#She's still a gateway spirit - just not in the same way nor to the same degree Danny is

[ailithnight]

Danny: He's already got slightly higher odds cause his particular obsession is likely to go unfulfilled in life, so he'll most likely die with unfinished business. That, plus a violent or emotionally charged death, in the presence of a strong ectoplasm source* would only stack those odds even higher for him becoming a ghost.

*In this instance, that source being gateway spirits like Danny and, to a slightly lesser extent given the nature of her 'birth,' Ellie.

Danny, after running away moving to Gotham a few months ago begins making little commentary videos on a social media app.

It was fine and all with mostly friends viewing them up until his meta gene activated. He didn't even know he had a meta gene and kinda figured any of the ghost stuff he did as Phantom would have activated it if he did have one. Nope!

His newest video started out with him wearing a red beanie, "Hey guys! You know how I just moved to Gotham a few months ago? Well, turns out I have the meta gene!" He takes a moment to let that sink in before continuing, "Most people get there abilities or whatever through a lab accident or an explosion or something and end up with like telekinesis."

"I, however, am hated by the universe and got scratched by a cat," he then yanked off the beanie to reveal two large cat ears, "and turned into furry bait. On that note if you have any tips on how to avoid Catwoman please leave them in the comments section. For my sake."

Dick stared down at his phone in shock. He needed to show his siblings this

In the meantime Danny has to deal with his channels popularity skyrocketing. "This is not what I want to be remembered for."

Bonus points if Danny gets one of those FMK questions that are all bats and he responds with, "Kill? A bat? Listen, if I get put into a death match with a bat the only one dying here will be me. I cant even do a backflip, what makes you think I could even touch one of them???"

[tricked-out]

Summertime Fun in Halloween Town

As promised, here's a fun little summer action for our favorite autumn characters! [Read on FF HERE]

June 12

Sindelfingen, Stuttgart

10pm

Ivy had never been more grateful for her impromptu Halloween haircut. Sure, the blade of Bloody Mary and the scissors of a nervous Jack wouldn't have been her first choice of barbers, but without them she'd still have a mane of dark hair that would no doubt be heating up her skull even more.

As it was, her short locks were still plastered to her face and the top of her neck, damp with sweat. She'd long since kicked off the covers and peeled off her shirt, trying desperately to ignore the heavy heat in the air as the June heatwave took over the city, slowing down the usual summertime bustle. Every window in the house was flung open, leaving bees to drift in and out as they pleased, but Ivy and her family were beyond caring. With a groan, she flopped out of bed and landed on the hardwood floor, stifling a whine at the lack of cool wood she expected to press against her cheek.

She tried to distract herself - remembering the most boring of lectures she'd had to sit through, the droning of the Creature when he got on a tangent, the comfort of being able to sleep without being worried one's skin would melt off. Not for the first time, she thought wistfully of the air conditioned buildings she remembered from the States. Although it had felt strange at the time to go from sticky, damp heat to getting a blast of frozen air in her face, Ivy thought she wouldn't mind the environmental impact if she could just have a little breeze, please.

"You're welcome to make this more bearable anytime," she mumbled aloud to the utterly still air. No whisper of the Wind answered her and Ivy reluctantly pushed herself to her feet, wincing as her skin peeled away from the wood. She grabbed her shirt and sighed as she slipped it on, already hating the feeling of fabric against her too-warm skin.

Sticking her head out the window wasn't much better. The stifling heat continued outside, just with the soothing sounds of distant cards and - ugh, an Igelkarussell. Wincing at the sounds of fierce mating, she clambered out the window and hefted herself onto the roof before flopping backwards, letting her feet dangle as she stared up at the stars. There were hardly any, this close to the city center, and Ivy found herself missing the paradoxical expanses of the Halloween sky, where unrecognizable constellations soared overhead and the moon winked back, if you didn't blink first. A fierce longing filled her soul, along with the first sparks of an idea.

She sat up and gauged the position of the moon in the sky, sending its white beams down to the old houses below. She had enough time, if she was quick - and months of practice had honed her instincts in the matter.

In a burst of energy, she sat up and closed her eyes, breathing in the warm summer air that smelled of cut grass and cigarettes. The hum of the fans in the house below added to her hypnotic state, and Ivy focused on the tattoo on her arm, waking up the part of Halloween that grew within her.

The Wind finally made an appearance, swirling around and cooling her damp skin, nearly knocking the girl from her focused state. Rolling her eyes behind her eyelids, she breathed out until the sense of unease was heightened, a Gateway to Halloween forming in the timeless instant. With a grin on her face despite the heat, Ivy leaned forward and let the Universe whirl her away.

Halloween Town

2pm

Town Center

Most days, Jack loved the weather in Halloween Town. It was a catalogue of every possible weather that had occurred on October 31st, ranging from deep colds to a warm night filled with new scents. Most often, of course, it hung in the middle - the embodiment of a perfect fall day, where one could wear a jacket or feel the slight bite of the Wind against their outer layer, where the sky was open and the nights were long. It was familiar, it was relaxing, it was perfect.

It was not usually like this.

Jack and the other Citizens were dead, true, and thus weren't as bothered by things such as temperature, but it was the principal of the matter. The sun had risen early and refused to be thwarted by clouds, and the beams - so often gentle and welcoming - were instead harsh and demanding, melting the tar off a few houses and causing steam to erupt from the Well. Jack picked at his outwear, his usual black jacket abandoned in favor of a rather bizarre shirt Ivy had gifted him a few weeks prior. He didn't quite understand the mischief he'd seen in her eyes, but the fabric was loose, so he let it be.

He sat with his feet up in the shade of the café, content to watch the usually bustling Town wind down in the heat of the day. The liquid-based monsters were being particularly cautious, hating the sizzle of evaporation that would occur when they poked their heads out from the protection of the falling ceilings of the café. Jack noted with amusement that Vlad was nowhere to be seen, but the rest of the vampires were grouped together, each one with an umbrella larger than the last. Their waiter desperately tried to squeeze between the gaps to serve them their hot toddies, contorting their body to faithfully deliver the steaming saucers.

There was the whisper of fabric behind him, the scent of blood, and Jack felt energy miraculously dart through him as Sally came into his field of vision. His grip on his own drink (a mixture of chilled rattlesnake venom and limes) faltered as she sat down across from him, new dress flowing freely from her shoulders and her long red hair swept up in a delicate knot that Jack knew his fingers would get trapped in.

Not that his fingers would have cause to be in her hair, of course, but -

"It's the first day like this I can remember," Sally said in soft wonder, almond eyes sweeping over to the Fountain, where the children were taking turns dunking each other in. "Isn't it funny, how those little waves come up from the cobblestone? It almost makes the air shimmer like a spider-web!"

