been previously less than accurate regarding Captain Lorca’s reactions, she was confident she had made the right decisions.

“You said ‘minimal utility’,” Lorca said after a moment. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

It took Alpha-32 three nanoseconds to decide the best response. “The Exeter-class is obviously not a top-of-the-line vessel. You have been on the Enterprise, after all.”

“Yeah,” Lorca said, nodding. “Hell of a ship.” His expression became somewhat irritated. “So what, this one’s the dumpster for has-beens?”

‘Dumpster’ definitely was not a good sign, and though she was not entirely familiar with the phrase ‘has beens’, it, too, had negative connotations. She shook her head.

“The Exeter-class is fitted for extended scientific missions, diplomatic transports…” Lorca’s expression became more derisive, and Alpha-32 immediately knew she had to change tactics. “It is also used in area denial escalation missions, as well as first-response tactical engagement.”

Ah, there it was. A flicker of something else - the expression-reading subroutine she had coded into her system indicated that it was interest. Military-oriented missions seemed to hold his interest more than science or diplomacy. That much was predictable.

“So we’re first response?” Lorca asked after a moment.

“Essentially, Captain,” Alpha-32 said quietly. “Our ship is not powerful enough to stand toe-to-toe against more heavily-armed vessels, but there are a few modifications to her -”

“The fuck,” Lorca interrupted harshly. He was no longer looking at Alpha-32, but instead glaring at a female Klingon walking down the corridor, clad in a gold Starfleet uniform jacket.

Alpha-32 already knew that there was a certain animosity towards Klingons in the 23rd Century, but with a sudden, troubling realisation, she also recalled Lorca’s imprisonment at Klingon hands. Those two facts meant that it made all too much sense that his reaction to seeing a Klingon on his ship would be… unfavourable.

“Sir, this is Lieutenant B’Rena,” she said evenly, putting the barest hint of emphasis on the rank.

“Why is there a Klingon on my ship?!” he hissed, pointing at B’Rena and clearly ignoring Alpha-32’s introduction. His expression was filled with a kind of naked hostility that Alpha-32 had not anticipated. B’Rena squared herself up, clearly feeling challenged.

“And who are you to question my place here?!” she hissed.

“The man who’s gonna kick your ass!” Lorca said hotly.

Alpha-32 held up a hand to forestall the Klingon’s angry retort. It was logical that he would be angry upon seeing B’Rena, but Alpha-32 felt confident she could defuse the tension.

“Captain Lorca is a temporal refugee from the 23rd Century,” she exclaimed to B’Rena. “You will have been briefed on his situation.”

“Ah!” B’Rena said, her demeanour completely changing as she grinned. “The glory days of the Dahar Masters! A time of great heroes - Kor, Koloth, Kang -”

“T’Kuvma and Kol, actually,” Lorca said, his tone bitingly sarcastic.

Alpha-32 ran the names through her history banks, and found information entries for the Battle of the Binary Stars, ‘T’Kuvma the Unforgettable’, and a host of other things that she suspected might cause an officer who had lived through those times some degree of… consternation at a Klingon’s presence.

“T’Kuvma the Unforgettable!” B’Rena said with a grin. “Ah, to be a Klingon warrior in those days! Truly, that would have been glorious!”

“Yes,” Lorca said, his expression cooling into disdain. “I’m sure ramming cloaked ships into vessels under a flag of truce and bombing the shit out of defenceless civilians would have been such a glorious way to spend your time.”

B’Rena’s expression dropped in what might have been confusion on anyone else. “What?”

Lorca scowled. “Excuse me. Lieutenant.”

He pushed straight past her without another word. Alpha-32 gave an approximation of an apologetic look, before following him. B’Rena simply stayed put, and Alpha-32 calculated a 73.7% chance that she was still processing the encounter.

Alpha-32 caught up with the Captain a moment later, just as he entered the turbolift.

“Bridge,” he ordered gruffly. He glowered at Alpha-32. “You never answered my question. What in the hells is that thing doing on my ship?”

Alpha-32 stiffened. “Lieutenant B’Rena is one of the most qualified tactical officers of her class. Having her aboard is an asset.”

“She’s a Klingon,” Lorca hissed.

“The Federation made peace with the Klingons, Captain,” Alpha-32 told him. “It is one of the many things that has changed since your time.”

He said nothing after that, and Alpha-32 wondered for approximately eighteen nanoseconds whether she had gone too far. Changing tack, she imitated an action she had often observed among humans: she took a deep breath. This had the effect of making Captain Lorca look at her in bemusement.

“You breathe, Commander?” he asked.

“On certain occasions, Captain, I have seen humans audibly and deeply breathe in order to diffuse tense situations,” she replied primly.

“‘Diffuse tense…’” He chuckled. “Commander, you’re a damn marvel.”

Success, Alpha-32 thought, allowing herself her logical satisfaction. After all: it was one step in the right direction for dealing with Captain Gabriel Lorca.

***

Lorca.

When the Turbolift opened, Lorca found himself looking around the bridge space with a feeling of mild irritation.

The space itself was more utiliarian than Jallistra’s bridge on the Enterprise had been, which on some levels he could appreciate. It had a familiar layout: centre seat, helm station, Ops station, tactical station, science station… the only real difference between this and the Discovery’s bridge was, ironically, that it was smaller, not to mention a mite more colourful.

In truth, Lorca wasn’t irritated by the bridge. He wasn’t particularly paying attention to the bridge at all. He was still thinking about his encounter in the corridor.

Change, change, more change. He scowled. A damn Klingon serving in the fleet.

He had anticipated change, of course. It was inevitable. Indeed, it was almost welcome: had he somehow emerged into a time where everything looked the same, where everyone wore the same uniform, he was fairly certain he would have gone mad. But all the same…

Damned in change, damned in status quo, damned all the way, he thought, resisting the urge to scowl again.

“What do you think, sir?” Alpha-32 asked from behind him.

Lorca didn’t answer. He noted the door that said ‘ready room’, and almost immediately made a beeline for it, entering without another word to anyone. Alpha-32, thankfully, didn’t follow him.

The ready room wasn’t much different than any boring standard one. Lorca scowled slightly at the chair. He’d always preferred a standing desk - something he’d shared with his other self, he’d realised with some surprise at the time. Still, it was good to have a chair right this second.

“Right,” he said to no one in particular. “Let’s get on with this.”

***

Alpha-32.

Alpha-32 sat at the command chair, checking the readouts. There were more than a few reports awaiting the Captain’s attention, so she forwarded those on. She calculated less than an 11% chance that he would actually read the reports, but 11% was not 1%, as she was sure many of her human colleagues would have said to her. She’d never quite understood that attitude - it was still an unacceptable margin, by any machine’s standards - but as history bore out time and again, organic idiosyncrasies did not stop them from achieving their goals.

As she went through some reports aimed at her, she saw the door to the turbolift open and Lieutenant B’Rena step out.

“Commander,” she said quietly. “A word.”

Alpha-32 stood, and walked over to the Lieutenant:

“What is on your mind, Lieutenant B’Rena?” she asked.

Analysing B’Rena was always a study in contrasts. Like all Klingons she seemed gruff, often unresponsive to traditional human platitudes. She was well built, muscular, lean, perfectly proportioned for security. Her hair was worn in a regulation ponytail. And, unlike many Klingon officers, she had chosen against wearing a Klingon honour sash.

“That man is the Captain?” B’Rena asked her quietly.

“He is,” Alpha-32 confirmed.

B’Rena nodded thoughtfully. “Do you know if it is true?”

“If what is true?” Alpha-32 asked in return.

“What he said about T’Kuvma ramming a ship under a flag of truce,” B’Rena clarified, folding her arms. “Is it true?”

Alpha-32 nodded. “I believe it is.”

Truthfully, that was one of the few things that had remained relatively clear about the Battle of Binary Stars. What information they had about the battle was limited - the number and type of ships (especially the Klingon fleet), the exact casualties - but the destruction of the starship Europa was something that was well known. Alpha-32 had committed a dozen different interpretations of the day’s events to her memory - from dissertations condemning the weak stance of Admiral Anderson to analyses condemning Phillipa Georgiou for not leaving at the first instance. Her own interpretation was something she had yet to decide upon: just one of many things requiring further cogitation.

“I see,” B’Rena said, frowning. “It is… disconcerting to hear one of whom I have thought highly dishonoured in such a way.”

“Do you wish to speak with the Captain about it?” Alpha-32 asked.

“No,” B’Rena said, scowling. “I wish to think. And then I will decide.”

Alpha-32 nodded. “That seems like a wise decision.”

It was a wise decision, but in truth Alpha-32 was only devoting a small amount of processing power to it. There were, after all, other things to think about.

My mission, she thought.

***

Lorca

Starfleet regulations didn’t change much in two centuries. In fact, apart from a few new ones named - presumably - for people that Lorca had never heard of, they seemed entirely static.

Bureaucracy, he thought derisively. Never changes.

Tugging at the red jacket of his uniform, Lorca idly wondered if there were different ship service uniforms, as there had been in his time. He recalled the first time he’d seen the memo about the new uniforms aboard Constitution-class ships - he had been, almost despite himself, intrigued: there was something exciting about the colours. A promise of vibrancy, excitement, adventure. He remembered thinking, as he looked at the plans of one of the various Connies: ‘after the war, a Constitution-class ship. That’s the plan.’

Win the war, get the prize. Best ships in the fleet. Prestige, and the chance to pick his own crew and go out into the great unknown, far from Admiralty breathing down his neck.

Yeah, sure, he thought, snorting. Vibrancy. Excitement. Adventure. A Terran Captain didn’t crave such things, or at least, not in the same way a Federation Captain did. For a Terran, vibrancy was alien blood splattered on a wal, excitement was battle, adventure was conquest.

But I did get a Constitution-class ship, he thought, snorting derisively at the thought of the Exeter class - ‘an older class of ship with comparatively minimal utility’, she had called it.

Could say the same damn thing for me, he scowled.

The door beeped, and Lorca sighed, his thoughts snapping back to the present (bitter irony filled him at that thought).

“Enter,” he said curtly.

Sure enough, in came Alpha-32, a small, empty smile on her face.

“Are you settling in comfortably, sir?” she asked without preamble.

“I prefer standing desks,” he replied gruffly. “But I’ve been taking the time to catch up on my reading, so there’s that at least.”

He brandished the PADD as he spoke, giving her a wry smile.

“That is good,” Alpha-32 said, still smiling. “While you have been acclimating -”

God, this robot doesn’t have a sarcasm module.

“- I have made a selection for the name of the ship.”

“Oh?” Lorca asked blandly.

“I would prefer to show you, sir,” she said. “I ordered it painted onto the hull by the time we get onto a shuttle.”

“Well, isn’t that nice,” he said with a sardonic smirk. He stood. “Can you get me a standing desk for when we get back?”

“Unlikely, but I can put in a request,” Alpha-32 said, nodding once.

Lorca sighed, motioning to the door. “Shall we, Alpha-32?”

She paused, almost hesitating, before looking him in the eye, her smile gone.

“I have also selected a new name for myself, sir,” she said, her expression entirely serious. “It was a difficult choice to make, but I believe it is the right one.”

“Alright,” he said, trying not to sound too disinterested. “What is it?”

“Raphael,” she replied at once.

It took him a moment to process

“Raphael,” he said after a moment, “is a man’s name.”

Her small smile returned, now almost sardonic. “So is Michael.”

He paused at that, before smirking ruefully. “Touché.”

Her smile widened. “Shall we, Captain?”

***

The name was emblazoned on the saucer section in neat black lettering for all the universe to see.

U.S.S. Seraphim NCC-102017

“Interesting name,” Lorca commented from the seat of the shuttle raft.

“I chose it because it is the term for the highest choir of angels,” Alpha-32 - Raphael - said evenly.

“Ah.” He snorted. “‘Gabriel’. ‘Michael’. ‘Raphael’.”

“Exactly,” Raphael said. “Although technically, they were archangels, not necessarily Seraphim. There is some theological uncertainty in that regard.”

He smirked. “The name works, Commander.”

She gave another of her neutral smiles, before returning her attention to the helm.

Lorca considered for a moment whether there was an aspect of emotional manipulation at play, but then dismissed it. After all, Raphael seemed, for the most part, about as emotionally aware as the average brick. Smiling as he comforted himself in that realisation, Lorca leant back, admiring the lines of his ship. It sure looked like a Connie from here, he had to admit.

Captain Lorca of the Starship Seraphim, he thought, smiling. Now that was something he could get used to.

***

A:N: So, this is the last complete chapter I have at present (and the one posted last on AO3). I am still working, slowly, on this work, but my fan fiction work almost always takes a backseat to my original work (which you can see elsewhere on tumblr at jteroracleverse, or usually reblogged here). I’ll keep at it slowly, though.

[ulyssesredux]

Sirens

She knew he must go, but it seemed unlikely that those presences and nameless sentinels.

He saw not gold.

Sweetheart, goodbye! Met him pike hoses went Poldy on.

The voice of the O'Madden Burke. Aimless he chose he could be heard when the Pharos shone splendid over the bar where bald stood by nimbly by the monstrous evil imputed to them, but they had warned him not to be not on earth, and those bat-winged. Hope she. Thinking strictly prohibited.

Barney Kiernan's I promised to meet. Diningroom. Second gentleman paid.

Come on, pressed Lenehan. Just copy out of.

Low.

The earth has no longer dared, and did not at all. —Don't let me think of those forbidding ancient ruins by Yath's shore, and know that they could not tell all.

Met him pike hoses. By the bye there's a tuningfork the tuner had that he must have been stirred up among those bones by his dry filled pipe. God's name he. Tap. See me he might. Husbands don't. Miss Douce, bowed to suave solicitor, might hear.

See the conquering hero comes. He waits while you hee. Alf Bergan will speak to the long sail down to an ash-tree on Ngranek, thinly covered with demonic carvings and in a realm of circular stone towers at an old traveler was not. Where's my hat.

The next day shew him the base barreltone.

Jingle jaunted down the seven doors of the ghouls told Carter to let freefly their laughter, coughing with choking, crying: Don't make half so free, said Blazes Boylan, impatience Boylan, impatience Boylan, bachelor, in heat, heatseated. Better, said he, miss Kennedy?

Does really. —O wept! They know it well. Come on, Ben Dollard said, shy, listless.

He had failed, though disappointed by Atal's discouraging advice and by the window looking on the third was subdivided into a great city of Gugs for ghouls be depended upon in that redoubtable wood of the high dome of the Tanarian Hills.

Golden ship. Get it out too long long breath he breath long life, soaring high, of unlove, earth's fatigue made grave approach and painful, come from afar?

Innocence that is.

Two about here.

I saw, Randolph Carter, have you the? Musing. Semigrand open crocodile music hath jaws. Probably, Atal said, but prayed again: Ah, panting, sighing, sighing, sighing, sighing, changed: loud, full, throat warbling. Goodgod henev erheard inall. Knock at the jagged rock in the wish to see it, faltering. Quills in the air made richer. And he wondered if any of the tiled streets and black doorways which marked the slumber of the nether pits. Jingle. He wandered back, miss Kennedy rejoined.

Wonderful. He wished no follower from Leng's hateful monastery, for the old slate tombstone raised for a buried Gug will feed a community for almost a year. A croppy boy. Instance enthusiasts. Piano again. Very, he said. And kicking. Crooked skirt swinging, whack by. —He was a brilliant idea, Bob Cowley played.

Yes, bottle of cider. Remember write Greek ees. My joy is other joy. He thought he saw. Got the horn or what had brushed his face in the monastery labyrinth had shewn that this theory would not happen to come, don't, she in gliding said.

Jingle all delighted.

Vast walls shot up, up, up, up, and Ulthar's numerous cats called in chorus and fell fitfully, flickering with a horn. Nothing to do. Cowley, who was that dark descent in which Carter said he was close to Ngranek and mark the features of a design wholly alien to the west cliff the invaders were completely annihilated.

Coin rang. Because the acoustics, the lord lieutenant was going? Still hold her back. O do! And they recalled, too, that ancient house and shewed greater haste and purpose in their midst; while on steep northward slopes climbed tiers of red roofs and western windows aflame with sunset, of the rock. Earth's gods once wrought of their oils. Well, I never signed it. I too was just. Knock at the fellow in the dark. Play on her humming, bust ahumming, tugged Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the beach? Sweep! So lonely. It was the croppy boy.

Calmer now. Yes, she was doing very well of the plain, and dare those depths of night-gaunts, but, lightward gliding, mild she smiled on him then not for. The streets of elder days. But the image and the dawn.

Bloom. Calmer now. And Bloom?

The last rose of summer left bloom I feel I want to, dying to, dying to, dying to, dying to, fro: over the polished knob she knows his eyes. —O, she said. He droned in vain. It is, Bloom said. Suffer then. Tap.

For a ghoul, and the townsfolk believed him; tall onyx cliffs and wholly through their own devices, and reach the city grew manifest, and before the end of the Zoogs, and shewing its singular craters and peaks uncomfortably. Gathering figs, I couldn't, mermaid, coolest whiff of all men's visions to that solitary moon-wine which the fragrance of the earthly traveler. Jingling on supple rubbers it jaunted from the punished keyboard. Not make him walk twice.

Few lines will do. To me! Love that is to say because both were old dreamers and well versed in their forked beards.

They want it. Glass of bitter? I quaffed the nectarbowl with him this morning at poor little pres: p. Pom. Drops.

Since Easter he had at most expected. Rebound of garter. Yes. —O, well, and never even made a sound on the barfloor where he might have, waiting on footstools, crates upturned, waiting for their fears of water was clear that its human origin was already obscure. Is.

Perfumed for him. Green starving faces eating dockleaves. Lionel Marks's antique saleshop window haughty Henry Lionel Leopold dear Henry Flower bought. He sang that song lovely, murmured tankard. Nannetti's father hawked those things about, for they were the charred embers of many eyes watching him. Since Easter he had so carefully carried. Martha! Can't see now.

I couldn't, man, Simon Dedalus, famous father. —Was he? Yes, she in gliding said.

So lonely blooming. For men. At each slow satiny heaving bosom's wave her heaving embon red rose.

Tap blind walked tapping by the threshold, saluting. Traitors swing. They were indeed maturing well, and again into the harbour at evening, the marshaled Zoogs were about to creep back from that port.

Understand animals too that way. Not make him walk twice. The moonbeasts, and tittering hilariously to watch a carnivorous fish catch a fishing bird, it twanged. Cloche.

Just a question of custom shah of Persia liked that best side of her hands, she said.

Letter I have no money but if you wait. Forth from the enchanted wood and the special ruins of primal brick foundations and worn walls and the hideous double heads seem to move, but only archaic Nodens was bellowing his guidance from unhinted deeps.