It was easy, sometimes, to forget that Sally wasn't even a year old, with her quiet maturity and the strange wisdom that sometimes glinted in her dark eyes. Ever since the day she'd gained Citizenship she'd seemed to slowly change, and no longer looked at him with quite the hesitancy he'd seen before. It was welcome, naturally, but it also….

Well. He appreciated her ability to make him see the long-familiar world through different eyes, and for a moment they both watched the heat waves rise from the hot stones.

There was a strange sound accompanied by a shifting of pressure in the air, some monster's ears popping as a Gateway opened in the shadowed corner across the street, and a human form slowly materialized. For half a moment Jack's ribs clenched with fear (not again!) but it eased just as quickly when Ivy stood up, momentarily peaceful expression instantly morphing into one of sheer rage.

"Oh, come on!" She screeched at the sky, startling the vampires into their bat forms. Jack stifled a laugh into his tea, watching in amusement as Ivy marched over, her eyes landing on Jack and lighting up in a way that caused a good warmth to flood through him.

"Welcome, Ambassador Ivy," he greeted, never tiring of the look of exasperation she'd give him at his formality. "What can we do for you?"

"How about what she can do for us?" griped a nearby monster. "Don't you have your own world? Why've you got come down here all the time?"

"It's way too hot to hang out up there," she shot back, gratefully stepping into the shade.

"It's hot here, too," Vinnie piped up, her bandages nearly half undone in an attempt to cool off.

Jack watched as Ivy bit down a sarcastic retort to the monster child, instead giving her a tight smile. "You're right, it is."

"You look weird!" Vinnie continued brightly.

"Thanks, Vin."

It was somewhat true. Ivy was a very colorful human, in terms of her mannerism, language, and, today, her skin. It was flushed a deep pink, a strange sheen to her eyes, and sweat rolled off her forehead and beaded at her hairline. An open button down swung at her sides, and for the first time Jack could remember she was wearing shorts. The human ran a head up the back of her neck, then seemed to notice Jack fully for the first time, her jaw going slack. "Uh, Jack? What are you wearing?"

"You're not having memory problems again, are you?" Jack asked in concern, pinching the strange material. "You gave this to me, remember?"

"Yeah, but as a - you're actually wearing it?" Her voice went up an octave.

Jack frowned. "Is there a problem? Have I violated some taboo?"

"Jack, you're wearing a Hawaiian shirt."

"Is that what it's called? Fascinating! It's been many years since we've encountered the spirits on those islands - "

Ivy's voice was strained in that strange way it got sometimes, whenever Jack found she was being particularly obtuse. "It's - it's bright red!"

"Not my color?" Jack glanced down in concern. Sally had stared a bit too, but he trusted her eye for style wholeheartedly, and she hadn't said anything, so -

"Give me strength," Ivy muttered, rolling her eyes to the sky.

"How about a drink instead?" the waiter cut in, glaring at Ivy pointedly until the human huffed and pulled a chair over to Sally and Jack's table, curling up with her legs dangling over the side.

"Love your dress, Sal," Ivy said after a moment, giving the ragdoll an approving thumbs up. "And your hair looks great up like that - right, Jack?"

The skeleton was too busy attempting to formulate an appropriate response to see the warning look Sally threw the girl, nor the gleeful expression she gave in return.

"Sally manages to maintain a horrendous appearance with everything she does," Jack said, deciding to go for neutrality in lieu of any other answer. Sally's stern face dropped along with her eyes, a dark blue flush covering her cheeks. It appeared rag dolls felt the heat the same way humans did, after all.

"That's - that's very kind of you, Jack," she managed, picking delicately at the edge of the ragged tablecloth. "I think you look rather - dreadful yourself."

The two stared at one another, the strange tension that always seemed to creep up on them thick in the air, only to be broken by the slow slurp of liquid through a straw as Ivy looked at them, one eyebrow raised in disbelief.

"What?" She asked.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Absolutely not," Jack said firmly, halting Ivy's trajectory with one firm grasp on her collar.

"Why not?" she whined, straining the edge of the fabric and gazing longingly at the other kids, who were lining up at the edge of the bridge. "I'm in no mood to get dunked in the Well, so what's wrong with the river?"

"And have to send you back to your world smelling like a swamp? I hardly think that's a good idea."

"Snake slither!" Angus yelled, stretching his small bat wings wide and soaring into the air, then wrapping them around himself and plummeting down, causing a delightful splash of green water.

Ivy turned to Jack in pleading desperation.

"Oh, don't do that face," Jack said immediately, turning his gaze skyward, though there was a twinge of franticness in his tone. Ivy, who wasn't aware she had such a face, tried to simultaneously enhance and maintain her expression. After a few tense moments, one of Jack's sockets twitched downward and he flinched, then gave a dramatic sigh that let Ivy know she'd won.

"Just for a bit, alright?" He warned sternly, even as Ivy began to eagerly scan the edge of the bridge. "You'll come out when I tell you so you can dry and wash up before going back to the human world."

"Yeah, yeah," she said, distracted, and Jack gave another sigh - familiar in its world weariness.

"Go have fun," he said with all the seriousness of assigning a position on Halloween night, and Ivy wasted no time in sprinting towards her friends.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jack found a spot on the riverbank to watch, not trusting the human in the slightest to behave. Her general maturity level (at least, in comparison to the rest of the children) seemed to fly out the window at the opportunity to show off, and Jack had too much experience with her human fragility to let his guard down. He tried, briefly, to remember how long humans could safely hold their breath, then abandoned the thought. It would only increase his paranoia, he decided.

A familiar sweet scent distracted him as Sally knelt in the grass beside him, watching as Vinnie hurtled herself into the water, her bandages soaking instantly.

"Did you ever do this?" She asked suddenly, one finger tracing the edge of her black lace parasol. "In a river or …. Some other type of water?" Her brow furrowed, and Jack leapt, as always, at the opportunity to provide the rag doll with a new word.

"I hid at the edge of the ocean once," he confessed with a grin. "I was tracking one particular human, and thought that arising from the depths of the sea at my height may give him quite the fright. And it's easy to disappear into!"

"Ocean," Sally said, testing the new word on her tongue. "What's that like?"

A familiar face flashed behind Jack's sockets and he shook his skull, banishing the memories as he tried to focus on the sensations and scale of the waves. "It's alive, in a way this river isn't. The Wind creates white peaks on the waves, which forever crash against the shore." He pointed to the bank of the river, where the water lapped gently at the plants, sometimes disturbed by the next child's entry into the water. "Imagine, perhaps, that you are an ant there on the riverbank. All you can see before you is water, and the sun shining upon it turns the dark blue into gold. You know if you step too far, you'll either be swept away or drowned. It has a mind of its own, the ocean."

Sally stared at the river bank, her mind no doubt conjuring up fantastic images. Jack basked in the memory of a sunset on the beach one last time, then tucked it away once more, and the pair fell into silence.

A stone his his head and he turned, one hand shielding his vision from the sun as he looked up at the top of the bridge. Ivy stood there, toeing off her shoes, and staring down into the murky water with her usual focused expression. She crouched down, whispering something to the fascinated children gathered around her, then quickly glanced over to the bank to see if Jack was watching with a forced and awkward attempt at subtlety.

Jack gave her a thumbs up and watched the involuntary grin take over her face, even as she pretended not to see him.

With a determined nod, Ivy pushed herself up and into the air, arms wheeling out for a brief instant before she wrapped them around her legs, hurtling towards the river with a screech that could have only been learned in scaring class. She hit the water with a solid boom!, water rushing into the sky like a fountain and spraying the occupants of the bank and bridge. The children cheered, climbing over each other to go next, but Jack didn't celebrate until he saw a dark head peek out from the water, shaking like Zero after a storm. She treaded water as she called the next child down, who kept the ball formation until they hit the water, landing flat on their back that no doubt would have stung had they been human. Reassured, Jack turned back to Sally, who watched the proceedings with amusement.

"That looks like fun," she said wistfully, angling her parasol to better protect her from the spray. "I'm not sure it would be good for me, though."

There was such a sorrow to her tone that Jack turned his attention fully to her, watching the way her red hair glinted in the sun. The shouts of Ivy and the children provided a cover for their conversation, prompting him to lean in closer. Sally's eyes widened, two strands dangling before them.

"Have you ever tried?"

"No," she whispered, as though it were a secret. Knowing Sally's guardian, perhaps it was. "Only my hands, and then I had to let them dry in the sun."

Another old memory flashed in Jack's mind, though whether it was from Halloween or before he couldn't quite distinguish. Putting the puzzle aside he stood up, shaking his bones loose and sending Sally a dazzling smile. "Come, let's try something."

Sally blinked owlishly but soon joined him by the bank of the river. The children were oblivious, now attempting to get as many of them on Ivy's shoulders as possible before she was forced beneath the murky water. The practice made Jack pause, but when the human bobbed back to the surface and hurtled one monster away, he decided she could handle it.

He knelt in the loose pebbles, feeling Sally wordlessly join him with a trust that made his ribs tighten. She gazed at the water with a mixture of trepidation and excitement, one hand hovering just above it. Jack steeled himself for the eventual headache and dunked his head under the water, blinking into the dark depths.

The Siren, who had been rising from the bottom of the river with one webbed hand extending towards Ivy's ankle, gazed innocently at Jack before receding back down.

He pulled his head up and shook it, spraying an astonished Sally. "You want me to do that?" She stammered, eyes torn between gazing at him and the water in horror.

"Why not?" He asked with a craggly grin.

"I'm - I don't know if the Doctor would want me to," she stammered, but Jack could see the spark of rebellion in her eyes, something that had been steadily growing over the past few months, and was seized with a sudden desire to fan the flames, if only to see what creature would emerge. At the back of his skull, his respect for the Good Doctor protested, but the front of his mind was focused solely on the rag doll before him.

"You'd have time to dry," he said, sockets flickering to the beating sun above them. "And what he doesn't know won't hurt him."

Sally tilted her head at him, then tipped her head back and laughed. It was clear and far gentler than anything he'd ever heard in Halloween Town, and he felt a strange sadness within him as it died away, only to be replaced by the graceful upturn of her lips.

"I should have known," she said, amused.

"Know what?"

"That the King creates his own rules." She stared at the water once more, then squared her shoulder that eerily reminded him of Ivy - thought it made sense, he supposed, given Sally's origins.

"Shall we?" He asked, extending a hand. Sally's eyes grew large but after only a moment's hesitation she took it. With her soft hand in his, they plunged their heads under in unison.

Without the need to breathe, they both took in the sight of the dark water, with a few stray sunbeams piercing through to the muddy bottom, where dark green algae clung to the sharp rocks. The strands of Sally's bun grew loose, fanning around her head in a manner that reminded Jack of the sea sirens of legend. Then, with an instinct he didn't quite understand, Jack unhinged his jaw to scream into the water.

It was muffled, and no breath meant no stream of bubbles, but Sally heard him all the same. She stared at him in befuddlement, then hesitantly opened her own stitched lips and gave a scream of her own - small, at first, as if unfamiliar with the concept, then growing until it was louder than Jack's, what sounded like months of pent-up something spilling into the water.

A burst of bubbles and flesh cut both their screams off as Ivy sank beneath the water, her arms wrapped around her legs once more, eyes screwed shut. A look of curiosity stole over her face after a few moments of floating downwards, and she unraveled herself before blinking open her eyes to meet the gazes of Sally and Jack, peeking beneath the water like strange serpents. She huffed, bubbles escaped from her nose and mouth, and promptly ignored them, kicking off the closest rock and kicking towards the surface.

Laughing, Jack pulled out of the water, and after a moment Sally did the same. The fabric of her face was a much darker blue, though for once due to something other than a blush. She let go of his hand (Jack had almost forgotten about it) and began to wring out her hair, a look of familiar wistfulness on her face.

"I've never screamed," she confessed. "Isn't that silly, for a creature in a Town like this?"

"Not at all," Jack rushed to reassure. "If anything, one's first scream is best saved for a special time, don't you think? The first of many more to come, no doubt!" Then, with a touch of embarrassment. "I'm sorry for forcing your first upon you -"

"You didn't," Sally said, an equal reassurance in her voice. "Without you, who knows how long I would've gone without doing it!"

"Surely the Doctor -"

Sally snorted. "He doesn't care for me to raise my voice, Jack." Then, as though realizing what she'd said, she hastily added, "which makes sense, of course, he needs the peace and quiet to work, and I do talk quite a bit, I suppose -"

The thought of Sally talking too much was one that Jack didn't fully grasp, but he supposed he'd never understood much of the Doctor's thought patterns. He was a genius, after all, fully mad and everything. He knew when to pick his battles.

"Well, I always enjoy what you have to say," Jack decided to answer, leading Sally back to their spots. He could already feel the water being leached from his skull, and didn't mind collapsing onto the thin grass to watch the children once more. Sally had no response other than to hum quietly, sitting beside him and tipping her face towards the sun to aid the drying process, plucking the spider silk tie from her hair, causing a cascade of red hair to topple down her back and Jack to wish for the refreshment of the freezing water once more.

A shadow fell across them as Ivy stumbled over and sat down, flipping her head over and wringing river water from her hair. She grinned over at Sally, a look of proud expectation on her face. "What'd you think, Sally?"

"I liked it," the rag doll admitted in her usual mix of shyness and honesty, keeping her eyes closed. "Perhaps next time I'll swim fully."

"I'll teach ya how to do a cannonball if you want!"