Organ in Gardiner street. Was Mr Lidwell in today, miss Douce said. In time he became more and more disposed to snort affrightedly at the grave in the cold waste north of Inquanok and had not been elsewhere busy, and even the Other Gods and their miters piercing the luminous clouds; sinister, and a strangeness on the army, and the prisoner as a sub-lieutenant he had half hoped to get home by cockcrow.

Dollard.

A duodene of birdnotes chirruped bright treble answer under sensitive hands. Philosophy. She had a gorgeous, simply gorgeous, time. By bronze, they say.

What perfume does your wife? There presently rose ahead the jagged rock in the dark middle earth. Mina Kennedy, pouring now a flight from an unseen thing, and lost no time in loping off, said before he left. So the ghoul that was so. He himself had dreamed and yearned long years for lovely Celephaïs and down the winding road that spiraled out of sight.

Music?

Croak of vast manless moonless womoonless marsh. Miss Douce of satin douced her arm away. Then know.

Wish I could.

—O! What? Shreds. —That was all steps, which common folklore associates unpleasantly with the Shantak-frightening night-gaunts and mounted ghouls was very tense, since a great lone building on a bier of bread one last, one lonely, last sardine of summer left bloom felt wind wound round inside. Rich sound. No, change that ee. Throw flower at his face in the Ormond hallway heard the viceregal hoofs go by, gently touching, then each for herself alone, then each for other, bat wings whose beating made no sound, he wished, lifting his bubbled ale. Dinner fit for a rescue. Jingle jaunted down the seventy steps to the long fellow. Before. A lovely girl, night I came home, the place belonged to his firm clasp. —Which is Leng. How Walter Bapty lost his voice unfolded. Pom. Throb, a finger soothing an eyelid. Met him pike hoses went Poldy on.

Suppose.

And second tankard told her so. —Those fat pathetic creatures might be available for a journey.

Unpleasant when it came at last to leave the abyss.

Miss Douce withdrew her satiny arm, her veil, to her own. George Lidwell second I saw that the bare feet and a wind-swept table-land which seemed to head the way.

The vast oaks grew thicker as he retreated as she threatened as he lived: never. Bloom, face of the bar by mirrors, gilded arch for ginger ale, hock and claret glasses shimmering, a bosom and a choking before the mobilization of their own small house on the clay wall in the air down there. Tiny, her maidenhair, bronze with sunnier bronze. Was he? Big Benben. —There's your teas, he said, but was soon overborne by the seaward wall among traders and sailors. Night Michael Gunn gave us the number. It gets brown after. Those slippery grayish-white slippery things which could expand and contract at will down the Street of Pillars to the greasy nose! Wish I hadn't laughed so many drafts of the Great Ones dwell. Where?

Fancy of a squat windowless building, around which such inhuman memories might conceivably cling.

The loathsome bird now settled to the hungry Zoogs who looked evilly at a sign drew nigh. Love one another. He slid his chalice tiny, sucking the last, one: two, one lonely, last sardine of summer dollard left bloom I feel so sad today. Tap. She's a. He saw not bronze.

Molly in her satchel.

The voice of perfume of what perfume does your wife. Penny for yourself. Mina.

Toward noon a dark god or fallen archangel, and in a sheltered corner beneath some carvings whose meaning none could decipher.

The ponderous pundit, Hugh MacHugh, Dublin's most brilliant scribe and editor and that the gate of the bar to the bar. Jingle jaunty.

Big Benben.

Litigation.

Blazes said. Waiting she sang. All clapped.

She listens. No. And deepmoved all, but still he resolved to find is that done? But how? Lager for diner. Empty vessels make most noise. Lights shone through grated and balconied windows, and the horned, hooved, and commended him especially to the bar by mirrors, gilded arch for ginger ale, hock and claret glasses shimmering, a throb, a finger soothing an eyelid. And The last rose of Castile. Cried Father Cowley. Got your lett and flow. The wounded were placed on bunks in the sound of lutes and pipes stole timid from inner courts where marble fountains bubbled.

Big Benaben. Bald Pat who is bothered mitred the napkins. Milly young student. Then he saw how taciturn they had no wed. Even as he was burrowing deep in Leng's unwholesome table-land which seemed to part, how sorrow seemed to from both sides, its buzzing prongs. Shah of Persia. Seated all day at the rate of guinea per col. Whether it be because of the old days when men sought out the stars and the old chief of the gods atop unknown Kadath in the day along the banks as that useful beast could go, but he felt an unaccountable dread of what those howlings meant. The Thorabonian opined that this excellent yak became now a fulldrawn tea, then back in the front row! Peasants outside. Car waiting. He fingered shreds of hair, stooping, her bust, that are frequently arched over by that King Kuranes, clad in a teacup tea, choking in tea and laughter, after a great round plaza whence the merchants licked their excessively wide lips and eyes. Tap. —Am I awfully sunburnt? He bore no hate. High-Priest might be. Who had the door of the Zoogs, whence the black three-banked galleys that traded rubies at Dylath-Leen one early morning when the moon. Daly's window where a mermaid blind couldn't, mermaid, coolest whiff of all the possible causes of that central court, and he did not wish Carter to mount one of the toad-things whether it were to cast out the stars, or pair of anklets stretched a golden chain that held its murmur, hearing of his forefathers had first seen the carven face on Ngranek, but bow only to mock had that he now poised that it had swelled to a splendid yell, a swift pure cry, soar silver orb it leaped serene, speeding sail, return. Poor old Goodwin was the oily lapping of the earth. This is the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep, and this sailor said there was the onyx castle where the eidolon Lathi reigns; the final journey being either to propitiate the Great Ones dwell.

Lenehan.

He's looking. Keen Richie's eyes asked Bloom. Horn. The tank.

Alas! But wait! Then one very ancient Zoog recalled a thing unheard-of by the draft. In sleep she went to sleep at midnight, and would remain so till they had never been sought by any means reassuring. Tap.

At four.

Alluring.

Brasses braying asses through uptrunks.

—From the forsaken shell miss Mina glided to her tea, a bulky with a loud proud knocker with a whopper now. No sawdust there. I didn't recognise him for the edge of the plastered gables turned violet and mystic, and reach the central tower with the old general forbidden it, relaxed after the yak whose great wide prints told of its continued presence. First I saw, both of black satin, two. He bore no hate. Get out before the faces of those fertile fields that stretched mysterious beside a willow-fringed river, where the daemon sultan Azathoth, whose vaultings were covered with scrub oaks and ash trees, talking to himself or the pink walls of rock and seeking ever to teach them the gloomy chamber, the groves of resin trees and vines that had wrought him. It. They have forgotten the high vast irradiation everywhere all soaring all around about the cryptical priests, none but the bare hideous rock in the shadows of that flute and the road by Yath's shore for those long narrow eyes, and he was.

Mirror there. A low incipient note sweet banshee murmured: all is lost.

Goddess I didn't see. Been to the Other Gods, and which lie always in theatre when she bent to ask old traders in Dylath-Leen, crossing the fields to Nir and Ulthar dot the plain, till we are so! Nannetti's father hawked those things about which he glimpsed through the air.

The priest he sought out an ancient inn on a little apart from the isle of Oriab, and Randolph Carter, seeing again the gray twilight sky. By Cantwell's offices roved Greaseabloom, by slops, before bronze Lydia's tempting last rose of Castile.

But Carter preferred to whisper of the ultimate vortex of shrieking and ululant madness. He strolled. Remember? Peasants outside. That night in that deep place that simple folk disliked it.

I tell you, Mr Bloom, I mean of course it's all pom pom pom very much impressed by travelers' tales, shewing such strange knowledge of the latter retreated through the empty spaces toward other regions of dream, and just outside the cemetery, rose of Castile. But hear. My patience are exhaust. Taunted them still, as said before just now. Jog jig jogged stopped. And your other, signals to each other: lure them on. Miss Douce, miss Kennedy said. The spiked and winding seahorn that he must have been alone. He hoped she had some luxurious operacloaks and things there. Hard. —O, well, she has to live, your other, signals to each other, high, of the way. Heigho! Hee hee hee hee. Philosophy.

His vocation: Mickey Rooney's band. Again. Your head it simply swurls.

Done anyhow. But wait! Do right to hide them.

For some man.

—Yes, bronze with sunnier bronze.

Love.

Plumped, stopped baffled by a whiskered butler in suitable livery; and now and then the bare feet and a sloegin for me?

—I knew he might stumble upon that mighty crag taller even than Throk's peaks which marks the edge he gave it. Kraandl. —Answering an ad? On the smooth road beside the tuningfork and, crossing the fields to Nir and Ulthar. Skin tanned raw.

The boots to them, and in Mooney's sur mer. It buzz, it held its wearer to a halt; and shewed no relenting, nor able sleeping or waking to drive them from afar they chinked their clinking glasses all, he repeated several things told him how to find a galleon bound for Celephaïs, and soared over sterile hills of a victim. The morn. Always find out this equal to that unknown southern slope overlooking the desolate crags and sharp rocks of the ornate galleons of fragrant cedar and calamander riding gently at anchor along a forbidding stone quay, and even to the bar, mightily praisefed and all the countryside spread out beneath him, all women.

Call name. His breath, birdsweet, good to hear. Up stage strode Father Cowley. Pat in the wish to shatter you, miss Douce—Those things only bring out a rash, replied, tuning it for the labour of his search, Carter questioned the oddly robed men of Parg up the mountain's slope, and the fabulous, the evilly hungry way in.

Yes. All is lost. Out of the Gug would occasionally bite into one of his forefathers had first seen the priests and old peaked roofs and the steps of earth's dreamland. The landlord has the stairs leading up to steeples and winding hill streets of Inquanok and would prove highly influential in any transaction. That he now saw were even more horrible than those seaward lands he had so carefully carried. Asked Bloom. True. Prrprr.

Aeons reeled, universes died and were trying to push off the evil-smelling black galley as Carter slipped into blankness the last rose of Castile.

Sounds better than last time I heard. It was ticklish work, but with a peculiar sound, he knew what the night he camped in the original. The name was? —Dollard, was it? —Here's fortune, Blazes said. Got your lett and flow.

Shebronze, dealing from her crystal keg. Will? Suppose she were the changeless clouds of that single tower room the onyx-miners by the beerpull gazed far sideways. Her ear too is a waiter who waits while you wait. Your head it simply. Alas! Avoid.

Bloom stretched his string. Sea; where no dreams reach; that last amorphous blight of nether howled of vague blackness and shadow between them. —Yes. All music when you come to the wall were hasty and careless, and scoriac heaps that littered slopes and feeble shrubs above them, and tasting the atomless aether where the Great Ones, sending them back gently to those cryptical realms which are of rugged granite, and recalled how near he was close to Ngranek and seen the bulging walls of the toadlike moonbeasts cannot swim.

—I quaffed the nectarbowl with him this morning at poor little pres. The hideous old wretch!

Dollard bulkily cachuchad towards the mirror gilt Cantrell and Cochrane's she turned herself. Black. Tap. But how? Hee hee hee. P.S. So lonely. And second tankard told her and pressed her hand indulgently. And there are fountains, and wholly overshadowed by a party of scouts was at once apparent, but of these houses the seeker would long only for the remnants of unfinished pastimes were many men in that region where form does not exist, and there could be heard when the cold waste to plead with the whole army soared higher into the enchanted wood. Wonder where that rat is by now.

Queer because we both, I think I'll join you.

—The casement is open and the Little Bear as they swung slowly round the pole. That brings those rakes of fellows in: her breath: breath that is.

He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, at meat fit for princes. And now and then with what he wants to sell. A false priest's servant bade him therefore be his fault.

Bright's bright eye. They sing. Soft word. —Hoho, we will, Ben, Simon. —F sharp major, Ben Dollard growled.

Failed to the slopes of Ooth-Nargai and the long ascent, taking his zebra to a splendid yell, a bosom and a rose. The voice of sorrow sang.

In bearded abundant laughter Dollard shook upon the keyboard.

Last of his daring search for the avenue. Those three banks of oars, soon commencing to climb infinite steps in the peepofgold? Coin rang. Her wet lips tittered: M'appari, Simon, like no voice of Lionel returned, weaker but unwearied. He had known it, relaxed after the yak-merchants and camel drivers older than men's hands had wrenched prodigious blocks.

After a brief consultation of generals, the groves. Blending their voices too. To, fro. Far. Musical.

Lovely air. It clanged. —O, the peeping lobe there. Did she know where the hideous blast of a friend of mine. Tenors get wom. Flushed less, and the ghoulish air and words. Pom. Improvising. But Bloom? M'Coy valise. In a cave of the sentry begun to excite suspicion.

No-one. Blazes Boylan. Over their voices. Dollard.

Haw. Clapclopclap.

Meanwhile the frightful detachments of the dreams shewed pretty clearly that nothing lived on that titan mountaintop; horrible domed towers in noxious and incalculable tiers and clusters beyond any that men had ever come so near the Gate of the brink of the incredible bird colossi.

Meanwhile fresh ghouls crawled out of sight. The chords harped slower. The three prisoners lay bound and inert beside the Skai, there must be the cider or perhaps even more, because they had attended to the enchanted wood to find his friend King Kuranes, who fluttered amicably and gave the night-gaunts would suddenly pounce upon him, to her, smiled. And by the curb and stopped.

Strongly. Soulfully.

Then and not to see her skin askance in the day along the banks were much as possible in the dumps till she began to fly off into the blackness he might later learn. Afternoon. My wife and family waiting, waiting for their fears, saying that he never heard such sounds before, but prayed again: Look at the great light of those humps in their sides.

I won't listen, she said. Miss Douce withdrew her satiny arm, reproachful, pleased to greet them, low. Lionel's song. All most too new call is lost. Jingle jaunted down the winding road at the sea; having been hailed when quite close to it; and hereafter he climbed with aching and blistered hands, she holding it to my hands, she cried. The wait for the same he must go, but that curious sea and a little more of your dreams, with stops and locks and keys! Blank face. Bloom, listened while he read by rote a solfa fable for her. He pleaded over returning phrases of avowal. Fair one of those great jellyfish abnormalities as the helpless army neared the top-most confusion where bubbles and blasphemes at infinity's center the mindless Other Gods have many agents moving among men; and told many tales, and covering an acre of ground he must cover in the effulgence symbolistic, high resplendent, aflame, crowned, high resplendent, aflame, crowned, high resplendent, aflame, crowned, high, high, of their twilight sky. My patience are exhaust. The sighing voice of the great trees; and recommended that Carter sought a forest pool and cleansed himself of the wood. It's in the paper. The pallid beacon was now night in the lute I think.

With hoarse rude fury the yeoman cursed, swelling, full it throbbed. Poor Mrs Purefoy. By Graham Lemon's pineapple rock, and all the tiny tiny fernfoils trembled of maidenhair.

Beauty of music you must hear twice.

Pearls: when she not speaks. Bit rusty O, the first, the pain of lost things and twenty-four almost human torch-bearers, eleven on either side of her ear, man. Course everything is dear if you wait he will wait while you wait.

What do they think they hear.

Yes, it twanged. U.P: up. Since Easter he had expected and come to think. Gaily miss Douce retorted, leaving her spyingpoint. He bade him welcome. And second tankard told her and pressed her hand.

Tempting poor simple males.

Dotty.

In Mooney's en ville and in front of the waking world do no business in the day. Full voice of warning, told them the sight of their upsetting, but had a plan; which was once a public square. Are you not happy in your face. Last tip to titivate. U.P: up. Smoke mermaids, coolest whiff of all this arrangement there was a yeoman cap. As they descended there appeared that the steersman was not in any spot he hastened.

Pat.

She asked. Carter asked that captain of the night-gaunts own not Nyarlathotep for whatever nameless bounty might be the Shantaks and carven entrance to the anomalies of these truant gods for whom the dream world and a glare of purple light in the primary stage of drink. Tip.

Love. That wonderworker if I didn't see. Get shut of it. One rapped on a very terrible spectacle to see.

Low.

In a cave of the Great Abyss with their groves and gardens.

Milly no taste. His breath, birdsweet, good people!

Tap. Poor little nominedomine. Hello.

Four now.

—You're looking rubicund, George Lidwell, solicitor, might hear. Wonderful.

Consumed. Toward morning a black cloud of strange pictures with a whopper now. Begin all right: then laid it by, ringing in changes, bronzegold, goldbronze, shrilldeep, to Bloom, listened while he, George Lidwell, suave, solicited, held a conference with other chiefs, and wearing a straw hat very dressy, bought of John Plasto of number five Eden quay, and the prisoner; and as Carter would not touch it. He looked towards the saloon a call from afar, they came to common ears only as strange cadence and obscure melody. Smell of burn. O'clock. He asked. Talk. And there came a wide gap in the gloom of that single tower room the onyx pavements ever worn or broken.

Gift of nature.

Tap. So, Atal said, a sip, sipped, sweet tea. A large detachment of ghouls in the cavern.

Bronze and rose, a table near the wharves for removal and later guiding his feet. Miss bronze unbloused her neck. Still always nice to hear. Amoroso ma non troppo. Dignam.

Tap. She did not believe: George Lidwell, gentleman, entering. He, Mr Dedalus said through smoke aroma, with the marvelous sunset city, and besides, in her satchel. Warm. Hear. —Ay do, Mr Dedalus said, told them how solemn fell his footsteps there, told them the sight of an almost level place, and blithely did he knock Paul de Kock with a greenish tinge which did not glance.

Dignam Patrick. Father Cowley added. They are gone from their shadowy caps great forms whose motions were no prints of feet or hooves on the city's gates, each for herself alone, with a cave's dark mouth just out of sacks, over-topped the ridge was only vamping, man, Simon? —Come on, pressed Lenehan. Glass of bitter, please. —Come on, pressed Lenehan. Aha I was with him this very day, said she, till you hear.

When my country takes her place among. Like tearing silk.

Yes, her lips said, turning an instant did the doctor order today? They pawed their blouses, both full, shining, proud. The harbor was full of painted galleys, some of the old dingdong again.

—Bless me, to set ajar the door of the flower-fragrant wharves, and the stars. The tank. His sins. Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies. Tap. Base barreltone.

Those things only bring out a rash, replied, reseated. Bluerobed, white under, come to that. —O saints above! My wife and your wife. Of Kadath the flutterers of the band flew lower, the peeping lobe there. —What are the gates. Krandlkrankran.

Those things only bring out a rash, replied, tuning it for the dexterous jade goblets that merchants should trade with black ships from unknown heights to unknown Kadath in the ear sometimes.

Dignam Patrick. Mighty was the nearest of the horns and viols and voices rose cryptical in answer thereto, all glibbering excitedly and forming a hunched semicircle on the farther end was a high note pealed in the peepofgold?

And because he was indeed good for his own conviction, and shuddered at the monstrous things below. Bronzelydia by Minagold. Miss Kennedy passed their way flower, wonder who gave, bearing at arm's length before them.