"That's very kind of you," Sally answered, though not quite accepting the human's offer. "You're very good at them."

The distraction worked - Ivy puffed up, smoothing one hand through her wet hair, causing the back to stick up in a way that had Jack's hands twitching for a brush. No wonder her hair was forever tangled. "Yeah, it's way easier to do them here than back in the Schwimmbad. There's always too many kids and not enough depth."

Sally nodded seriously, despite clearly not understanding a word. Jack, who never could resist the urge to learn, prodded Ivy's back until she looked at him. "Sally and I were discussing beaches. Have you ever been to one?"

Ivy shrugged. "Yeah, we went down to Italy a few years ago, and it was pretty nice." She tilted her head, a new laughter in her eyes and voice. "Papa always said it wasn't a real beach, though. Too rocky, just like this." She gestured towards the river bank, where stones and dirt lined the edge. "He thinks a beach should be all white sand." With that, she flopped backwards, tucking her arms behind her head and closing her eyes.

There was something strange happening to the skin of Ivy's face, something that tugged at old alarm bells in Jack's mind, but time had eroded the memories too much. He frowned but let it be, leaning back on his hands and enjoying the rare stillness in the heat of the day. Sally copied Ivy, folding her hands neatly across her stomach and letting her eyes flutter shut.

"We should get you a - oh, what are they called? A floatie," Ivy mumbled, her eyes still shut.

"What's that?" Sally asked in turn, confusion winning out over her politeness.

"It's a -" Ivy dug one hand behind her back, pulled out a stick, and tossed it blindly towards the river, where cheers from the children rose up. "It's a bit of plastic that helps you float on the water without getting wet."

"Really?" Sally sounded incredulous. She opened her eyes and peered at the river. "So I could go out without getting wet?"

"Yup. Get all the sun and current you want, without having to be all wet afterwards."

"I would like a … a floatie."

"We'll make it happen, Sal."

"Would they work for skeletons, as well?" Jack asked, feeling oddly left out.

Ivy snorted. "Tell you what, Jack, if I can find one that'll fit your gangly ass, it's yours."

The owner of the gangly ass sniffed indignantly, but fell silent, choosing instead to enjoy the sight of his friends.

Finally, hours later, Ivy woke from an impromptu cat nap, stretching and blinking into awareness. Jack stifled a smile at the sight from where he stood in the river, allowing the tiring children to climb up his limbs and dive off his shoulders. Sally sat on the edge of the bridge, her legs swinging freely over the side.

"Ugh." The human grumbled, pushing herself upright, then freezing, one finger poking her face and causing an immediate groan. "Oh, damn it."

"What is it?" Jack allowed the last child to stand on his hands and launched them into the air, then stepped out, rolling his pant legs down. It wouldn't do to ruin Sally's handiwork, after all. "Are you alright?"

Ivy stared up at him, a grumpy expression on her red face. "Sunburn," she mumbled, getting to shaky legs. "And, ow, headache. Serves me right for sleeping in the sun."

"Sunburn?" The word clicked into his mind and Jack nearly hit himself as he saw Ivy's red and peeling skin with new sockets. "Wait, don't you have a - a potion you use to prevent this?"

Ivy paused from brushing the dirt off her shirt to shoot him a look of pure disgust. "What, sunscreen? I'm not a nerd, Jack, I don't need it."

"Well, clearly, you - don't pick at it!" He shouted, as Ivy peeled a strip from her forearm. "Why do you have to -"

"Guess that one monster was right," Ivy said, blowing bits of loose skin off her arm. "We really do shed sometimes."

"Please stop," Jack all but begged, shedding his Hawaiian shirt and tossing it over her head, as though to prevent any more sun rays.

"Hey, Jack, watch." She held up her red arm, then poked it, laughing at the white imprint of her fingers that were left behind. "Ah, that's going to hurt like a bitch in the morning."

"I don't know how to fix this," Jack confessed quietly. Ivy finally looked away from her skin, raising one unimpressed eyebrow. The disapproving look was somewhat lessened by the hem of the red shirt hanging low across her forehead

"Jack, it's fine. It's my own fault, and I'll throw some Aloe Vera on it when I get back - "

"Sally!"

"Oh, god, no -"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

An hour and two plants later

Jack disposed of the last few plant stems, humming contentedly to himself. There was a silent stewing happening behind him, and that only made him smile harder.

"Quit smirking," the human's voice grouched. "I feel ridiculous."

"It's for your own good," he chided, turning and leaning against the sink, crossing his arms. The curtains were drawn at Ivy's insistence (and Jack found that it did make the Manor a bit cooler), so only a candle and Jack's night vision allowed him to see the scowl etched on his charge's now-shiny face, the strong smell of aloe vera juice permeating the air. "How were you going to explain getting that way overnight?"

"I'd've figured it out the same way I do everything else," Ivy muttered, and there was a weariness to the tone that gave him pause. He tilted his head and moved to - well, to try and say something, but Ivy seemed to sense the heaviness in her tone and brightened, touching one hand gingerly to her cheek, where a clump of aloe Vera juice lay. "You almost looked like you were having fun today."

That gave Jack a different kind of pause. "Do I not appear to have fun normally?"

"No, 'cause you don't," came the definitive reply.

"I'm consistently in good spirits!"

"Don't bullshit a bullshitter, dude."

"I do wish you'd speak less coarsely."

"And I wish you'd realize I know when you're faking being happy by now, so it looks like we're both disappointed." Ivy's arms crossed, and she gazed at Jack with a familiar piercing gaze. "What's going on with you? You had Sally today, you did your weird little bonding moment, why isn't that a good thing?"

"It is," Jack rushed. "I - it was… enjoyable, today, I suppose."

"Oh, high praise."

"Let me finish, please."

Ivy rolled her eyes but fell silent.

"Surely you remember the amount of things I'm responsible for in regards to running Halloween," Jack began, hoping that Ivy's memory wasn't failing her again. At her nod, he continued. "I can't afford to be lax in my days!"

"Yeah, but you also set the mood for the rest of the Town," Ivy argued, forgetting her promise to be silent (as usual). "If you're always high-strung and on the move, who's gonna be the voice of reason? We already have the Mayor for all the anxious nonsense, we don't need two of you."

"Hey now -"

"Jack, I think your bones are actually capable of falling apart when you're stressed." Ivy tried to glare at him further, only to immediately wince when it pained her face. "Just -" she took a breath, actually seeming to regain control. "Just - I'm here for you, ok? Like, I don't know how much help I can be, but, uh, I'll do what I can." She hesitated, then reached out to kick his leg.

"I feel the support," Jack responded dryly. Then, before she could make it worse, he hastily added: "and I thank you all the same." He sat beside her, and the two tried to exist with the heavy pressures of deceit and leadership on their shoulders. "And I am here for you as well," he said, as though uncertain.

Ivy laughed quietly, knocking her shoulder against his. "There's never any doubt of that, Bone Boy."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At Sunrise

Ivy's closet was the perfect place for a Gateway - cramped, timeless, and seldom used. Still, that never made it easy for her to materialize inside of it, holding in a swear as she tripped over her shoes and pinwheeling frantically as she was muffled by the clothing. She opened the door and crept out, still feeling the sunburn tighten her skin painfully. The sun was creeping upwards over the village, and Ivy hurried to change from her river-stiff getup into a new shorts and tank top combo, hiding the evidence in the closet. She'd have to find some way to clean them, but it shouldn't be too hard to figure out.

A glance at her watch had her hurrying - she scrambled beneath the covers, now somehow cool, and closed her eyes against the gentle transition from dawn to day. She began to count, slowing her breaths, until the tell-tale signs of her father getting ready for work began. At 250 seconds, her dialed up hearing altered her to the handle of her bedroom door opening as he performed his customary check to see if his daughter was still there. Ivy remained still, her breathing slow once more. The checks were getting more random, less easier to predict, but Ivy hadn't missed it once.

The door shut and Ivy refused to breathe a sigh of relief. Eventually, her papa's footfalls faded down the hall, and Ivy begrudgingly decided to try and get some sleep before facing another tremulous - and no doubt, hot - summer day.

[bigfan-fanfic]

Vir’abelasan

~A story detailing the repercussions of Tash drinking from the Well of Sorrows~

Tagging @darlingrutherford​ 

“I can feel it... it’s... hungry.” Tash shuddered. He winced, the echoes from the Fade swirling around him. He had always felt the comforting presence of his guardian spirits swirling around him, but now... they were outnumbered. There was a throng of spirits out there, angry and vicious. But a presence beyond that nestled in the depths of the Well. 

Morrigan scoffed. “How could you possibly know that?”

Tash raised an eyebrow, although he kept his eyes fixed on the Well, as if it might reach out and grab him with a watery hand. “Abelas said that the priests put their will into the Well, right? What if it’s some sort of magical compulsion? A geas or something?”

Solas gave a soft noise of affirmation. “It is said that Mythal’s priests were exceptionally powerful, granted magic by their mistress…”

The witch seemed disconcerted that the child before her had thought of that and she hadn’t. “It is... possible. But that is all the more reason that I should take the power of the Well. I assume the risks.”

“The risks... and the rewards.” Vivienne scoffed. “I would sooner trust the Well to the false Warden than to the witch, my dear.”

“And you would have a child risk binding himself to the lingering will of elf priests?” Morrigan sneered. “And I thought that Madame de Fer could sink no lower.”

“Careful, darling, your famous husband isn’t here to mind your tongue for you.” Vivienne said tartly.

Blackwall huffed. “Can you two quit bickering? This isn’t a tea party.”

Tash nodded. “Play nice.”

Gale knelt next to him, putting an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “What will it be, Tash? I hate to rush you, but Corypheus is coming, and we’ll need to get out of here.”

Tash glanced at Cole. “Can you sense the others? Are they safe?”

Cole closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes. Aura and Lottie are helping them take Samson. But… I can hear him.”

“We should go, then.” Tash sighed. “I wish Henry was here. He’d know what I should do.”

Morrigan clicked her tongue. “My husband is from the same world. He has told me that often the events here are changed from his foreknowledge. The choice is yours alone, young Inquisitor.”

Tash gave a soft whimper, his gold eyes looking from Morrigan to Solas to where Abelas had vanished, and finally to the Well. “It’s mine. I’ll drink.”

And despite Morrigan’s protests, despite Solas expressing his misgivings, Tash waded into the Well, the water rising up to his chest. He did not look back as he moved to the center of the Well of Sorrows, but his voice carried clearly to the others. “Mythal… if you’re real… mythal’enaste. Er… I don’t know the elvhen for it, but please… just don’t hurt me.”

And as soon as he reached the center, he shuddered, and then went limp, slipping into the pool as though he was a marionette and his strings snapped.

The Well exploded, water turning to dense blue fog, swirling around and around where Tash had fallen. Solas and Vivienne held up a barrier as Gale and Blackwall attempted to approach, unnerved by Cole’s mutterings of “He’s talking to her… she shouldn’t be there.”

Blackwall went charging forward as soon as the barriers were dispelled, Tash lying still at the bottom of the empty, dry Well. “Lad! Lad, are you alright?”

He scooped the boy into his arms, trying to determine what to do. And Tash’s eyes flew open.

They were blue. An unnatural, glowing blue that seemed to be bleeding from his irises across the rest of his eyes. Glowing blue lines etched themselves across his skin and up around his horns in a mimicry of the pattern on Abelas’ face.

”Vallaslin.” Gale murmured in awe. “Fenhedhis.”

Tash took a shuddering breath, but a strange chorus followed his voice, the whispering bass and tenor tones of men and an alto tone of a woman. His eyes, now completely a glowing blue, flashed as he stood and looked at Solas, head tilting.

The elf gasped and reeled back.

“Solas.” Tash said softly, in a strange way, as if he had not seen the elf for a long time. The chorus repeated his speech, just slightly out of sync, a few soft trailing whispers after his mouth had closed. “Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris. Emma enasal, lethallin.”

But any response was lost in the arrival of Corypheus. Tash smiled cryptically and waved his hand toward the eluvian, and it shimmered at his command, opening the gateway. He turned his back on the rapidly approaching Elder One and moved at a stately pace towards the mirror, blue light streaming behind him to become water that formed the shape of an elf woman, rising up to combat the darkspawn magister.

Morrigan chanced one glance at the boy as they tumbled from the eluvian, safe in Skyhold. His eyes were still bleeding blue, his face lit up with the unnatural light.

Something was wrong.

- - - 

“It’s been three days! There is something terribly wrong with Tash!” Blackwall roared. And he was right. The young Inquisitor had not left his room in the intervening hours, not eaten a scrap of food nor a sip of drink. He had launched a terrible and powerful display of magic upon exiting the eluvian, breathing an unnatural fire in all the colors of the rainbow, blue light manifesting around him as a second pair of horns.

Awful sounds came from behind his door (he would not let anyone in, not even Gale), sometimes inane singing, and sometimes a babble of rapid-fire Elvhen, and most disturbingly, screams utterly devoid of the strange echo Tash’s voice had taken on, consisting only of the child’s cries. Cole had only approached the stairs to the Inquisitor’s tower when he collapsed, clutching his head in agony, repeating over and over, “Get her out get her out get her out get her out get her out.”

Varric had sent forward inquiries to Tash’s status, ones that Morgan could not answer. Morrigan had stated that there would be shouts from the Well, but this was something more. Even Henry couldn’t answer the question of what was happening.