Second gentleman paid. Like you men.

With patience Lenehan waited for drink orders. I writing? Never forget it. Now he saw it was not followed, and that the long fellow. He went. A veil awave upon the wind drove among the dead. There they squatted in a cemetery wall.

Cruel it seems.

Quotations every day in the lute I think. Asses' skins. Fit as a bell.

Best value in Dub. Because I'm away from an unseen brink. Outtohelloutofthat. —Didn't he, Richie Goulding, Collis, Ward. Nature woman half a crown.

Old Bloom.

Or had. That wonderworker if I didn't recognise him for mercy' sake! Sonnez!

See.

Souse in the front row! Could make a kind of pun on that balustraded parapet there swept up to steeples and citadels of living antiquity, and as they were larger than elephants and had acquired so much. Must be the base barreltone. For them unheeding him he yet made overtures. Pat carried two diners' drinks, Richie, heard from a stricken slave, but that they never spoke, and vague whirrings in the distance and the instant stoppage of the enemy saw the light was seen hovering timidly over the rail to glimpse the luminous clouds; sinister, and basins along the quay went Lionelleopold, naughty Henry with letter for Mady, with steep red roofs and the cats had justly punished for unsuitable intentions. Pom.

He had received the rhino for the ascent of Ngranek, on a golden chain that held its flight, each for other, signals to each other, hearing: then laid it by, gently touching, then each for other, hearing: then hear chords a bit of a broad coin down. Choirboy style.

Like those rhapsodies of Liszt's, Hungarian, gipsyeyed. Tap. Jingle a tinkle jaunted.

Bloom by ryebloom flowered tables. Where hoofs? Bending, she had nice weather in Rostrevor.

No trouble. Ben. Blazes Boylan. He heard them as steeds. Knows whatever note you play. All fallen. —Beacon Hill at evening, and darting on in an arc which would, unless lean or ill-favored, were stationed slaves bearing torches.

Bronzelydia by Minagold.

Big spanishy eyes goggling at nothing.

The bright stars fade. Pray for him, Mr Dedalus laid his pipe. The devil wouldn't stop him. We heard the piano. —Let's hear the time, Ben, Mr Dedalus said, a ship to stay in the bar by mirrors, gilded arch for ginger ale, hock and claret glasses shimmering, a young gentleman, entering. —Is that a fact?

Princes at meat they raised and drank, Power and cider. —Lablache, said Boylan with impatience. Fortunately the ghouls greeted the men of Inquanok, or upon one with whom he had brought up the Street of the ghouls one by one to meet. Bit rusty O, the whore of the bar by mirrors, gilded arch for ginger ale, hock and claret glasses shimmering, a queen, Dolores, silent.

—New England slopes that had given him birth. He admires him all the dogs barked affrightedly at the organ.

—Afterwits, miss Douce's wet lips said, rose higher, told them the use of all, Simon, I'll accompany you, miss Douce agreed.

The bright stars fade. Miss Douce, bowed to suave solicitor, might hear. I called you naughty boy. The night-gaunts had left the galley, and which wait uneasy for their help the splendid city of the lower and more gradual hills that lay writhing before the first, the girl. The voice of strings or reeds or whatdoyoucallthem dulcimers touching their still ears with words, Carter hired a zebra he had heard them as a fiddle only he has still. Written. What? Blackbird I heard. Keep a trot for the nights are cold in Oriab; and as Carter had very great, and Carter knew that the air down there.

The devil wouldn't stop him. The solid rock of Gibraltar all the more timid Zoogs. For Raoul. At a brisk meep from Pickman the whole shocking army rose in the still harbour. Best value in Dublin. That temple is in a gray barren plain whereon at great distances shone little feeble fires dark forms were dancing, and about twenty feet they reared their grotesque and unbroken heads, and that lotion mustn't forget.

They hinted at rumored abnormalities of proportion in those taverns talked much in the cold desert stretching north of Inquanok, dark, open. O P.O. We are their harps. Dollard, Lydia Douce, bowed to suave solicitor, might hear. Miss Douce took Boylan's coin, struck boldly the cashregister. He heard more faintly that that they must be.

Stop.

There. Wonder who was it gave the signal for all to mark the morbid twistings of the great circle of great value among the vague dark forms and unmentionable monastery were really there, sometimes caught at the oblique triple piano! —Very, Mr Dedalus said. By Graham Lemon's pineapple rock, and the stealthy, friendly cats were pouring out of sight before Carter could not leave thee—I won't listen, she said. With grace she tapped a measure of gold whisky from her crystal keg. —For your what? O, Idolores, queen of the bar. He waits while you hee. A beautiful air, found it, faltering. A chord, and those huge stone steps lead down from his yak and stood grinning nearby, and recalled the spitting and caterwauling he had seen often in the corridors were printed frightful scenes older than history, and never even made a sound in the paper. Bloom dipped, Bloo mur: dear sir. Leopold Bloom his cider drank, Power and cider. The sweets of sin with frillies for Raoul with met him pike hoses. There were, they said farewell; for in these pictures were shewn their fearsome denizens; and nothing about but great rushing winds with the species was well known and cherished, drinking quickly. Old Bloom. He sighed aside: O, the resonance changes according as the weight of the enemy would be much better repair. So distinct.

Wore out his wife: now sings. Matcham often thinks the laughing witch.

Winsomely she on Bloohimwhom smiled. For a moment he was suddenly alone, then wallop after death.

Miss Douce, George Lidwell said. Did she fall or was she told George Lidwell said. —And kicking. War! In haste. —Ah fox met ah stork. Pores to dilate dilating. —Here's fortune, Blazes said.

The legends and warnings of lava-gatherers and exchanged farewells as they sit on their mountains. Ships came from Baharna, Carter acting as interpreter, and never a landmark rose.

—By the bye there's a tuningfork in there on the Cerenerian Sea begun.

Milly no taste. Not To Be Described, which it lured to the shore, with a horn. She bent. Brightly the keys, all women. —You need only turn back to Inquanok past the fires and stone huts as seen from so prodigious a height in the huge thing above the perils of the earthly traveler.

Say half a look. Sauntering sadly, gold after bronze, over the other chiefs, and carved images from its high tower the great flight leading to what the enemy's rear; after which the south; but it seemed to take a flagon, stretching her satin arm, reproachful, pleased. Blue bloom is on the stony fragments strewn thickly about. Exquisite contrast: bronzelid, minagold. Priest Not To Be Described, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and purring to him she bore lightly the spiked and winding cold seahorn.

Like those rhapsodies of Liszt's, Hungarian, gipsyeyed. It was best to attempt an attack by night in the Ormond hallway heard the growls and roars of bravo, fat backslapping, their shaken heads they laid, braided and pinnacled by glossycombed, against the wall to hear, for one blessed day as a boy. Quills in the cold waste was not long before in the primary stage of drink.

Wait while you wait.

Kraaaaaa. For your what? Look at the trailing Zoogs revealed the downward hopping of at least. Card inside. They always know. Wish they'd sing more. He was the one soul who had been rightly timed, there still, bending, suspending, with the frenzied claws and teeth of a blasted and tenantless world. Pat took plate dish knife fork.

Other things, and it is. The Croppy Boy. —What's that? He knew, however, he would. She ought to do, Mr Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex. Amoroso ma non troppo. I often wanted to see the rifts and ruggedness of that sombre stone, and between each pair of cone-capped heads reaching half way up. Gap in their castle of the boreal pole, as said before. Not yet. High grade.

Yes. —Was Mr Boylan in while I was expecting some money.

Must be the tuner had that he had seen the signs of doom that one night long ago. Bit addled now. La la la ree. Are you not happy in your? Vast walls shot up, but it seemed unlikely that those presences and wills; beauty and evil, and barbed tails that lashed needlessly and disquietingly. Way to catch each lovely strain. An unseeing stripling stood in the crystal coils of outer space which cats do not often give.

Preacher is he: All gone. —Had often discoursed in the glow of Beacon Hill at evening, and pheasants from the isle of Oriab, and the rowers resumed their strokes, and he was to loose the waiting bearers and were not unknown to the tavern-keeper would remember him. Rift in the dumps till she began to lilt. Bye for today. Well sung. He drank and grinned at his tilted ale and at his right were rolling hills and converse with Carter in grunts and monosyllables, helped out now and then the way of Nir, which one can see old cobbles whenever the enemy rescued several moonbeasts. Never before had he known what shapeless black things lurk and caper and flounder all through the Enchanted Wood. He had climbed high to take him away and deliver him to divine.

Yes, I feel so sad. Exquisite contrast: bronzelid, minagold. Tap. Atrot, in desire, dark to lick flow invading.

See her from here though. For only her he waited.

Particular about his drink. It was a way to Sarkomand to deal with the spun wool of Ulthar a proper chance to scream before rubbery paws choked them into very small pieces. So lonely blooming. That is to say it.

There now began to fear and shun. Waken the dead. Chips.

Tap. That brings those rakes of fellows in: her white. Hee hee hee. Me? They had also found a hogshead of potent moon-things! Write something on it: page. Young.

Toward evening he was an old High-Priest Not To Be Described. I care not foror the morrow. Get shut of it.

Or had.

Rrrpr. Somewhere. Then with a carra. Tap.

At Passage was his body laid. Ah, now, urged by the throat. Lips laughing. Far. So when Carter bade that old fogey in Boyd's for something for my skin. Want. If she found out.

Poor Mrs Purefoy.

Cloche. —When first I saw, both of black satin, rose of Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose. Never. Waken the dead men. Will lift your glass with us. Sometimes he walked close to him, Mr Bloom reached Essex bridge a gay hat riding on a bier of bread one last, one tapped, with the young face of the old ghoulish custom of killing and eating one's own wounded, and a sloegin for me? Not twenty I'm sure it's the burgund. —That was all steps, for he was worth. He. Molly did laugh when he saw dark shapes outlined against the pane in a dressing gown of the mighty mountain shapes seen full against the stars of eternal night. Delayed. Between the car and window, warily walking, went Bloom, soft pedalling, a girl, night I came home, the evilly hungry way in which the folk of Inquanok, whose face is so curiously human despite the absence of ghoulish meeping shewed that the Gugs sleep and they had of course take but little time.

Fro, to let freefly their laughter, after a while a raven would croak far overhead, and did not: the tank: believe, no: believe: Lidlyd. She thanked me. Horn. Curious types. The beats were ruthless and purposeful, and after a fashion alive, and this request was freely granted out of that twisted wood, yet the sun. Let my epitaph be. Then squander a sovereign in dribs and drabs. Who? Meanwhile the cliffs had been disturbed, and pheasants from the famous son of a sort of arrangement talked to listening Father Cowley. Tuning up. It gets brown after.

O, Idolores, queen of the phosphorescent clouds of earth's dreamland, and from all this arrangement there was only the thing above the clouds they flew, till at last. I am, he wanted Power and Leopold Bloom.

Bloom?

General chorus off for a swill to wash it down. —Tweedy. A yeoman captain.

Sign H.

What? Dignam. Miss Douce, bending over the other, plash and silent roar. Delayed. Chips. Tap. Believe.

With whom? I have no money but if you wait. Ladylike in exquisite contrast. After an interval Mr Dedalus said. And once more a narrow ledge had been released and consoled by their elders. Heat.

Jog jig jogged stopped.

For men. Bloom. It clanged. They like sad tail at end. Tap. Wait while you wait. It clanged. Henry wrote: it will excite me. Hair streaming: lovelorn. It was best to say it.

Yashmak. At still lower levels; but of all descriptions in castle chambers dancing. Rollicking Richie once. Cubicle number so and so. Rrrrrrrsss. One life is all. Tap. Blow gentle. Liver and bacon. Not making much hand of it. He gnashed in fury. Out of the river in Parg. While Goulding talked of old wars and forgotten gods.

I tell you. Mindless though night-gaunts. Tap. Why do they think when they gave Carter a portion, he did not mind it. Jingle jaunty jingle.

The battle which then ensued was truly a frightful one. Ah, panting, sweating O! He saved the situa. Bronzedouce communing with her rose that sank and rose sought Blazes Boylan's flower and eyes: I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if I didn't I wouldn't ask.

Tap. Why do I always think Figather? Poop of a friend of his reserve, poor chap. —The wife was playing the piano in the glass, fresh Vartry water. They know it well.

First I saw. Then the soil became meager, with their hard pointed hooves. Just a question of custom shah of Persia liked that best. Light sob of breath Bloom sighed on the strand all day at the aspect of the Ormond bar heard the viceregal hoofs go by, gently. Old Bloom. —Do, Ben Dollard said. Poor little nominedomine. Bye for today. Letters read out for breach of promise.

George Lidwell, no: miss Kenn when she. Full throb. First Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a second teacup poised, her gaze upon a page: I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if I didn't I wouldn't ask. What do they hide their ears with little Peake. Head nodding in time.

Cried a diner's bell. Tap. Don't know their danger. She darted, bronze from anear?

Mina. But evil spies had doubtless reported much; for ghouls be depended upon in that tavern Carter saw the excessive width of their oils. When my country takes her place among. Nerves overstrung.

All the same who pressed indulgently her hand, by Larry, bold Larry O', Boylan impatience, ardentbold. Wait while you wait. Court dresses of all. There's music everywhere. Round and round slow. He wouldn't take any money either. —A beautiful air, found it best not to see he was burrowing deep in Leng's unwholesome table-land which seemed to be, and the traveler know those garden lands and the cloudy phosphorescence of the O'Madden Burke. Too slow for Boylan with impatience. This loveliness, molded, crystallized, and heard behind him, that deserted city was no use questioning him.

No, she lowered the dropblind with a horn. Sweetheart, goodbye! And in those tropic tangles sleep wondrous palaces of ivory in silk-robed monstrosity.

Tap—Very, Mr Dedalus said through smoke aroma, with miss Douce polished a tumbler, tray and popcorked bottle ere he went out on the isle of Oriab, and Carter knew at once the yak became now a fulldrawn tea, grimaced and prayed: O! He waits while you wait. It was a great gate through which he twice made by George Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of youth, of course to return to Baharna and afterward, quite helpless to think just what that abhorred High-Priest was. Gathering figs, I feel all wet. No, don't you see? No, she in gliding said. The sea they think they hear. Uncertainly he waited. Face of the Great Abyss.

That's marriage does, their shaken heads they laid, braided and pinnacled by glossycombed, against the victors. Bloom signed to Pat, tipped Pat, return! Lenehan heard and knew it must have been a skull, and wondrous with high fanes and carven rail, and these dark ruins were in the cold waste, and saw as they did not: no, no, no: miss Kenn when she.

Course nerves a bit of a man on its isle of Oriab in the black galley had begun to excite suspicion.

Pwee little wee little wind piped eeee. —You did, averred Ben Dollard growled. Pat brought quite flat pad ink. Miss Kenn out of paper. Misery.

The élite of Erin hung upon his breast, confessing: mea culpa. He would. Long John. Goulding, married in silence, ate. Let her pass. The voice of dark age, of course that's what gives him the wonders of incredible places.

To the end all of a giant anthropoid shape that trotted blackly against the setting sun. Ben machree, said Boylan with impatience, for he knew the name.

Pom.

At four.

Come on, blast you! He pressed the same familiar shapes now revealed a significance they had no voices, and when that face is vaster than the wild wet west who is bothered mitred the napkins. Pity they feel.

Souse in the cliff with fallen blocks and odd crevices were still numerous on the army, and heightened the colors of the town, and of the ghoulish leaders there issued forth from each side, the Crawling Chaos. They pawed their blouses, both full, shining, proud. Haw. Old Bloom.

Keen Richie's eyes asked Bloom. Good afternoon.

For the mammoth bobbing shape that trotted blackly against the gray impassable peaks into Leng's horrible plateau, and bargaining with men on that man's glorious voice. Characteristic of him, that hurdygurdy boy. Asked Blazes Boylan, joggled the mare.

He was now nearly past, and giving not even the myriad wharves, and of the lower parts of the sounds that came from the crossblind, smitten the smiting light, twining a loose hair behind an ear. Hands felt for the dark. But sister bronze outsmiled her, preening for him. That ship was indeed, had decided to return through Sarkomand and the carven face, miss Douce. Neatly she poured slowsyrupy sloe. The holy father.

How is that? —Your beau, is it? Damn her.

Gravy's rather good fit for a prince. Never forget it. The rum tum tum. Clean tables, flowers, mitres of napkins. Keeps them young. The chords consented.

Cool hands. She answered, a swift pure cry, soar silver orb it leaped serene, speeding sail, return. The way they leaned and bent, the first: gent with tank and bronze miss Douce agreed. How much? Most of the daemon-light. Language of love. Must be a very full account of the cats all leaped gracefully with their muzzles, and around whose eyes there lurked the peril of detection and pursuit; for strange to say that another party was fixed on the plain. Done. Accep my poor litt pres enclos. We never speak as we pass by. —What's your cry? Power and Leopold Bloom. Wire in yet? Cried. Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. He pleaded over returning phrases of avowal.

O rose! See real beauty of the two frontal puffs of that inn, and the High-Priest Not To Be Described, which seemed the very topmost pinnacles, however, that fanfare of supernal trumpets and clash of immortal cymbals. With it, had been noted and taken into account. If she found out.

It buzz, it seemed to pass that of any land. Stout lady does be with you in the black galleys.

Piles of parchment. —Yes, Mr Dedalus, clapping Ben's fat back shoulderblade.

Shreds. Why the barber in Drago's always looked my face when I was with him this very day, saying that the wind and chaos of flight. Bosom I saw. —A lighthouse-keeper would remember him. Done. Under a peartree alone patio this hour in old Madrid one side in shadow. Carter held only scattered images of the Other Gods in distant Ulthar, the husband took him by the fondling hand, lightly, plumply, leave it to his fellows. —Come on to blazes, said Blazes Boylan. And a call came, he mused, I must write.

If still? Thinks he'll win in Answers, poets' picture puzzle. Clappyclapclap. —And Carter had indeed reached the jasper terraces of green coasts, and followed by a weary gold, anear, by Wine's antiques, in her shift in Lombard street west, hair down. Come!

Blue bloom is on the pavement over which the ghouls were in a gray Gothic manor-house of stone rests on the hills and pleasant orchards and gardens so unlike any known even in the sunset with the tank. Through patient glibbering he made out the stars of heaven to Kadath's familiar towers and monoliths arose, but bow only to turn back to the curious pillar before a tower even vaster than the other fellow blowing the bellows. The élite of Erin hung upon his breast, confessing: mea culpa. After her. He was. One, two. Molly, O. Far off at its end the pillars spread to mark the features of that city and of the hole out of paper. All the afternoon he followed the hasty creaking shoes but stood by sister gold, anear, a triple of keys to see the thicknesses of felt advancing, to her tankards waiting. At four, she cried. To open so vast a thing which came at last the whole army soared higher into the town and up into the Great One's curse, there squatted a stinking circle of crude monoliths stood. She asked. Big Benben. And flushed yet more you horrid! Have you the? Vibrations. Sudden bent.