“Solas…” Henry whispered to the elf, in the dead of night on the third day. “Mythal… is alive. Well, more like a shadow. Is it possible that she’s… possessing Tash?”

The elf cursed. “Why didn’t you say this before?”

“I didn’t want to change anything!”

Solas grabbed Henry’s wrist and dragged him up to the Inquisitor’s quarters, hurling open the door with magic, forcing their way past Gale, who had sat at the door with red eyes from worry and sleep deprivation.

Tash was perched on the railing of the balcony, staring at them with eyes that were now normal, except for the fact that they were ice blue. The vallaslin had vanished. And Tash cackled, the sound having no business coming from such a youthful throat.

“Mythal. Let him go.”

Tash leaned over the railing and let go.

“No!” Henry screamed, charging forward. But Tash had simply vanished. The Outworlder turned to Solas. “Kieran. Morrigan’s son. He’s in danger!”

 - - -

Kieran sighed as he walked away from his mother. He hadn’t been able to sleep since the Inquisitor returned. Mother usually let him stay up if he had nightmares, and he would sometimes play among the magic lights glowing in the night while she studied in the garden.

Morrigan felt a cold wind tingle the back of her neck and shuddered, suddenly realizing that she had lost sight of her son. “Kieran?” she called, standing up.

- - -

The Inquisitor was… different. He loomed out of the shadows, a finger pressed over his lips. “Hello, Kieran.”

“Your eyes are blue.”

They were. Tash didn’t have blue eyes. He was bright, and happy, and had gold eyes. This was… something else. This wasn’t Tash.

“I want to show you something, Kieran. Something amazing.”

“I… I don’t think so.”

Not-Tash’s face twisted in anguish for a moment and he looked terrified. “Run, Kieran!” he screamed. But almost instantly he resumed his oddly Tranquil-like state. “No, stay. I can help you, Kieran. I can stop the dreams. Just take my hand.”

“Kieran? Kieran!” Morrigan’s voice drifted on the wind, sounding oddly far away.

Not-Tash smiled. “I can help you, but you need to come with me. Now.”

- - - 

Morgan breathed a sigh of relief, even as he ran with his wife through the Fade, accompanied by Henry, the boy from his world, and Blackwall and Gale. Morrigan had been frantic, unable to find Kieran, until Henry had shouted that he had been led into the Fade, through the eluvian. Which technically shouldn’t have been possible. But his fatherly instinct made him relax just a bit when he saw his child.

Although, seeing Kee accompanied by Tash and … oh no.

“Ah. Morgan. Long time no see. Still consorting with my daughter, then?” Flemeth chuckled. Tash spoke with her, their expressions identical.

Morrigan gasped. “Then… you…are Mythal?”

Gale immediately knelt in shock, and Blackwall yanked him to his feet. Mythal and Tash looked on in approval.

“See, girl?” they said. “Those are manners.”

“You will not have my son!” she yelled, advancing.

Tash and Mythal held out their arms, and extending from Tash came a pulse that rocked the Fade, barring Morrigan’s way with spikes of crackling green energy.

“This boy-Inquisitor is a Dreamer, you know. And he gave himself to my service because you couldn’t convince him otherwise.” Mythal-Tash taunted. The spikes faded. “But you need not worry. I mean neither him nor my grandson any harm. Merely to… exchange.”

She knelt to Kieran, and they witnessed her remove the Old God’s soul from him, promising no more dreams and letting him run to Morrigan and Morgan. Then she turned to Tash, who stilled.

“You came to me, honoring the old ways. With a clear mind and pure heart, you petitioned me for aid and drank from my Well. Though you are not of the People or my blood, you are mine, and I shall strike down your enemies for all your days. You have the knowledge from the Well, but now I shall grant you the wisdom to contain it. The voices shall not overwhelm you.”

She waved her hand over the Inquisitor’s face, and he sighed. Blue light flashed from his eyes before they faded back to gold, the only sign of his ordeal a thin blue ring just around each pupil.

“The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing, boy. And it must be treated with caution.”

Tash’s eyes widened. “You… you hear them too?”

“They are the voices from Beyond, Tash. Pay them heed, for they protect you even as they evaded the grasp of the People’s gods.”

- - - 

And they exited the Fade, where Solas was waiting. “Holding open the gateway,” he had said. The elf looked to Tash. “Tash… are you well?”

“I think so…” Tash said, pensive. “I hope so. I’m worried, though. Flemeth…Mythal… she has power over me now. I’m worried about what she can do with it. But… either way, I know what we have to do next. I can hear the voices of the Well, but I’m in control. I can shut them off.”

Solas looked pale and deeply concerned, but nodded, his eyes scanning Tash’s face as if he could still see the vallaslin etched on his face in glowing blue lines. “I shall help you, Tash. I promise… I shall free you...”

[thecomicsnexus]

TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES ADVENTURES #28-30 JANUARY - MARCH 1992 BY DEAN CLARRAIN (STEVEN MURPHY), CHRIS ALLAN, BRIAN THOMAS, JON D’AGOSTINO, ROD OLLERENSHAW AND BARRY GROSSMAN

SYNOPSIS (FROM COMIC VINE)

The issue opens with Splinter teaching the Turtles about Japanese mythology, where a male god named Izanagi is accompanied by a female god named Izanami, who watches as the male removes his eyes and creates the sun and the moon with them. Together, the two formed the Japanese islands.

The TMNT, Master Splinter and April have stowed away on a plane headed for the Land of the Rising Son. Leonardo asks April to reiterate her tale, and the reporter reluctantly agrees. O'Neil explains that she had been in Chinatown when she ran into Fu Sheng and Chu Hsi, and soon after ninjas had shown up and kidnapped Fu Sheng. Chu changed into the form of the Dragon and fought the ninjas, but they used a powder to knock him out and revert him to his human form - and then they took off with both Chu and Fu.

April and Splinter then began investigating Chinatown looking for clues, and eventually found some thugs involved in the kidnapping. When they began questioning one of the villains, strange ninjas dressed in white attacked them. April was shocked to discover that when the white ninjas were dealt a severe blow, they dissipated into a sorcerous vapor. After defeating the strange ninjas, the thug told April and the Sensei that Chu Hsi and Fu Sheng had been taken to Hiroshima, Japan. Just as her tale concludes, the plane begins its descent to the Japanese city.

Meanwhile, we see a youthful Japanese girl kidnapped by some ninjas garbed in black, who take her to a secret warehouse headquarters near the ocean. There, she meets a new villain, wearing a Samurai mask and calling himself Chien Khan. Khan states that the girl's soul will serve them well, when Fu Sheng interrupts and states that it is his soul that they seek. We then see that Chu is lying unconscious on a table, and Chien Khan states that he desires neither the old man's nor the young girl's soul - but that of the Warrior Dragon that resides in Chu Hsi - and he intends to get it, with the assistance of Fu!

Meanwhile, the TMNT and April scam their way out of a jam at the airport by convincing the securtity guards that they're American actors in costume. One of the guards recognizes April as a famous reporter and escorts our heroes to their "limousine." As soon as possible, everyone ducks into a sewer. Splinter announces that they'll need to look for clues topside once night falls, and the group heads to the east under the Sensei's orders. The TMNT are surprised to find that the sewers are newer than those of NYC, since they thought the Japanese city was older than their home, and Splinter explains that everything had to be rebuilt after the city was almost completely destroyed during World War II.

As they transverse the sewer, the group stumbles into a group of young men, who do not take kindly to the presence of our protagonists. Splinter attempts to negotiate a peaceful meeting...

Back at the docks, Chien Khan revels in his opportunity to appropriate the soul of the Warrior Dragon. The villain demands that Fu assist him and the old man refuses - until Khan threatens to kill the girl.

Unfortunately for the Turtles, as they try to negotiate safe passage through the sewer, a group of black-grabed ninjas attack the youths. Having started the fight, the ninja retreat to leave the battle to be fought between the TMNT and the young men, who think that the Turtles are "oni" (demons). The TMNT win the fight and move on, as there's no sight of the ninjas who had begun the struggle. Splinter states that they will go to the Peace Memorial at the heart of Hiroshima - the Sensei's comments are overheard by one of the ninjas, and he retreats to Chien Khan's headquarters and tells him the news. Khan tells Fu Sheng that his friends have arrived to try to help him - so the masked villain sends his most trusted warrior to defeat the Turtles - the fox named Ninjara.

The second issue begins with Master Splinter recounting his first hand experience witnessing the atomic bomb being dropped on Hiroshima back in 1945 (Note: TMNT Adventures utilizes the same origin for Splinter that was used in the cartoon, in that he was once a man named Hamato Yoshi as opposed to being the pet rat of Yoshi, as he was in the original comic book from Mirage). Our heroes have arrived at the Industrial Exhibition Hall, one of the few structures that withstood the force of the blast. It has been left in its decimated state to remind everyone of the horrors of war. Splinter reveals that this is the first time that he has seen the building since that fateful day in 1945.

The Sensei is interrupted as Ninjara arrives on the scene and a battle erupts between the TMNT and her sorcerous white ninja forces.

Back at the docks, Fu Sheng agrees to help Chien Khan if he promises not to harm the girl. The Khan agrees and then states that it has taken Ninjara many years to steal all of the artificats required to perform the ritual.

The Turtles continue to battle Ninjara as Fu Sheng prepares the transformation powder for Khan. The Warrior Dragon is released and is now under the control of Chien Khan, who sends him on a mission.

The TMNT are fairing well in the battle when the Warrior Dragon arrives on the scene. The Turtles notice that something is wrong with their friednd, so they hop on board to see what he's up to. Ninjara also manages to climb onto the Dragon, as she threatens to cut out Raph's heart.

At the warehouse, Fu Sheng admonishes and uncaring Chien Khan for ordering the Dragon to destroy a nearby nuclear power plant and use its power to open a gateway to a world of demons.

Chien Khan negotiates with a demon lord named Noi Tai Dar. Khan offers the souls of all mankind to the hellspawn, as he seeks vengeance against humanity and wishes to see them destroyed. Noi Tai Dar states that if Chien Khan will open a doorway for him, he will see it done. To open the passage, Khan must sacrifice a life and the Warrior Dragon must unleash the power of the nuclear power plant.

Meanwhile, the Dragon, under the control of Khan, begins to destroy the nuclear power plant. The TMNT attack their friend to try to stop him, to no avail. Ninjara is enraged when she discovers that the Warrior Dragon has been ordered to destroy the power plant - she is disgusted that Chien Khan would allow more radiation to foul Japan considering the bombing in 1945.

Chien Khan prepares the young girl for sacrifice while the damaged nuclear power plant opens the gateway for the massive demon. The hellspawn attacks the Dragon, who comes to his senses after being blasted by a bolt of energy. The mighty Warrior is dismayed at what his actions have caused.

Master Splinter tries to meditate to find a solution to their enormous problem as the Warrior Dragon attacks the demon. The Sensei notes that he feels another great presence nearby...

Leo asks Ninjara what Chien Khan has planned, and she reveals that the summoning requires both a power source and a sacrifice. Apparently Khan hasn't performed the sacrifice yet, as Noi Tai Dar is still tied to his power source - but once Khan completes his part of the ritual, the demon will be free to destroy all humanity. Leo determines that since the demon is too powerful for them to fight, they must stop Khan from making his sacrifice. Ninjara states that his headquarters are far from where they are, and Leonardo tells her that gives them all the more reason to hurry.

Master Splinter stays in his meditative state, noting that the spirits are coming closer... behind him, two gigantic forms begin to appear in the sky... it's none other than the gods, Izanagi and Izanami!

Fu Sheng breaks free of his bounds and smashes into Chien Khan, preventing him from sacrificing the girl.

Izanagi blasts Noi Tai Dar with a beam of light from his eyes and destroys the demon.

Chien Khan's helmet is knocked off by Fu Sheng's attack - revealing Khan to be a dog-faced man! Chien punches a shocked Fu Sheng in the face and then returns to his sacrifice, but the TMNT and Ninjara arrive in time to stop him. Khan is livid and calls Ninjara a traitor before ordering his henchmen to kill our heroes - but the villains are no much for the Turtles and their new foxy ally. Suddenly, the roof of the building is ripped apart by the Warrior Dragon, who has returned to save his friend Fu Sheng. The old man is fine, but Chien uses the distraction to strike Ninjara and make his escape.

Raph helps Ninjara to her feet, and everyone breathes a sigh of relief for another hard fought victory.

REVIEW

This story could have been a lot better had the characters been consistent all along. I am talking, of course, about Ninjara. Now, I know people hated the character back in the day, but here I am, reading these issues for the first time.

It is hard to understand her motivations, she is part of an ancient race of foxes, that allied herself with a dog-man that wanted to use demon to destroy humanity... but because the way to bring the demon required nuclear pollution, all of a sudden she is not ok with that. WTF?

And she joins the good guys right away.

The rest is a story that is not exactly that great, but it offers some background on Hamato Yoshi. He lived in Hiroshima when the bomb hit.

I give this story a score of 6.

[trouvelle]

Emogust 22.08 — First Time

A/N: DCMK Emogust 2019 — First Time! Here’s some MakoSono as part of the ATLA!AU. Makoto is a true fullblooded Earthbender and no one can convince me otherwise lmao. @mintchocolateleaves @sup-poki !!