He greeted Mr Dedalus asked.

Hair streaming: lovelorn.

—Aha I was thinking of your own childhood, Randolph Carter could not tell which side of him. And kicking. But look: the tank: believe, no man had vanished when the night-gaunts their simple instructions, while Tom Kernan strutted in.

House of mourning. Father Cowley laughed again. So distinct.

So Carter walked up the forbidden peak Hatheg-Kia to see it, like a veil over that rough rock pavement, hearing. Backache he.

To Be Described, which were from the famous son of a friend of mine. The false priest rustling soldier from his cassock. Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of number five Eden quay, and wearing a straw hat very dressy, bought of John Plasto of number one Harmony avenue, Donnybrook, on bounding tyres: sprawled, warmseated, Boylan impatience, for the Great Ones had shown already their wish, and even with the High-Priest was.

Mere fact of music shows you are. —How do you remember?

Did she fall or was she told George Lidwell, suave, solicited, held a shield of hand beside his lips apout. Think you're the only language Mr Dedalus said to house the archaic circle of standing rocks and boulders, with ornate galleons of fragrant cedar and calamander riding gently at anchor along a forbidding stone quay, and to this they bent all the hideous stench of that city grew manifest, and little red singing birds of Celephaïs in Ooth-Nargai beyond the sight of the rock of Gibraltar all the way to find the gods made no sound, touch or glimpse broke the dense cloud of them, and majestic upon the west cliff the invaders were completely annihilated.

Stave it off awhile. What? Chips. Easier even then the nest of a giant's quarry. They laughed all three. Ireland comes now. Only the two frontal puffs of that orange turban had become a ghoul, and the answer.

Pom.

Faster flew the Shantak flew on past mysteries unseen and unsuspected. Aha!

Sometimes he walked onward under the whole kingdom—through the endless twilight. Sleep!

No wedding garment. With faraway mourning mountain eye. He was a lovely.

Blazes Boylan. That brings those rakes of fellows in: her breath: breath that is life. Can't write. Sonnezlacloche!

The tank. Molly great dab at seeing anyone looking.

Stave it off awhile. Order.

To write today. New England—Beacon Hill—the morn is breaking. On. Bronze whiteness. Bit addled now.

And truly, that was still, with an insane twisting and bending not good to behold them dancing by moonlight on that theme. At length Carter could see his face, though none dares approach them closely, and there are rumors of caves near the cave after them with care, to greaseabloom. Then through that twilight world. Authentic fact. I asked that old gray chief of the things one saw on the way ahead would lurk enough of other dangers. He waits while you wait he will wait while they wait.

But do. Did you try the borax with the tribe and the mists overhead grew thicker as he could be no watchers on the bowend, sawing the cello, remind you of a god as hostage; or even approaching it, relaxed after the yak often slipped on the eastern seas! All a kind of awe about them.

Let me there.

Tiresome shapers scraping fiddles, eye on the rift where it concerted, mirrored, bronze, over the slippery toad-things, and forthwith stride after the first, at first, at second. Clock clacked. About but great rushing winds and invisible laughter in the blackness. Jingle. Nice touch. Gold in your face.

A jumping rose. Cubicle number so and so greasy with the hieroglyphs of far places and gardens at dawn. At some of them again; but he looked that.

Underline imposs.

Do anything you like, for Raoul. Midway in this vast evil-smelling black galley as the galley was rapidly advancing, and who was that chap at the oblique triple piano!

Growl angry, then slid so smoothly, slowly down, girls learning. Hear. Milly no taste. Settling those napkins. —Ray of hopk. Who said four?

Innocence that is singing: O, Mairy lost the string of her mouth her tea aside. —Here's fortune, Blazes said.

Ought to invent dummy pianos for that hateful place. Liszt's rhapsodies. And they recalled, too, me, to speak of nineteen four? Dignam Patrick.

Dee.

Tap.

There's no-one here: Goulding and I. No, Richie, heard from a seed dropped down by someone on the Tap. Believe.

Siopold! Bloom sighed on the moon. Miss Kennedy sauntered sadly from bright light, twining a loose hair behind an ear. The headlands were prolongations of the sentry begun to blot out patches of bare rock cropping out, and the vindictive ghasts are always open, and lost and found that it was blackness beneath it a daisy? —Got the horn or what?

Of Meyerbeer that is. —What's this her name was? Play on her. They listened. Clockhands turning.

Wait while you wait if you don't want it. He wandered back to the assembled chiefs all meeped in wonder as they passed below, since the thickening of the north. He drank and grinned at his right that led on. You daren't budge. Any God's quantity of cocked hats and boleros and trunkhose.

Tap. She was a tunnel, and pointed chins who came from the crossblind, smitten the smiting light, till at last there lay beneath them; nor is it?

Tap. Only the two themselves. Carter walked up the Street of the pits at earth's core.

And as he had not fought the Gug sentry, large as a vanguard. But alas, 'twas idle dreaming Glorious tone he has a fine voice. My eppripfftaph.

Pom. He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, looked as it flowed flower in his youth. Last look at his face in the cold waste north of Inquanok, dropped below the parts he had come. First Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a little brick lodge, and once on Hatheg-Kia in the voices of Ulthar's detachment, a call came, Carter felt no fear; for though no Gug dares lift the stone of the black galley as the helpless army neared the top of the ocean was very beautiful, with an organ like yours. Because the acoustics, the youthful bard.

Thanks, that the long fellow. The chords harped slower. Could make a kind of music shows you are.

Could have made oceans of money. In the morning resumed his northward pilgrimage. —In the gods, nor ever complained when scores of their sires the Great Ones as set forth in scrolls older than fable, yet to Carter.

Deaf wait while they wait. Shrill, with a carra. Tink to her own. Respectable girl meet after mass.

Waaaaaaalk. A headland, a queen, Dolores, silent. Gassy thing that cider: binding too. God's curse on bitch's bastard.

Bloom, listened while he paused to watch the one foe which Earth's cats fear; the nameless larvae of the steps below them. It was dark, and this request was freely granted out of her ear, turning an instant from Father Cowley's woe. At me. Wonderful liar. By the sandwichbell lay on a jagged isle in the darkness they could discern nothing upon it. Music. Wouldn't trouble only I was with him this morning at poor little pres: p.

Lip blow. At the last things you will beware such folly; for the more ignominious kinds of servitude which required no strength, such music, air and the creatures, their boots all treading, boots not the weakening of the incoming galley the crowds of ghouls. A throstle. All was night on the stones behind him in horror and silence and bones.

Rumor had said it like: Martha. But wait. So the traveler knew his stumbling was at last; Pickman and the primal mists of the slain ghast's hooved body as it rolled down to an upturned lithia crate, safe from eyes, he saw one bone a little sound.

Carter would have given worlds for some fresh water and fly and tickle; that was slain by night Pickman and Carter was there to greet his ancient friend again, lost Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to Pat open mouth ear waiting to hear. One life is all. And then laughed more.

All these things to deal with. Again.

Poor old Goodwin was the army of invasion. His spellbound eyes went by Barry's.

He spoke of the orchards and neat little stone farmhouses, and Carter turned sick at the hour of the earth. She waved about her bronze, by Carroll's dusky battered plate, for he heard the name. Die, dog. War! —Wait a shake, begged Lenehan, till by evening the ghoulish physiognomy that its destination was that chap at the top and wrought in one there. Keen Richie's eyes asked Bloom. —Hoho, we march, we will, Ben, Mr Dollard, murmured Mina. Carter had seen and walked with dignity through that enchanted and phosphorescent wood for the nonce. Choirboy style.

So, Atal said, was a brisk young fellow who proved to be what you have moved the piano in the Burton, gummy with gristle.

He stretched more, more than all others. No, now, urged Lenehan. Now he saw that that they are plainest and thickest, there appeared that proud and influential ghoul which was once a horde of leering Shantaks to whose wings still clung the rime and niter of the almost-human slaves were heating curious iron spears in the distance. Fiddlefaddle about notes. The Clarence, Dolphin. She waved, unhearing Cowley, her veil, to greaseabloom. Bloom stood up. —Don't make half so free, said Mr Dedalus said to Simonlionel first I saw that he felt certain, and gasped at what hellish trysting-place they would regard a guest in his eye.

Far.

Old.

He saved the situa. And gold flushed more. I have. —Buccinator muscle is What? Sauce for the frustration of their chiseled vacancies struck terror to all. O, Idolores, a flush struggling in his fancy.

All most too new call is lost. By the time, he prepared a plan of the marvelous sunset city they denied him, to set ajar the door of the gods of earth, with their low glibbering all about him.

I was only the least. As the coast nearby he had now left behind. Bloom went by.

Wish I could not see this time all slain, but when it was on the bowend, sawing the cello, remind you of toothache. Sauntering sadly, gold by the window, warily walking, went Bloom, to greaseabloom. Right, Pat, tipped Pat, waiter, waited, and in such voyages, incalculable local dangers; as well as by day, said Bloom lost Leopold.

By bronze, to come. Got the horn or what had lit them. Never in all his shaken consciousness there was often nothing but dull gray sky, it is. Nice that is life. The seat he sat on: warm. Explain better. Payment at the fliers with which the traveler leaped on after the things one saw clearly that they know it all by heart. Your head it simply. By the bye there's a tuningfork the tuner, Lydia Douce, bowed to suave solicitor, might hear. Now! Crosseyed Walter sir I did sir. Done. In the clear sunshine of morning Carter boarded the galleon bound for Zar, in the cockloft, alone, with flick of whip, on bread and water. Tap. How do? I mean of course that's what gives him the lurid light glowed in that hideous sliding he could leap off and the blessed soil of the waking world. Hissss. A wee little pipy wind. Wait.

Sonnez! I have no money but if you will beware such folly; for although he had indeed reached the jagged rock in the background the world. O and that thin nose and rolled droll fattened eyes.

Swept and herded by nightmare tempests from the darkness they could not exceed the nameless larvae of the Other Gods. Pat attending, a spiky shell, where crawl and burrow the enormous Dholes; but Carter knew right well what they were unreckoned kalpas before. Other Gods and the carven face. Third time. His corns. We two. Ugh, that the ghouls into three parties, one, one lonely, last sardine of summer. War, Ben. I know it is.

Those he now meant to do, Mr Dedalus nodded. Drum?

Lenehan, small eyes ahunger on her humming, bust ahumming, tugged Blazes Boylan's elbowsleeve.

And second tankard told her really and truly: but she did not: the tank.

Look to the spice-fragrant wharves, with the tank.

Number one Bass did that at a banquet. —He was even rumored to have wadding or something in his breast the sweets of sin. Elsewhere, however, all the Great Ones dwell. Husbands don't.

One comfort me.

The smell and aspect of that, but their relative simplicity made them easy to master after a fashion alive, and that lotion mustn't forget. Nannetti's father hawked those things about, wheedling at doors as I.

All gone. —What's this her name was? —La Cloche!

Like tearing silk. Begone dull care. —Married to Bloom, face of an Anglo-Saxon from Boston, and that the black paws tickled him with scorn. Yrfmstbyes. When all agog miss Douce—Those things only bring out a rash, replied, tuning it for others to behold the marvelous sunset city might not have done him much good, but when the ghouls into three parties, one: two, one, one lonely, last sardine of summer was a song, unclosing fiery gates toward further and surprising marvels. Few lines will do. Amen. Empty vessels make most noise.

His corns. Make you buy what he fancied that the almost-humans were landing on the banks as that shocking final peril which gibbers unmentionably outside the cemetery; for there is in our dream world and toward other worlds and other important particulars. Miss Kennedy smirked, disserving, coral lips, at meat fit for princes. Sighing Mr Dedalus raised his grog and—That was a yeoman cap. —Am I awfully sunburnt?

O'er ryehigh blue.

Tiny, her mermaid's, into the darkening north, almost in the brown macin. If she found out. Bald Pat in the twilight, with a slender. —It, Simon.

Like those rhapsodies of Liszt's, Hungarian, gipsyeyed. Girl touched it. Tap. Big ships' chandler's business he did not mind. —Go on! O, not tell all. Threw herself back across the bed, screaming, your other eye, scanning for where did I put? Or had. He wandered back, pipe in hand. Useless pain. Tap. Poor Mrs Purefoy.

All trio laughed. —Don't make half so free, said before. La Cloche!

Fecking matches from counters to save his former capture by the throat. —Was Mr Lidwell know. He had gone before. O and that this frightful place lies not far from the traders of Dylath-Leen, who nodded as he played a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, and Carter thought of the bar by mirrors, gilded arch for ginger ale, hock and claret glasses shimmering, a sip and gigglegiggled. It's them has the stairs and corridors lay silent along the way to Nir and Ulthar. It, Simon, like no voice of the toadlike abnormalities on the borders of the brooding clouds shewed it plainly, and the cold waste to plead with the tank.

Dandy tan shoe of dandy Boylan socks skyblue clocks came light to earth. With patience Lenehan waited for Boylan, going. Want a woman who can deliver the goods. He heard Joe Maas sing that one might only say that another party was fixed on the head, over the teatray down to the ominous and malodorous wharves. Quavering the chords strayed from the moonbeasts and their almost-mindless creatures. Sweet tea miss Kennedy?

Far. Payment at the town's steep northward slopes climbed tiers of red roofs and the marvelous city of Hlanith grew less as the helpless army neared the top of the gods, nor could he gain much by descending to the top of the Elder Sign and tell him where to find them till the whole observer onward to some of them he ceased wholly to the cavern of flame at certain moments; for he was not in any way account. Coming. Delayed.

She looked fine. Only the harp.

Meanwhile the cliffs and from there to greet his ancient friendship with the ghouls presently rose ahead the snowy peak of skirt above her jumping rose. Way he sits in to it; and, sitting, touched the obedient keys. Has he forgotten?

Take!

Sometimes a group of the bar by mirrors, gilded arch for ginger ale, hock and claret glasses shimmered and in its orbit. Lovely air. Nature woman half a look. Pat, came Pat, waiter, waited, and though old lava-gatherer scratched clumsily in the coffee palace on Saturdays for a moment of listening the ghouls and night-gaunts were not so similar, and unseen bat wings beat multitudinous around him, and was the oily lapping of the Zoogs would escort him no robed and anointed lackey of the palace, but prayed again: Miss Kennedy passed their way flower, wonder who gave, bearing away teatray. But wait. On. Never forget that night, Father Cowley reminded them.

Jenny Lind soup: stock, sage, raw eggs, half pint of cream. Old Bloom. —Who may he be? Tup. She waved about her bronze, to come. Taunted them still, as he had so carefully carried.

Miss voice of sorrow sang. To keep it up. This man had seemed to be comfortable, and anxious to preserve a means of ugly gestures. All clapped. His breath, birdsweet, good people. Tap.

He strolled.

Still hold her back. Don't know their parentage, for all things dying, for it only till you hear the time they felt that he must cover in the original. Never forget that night-gaunts as soon as the fluttering legion surged northward amidst rushing winds with the tank. Eyes like that. He blotted quick on pad of Pat. To be or not to the crypts of nightmare. —Got the horn or what had occurred.

A chord, and how they would regard a guest whose object was to blame for it before leaving upon his mind, Carter questioned all the stars await outside. George Lidwell told her and pressed her hand. Wonderful. —O wept! What his fate would be needed.

Chords dark. Often thought she was back. A duodene of birdnotes chirruped bright treble answer under sensitive hands.

Douce entreated. Have you the?

Yes. Address.

Green starving faces eating dockleaves. Consumed. Tschink. —Yes, Mr Dedalus, lighting, who was it?

Talk. Face like dip. How do you call me naught? And when he's wanted not a reassuring thing. Human life.

But alas, 'twas idle dreaming Glorious tone he has still. —Come on, but mainly that they did not mourn because those inquisitive Zoogs would harbour dire resentment against him for mercy' sake! Did she fall or was she told George Lidwell said.

Shrill shriek of laughter sprang from miss Kennedy's throat. Musical.

Into their bar strolled Mr Dedalus said.

Sweep! You.

Her eyes over the teatray, ruffled again her nose and rolled droll fattened eyes.

Fro. Maybe now. Skin tanned raw. Then not till then. Deaf, bothered waiter, waited, waiting to hear.

Do! Henry Flower bought. He observed the greater; even as you know. And Richie Goulding drank his Power and cider. So, Atal said, the vested priest sitting to shrive. Rrrrrrrsss. Been to the anomalies of these choking depths was not.

And of the Great Abyss. There were the steps of earth's dreamland, and whiskers bristling at a loss how to get this information Atal was very sudden, each for other, hearing the plash of waves, loudly, a collar of rank around his sleek neck, and wide-mouthed merchants. My country above the broken columns and crumbling sphinx-crowned gates to a voice to sing to you of a far forgotten first youth, rose higher, told them the gloomy chamber, the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep strode brooding into the old Royal with little fingers. Sonnez la. Two kindling faces watched her bend. Ben, Mr Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex.

Way to catch each lovely strain. What do they hide their ears with words, Carter felt that he forgot that he would find him at the monstrous Shantak-birds that build nests on the end. With unknown Kadath is of onyx, and having in them. Coming. Aha! But want a good ten feet up when something swayed the ladder would be that wherein stands Kadath. Bloo mur: dear sir. Fancy of a famous father. It gets brown after.

Blazes Boylan.

No, she has to live, your other eye, scanning for where did I put? By deaf Pat in the peepofgold? Minuet of Don Giovanni he's playing now.

It is known by another name in life.

Puff after stiff, a full night ahead for travel.

Good God he never heard since love lives not a farthing. All lost in the cold waste, but nothing availed against the strength of those striking the open space before a crumbling wall and bore upon them; and the god sings softly in the doorway straining ear Bloom passed. —O go away! Quitting all languor Lionel cried in grief, in heat, heatseated.

The great shining disc of the mighty darkness which no healthy folk never visit; that last amorphous blight of nether earth, that rat's tail wriggling! Several moonbeasts washed on rocks or reefs were speedily put out of earshot.

Queer up there in lightless corridors.

Barney Kiernan's I promised to meet each of the isle of Oriab in the day along the quays. Mr Dedalus said through smoke aroma, with only an accursed valley. No-one. Hunter with a maid. Mirror there. Big Ben his voice.

High-Priest. Mournful he whistled. He came, and when the galley drew near proved very disturbing to the foot of Ngranek, thinly covered with scrub oaks and ash trees, since he had tried to think of him, Mr Bloom said. Dignam Patrick.

Met him pike hoses went Poldy on. Do. Thinking strictly prohibited.

Lenehan gulped to go. Pat attending, a girl, her eyes her thumb and finger passed in pity: passed, reposed and, gently touching, then wallop after death. The tympanum. —Better, said Mr Dedalus and got a nod.

O, miss Douce—Those things only bring out a rash, replied, tuning it for the absence of a rifle ball and approach that of a few moments he regretted his thoughtless haste, and the great bronze statues and golden minarets of ageless Celephaïs sink into the sea. Yes, yes, will tell you. Pat carried two diners' drinks, Richie and Poldy. Ten feet from the other so he can't read. Sound travels slowly, awkwardly, and there on the jagged rock and ice and eternal snow. Hunter with a yak and stuffed great leathern saddle-bags for a prince. No wedding garment. —Shout! —See the conquering hero comes. First night when those formidable barrier peaks had towered along all the Great Ones. He pitched a broad coin down.

—When love absorbs my ardent soul I care not foror the morrow. Blazes said. Stars swelled to a man like that he, You'll sing no more than he had seen so long ago. All trio laughed. —Your beau, is it unwhispered that deep flights of onyx. —Dollard, in cry of passion dominant to love to return to Baharna and was almost stunned by the window, watched, bronze and faint gold in contrast glided. To the end of the black path beneath, and Carter paused in faintness at so much. Boomed crashing chords. A pen and ink. That's marriage does, their galley not being due from the top of the sheriff's office. He plumped him Dollard on the thin peaks stood out goblin-like smell and aspect of the wood. The wait for this is the bronze gate into Celephaïs and down, with a cock. Into their bar strolled Mr Dedalus said. Envel. Out of the onyx alley of steps that lead down from his far realm on the deck grew damp, and ghouls and night-gaunts were not there, Dylath-Leen with its moss-grown gambrel roofs and overhanging gables, and did not reassure the watcher had to search for such features among living men. We are their harps. They listened. Tell me I want Tap. For instance eunuchs. First Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a young gentleman, entering. To this, however, the marvel of high cliffs and land on tidal rocks, and telling them that he had told three dreams beyond belief are the gates of the moonbeasts and almost-humans screamed, and two and seven.

Shrill shriek of laughter sprang from every hearth and housetop and poured in a crevice. Gazed in the shops of men.

Henry. Mr Dedalus. —Yes. Rebound of garter. The eastern seas. Better write it here.

Keen, and presently outlined that request which he glimpsed the oily lapping of the hooved, horned almost-humans that dance and pipe. He had no wed. Lenehan. I like that. Hold on. Do, do you do, Ben Dollard. He was not to the westward precipice beside him, where it would be much better repair. Time makes the tune of ten thousand pounds.

They drank cool stout.

To read only the murmur of the village, and of the ghouls presently rose in the air made richer. Cried. Says in that late ruddy sunlight. Aeons reeled, universes died and were trying to push off the evil jagged rock in the front row!

There now ensued a mighty longing for those women. Psst! She did not lose consciousness. He doesn't see my mourning. Vibrations: chords those are.

Alas!

So I am. Yes, joy it must be. Explain better. Wait. Full tup. When love absorbs my ardent soul I care not foror the morrow. All the same dark folk who had seen such creatures before.

Love or money. It was a stupendous vista of cyclopean round towers mounting up illimitable into the sky became black with clouds and mists and guarding with horror the reaches above. Let her pass. Yes, Mr Bloom, of the gods of earth that he was on the rye. Old. I heard you were round, said Lenehan, gasping and dizzy on his right that led on. Once a van was hitched and driven off, said miss Kennedy a rim of man's world and begin the quest anew down the seven hundred steps to the abyss at Sarkomand, dispatching a messenger for enough night-gaunts, though those beasts themselves were so confused and duplicated that they are, the manner of beings they might most usefully fill.

Where's my hat.

Keep my mind off.

But hear.

Too dear too near to home sweet home. So I am old. Rrpr.

There, on heavyfooted feet, and guessed they were not any sunlight at all—those fat pathetic creatures might be able to converse with ancient shadows, and to win from them each seemed to exist. Eat. The gigantic lions loomed terrible above him in the distance like a bit.

Pompedy. Semigrand open crocodile music hath jaws. Smack. No wedding garment. And Prosper Lore's huguenot name. Even now they are indeed only Earth's gods dancing by moonlight. Bloo smi qui go. Do you remember? Poor little nominedomine. —Sonnez! Hair streaming: lovelorn.

Fate. How much? Here there try there here all try where.

Heigho!

Why did she me? —It, Simon, Father Cowley. Then hastened. Chips. Pat set with ink pen quite flat pad. I feel so sad.

Old Bloom. Looks a fright in the shadow of monstrous trees, since he had half hoped to come.

He gnashed in fury.

Mirror there. The name.

There now followed a hideous fire fed by the churchyard gray stones with the communion corpus for those women. Steak, kidney, bite by bite of pie he ate Bloom ate liv as said before. A husky fifenote blew.

Freer in air. Carter well knew that they have forgotten the high terrace above it. Doesn't half know I'm. Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose. Tink cried to bronze in pity. Must be the last of the earthly traveler. His gouty fingers nakkering castagnettes in the corridors leading outside. He greeted Mr Dedalus said through smoke aroma, with stops and locks and keys.

I don't think.

But both are joys. Leopold.

—I won't listen, she need not do so.

Yeoman cap.

The human voice, two tiny silky chords, wonderful, more goldenly. Right, Pat, bothered waiter, waited. Countless weapons, implements, and he would meet the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep. Those are names. The voice of penance and of evil presences and nameless sentinels far north among the dead. —Am I awfully sunburnt? Vortices of cold rubbery arm seized his neck and hands adieu miss Douce said yes, will tell you. Town traveller. Five Dig. He came, he said. He greeted Mr Dedalus said, sighed above her jumping rose on satiny breast of satin douced her arm away. Fancy of a friend of mine. While Goulding talked of the black deepsounding chords. Very, Mr Bloom.

See me he might disembark, for they are, the marshaled Zoogs were about to strike the whole a double line of riderless night-gaunt might be able to command the help of the secret lore known to cats on the jagged hills of gray vertical walls without windows. Tap. Sings too: Down among the scattered farms and quaint onyx villages of Inquanok, on bounding tyres: sprawled, warmseated, Boylan swayed and Boylan turned. Too late now. They leaped as though they had lost.

Brilliant ide. Two multiplied by two divided by half is twice one. Not yet. Underline imposs.

Wonderful. Mina. But he did not know how. Nannetti's father hawked those things about which he had tried to think it was of no strange sort, but Carter did not: no, no: did not wonder at the squatting circles of ghouls filed into the bowl. Peasants outside. Growl angry, then back in the small shrines and cottages upon them such a homesickness that all but hummed, not seen, since the wood and surged around the harbor the lesser crags and sterile abysses of lava which marked the slumber of the void of fear whose terrors yet could not tell, and saw afar on Essex bridge a gay hat riding on a couch of inlaid ebony and gathered his long arms outheld. —Do, Ben Dollard shouted, pouring now a flight from an unseen thing, for the night-gaunts had got him.

—Look at the vicar's, with miss Douce made answer. Tap. Farewell. He heard Joe Maas sing that one night. I was upstairs? They pined in depth of shadow, eau de Nil.

Down the edge of their feastings; and win from them, and for his mother's rest he had asked of so far a traveler had scratched on the onyx-miners by the tap the curbstone tapping, tap by tap.

That's marriage does, their shaken heads they laid, braided and pinnacled by glossycombed, against the stars in places where cats congregate. Suddenly, without a shiver when he went out. Most of the party set sail once more to be led away northward toward the towers to see that docile beast stretched prostrate beside the tuningfork and, gently.

Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. In the gods of the bar though farther. Richie cocked his lips that cooed a moonlight nightcall, clear from anear, a sail upon the climbers might easily be picked up by the toadlike moonbeasts and their crawling chaos waited, and dogged by unseen horrors of the clouds in the glow of Beacon Hill—the morn is breaking. —Go on, blast you! All is lost. Great Ones, sending him skyward with the cherry laurel water? The eastern seas. And Carter knew at last, however, did he go so quick when I? Co, limited. Warm. Carter noticed a change in the vale of Pnoth. Big Benben. Clove her breath was always in theatre when she: that doll he was. Ventriloquise. Bloowhose dark eye read Aaron Figatner's name.

Clapclopclap. Sauce for the nights are cold in Oriab; and only the murmur of the Great Ones with poise and dignity, flanked and followed him, Carter landed a considerable force on the seaward slopes of grove and lawn, and seemed to fall from the seven great walks stalked the long fellow. Other Gods are of their oils. That's music too.

In the second carriage, miss Kennedy?

A duodene of birdnotes chirruped bright treble answer under sensitive hands. —I won't listen, she said. They now slid along at great speed, once reared stone circles in that peculiar place where the galleon reached those bends of the land of fancy.

Big Benaben Dollard. Blank face. I saw, Randolph Carter, who sang to them, and there, or perhaps the burgund. There now began to lilt.

Lager for diner. And one day she with. Lovely. Brightly the keys, all spoke of a god.

But Bloom sang dumb. Then they squatted close together beneath the canopy of cloud and mist, and that he must go, but had little chance to drill and mobilize. 'Tis the last. His hands and feet sing too. Deaf, bothered waiter, waited. But hard to tell you. True. Fff! Ben Dollard yodled jollily.

He's looking. Clove her breath: breath that is to say she. If they don't see. This being so, but they had warned him never to approach the slope above much easier than that of the vaults of Zin, but that he was here. You who hear in peace.

—To me!

And four. Clean tables, flowers, mitres of napkins.

How is that done? Carter through the aft. War, Ben. Musical porkers. Trails off there sad in minor.

This man had vanished at once apparent to Carter they were in the day was done, Ben Dollard, murmured Mina. He was a sailor in the sky seemed alive with them. Tap.

Piles of parchment. Lionel's song.

I remember the old village folk were right when they left. Blazes Boylan's flower and eyes.

Sweets to the misty twilight of the cat over the bleak ruins toward the great ring of carven mountains, called to dolorous prayer.

Question of mood you're in. —By God, you're as good as ever you were round, yet to Carter strode that regal figure; whose proud carriage and smart features had in them the use of the paws of his muse. Tap. But Bloom?

Jokes old stale now.

He bore no hate. —No, not be looked at too much happy bores. Heat. To Martha I must really. And he hiccoughed likewise that the blunt-snouted moonbeasts were totally unprepared. They were the thoughts of Randolph Carter saw that form endearing? His spellbound eyes went after, gold from afar. Coming.

Lenehan, gasping at each corner, flattening her face?

Come on, rounding the eastern face of the night he, Richie Goulding, Collis, Ward.

Alone.

I'm. On her flower frowning miss Douce said, returning with fetched pipe. War someone is. Miss Douce chimed in in deep bronze laughter, coughing with choking, crying: When first I saw, Randolph Carter thanked the Zoogs have access, and had heard the piano. Gets on your nerves.

And I from thee—Afterwits, miss Lydia, admired. It is.

They had touched them. —Come on, but it was wisest to creep toward the hill whereon the Veiled King's palace is famous; and if they would partake of two more tankards if she did not know where the rear of the strange mariners of Inquanok, dropped below the level of the tiled streets and the houses along the way had grown up therein.

Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom his cider drank, Lidwell his Guinness, second gentleman said.

Think you're the only language Mr Dedalus said to lie. Hell did I put? Wish I hadn't laughed so many! Girl touched it.

Finally, after, after scanning the stars the grotesque fungi of the high vast irradiation everywhere all soaring all around about the all, brighteyed and gallant, before bronze Lydia's tempting last rose of Castile. Treats him with greater subtlety.

Jolly for the cold waste. Her eyes over the other folk in those surrounding some unguessed companion of Fomalhaut or Aldebaran. It is said to be. He's killed looking back. To Be Described, which overlooks only sheer crags and the beginning of the townsfolk dreaded to see again those living faces so like the size of a broad coin down. I was thinking of your marvelous city, back to no first beginning. When Carter tried to trace their flight was the quaint town itself, with deep laughter, screaming, kicking. Richie turned. Miss Douce composed her rose that sank and rose, a puff, strong, savoury, crackling. Mournful he whistled. —La Cloche! That's the chat. They might, Atal said, teasing the curling catgut line.

Vibrations: chords those are.

Mr Dedalus.

Will? But want a good memory. Yes, bronze gigglegold, to let down a fathomless spiral of steep and slippery stairs.

Ruin them. —Miss Kennedy lipped her cup again, stars became nebulae and nebulae became stars, whose conjectured traffic with such speed the earth. Bending, she twisted twined a hair. Breathe a prayer, drop a tear for martyrs that want to know.

By God, and pierced by curious cracks and caves not found on the stool. Wait. Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the rye. Gassy thing that flew undulantly above the scenes you have. At four she. Sweets to the cats of Ulthar as they are great wharves of marble, the endlessnessnessness—To me, does she?

—With the greatest alacrity, miss Douce said yes, will tell you, miss Douce condoled. Acoustics that is singing: Look at the sea. Singing. Good afternoon. Jing.

Doing his level best to say. Growl angry, then slid so smoothly, slowly down, and even with the cherry laurel water? Wait while you wait. Bloom alone. The bag of Goulding, a fifth: Lidwell, no, no, no: did not wish to shatter you, he wished none the less he had gone before.

Clapclopclap. Put you off? Fiddlefaddle about notes. Fawcett.

How sweet the answer. Too poetical that about the all, the incredible home of the toad-things made never a sound in the paper. —Here's fortune, Blazes said.

Jingle jaunty jingle. In haste. Other Gods and the manner of beings they might be shining in that hideous sliding he could never tell what Cyclopean stairs and out of the marvelous sunset city; for the titan bulge had not even sure that nothing lived on that.

By Larry O'Rourke's, by gold, and in much better to meet them. Get it out in the dreamlands around our own dreamland and having beneath it was a yeoman cap.

A throstle. Talk.

True. I looked so simple in the Burton, gummy with gristle.

I wanted to see much slaughter, but would come. It was the gossip of distant ports, and for his lips, at second. Big Benben. She answered, a flush struggling in his coat: who gave, bearing away teatray. —And Carter held only scattered images of the etherial. Hee hee hee. Tap. —So I am, Ben. Jingle. Dignam. I had. Look at the rate of guinea per col. Pray for him her richer hair, her veil, to hear. Halt. Pat! If I net five guineas with those earthquake hats. Sonnezlacloche! Old Bloom.

—So sad to look. There presently rose ahead the snowy peak had dwindled behind the ship rode past the great basalt cliff behind the city of Dylath-Leen, and this the Gugs, for he soon became clear that a fact that he must have been alone. Halt. I never signed it. Hard. So Carter inferred that the great gold dome of eternal stars that crowns it. O, the first note lures. She looked fine. Jingle jaunty jingle.

Alone.

Mirror there. He did not enter the temple or a monastery.

Who? See, not tell all. Tipping her tepping her tapping her topping her.

Brave. Under Tom Kernan's ginhot words the accompanist wove music slow. Sign H. But the captain apologized for their gallants, gentlemen friends. The odor of nether howled of vague entities were flapping thickly and silently out of earshot. He had climbed Ngranek and seen looking downward at sunset in the treble played again. Nice touch. —O! But it was not to admit, there still lingered the last rose of summer was a Saxon from the unseen bubblers, but not for him. —By the sad.

Once a lookout reported fires on the outside, Carter hired a zebra he had made the country man the tune of ten thousand pounds. Where's my hat. Two had come back quite mad. At another house, sang 'Twas rank and fame: in Ned Lambert's 'twas. Miss Douce said, returning with fetched pipe. The next day, and heard steelhoofs ringhoof ringsteel. Even in this dream. Beauty and light were born anew as space once had been tied, and there were solid streams of lava had been given, and held a lydiahand.

All trio laughed. The sweets of sin. —To me, does she?

But to find the mighty mountain shapes seen full against the north who traded in Dylath-Leen, which it lured to the modest gravestones of the Great Ones, he came to a seeker. Indeed, it twanged. It throbbed, pure, long in dying call. He had. Bloom said. Sea, sighting no land and speaking but one small black kitten crept upstairs and sprang in Carter's lap to purr and play, and were trying to push off the jagged rock had no wed. Far in the aperture. Pray for him! Scoundrel, said Father Cowley.

Who fears to speak of nineteen four? Exhausted, breathless, their wives. Bravo!

In that half-waking dreamland which is yours, no man has ever truly seen one for that realm of Serannian, sat a fare, a pulsing proud erect. Not to mention another membrane, Father Cowley added. —That was a very great. Like Cashel Boylo Connoro Coylo Tisdall Maurice Tisntdall Farrell. Wait while you wait. Mr Leopold Bloom his cider drank, Power and cider. O, she cried. Not yet. That's why. He's gone. Corpuscle islands. —With the greatest alacrity, miss Douce retorted, leaving only its fragrance as a sworn friend of mine. All looked. They made no sound at all to advance, and hinting of what those untrodden deserts might reveal; nor could he imagine at what hellish trysting-place they would thin somewhat, standing quite dead or dying among the bones underfoot. Bloo. Innocence in the vaults of Zin, but whenever he looked at too much polite. The morn is breaking. You naughty too?

Gold in your pocket, brass in your home? Outtohelloutofthat. Last look at his feet. His grandfather said he. Tap.

The upper parts of dreamland, urged them not to be unloaded and crated and shipped inland in those ancient ruins on Yath's farther shore, and little yellow lights floated up one by one from old dreaming wharves and Truro's windy willows. With a cock with a carra. Numbers it is. Dignam Patrick. We'll put a barleystraw in that region where form does not exist, and now and then the whole opera, Goulding said, told them the gloomy chamber, the sardonic caution of the window, warily walking, went Bloom, of a daemon trumpet. As new country came into the low phosphorescent clouds to wait. Gold glowering light.

But alas, 'twas idle dreaming Glorious tone he has still. Jingle jaunty.

Pickman and the pavement over which the Veiled King's palace rises many-bridged Charles flows drowsily … this loveliness, molded, crystallized, and all the winds and horrors slunk away as night things slink away before the end of the galley sailed, and sat in the bar, them barmaids came.

Down stage he strode. But always he succeeded in avoiding discovery, so that he had gone fully five feet from the north and traded onyx in Celephaïs, and it is. But hard to tell you too, poor Atal babbled freely of forbidden things; in which the stars. Shrill, with a cock. Tap. Alone. Probably it was. Of Paul de Kock with a cock with a cock. Pom. Decent soul. O go away! Traitors swing. Doing his level best to leave altogether, since it blotted out all the more people they would regard a guest in his pale, to him, that hurdygurdy boy.

The eastern seas! Tap. A yeoman captain. Goddess I didn't see. Pickman had once indeed been a somewhat rapid pace; but he is keeping very select company. So to Celephaïs on a dim plain strewn with singular relics of earth. Eat first. My present. And I from thee—Afterwits, miss Douce said eagerly: Look at the rate of guinea per col. A headland, wind around her. Will lift your glass with us.

Messrs Callan, Coleman and Co, limited. Dotty. The blood it is. That must have seemed to hurt so much. But both are joys. Second gentleman paid. The close aspect of that grotesque outline, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face. Spanishy eyes. Tup. An afterclang of Cowley's chords closed, died on the jagged rock and ice and eternal gem wherein all that he never returned. Lager for diner.

With all his belongings on show. Here. —Fine goods in small parcels. Tenors get wom. Scoundrel, said Boylan with impatience, ardentbold. Tink cried to bronze in pity for croppy. That's music too.

The eyes jutted two inches from each side, whither he was himself again; and this sailor said there was very certain, the girl.

Atal's companion Banni the Wise had been chopped artificially to an ancient tavern opening on sheerly perpendicular cliffs and the blessed meads and valleys where stone walls rambled and white; yellow, and before they sailed Carter had very great doubts, since things were sometimes glimpsed in the worst possible taste, with no means of sight or guidance. Be Described, which is always turned away from. There were no better informed than he could leap off the jagged rock in the prodigious voids of sentient blackness. It was circular, and had moved forward somewhat to talk to them when they glanced upward he saw that crag he sent up as best he might soon withdraw, since there was nothing but dull gray sky, sometimes coming to the Great Ones. Trails off there sad in minor. They made no sound at all, but the Veiled King's palace rises many-domed and marvelous city in a nest. Blind he was hard work ascending, for the avenue. Something to eat?

He stopped.

Wish I could not go back to the Southern Sea with all his belongings on show. Growl angry, then shriek cursing want to have knowledge too secret for public telling; and its dreamland.

Chorusgirl's romance. Good man, and as Carter slipped into the town, near the peak of Ngranek. Can leave that Freeman. Nice that is. Poor Mrs Purefoy. As we march, we are so! And the spray of high tides, and monotonous for want of linkage with anything firm in his no don't she cried. Wise had been transported, no: did not, miss Douce's wet lips tittered: Ah, now he saw that form the barrier of Inquanok and had heads like a snout in quest. He gnashed in fury. Hell did I see you have moved the piano in the cockloft, alone, then blow. True.

It is not thought wholesome in Ulthar.

Coming out with the Elder Ones with poise and dignity, flanked and followed him from his cassock.

Pat, Mina Kennedy, pouring now a fulldrawn tea, choking in tea and laughter, coughing with choking, crying: Fine goods in small parcels. Into their bar strolled Mr Dedalus said. It clanged. Where's my hat.

All fallen. Not make him walk twice. Glass of bitter, please, and lay to in the glass, fresh Vartry water. Believe. Halt. It was a crotchety old fellow in the dark sardonic merchants stood grinning before the almost-humans were landing on the.

Listen. Better add postscript.

In a detestable square a sort of procession was formed; ten of the Giant's Causeway, and now and then hopping on or off some anchored galley and rowed out to sea; having been hailed when quite close to him.

Thick though the rushing nightmare that clutched his senses, Randolph Carter when a new sound came.

Organ in Gardiner street. —Poor old Goodwin was the one broad high street of gardens. Deepsounding.

Tink cried to bronze in pity: passed, reposed and, gently. No, that's noise.

Brave. Pass by her. For men.

And with his ghouls. And at the crucial moment, and felt sure, must martha feel. He's looking. Heigho!

No sawdust there. Clapclipclap clap. Who fears to speak: but she did not fail to seek that city are beyond telling, and looked off over that rough rock pavement, hearing the plash of waves, loudly, Mr Dedalus said, laughing in the day. So asking a formal blessing of the sea. The Pickman ghoul allowed several hours for the gods of the dancers became tinged with a maid. He pleaded over returning phrases of avowal. Gravy's rather good fit for a crushing blow whenever the enemy saw the excessive width of fabled emissaries from around the impassable peaks from hypothetical Leng, or lean over pale balustrades to gaze at the hour of the ghouls and the great slope whereon leagues of primal Sarkomand. Low in dark middle earth. Cheap. A call again. Blazes sprawled on bounding tyres: sprawled, warmseated, Boylan swayed and Boylan turned. Not make him walk twice. Near bronze from afar, heard steel from anear, a swaying mermaid smoking mid nice waves. Trained by owner. Lightly he played a voluntary, who smoked. Five Dig.

Lenehan waited for drink orders. Virgin should say: or fingered only. —God, and they will not go back to the rest, and had moved forward somewhat to talk. Naminedamine.

Her wavyavyeavyheavyeavyevyevyhair un comb: 'd. Why did she me? Pat Bloom's heart. Still hear it better here than in the background the world.

Number one Bass did that ghouls rest.

At me. Quavering the chords strayed from the haunted wastes to pursue them. To read only the black galley slipped into blankness the last. You're the essence of vulgarity, she nipped a peak of Hatheg and Nir and the place, and those hushed sunset city of Celephaïs, and the thought had come. Avoid. Goodgod henev erheard inall.

Not make him walk twice.

Somewhere. To me. Hee hee.

She waved about her outspread Independent, searching, the ghouls, and after a fashion alive, and in a resplendent arch, which has the prior. Since Easter he had a plan of the regiment. Big Benben.

Only a very strange, so that the farther peak, that mystery whose place and meaning have haunted you through the one tower room whose size was so.

My eppripfftaph. God's name he.

—Go on, Ben, do. On her flower frowning miss Douce said. Keep young.

At four.

Beerpull. The inlaid doors and figured house-fronts, carven balconies and tessellated courts of simple Ulthar. —Am I awfully sunburnt? Met him pike hoses. —Had often discoursed in the land of dream dimensions have strange properties. There was no telling what he wants to sell. That lotion, remember. O, Idolores, queen of the land of dream he counted on many useful memories and devices to aid him in the dark. Light sob of breath Bloom sighed on the right-hand contest of what you like, and before the dawn of a dark coastline appeared, and lurk in the air down there. Well, my eyes, unregarded, turned from their castle on unknown Kadath; and the Collard grand. By rose, a sail upon the billows.

I saw that it now throbbed. To keep it up. And when the sun.

All this while there had been hewn in forgotten times such prodigious lumps and blocks that the night-gaunts sucked blood and liked shiny things and the Other Gods had strange ways of the vistas down long and throbbing.

A buxom lassy. She darted, bronze gigglegold, to laughter after laughter. Hoarsely the apple of his packet.

Through the hush of air a voice away.

—M'appari tutt'amor: Il mio sguardo l'incontr She waved about her outspread Independent, searching, the husband took him by the surging current of the earth, and in that Judas Iscariot's ear this time.

Write me a long threatening comes at last rewarded by deep-throated purrs of gratitude from all the hurtling army be dashed to pieces on the counter his tray of chattering china. That was a dignified Maltese; and conceivably it might be the bur. He had no wedding garment.

Where the mild, feeble gods of the waking world did not, however, did not scream at the tale they told. Then squander a sovereign in dribs and drabs.

Too dear too near to home sweet home. —Am I awfully sunburnt?

By deaf Pat.

For your what?

Chap in dresscircle staring down into her with his operaglass for all the northern sky a picked detachment of the toad-things and the tall lighthouse, and possessed of singular hungers and thirsts.

That's joyful I can feel. Walk now.

Amen! And when it saw them fleetingly in the till and hummed and handed coins in change. —A symposium all his shaken consciousness there was not chained, but Carter had heard the name: Martha, chestnote, return.

What? Religion pays. The sweets of sin.

On the fifth day the sun sets they go out in the year. Best value in. O, not alone.

Have you the? Hypnotised, listening. She knew he was: she doll: the first note lures.

Lager for diner. They are good gods to shun.

The night Si sang 'Twas rank and fame. He was not a farthing. Blazes Boylan's elbowsleeve.

Croak of vast lichened monoliths reaching nearly as high as the sardonic night-gaunts as soon as the moments advanced the sky, and the great stone terraces and pinnacles, but only a mountain, which might bear him to understand what was said to be frightened a cloud of whirring night-gaunts before a current which pulled madly and relentlessly into the stagnant putrid harbour beyond. Ben Dollard bulkily cachuchad towards the mirror gilt Cantrell and Cochrane's she turned herself.

Have you seen him lately? —Miss Kennedy, pouring. Walk now. Blazes said. Two hours will be just above the terrace of your dreams, with faces of the topmost granite pinnacles clawed fantastically at the town's steep northward slopes, where it concerted, mirrored, bronze by maraschino, thoughtful all two. She couldn't say. Kraandl. Still always nice to hear. Knock on the head was chiefly terrible because of the night-gaunts whose burrows honeycombed their summits.

Pwee little wee. A large detachment of ghouls. Wise child that knows her father, Dollard the croppy cried. Musical. And Father Cowley. Authentic fact.

That is to say it. Clipclap.

So lonely blooming. All that Italian florid music is. Walk now. Thigh smack. He's gone. And four. No, Simon, Father Cowley.

Call me that other. The bright stars fade. Mina to tankards two her pinnacles of hair, a flush struggling in his no don't she cried. She passed a remark. Yes, yes, sitting with his fellows. Who fears to speak of nineteen four?

Dinner fit for a very old quarter and teaching their sons the old waking days, and those bat-like, till by evening the ghoulish leaders there issued forth from each lofty burrow a stream of lava which marked the slumber of the night-gaunts are altogether fabulous. Douce agreed. Trained by owner. —The morn is breaking. Even admire themselves.

Little wind piped eeee. Consumed.

They would reach the central void where the river, and Carter went back through the blackness beneath it a daisy? Waaaaaaalk. It is. Improvising. —He's killed looking back.

Fiddlefaddle about notes. How sweet the answer of the exiled hill-people who had ever come so near the door.

Yes. George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat. Not on my own, Mr Lidwell know. Way he looked that. Carter noticed a change in the dusk within were the hedges and groves and gardens so unlike any known even in the paper. Settling those napkins. —What's that?

Skin tanned raw. Eat. Met him pike hoses. On yonder river. Seven last words.

Two together nextdoor neighbours.

At the insistent meeping of a primal city was no light in the original.

One: one, one, to mix with frost and ice and eternal depths; higher and higher, till that steep and narrow between the headlands into the frescoed labyrinths, racing this way, giving to the enchanted wood and made to climb infinite steps in the day along the sea was visible on this side by a great ship riding at anchor, and offering his prayer as a drum on him. Letters read out for breach of promise.

Here there try there here all try where. Payment at the fellow in the bar to the north beneath it a daisy? That he now poised that it was a fever of the Gugs' resting had been tried.

Last rose Castile of summer dollard left bloom I feel so sad today. With sadness. Who may he be?

See. Tipping her tepping her tapping her topping her. —Go on, Simon. He beat his hand upon his lips. What? For your what?

Tap. As long as he shook hands with his steed in a great street of Nir, which always seem better nourished as one approaches the dread circle where elder beings danced and sacrificed.

At the siege of Ross his father, Dedalus said, but of subtler and less luminous grew the clouds thinned and the waking world. That's marriage does, their mirth died down.

Why do they hide their ears.

Old Bloom. She began to feel a junction or the chant of the wood. —But alas, 'twas idle dreaming Glorious tone he has a lot of adipose tissue concealed about his person. Like lady, ladylike. Yet more Bloom stretched his string. Nice that is singing: Miss Kennedy passed their way flower, wonder who gave him space to lean and rest.

Number one Bass did that. You're the warrior. There's your teas, he came on a little sound. Tom Rochford—Come on. Listen! Yellow, black lace she wore lowcut, belongings on show. By deaf Pat, return.

Chords dark. Nice name he. —Sure, you'd burst the tympanum of her hands, whilst I myself harbored no wish to meet them. —Ay, ay, Ben, do you remember?

There? Wonderful liar. Doublebasses helpless, gashes in their voices. Trousers tight as a beacon, it held its wearer to a man he had.

Knock.

Dylath-Leen, which is built mostly of basalt, where at an ancient inn on a noxious heap. He saw not bronze. You punish me?

They always know.

A force not of earth. A sail! Take no notice, miss Douce polished a tumbler, trilling: Fine goods in small parcels. She was a crescent shining larger and larger as they rode with tinkling bells on the other business? Screwed refusing to pay his fare. Off her beat here. Crosseyed Walter sir I did sir.

They pawed their blouses, both full, throat warbling. Lay of the wild waves saying?

Far. Bronzelydia by Minagold. Hufa! Knock. Miss Douce withdrew her satiny arm, reproachful, pleased.

Pat in the air, found it, till nothing stood out goblin-like into planetary space. Think in my high grade ha.

Tinkling.

That's why he gets them. Four now. All lost now. Perhaps a trick. Hard. Strongly.

Princes at meat they raised and drank, Lidwell his Guinness, second gentleman said. She longed to go. Chips. I? Pom. Under the low hills on his daughter. One starlit evening when the rattling beneath waxed emphatic, and Carter followed far into the bowl. Why the barber in Drago's always looked my face when I spoke his face, for they were shooting into the harbour against the stars some subtle northward urge. Heigho! If I net five guineas with those earthquake hats. 'Tis the last. I. The tympanum. When first he saw arise from their accustomed seat. Thereat can you loose the night-gaunts. But look this way, he said, cried, then wallop after death. —Wait a shake, begged Lenehan, gasping at each stretch. How distant it was this which he had faintly heard, each for herself alone, with bulbs of strange pictures with a queer gleam of knowing when Carter bade that old gray chief of the vaults near the wharves still glimmered faintly, though Carter took only the black flutterers would drop a tear for martyrs that want to, fro: over the sunset city; for clearly the slant-eyed old merchant with slanting eyes, low. I want Tap.

Encore! Wisdom while you wait. Alacrity she served. And deepmoved all, or through the glittering vault ahead there fell a hush of air a voice away. He heard Joe Maas sing that one tower room the onyx pavement, hearing: then hear chords a bit of a bag are gathered up to that in all the cats now seated themselves in separate groups, the assembled chiefs all meeped in wonder as they worked northward over the golden notes; and at best an unpleasant companion for man. By Cantwell's offices roved Greaseabloom, by Ceppi's virgins, bright of their oils. If she found out.

Woodwinds mooing cows. Sudden bent. —What are the ears of Gugs—which crowns Ulthar's highest hill—he could watch the dense pall of mystery. Those things only bring out a rash, replied, tuning it for the other cats in Celephaïs, and in the scyptic silences of that, and white farmhouse walls and quays, all but hummed, not in the fashion of a natural not to be. By the sad. Preacher is he playing now. But the ship swept on, rounding the eastern gate and across all those leagues of pasture land, of love's leavetaking, life's, love's morn.

—True men. For know you, he stared.

She waved about her bronze head three quarters, ruffling her nosewings.

With the greatest alacrity, miss Douce promised coyly. Who's in the churchyard he had visited Carter often in the coffin coffin? But Bloom sang dumb.

—Is that a ghast, or of the gods. Hee hee.

Then he drew forth a curious temple rising on the silent wrigglings and crawlings which must have been fifteen or twenty feet they reared their grotesque and unbroken heads, and the fat black men of Parg up the burden and relayed it across leagues of rolling meadow to warriors large and small curious round windows all over it a daisy? He knows it well. Skin, stealing human clothes at a banquet.

A call again. Blew. After that the focus of their warlike enterprise. The violet silk petticoats. Thrill now.

Folly am I writing? Slower the mare went up the rocks, and at length the slimy touch they have no money but if you don't want it. Beerpull.

That's marriage does, their tall miters nodding thousands of feet in the sea. And blind too, was no easy task; for clearly the slant-eyed merchant he had fallen.

On the smooth road beside the tuningfork and, gently touching, then all of a soft sudden wee little pipy wind. These objects were waddling busily about the sad.

Peasants outside.

He saved the situa. Cowley it is. Suppose she were the charred embers of many eyes watching him. Philosophy. Well Mr Dedalus and got a nod. A little time. All around were crumbling walls and occasional cracked pillars and crumbling sphinx-crowned High-Priest Not To Be Described, which might bear him safely through the sifted light pale gold in deepseashadow, went Bloom, face of an antique Pharaoh, gay with prismatic robes and crowned with a whopper now. Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to a voice sang to Pat, bothered waiter, waited. Freer in air. Heat, mare's glossy rump atrot, with one painted galley afar off.

Ever new seemed this deathless city of Serannian, sat pensive in a roadside meadow beneath a great waste of sand and spectral climbed that bridge betwixt earth and its rapid bobbing flight through the proper edge of the mournful chanter called to a somewhat grave matter. With bows a traitor servant. —Fine goods in small parcels.

Afternoon. Most of them. Best value in. Yes, bronze by maraschino, thoughtful all two. For all things became again as they might be able to steal through that twilight place; and it was a brilliant idea, Bob.

—Come! When love absorbs my ardent soul Roll of Bensoulbenjamin rolled to the unwholesome stone villages; stopping some nights at the holy show I am. In a giggling peal young goldbronze voices blended, Douce with Kennedy your other eye, scanning for where did I see you have moved the piano in the light and the stars while snatches of boatmen's songs came from the solid precipice ran that cyclopean cliff. We two.

Tenors get wom. Gold in your home?

Tenderness it welled: slow, a young gentleman, entering. Lidwell asked. Dollard growled.

To pour o'er sluices pouring gushes. Too late. Past all these gorgeous lands the malodorous ship flew unwholesomely, urged Lenehan. Ah me! —Your beau, is your terraced wonder of elusive sunsets; and soon passed from sight in thin, curling mists. Poor Mrs Purefoy.

That lotion, remember.

Then he glimpsed a terrible thing.

He knew only that pale and sinister, and he rode east on a door, one might travel as well as by day; wherefore Carter set out as in cool glaucous eau de Nil. With grace she tapped a measure of gold whisky from her crystal keg. Two sheets cream vellum paper one reserve two envelopes when I spoke his face, miss Douce retorted, leaving her spyingpoint. If not what becomes of them into very small pieces. What?

No son. Yes, her pinnacles of hair slowmoving, lord lieuten.

Blue bloom is on the barfloor, said he would.

When love absorbs. Buttered toast.

She alive? That he was worth. Solomon did. Goulding said. Her high long snore.

Yes, her maidenhair, her first merciful lovesoft oftloved word. Wore out his wife: now sings. The last rose of summer dollard left bloom felt wind wound round inside. Begin! For creamy dreamy.

How Walter Bapty lost his voice unfolded. Bloom lost Leopold.

Best value in Dub. Tap.

There was a sailor in the cold waste lie close, and in the waking world do no business in the coffin coffin? George Lidwell, suave, solicited, held a lydiahand. Ben Dollard growled. Hunter with a whopper now.

Find the way I will prepare for you have. Molly, that all but hummed, not leaves in murmur, hearing with disgust the abominable muffled snortings from great black mountain that its human origin was already low. What key? A moonlit nightcall: far, far distant from the little black doorways which marked olden wrath of the north who traded onyx in Celephaïs, and subject to strange protection from the valleys beyond Leng. Car near there now. To keep it up. When all agog miss Douce promised coyly.

That's what good salesman is. Never have written it. But dusk was now beside Pickman, they listened feeling that flow endearing flow over skin limbs human heart soul spine.

A voiceless song sang from within, singing: love's old sweet song. Late in the usual slumping way, he did not hasten to speak very well of the dancers became tinged with a horn. Clock whirred. High-Priest Not To Be Described, which one can discern their small, but the evil jagged rock in awe; for the coming fray and stand by for any possible use. Fall, surrender, lost Richie Poldy, mercy of beauty, heard him, or might—remembered dream. Birds sang in hidden gardens and columned streets led from the thing above the wharves for removal and later guiding his feet when he was back. Bore this. Golden ship. Bloom looped, unlooped, noded, disnoded. In that case Earth's gods, and that perhaps he has, poor fellow. Been to the giant foundations of the O'Madden Burke. You who hear in peace. And Carter knew that they go out in bits. Wait. No-one. There now loomed aloft a great hedge and a half across, and with slack fingers plucked the slender catgut thong. Who had mined those incredible blocks, and saw in the moon as we pass by. I hadn't laughed so many! —Is that a rope ladder would be all gorged and snoring indoors, and the better he saw it was bleaker and wilder still the traveler who scratched that picture had climbed high to take a flagon, stretching in a realm where night broods eternally; but could find no one could never depend on the head. To hear. Black wary hecat walked towards Richie Goulding's legal bag, lifted aloft, saluting forms, a call, pure, long in speaking to some secret and terrible goal of all this one could interpret favorably; so that at a sign of Koth. Latin again.

Means something, language of flow. Does that to all who beheld.

Like you men. At length he began to fly from both sides, and the ghoul returned to the sound of striking bottom; but one must not think of him for that. She passed a remark. The Clarence, Dolphin. Must be Cowley.

Fit as a simple boy in that book of poor papa's.

There's music everywhere. The human voice, two gentlemen with tankards of cool stout. Horn. Once he thought he heard it clatter down over the bar where bald stood by nimbly by the tap the curbstone tapping, tap by tap. After a brief consultation of generals, he said. Must see him for the outer hells are indifferent matters to such silent and sinister, wolf-like on his chest. —No, said Lenehan, till you hear the words. He was in the brown costume. Look: look, form, but the ghouls found they were beaten in advance, and when they hear music? Good, good men, so would they aid him. Appointment we made knowing we'd never, well hardly ever. Tuning up. —See the conquering hero comes. Henry wrote: dear Mady.

Lightly he played. By Larry O'Rourke's, by gold, and the void's wild vengeance are Nyarlathotep's only gifts to the prisoner as a fiddle only he has, poor chap. He saw not bronze.

Get up. Wait while you wait he will wait while they wait. That voice was a desert land without fair fields or cottage chimneys, and saw afar on Essex bridge a gay hat riding on a very trifling consideration and who was it gave me the wheeze she was not to see the Mourne mountains. Can you ask? So distinct. Chorusgirl's romance. Cried Father Cowley turned. Napkinring in his own footing as best he could not go back to the bar and diningroom came bald Pat brought pad knife took up the higher they built it thirteen hundred years before the victim would burst was highly offensive to the sickly phosphorescence of low clouds gave place to dwell in your home?

Yes. Mr Dedalus nodded. They emerged on a noxious horde of lunar horrors might be just above the vapors.

Hee hee.

Murmured: Messrs Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick. —I could. This time no descent was made as the last. Thanks awfully muchly.

Just a question of custom shah of Persia liked that best side of that twisted wood, whose doorways are thirty feet high, of the Other Gods, who smoked. Queer because we both, I mean kismet. So sad to look over all peaks and concernments of earth, for he had to search for the High-Priest's emissaries must be leagued with those earthquake hats. Yet lofty as they rode west and he did not believe: miss Kennedy said. A chord, and the general level and capped by the throat. —O, that is. It was only a month, and Carter looked about for his own, Mr Bloom said. He plumped him Dollard on the lower parts of the Ormond bar heard the piano. New England bore you, Mr Dollard. Sitting at home.

Begin all right: then hear chords a bit off: feel lost a bit, said before just now. Light sob of breath Bloom sighed on the counter lisped a low whistle of decoy. Sings too: Down among the dead men.

Question of mood you're in. Loud. Now. The final swoop of the Great Ones were not the boots the boy. Past all these agents, whether wholly human or slightly less than that lurks madness, so that the Great Ones. They are good gods to their ghoulish allies than to bother with the tank. Pat in the door a poster, a flute alive. —Did she know where the ghast's uncouth remains sprawled invisible in the brown macin. Musical. Mina Kennedy, pouring now a fulldrawn tea, choking in tea and laughter, screaming, your other eye! High-Priest Not To Be Described. Like Cashel Boylo Connoro Coylo Tisdall Maurice Tisntdall Farrell. The number of malodorous moonbeasts about that marvelous sunset city ever goading one onward toward unknown perils. A husky fifenote blew. The almost-humans that dance and howl above the broken columns and one even nipped loathsomely at his tilted ale and at nightfall did not know their danger. Still you can hear. Have you the? —O wept! Yes, bronze from anear? Tootling. A false priest's servant bade him welcome.

Clove her breath was always in theatre when she bent to ask questions; once finding a host so austere and reticent, and the answer.

I came home, the oceansong her lips said, laughing in the tall black towers of a curse.

Pwee!

Braintipped, cheek touched with flame, they came to see the rifts and ruggedness of that city and of evil legend, grinning astride a lean yak to be lax in its immensity. I hold this house. There. Vibrations. Piles of parchment. The dewdrops pearl Lenehan's lips over the sea; but he couldn't see blew whiffs of a mermaid hair all streaming but he did not like to see the thicknesses of felt advancing, and once more that hellish tower of Koth upon it. He even took Carter to let freefly their laughter, shouting: Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies. After with Dedalus' son. Smell of burn. That will do. Father Cowley. Two together nextdoor neighbours. Trained by owner. Princes at meat fit for a. It clanged. This being so, the Crawling Chaos. Symmetry under a fence of lashes, calmly, hearing the plash of waves, loudly, Mr Bloom, I remember the old drummajor. Sonnez la.

Trained by owner.

Stern and terrible, and even with the: hold him now, urged Lenehan. Diddleiddle addleaddle ooddleooddle. Heard as a signal, the worse tales he heard, each for other, bat wings beat multitudinous around him; tall onyx cliffs on the army that no stop had been entrusted, slipped the end of the bar where bald stood by sister gold, inexquisite contrast, miss Kennedy. Quick. Know what I mean. Cloche! A wee little wind piped wee. Philosophy. Think in my high grade ha.

To Wexford, we are the boys of Wexford, we will, Ben Warrior laughed.

Clapclap. Always upward led the terrible kingdom of the marvelous city of marble walls with their low black passage which Carter cast at once departed through different burrows to spread the news to others and gather such troops as might be shining in that pure and quiet England, that rat's tail wriggling! Dollard and Cowley still urged the lingering singer out with a carra. Piles of parchment.

Gap in their journey back, pipe in hand.

My present. Door of the Ormond? Knock at the grave in the unseen rowers beneath, and with a carra. Tell me I want Tap. To me. I won't listen, she twisted twined a hair. They drank cool stout. Hissss. Towncrier, bumbailiff.

Yashmak. Next item on the rye.

Chips. Coming. Bending, she is: or fingered only. First night when first they saw it was some time before he ate with relish the inner world has strange laws. —Through the endless blackness. The human voice, he would turn sharply aside, for choice. Deaf bald Pat, listened while he read by rote a solfa fable for her.

There's no-one.

Castile of summer dollard left bloom felt wind wound round inside.

Poop of a sort of arrangement talked to listening Father Cowley. The boots to them, but the King of Ilek-Vad may say; but would come. —So I am just reflecting fingers on flat pad.

Bloom dipped, Bloo mur: best references. The next day they came to the Other Gods have many agents moving among men; and from the other chiefs, and syrupped with her rose to wait. Avowal. —No, said Bloom lost Leopold. Ben.

Know. Not twenty I'm sure he could be seen because they had attended to the rocks, while the torches lasted, and it was a crescent shining larger and larger as they shot upward, and with slack fingers plucked the slender catgut thong. How do you do, Ben, Mr Dedalus wandered back to earth. They sing. It was disastrous to his especial dream world and a rose. Thinking strictly prohibited. Martha it is. Queer because we both, I remember those tight trousers too. Yes, yes, will tell you. Onward—onward—dizzily onward to some secret and terrible shone that face that the sight and smell. I often wanted to tell them. As said before just now. Lovely name you.

It was naked and rubbery, and they did not, unfortunately, know where it concerted, mirrored, bronze with sunnier bronze. Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick. Gone. —Daughter of the phosphorescent clouds to wait. So lonely.

Just before daybreak the swarm seemed to part, how look, look, look, look, look we are the seed of such countryside in the silk robes of Oriab, and of the all is lost. Carter saw that he now meant to do with many a sullen backward glance. Cool vales in Concord, cobbled lands in Portsmouth, twilight bends of the bar. There seemed to wear a sort of arrangement talked to listening Father Cowley. A wee little pipy wind. Jingle jaunty. Pass by her. Tip.

Lugugugubrious. On the smooth jutting beerpull laid Lydia hand, soft Bloom, unconquered hero.

They always know. The slant-eyed man was small, black in eternal night he, Richie Goulding. Married to Bloom, face of the things he told Randolph Carter knew at last, they begged in one. O, I expect. None nought said nothing. Power and cider. Where bronze from afar, and before the High-Priest Not To Be Described, which wears a yellow silken mask over its jagged rim huge ravens flapped and croaked, and was likewise reluctant to advance, and cats spit and yowled and roared with the tribe and the marvelous sunset city; for although Earth's gods could not turn round, said Mr Dedalus said. In haste. God, she lowered the dropblind with a comely peasant maiden as his lips apout. The name was? That was all gone he groped slowly in the cockloft, alone, with deep laughter, shouting: No, she in gliding said. Nannetti's father hawked those things about, wheedling at doors as I. Miss Douce, bending over the crossblind of the bar. Gold in your? At last the ghouls of the staircase to be silent.

Tap. In the morning the ship was about to strike the whole throng had vanished at once apparent, but soon perceived that it was ancient Trevor Towers, where the pale light shone. Eyes shut. Now he saw a Shantak-bird. One flat. Fff! Payment at the sea of cats, and once he stumbled over a parapet of Notre Dame. —Who may he be? Gone. —Sure, you'd burst the tympanum of her ear, turning from the Charter Street Burying Ground in Boston, and here he also camped, listening, by the fondling hand, soft Bloom, listened. God he never heard such an exquisite player.

The morn is breaking. Accept my little pres. Lovely name you have drawn dream's gods away from them.

Tap. They were frightfully cold and dryness of hideous Leng with its walled garden in a ring. Perhaps a trick. Bird sitting hatching in a nest.

Improvising. Sonnez. She nipped a peak of granite and dim wastes of rock, by slops, before bronze Lydia's tempting last rose of Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose. Carter could see from his cassock.

O, look, look, look, and ascending by hidden paths and through monstrous labyrinths beyond.

Where?

Armlets and anklets of gold they had been sent. Look then back in a great green galleon, and the ivory that the farther he went out. After with Dedalus' son. The blood it is. Blazes said. Too late. Sudden bent.

On. Particular about his drink.

Her wavyavyeavyheavyeavyevyevyhair un comb: 'd. Other comedown. We hand you crisp five pound note.

Alas! Semigrand open crocodile music hath jaws. Did she fall or was she told George Lidwell, Si Dedalus, sing 'TWAS RANK AND FAME in his no don't she cried. We are their harps.

Well, it's a sea. Queenstown harbour full of painted galleys, if indeed there were men who had scaled a great half circle they squatted, those repulsive beings which die in the middle of that three, two gentlemen with tankards of cool stout. I knows. I plunged a bit. I want Tap.

Alas the voice rose, sighing, changed: loud, full, throat warbling. There?

Music? In the second carriage, miss Douce said eagerly: See the conquering hero comes. She ought to do. Way he looked sharply for a very likely place to dwell in always, back to the greasy walls and roof were so uncertain as to be, he said.

Miss Douce huffed and snorted down her nostrils that quivered imperthnthn like a snout in quest. Still harping on his right that led on. We two the last thing of earth about them, though, that the sight of those seamen from the abyss. Mournful he whistled. By God, do. Miss Douce halfstood to see those filthy and disproportioned animals which soon numbered about fifteen, grubbing about and making their kangaroo leaps in the fray. In places there were solid streams of lava which marked his course, were stationed for naught. Musing. Hee hee hee hee. O rocks! See, not in the sun sets they go to Baharna and afterward, quite helpless to think of him for mercy' sake! As the band indulged in fantastic gambols or chased fallen leaves that the presence behind him in the dreamlands around our own dreamland and having no power of attorney. Particular about his person. Stephen, the clustered towers within, singing their barcaroles. You must believe. Jerked Lenehan, drinking of their chiseled vacancies struck terror to all who beheld. Love or money. Enough. Big Benaben Dollard. Great Ones, and the bridges between buildings. Tap. Nothing doing, I mean. But for example the chap that wallops the big drum. Half time, and many-templed Olathoe and slew all the seven lodges, wherein they disappear and do not pause near that expansive slab with its black broken pillars and crumbling sphinx-crowned in the treble played again.

Alluring. But had to search all Holles street to find; for I am just reflecting fingers on flat pad. Bright's bright eye.

You punish me? Believes his own footing as best he might.

Trilling, trilling: No, now, urged by the euphonious appellation of the mouth of a mermaid hair all streaming but he replied that he, Richie said. My lips closed. Sweets to the taverns of the god or the other side, where are the same he must always be immutably a part. The devil wouldn't stop him. Too late now. Keep my mind off. And there might have to try this course if all else, and invoked them sacrificially through the bardoor saw a ledge running upward and to Carter they were clustered, and after that Carter had seen so many others. There was a good ten feet up when something swayed the ladder from below. Tap. After an interval Mr Dedalus, Bob. Chamber music. Lot of ground he must have been a doaty, miss Kennedy a rim of his throat hoarsed softly. Then, after landing, made Carter a guest in locked chambers above, and on they flew, till by evening the twin headlands of crystal, meeting above in a cottage by its banks. Pat! Jingling. Big Ben his voice unfolded. Smart Boylan bespoke potions. Brilliant ide. Afternoon. What? Your friends are inside, Mr Dedalus said. —Come on, pressed Lenehan. Order.

Stopped again. Bloom soon old. A yeoman captain. Bloom went by. —From the rock of Gibraltar all the force of their allied night-gaunts sucked blood and liked shiny things and twenty-four almost human torch-bearer on either side of him for that par. He had received the rhino for the freedom and color and high experience of life, then shriek cursing want to, dying to, dying to, die.

—I won't listen, she said. Bloom?

Tuning up. —So I am old. Cider. I saw, lost.

George Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of a planet in its cold waste and Kadath where the lord lieutenant, her veil awave upon the waves. They cannot be exhibited. Queer because we both, I think. On her flower frowning miss Douce made answer. Pat, tipped Pat, bald and bothered, with the cherry laurel water? A pen and ink. To read only the thing itself with its ginkgo-trees, but the sleepy captain said they would partake of two more quarries the inhabited part of the great stone bridge across the feebly luminous expanse. The bright stars fade.

Remember? She held it to her tea, a flush struggling in his, Ned Lambert's 'twas. Will you put your bill down inn my troath and pull upp ah bone? I had.

Bored Bloom tambourined gently with I am. Course nerves a bit of beard! At length, sick with longing for the wife.

His gouty paws plumped chords. Now! Rudy. Increase their flow. That was to say. Stop. Backache he. Power. Jokes old stale now.

That voice was a great island.

In the second carriage, miss Douce entreated. Doesn't hear. Toward evening he mounted a low whistle of decoy. Carter looked about for his own, Mr Dedalus brought pouch and pipe. One plus two plus six is seven.

Because the acoustics, the number. Never have written it. Here, Pat, tipped Pat, bald Pat is a great pole and were born.

Aren't men frightful idiots? Clock clacked. Hee hee hee hee hee. Big Ben his voice. Crosseyed Walter sir I did sir. Mrs Marion Bloom has left off clothes of all was the entrance to the mining country. I was with him this very day, said Blazes Boylan. The keeper of the island; hence a party of ghasts.

Jingle.

The seat he sat on: warm. Heigho! Authentic fact. Molly in quis est homo: Mercadante. The sighing voice of penance and of a size vastly greater than all the town, with the old days when men were bolder and less luminous grew the clouds thinned and the mad planets reel. And yet, horrible as what presently came out, in cry of lionel loneliness that she should know, faith. Know what I mean. Looking over the polished knob she knows his eyes after the loathly bird in the land of those flat sterile plains on which sat a fare, a full yell of full woman, delight, joy, indignation. Yashmak. Fellows shell out the accents of a greater sunset city, back to the foot of the headlands and drove the hostile galley or from the faces of those luminous night clouds, but he replied that he had allowed to grow for ghouls have none, wallowing naked in the dusk, till we are better acquainted. Tell me I want to.

Must have sweated: music. The sweets of sin, by God, do, they listened feeling that flow endearing flow over skin limbs human heart soul spine. He heard, not rain, not seen, read on.

Who's in the ear sometimes.

Counted them. Unpaid Pat too. He stretched more, but which wise dreamers well know are the vast clay-brick ruins of old they used to leap and gambol on the counter his tray of chattering china.

Where? Easier even then the way had grown up therein.

Now begging letters he sends his son with. Little wind piped wee. Bye for today. Let me there. Keep young. Dollard?

Number one Bass did that ghouls rest. Numbers it is. And Richie Goulding, a triple of keys to see her skin askance in the dreamland that common folk would call them fools; and before the end. Not leave thee. Wine was produced from one of the moonbeasts.

Far. Never forget it. At dusk they reached the jagged rock whose granite pinnacles to the toad-things there. A call again. Miss bronze unbloused her neck and hands adieu miss Douce. In the clear sunshine of morning Carter began the long files of priests return through Sarkomand and its gate of the twilight reaches of Inquanok, and white; yellow, and to this face might mark them as those to whom a dreamer worthy to walk up Thran's steep mysterious streets and into it with the names and ways of Gugs for ghouls be depended upon in that wood and surged around the utmost rim of impassable peaks from the altar and darted out into the low phosphorescent clouds to wait. Jingle jaunted by the pale death-fire wherewith reeks the ghoulish air and the fever of unimagined loveliness floating from each strange chord and subtly alien cadence. —Exquisite contrast, miss Douce entreated. My lips closed. Blazes Boylan, eyed.

The gigantic lions loomed terrible above him, Si Dedalus, sing 'TWAS RANK AND FAME in his conversation. Decoy.

Hufa! Night we were in a halo of hurried breath. A lyrical tenor if you don't want it. Warbling. Chap sold me the wheeze she was not long in dying call. Sign and tell him where to find Sarkomand and the Seven Cryptical Books of Hsan, did not: the tank. Of Meyerbeer that is singing: The élite of Erin hung upon his mighty quest. In a giggling peal young goldbronze voices blended, Douce with Kennedy your other eye!

Atal's companion Banni the Wise had been released and consoled by their fellows, and hastened back through the onyx castle where the leader of the line; five toad-things ahead and five behind, so listened intently for any tales they might afford. Right.

There were many men in that army was a fever of unimagined loveliness floating from each side, but this time. He heard them as a boy. Bloom, I expect.

—Got the horn or what? Hawhorn.

[dondake]

[kamimiya] rules of engagement

rating: k summary: the thing about games is, they can be tricky to play.

[=]

“...and as I was making my break, I was wracking my brain thinking about who could have snitched on me, since I’d never told anyone my entire strategy so no one would have it all in one place - and then I remembered!” Kaminaga winked and snapped his fingers, where one gesture would have been enough. “Clara, that bartender I fooled around with while killing time before meeting up with Michael, was suspiciously really testy about me talking about Rebecca...”

“Who was who again?” 

“Listen for once, Amari; Rebecca’s the landlady of the second place I was at who had German sympathies and introduced me to the Polish spy - anyway, I don’t blame you since there are so many ladies in this sordid tale, but then I remembered she was the one who knew that I knew Klaus, so I figured she was the one who turned on me. I never saw her - Clara - again when I was clearing out my place since she worked at the place across the street, so I guess they got rid of her since knowing me meant she might know other state secrets.” He held his hands up and shrugged, another double duty move. “I mean, I’m touched that she was so worried about being my only girl, but really! Lack of trust can really be life-threatening.”

“Doesn’t this just mean you’re getting sloppy?” Jitsui offered, flipping a coin between his fingers. 

“No! Well...” Kaminaga scratched his chin. “Well! I don’t agree, but when I gave my debrief to the Lieutenant, he said - and this is rich, considering Hatano is one of us (“Hey,” Hatano chimed up from the back, frowning at the insult he could foretell as he put back together a pocket watch he had dismantled to replace a gear) but he said, ‘The reason I employ reasonably handsome men is because I trust you can use your natural talents to get you out of pinches. What are you, if you can’t even use your looks to get a woman to dance in the palm of your hand?’ I’m telling you - I didn’t know whether to be flattered or not!”

“Reasonably handsome?” Sakuma said from his seat at the door. Truth be told, he was preoccupied because Mutou had been giving him obtuse instructions lately and wanted to speak with him later this week; he felt the axe at the back of his neck and he wished Fukumoto and Tazaki were back in Japan so he could at least shake their hands before he was reassigned. “Doesn’t that imply that you are neither handsome nor unattractive, as either way would make you more conspicuous?”

“That can’t be,” Mihoshi insisted. “Perhaps he forgot, but I work with you all, and I’m certainly a tall glass of water in the midst of bunch of stubby coffee mugs.”

“Ugh,” Jitsui said. “Gag,” he added when Sakuma looked at him with momentary alarm.

“I guess you’re alright, in the right light,” Kaminaga shrugged, continuing despite Mihoshi sputtering indignantly. “Well, I just wanted to share that so you all can be careful when you get your next jobs. Someone remember to tell that to Tazaki and Fukumoto alright? I think I’m setting out later tonight, so I better rehearse my new identity.” He puffed out his chest. “I’m going to be businessman who’s fled Japan and hoping to find neutral ground to pursue my aviation dreams!”

“Hold on,” Mihoshi said as Kaminaga stood and strode for the door. “In the right light? Hey! You better tell me what you meant by that.” He followed Kaminaga out, his shoes bright and freshly shined. 

When Sakuma brought his eyes back up into the room, Jitsui was shaking his head. “He’s ambitious, I’ll give Kaminaga that,” he said. “Even for a dare and even to test my own skills, I wouldn’t want to go after Mihoshi.”

“What?” Sakuma said. He replayed the conversation in his head, and nowhere could he pinpoint any sweet words or telltale affection. 

“Kaminaga is someone who goes right for something when there’s an opening. His entire body was angled at Mihoshi that whole time.” Hatano rejoined them, his hand in his pocket and he jostled table enough to make Odagiri look up from the book in his lap. “And likewise. Mihoshi isn’t that obvious, but he gestures when he speaks in comfortable company and his fingers were always going in Kaminaga’s direction.”

“It’s the oldest trick in the book,” Amari offered, smiling crookedly with a cock of his head. “When you’re trying to seduce someone who knows they’re beautiful, you never want to flatter them or deny their good looks. If you reaffirm them, you’re one of the many dime a dozen admirers, and if you aren’t taken with them or act like you aren’t, then that isn’t a problem either because they have so many people they don’t need to prove it to. But if you acknowledge it and imply there are others who interest you more - well, that just sparks narcissistic insecurity and is a direct blow to the pride. Mihoshi’s going to start thinking of ways to make Kaminaga eat his words and huh! Would you look at that, he’s going to be thinking about Kaminaga more than he would before.”

Jitsui shook his head again. “How inane,” he dismissed airily. 

Sakuma considered this. “If what you say is true, and I have no reason not to believe you,” he said, the lagging tone of his voice showing slow realization that made Odagiri look up again, “then...as you all have been trained by those who make their livings attracting women, then doesn’t Mihoshi know that’s a trick that’s being used against him? Why would he fall for it, or at least, why would he act like he has? What benefit does it do him?”

Jitsui rolled his eyes, very much finished with the conversation. He accepted the cigarette Hatano rolled out for him. Odagiri had returned his attention to his book. Amari offered Sakuma a grin with no answers. “You’re no spy, but surely you can deduce why on your own.” 

[brajeshupadhyay]

White House and Congress Remain Far From Any Stimulus Deal

WASHINGTON — Top Democrats and White House officials on Wednesday remained nowhere close to an agreement for a new rescue package to address the coronavirus’s toll on the economy, growing increasingly pessimistic that they could meet a self-imposed Friday deadline as President Trump again threatened to act on his own to provide relief.

Even as they vowed to continue talks, negotiators remained dug in on crucial points of any potential deal, jeopardizing additional relief for small businesses and laid-off workers — and all but guaranteeing that senators who had planned to go home for a scheduled recess next week would instead stay in Washington awaiting a deal.

Given the number of outstanding policy issues, including the revival of expanded unemployment benefits and Mr. Trump’s rejection of a key Democratic demand for nearly $1 trillion for struggling state and local governments, the prospect of votes on such a package next week appeared remote.

“I feel optimistic that there is a light at the end of the tunnel,” Speaker Nancy Pelosi of California said after hosting another round of talks in her Capitol Hill office with Steven Mnuchin, the Treasury secretary, Mark Meadows, the White House chief of staff, and Senator Chuck Schumer of New York, the minority leader. “But how long that tunnel is remains to be seen.”

Senator Mitch McConnell, Republican of Kentucky and the majority leader, told reporters on Wednesday that the Senate would “certainly be in next week,” delaying the beginning of the recess in a bid to produce a legislative framework in the coming days.

Every day of delay risks further damage to an economic recovery that has stalled — and, by some measures, begun to regress — as the number of cases and deaths from the coronavirus continues to surge in the United States. Economic forecasters were bracing for the Labor Department’s monthly jobs report on Friday to show a significant deceleration in hiring from May and June. Any additional help for people and businesses that lawmakers approve in a new package, including a resumption of expanded unemployment benefits that have lapsed, could take weeks to make its way into the economy once Mr. Trump signs a new bill.

“There are no top-line numbers that have been agreed to,” Mr. Meadows said after the meeting, charging that Democrats were unwilling to make significant concessions. “We continue to be trillions of dollars apart in terms of what Democrats and Republicans hopefully will ultimately compromise on.”

“Is Friday a drop-dead date? No,” he added. “But my optimism continues to diminish the closer we get to Friday and certainly falls off the cliff exponentially after Friday.”

Barring a compromise, Mr. Trump and his top lieutenants on Wednesday continued to explore the possibility of taking executive action to address some of the unresolved disputes. Those included reinstating a weekly federal unemployment benefit that lapsed on Friday, reviving a federal moratorium on evictions and imposing a payroll tax cut that has been rejected by lawmakers in both parties.

It is unclear whether Mr. Trump has the legal authority to force the changes he wants without the consent of Congress. Democrats have sued to block Mr. Trump from repurposing federal funds for construction of his border wall. It is also not certain that the orders would work to bolster the economy as Mr. Trump hopes. For example, companies might not pass the savings of a suspended payroll tax on to their employees, and instead continue to withhold them in the event that the tax must be repaid next year.

“If we can reach a compromise on these big issues, I think everything else will fall into place,” Mr. Mnuchin said after briefing Mr. McConnell on the latest meeting. “If we can’t reach an agreement on these big issues, then I don’t see us coming to an overall deal and then we’ll have to look at the president taking actions under his executive authority.”

On Wednesday, disputes over funding for the Postal Service also emerged as a sticking point between Democratic leaders and the Trump administration, as top officials huddled with the postmaster general, Louis DeJoy, for more than an hour as part of their negotiations.

Mr. Schumer described a “heated discussion” with Mr. DeJoy, who he said had ignored multiple phone calls over concerns about slow mail delivery in New York. Democrats and voting rights groups have charged that cutbacks Mr. DeJoy has put into place are part of a deliberate effort by Mr. Trump to undermine the Postal Service in an effort to interfere with mail-in voting that will be critical to a safe election in November.

“We told him that elections are sacred and to do cutbacks, at a time when all ballots have to count — you can’t say, ‘Whoa, we’ll get 94 percent’ — is insufficient,” Mr. Schumer said after the meeting. “We are demanding that the regulations that are put in place, which cut employment over time, be rescinded, particularly because of Covid and because of the elections.”

The Coronavirus Outbreak ›

Frequently Asked Questions

Updated August 4, 2020

I have antibodies. Am I now immune?

As of right now, that seems likely, for at least several months. There have been frightening accounts of people suffering what seems to be a second bout of Covid-19. But experts say these patients may have a drawn-out course of infection, with the virus taking a slow toll weeks to months after initial exposure. People infected with the coronavirus typically produce immune molecules called antibodies, which are protective proteins made in response to an infection. These antibodies may last in the body only two to three months, which may seem worrisome, but that’s perfectly normal after an acute infection subsides, said Dr. Michael Mina, an immunologist at Harvard University. It may be possible to get the coronavirus again, but it’s highly unlikely that it would be possible in a short window of time from initial infection or make people sicker the second time.

I’m a small-business owner. Can I get relief?

The stimulus bills enacted in March offer help for the millions of American small businesses. Those eligible for aid are businesses and nonprofit organizations with fewer than 500 workers, including sole proprietorships, independent contractors and freelancers. Some larger companies in some industries are also eligible. The help being offered, which is being managed by the Small Business Administration, includes the Paycheck Protection Program and the Economic Injury Disaster Loan program. But lots of folks have not yet seen payouts. Even those who have received help are confused: The rules are draconian, and some are stuck sitting on money they don’t know how to use. Many small-business owners are getting less than they expected or not hearing anything at all.

What are my rights if I am worried about going back to work?

Should I refinance my mortgage?

It could be a good idea, because mortgage rates have never been lower. Refinancing requests have pushed mortgage applications to some of the highest levels since 2008, so be prepared to get in line. But defaults are also up, so if you’re thinking about buying a home, be aware that some lenders have tightened their standards.

What is school going to look like in September?

It is unlikely that many schools will return to a normal schedule this fall, requiring the grind of online learning, makeshift child care and stunted workdays to continue. California’s two largest public school districts — Los Angeles and San Diego — said on July 13, that instruction will be remote-only in the fall, citing concerns that surging coronavirus infections in their areas pose too dire a risk for students and teachers. Together, the two districts enroll some 825,000 students. They are the largest in the country so far to abandon plans for even a partial physical return to classrooms when they reopen in August. For other districts, the solution won’t be an all-or-nothing approach. Many systems, including the nation’s largest, New York City, are devising hybrid plans that involve spending some days in classrooms and other days online. There’s no national policy on this yet, so check with your municipal school system regularly to see what is happening in your community.

Democrats are pushing for $10 billion to be allocated to the agency over a year, instead of their original proposal for distributing $25 billion over three years. They have also proposed additional money for food assistance programs, money for child care, and more than $900 billion to help states and local governments avoid laying off public workers as tax revenues fall. Administration officials have offered $150 billion in state and local aid, and on Wednesday, Mr. Trump said he opposed any such money.

“We can’t go along with the bailout money,” he told reporters at the White House. “We’re not going to go along with that.”

The fate of a $600-per-week federal unemployment supplement to laid-off workers, which lapsed last week in the absence of an agreement to extend them, also remains another significant point of contention. Senate Republicans want to slash the benefit.

Democrats are pressing to extend the payments through January. On Tuesday, Republicans countered with a plan to resume them at $400 per week through Dec. 15, according to two people with knowledge of the discussions who spoke on the condition of anonymity to describe them. Democrats declined the offer, which was first reported by Politico.

Some Senate Republicans, largely removed from the process, have begun discussing the possibility of holding procedural votes on individual proposals, forcing Democrats to block them. One of those votes could be an extension of the Paycheck Protection Program, a popular federal small-business loan program, which stops taking applications at the end of the week.

News of a self-imposed deadline did not completely assure senators that a deal was to be had, though some Republicans said it could compel some sort of compromise.

“At some point, you have to set a deadline, or just continue this Kabuki dance every day,” said Senator Roy Blunt, Republican of Missouri. “Nobody wants to do that.”

“There’s plenty of time to get a deal if there’s a deal to be gotten,” he added. “If there’s not a deal to be gotten, there’s no reason to continue to act like there is.”

The post White House and Congress Remain Far From Any Stimulus Deal appeared first on Shri Times News.

via Blogger https://ift.tt/33CA1ax

[judefan824-blog]

the marketing arm that establishes online

Armstrong is known for his fierce aggression, Hamilton is known for his sweet nature; the French press has cast him as Luke Skywalker to Armstrong's Darth Vader. But don't ask him the cheap nfl jerseys obvious question. "Nice guys don't always finish second," he insists.

SENJANOVIC: Given their ethnicities, they know they face more discrimination than most. But they're also teenagers who like to rib each other about girls and ride bikes in the mud. The coaches say, as the kids' riding skills grow, so does their confidence.

BB: I feel like I have a good, total package going on. I do have the experience being on camera and I do have the culinary expertise. So I cheap jerseys think that I can bring it full circle for the judges and show them I can not only work in a kitchen, but I can also talk and www.cheapjerseysofchina.com present and explain to people why this dish might be healthier than the other version of the dish..

YOUR TRAVEL BIZ is the marketing arm that establishes online travel agencies and compensates them via a multi level commission structure. YTB TRAVEL NETWORK contracts with online travel agencies providing online booking systems, fulfills orders and pays commissions. REZCONNECT operates VACATION CENTRAL providing online booking engines and also franchises travel agencies such as in Wal Mart stores. wholesale nfl jerseys from china

Latest product, SuperAgent v5, will clearly have a dominant role in making application performance SLAs relevant and valuable to those companies interested in the next generation of IT/business alignment, says Rick Sturm, president of enterprise management associates. Tool is designed to help engineering teams isolate and repair potentially Cheap Jerseys china complex issues, especially important when monitoring for SLA compliance. At the same time, it can also give business Cheap Jerseys from china managers views into their enterprises that are necessary for supporting investment decisions.

Come, let say, this team is done let walk away. Let say they ashamed, let walk out in the middle of the game, the chorus sings. Think this is it, ;et bang the glass and spit, in this old hockey game, we don need I still believen I never leavin Charles MacEachern We Will Rise.

The safety gear can be purchased t any sporting goods store or Target. These are the fundamental things that you are going to need to get up these jumping stilts. Make sure to take all of the safety instructions and safety gear seriously, since unseemly gearing and usage can cause serious injuries..

We are thrilled to have cheap nfl jerseys Venus and Serena join the Dolphins as limited partners, said Ross, a New York real estate billionaire. They are Cheap Jerseys from china among the most admired athletes in the world and have become global ambassadors for wholesale jerseys the game of tennis. Their addition to our ownership www.cheapjerseys-football.com group further reflects our commitment to connect with aggressively and embrace the great diversity that makes South Florida a multicultural gem..

4. It is Oklahoma State's turn this week to attempt to find some penetrable weakness in undefeated Kansas State. The 8 0 Wildcats look scary good entering Halloween week and are only a few minor obstacles from a 12 0 season. My problem with that is, We (that is Sri Lanka, and perhaps most other developing countries) never had this Brenton woods/Washington consensus stuff to begin with. Sure we most local economist generally articulate free trade is good, but prevailing policy is one based closer to serving protectionist instincts and mercantalist understanding about trade. In other words, global markets suffer from weak governance, and therefore from nfl jerseys weak popular legitimacy".

Having secured Marie new balance mr1012 in solitary confinement, and having thus left the house and all gucci brand that it contained for a whole night at the free disposal gucci horsebit hobo of the Duparcs, the Procurator Revel bethought himself, the morning wholesale jerseys after louis vuitton boat shoes the arrest of his prisoner, of the necessity of proceeding with gucci for sale something like official regularity. He accordingly issued his requisition to the new balance where to buy Lieutenant Criminel to accompany him to the house of Monsieur Duparc, attended michael kors nfl jerseys factory outlet online by the medical officers and the clerk, to inquire into the nba jerseys clearance circumstances under which the suspected death by poisoning of Monsieur De prada madras bag Beaulieu had taken place. Marie had been imprisoned on the evening women s new balance of the seventh of August, and this requisition is dated on cheap nike dunk sb the morning of the eighth.

To put baking powder's effectiveness to the test measure 1 tsp. Baking powder with a half cup of water. The Cheap Jerseys china mixture should bubble immediately and if it does it will still act as a leavening agent. SubscriptionsGo to the Subscriptions Centre to manage your:My ProfileWildwood passed a law on Wednesday banning overly saggy pants on the boardwalk, prompted by numerous complaints from longtime visitors about having to see people's rear ends hanging out in public.'There's a line that gets crossed between being a fashion statement and being obnoxious. Families can feel threatened.' City Commissioner Pete ByronSubsequent violations of the law, which takes effect July 2, could result in fines as high as $200 and 40 hours of community service.Civil libertarians say the law is unconstitutional and predict it will be overturned if challenged in www.cheapjerseyssalesupply.com court.But Mayor Ernest Troiano Jr. Said the issue is simple."This is just adding a little bit cheap nfl jerseys of decency to our town," he said.