The sweltering sun stood high in the sky when Makoto walked along the shore of the Northern Water Tribe, such was the scene of his current mission. Everything was white and blue as far as he could see, and only some parts where the sunlight touched was shining a pale yellow. The Palace stood way above the coast, glistening like an enormous chunk of diamond hidden in the midst of all the ice in the region. The city itself was protected by huge ice cliffs which formed all around it as its walls. It had worked, Makoto knew; the Northern Water Tribe had remained standing without ever suffering any seizes from the other nations. 

Its position surrounded by all those icebergs had more than its fair share of advantages. Under the cover of darkness the night before, Makoto had arrived in a bay a little sideways from ice gate which functioned as the only entrance into the city. He’d hidden his dinghy, folding the sail carefully and covering the whole boat with anything he could find to keep it out of plain sight. He had left his Earth Kingdom tunic behind, too.

Now he’s sauntering around the village in a grayish blue Water Tribe robe, not attempting to find his target just yet, but opting to take in the layout of the town and the people that live in it. The water flowed smoothly in the canals, slithering here and there, connecting the whole city like a giant blue snake. Makoto supposed he shouldn’t be surprised to see the ambienceband tranquility of the whole city, considering its peaceful history and close proximity to the hidden gateway to the Spirit world. It’s almost like the war never reached this place at all, with how calm it seemed. Makoto knew he would be willing to stay here if he had the option to. Then again, war made people do strange things. He averted his eyes and kept walking up the main road in the middle of the city.

As he climbed his way up the tier to the courtyard, the entrance to the Northern Royal Palace came into view. It’s a stately place on the highest tier of the city, built in a true Water Tribe structure with ice paneling and statues, and a large, open staircase in the middle of it. He walked past some younger students, all of whom looked no older than twelve, practicing waterbending in the courtyard. He made his way around the palace. He knew precisely where to go and let his feet take him away. Although, if he must say, he felt really strange in these boots he’s wearing. The ice beneath his feet felt fragile and a little too smooth for his liking.

He reached another yard, this one not as open nor as wide as the main one in front of the palace. Another thing that was also missing here—the crowd. There was not a single person there. This one had multiple small fountains with pillars bordering the area, and he knew this was probably a private yard only accessible to the Elders, Council members or the royal family of the chiefdom. Makoto kept walking, until he can see around the to the very back part of the—

On one of the fountains near the east corner of the yard, sat a girl in an elaborate lavender kimono-like tunic over a light purple dress, with short and light brown hair. Instinctively, Makoto knew who she’s looking at. It’s Suzuki Sonoko, daughter of Chief Suzuki Shiro, ruler of the Northern Water Tribe. She was talking and laughing with another girl who looked the same age, but this one had a long hair that reached her waist. In order not to draw any attention to himself, Makoto kept walking until he found himself a bigger fountain to hide behind. He was careful to keep in the shadows that allow him to observe the Chief’s younger daughter without giving himself away.

Nothing much happened. The so-called princess kept talking, cracking big laughters as she conversed with the other girl, her short hair tickling her cheeks. Makoto watched with interest as the two of them chatted animatedly as if nothing that’s wrong in the world could ever reach them. The air is rife with rumors of the Air Temples dissipation, Makoto knew it’s all part of an elaborate conspiracy. The Fire Nation had been at the height of its power and the world’s peace was starting to be shaken.

Sonoko was still sitting in the same spot, still talking with her friend who occasionally guided some water to and away from the fountain, probably trying some new waterbending tricks. The sun was starting to set now, creeping lower and lower towards the horizon with every passing minute. It’s almost time. Soon enough, the long-haired girl stood up and waved her goodbye, running to the direction of the main courtyard. The chief’s daughter, now all by herself, slowly walked back into the Palace.

Now’s the time. He checked his surroundings one last time, heaved a deep breath and made his way forward. There were guards stationed outside the front entrance and no doubt within the palace as well. Makoto disregarded them; chances were they’d grown slow in the illusion of peace that this entire city seemed to have fallen under.

Eventually, Makoto found himself perched on a balcony that gave him a prime view of the chief’s daughter’s bedroom, where she was brushing her hair in front of a mirror. After deeming her hair acceptable, she made way to the balcony. There was no one around and no one with her. Twilight had descended by now and the moonlight softly framed her figure. After a long moment of consideration, Makoto decided to abandon what he had come here to do. With the rising moon that gives the whole city its power, Makoto turned around and got ready to jump down.

“Show yourself,” he froze in action when he heard her say. 

Was he not as silent as he thought? 

Makoto swung himself over the railing of the balcony in one swift jump, landing in front of Sonoko. To her credit, she didn’t look too shocked, though she immediately sprang backwards many steps, hands held in front of her body defensively. “Who are you?” Her voice is squeaky and raspy, but she sounded more confused than scared.

“You are Sonoko,” Makoto said as she approached Sonoko slowly. “Second daughter of Chief Suzuki Shiro.”

“Yes,” Sonoko said, stepping backwards with each step Makoto took. “But wait, please. I’m sure we can talk this out.” At Makoto’s confused look, she continued. “You don’t have to kill me. You don’t have to kidnap me. You can have whatever you’re after. Money, food, coins, all you have to do is tell me and I will ask my father for it, please.”

“Those mean nothing to me,” Makoto murmured, never once taking her eyes off the girl. “I’m here for you. And there’s nothing you can say that will make me change my mind. Especially if it concerns a mission I have to accomplish in the future.” Sonoko’s gaze slid from him to his hands. They were big, rough and calloused. They look nothing like the hands of someone who grew up in a Water Tribe environment, let alone be a waterbender.

“Ah,” she said. “So that’s what this is.” He must be sent from another nation to kidnap her and ask her father to give up their land in exchange for her life. Or, to kill her to reduce the chances of their hereditary chiefdom continuation down the generation.

“Then, let me ask you something,” Sonoko continued. “Tell me, what have I done to you, or your people? Did I steal something from you? Did I hurt you in some way? Why do you have to kill me?” She looked at him intently.

“I never wanted intended to,” Makoto responded, his voice silent instead of strong now, quelled by the resilience he saw in the blue eyes of the girl. “And I’m not here to kill you, or whatever you’re thinking.”

Sonoko knew she shouldn’t trust anything coming from a stranger, especially one who had been spying on her in her room, but she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in. “Okay. Then why are you here? If you think you can get any information out of me, then I swear on the Spirits of the Ocean and Moon, that I know absolutely nothing.”

Sonoko looked hopeful and beautiful at once, and she’s not at all like what Makoto had pictured, apparently. He had heard that the younger of the Chief’s daughters was the one most spoiled, a good-for-nothing lady who couldn’t even be a trophy daughter simply for the fact that she wasn’t born with the ability to waterbend. It’s also been said that she had a shallow and brash attitude. But this girl in front of her seemed nothing like that: to him she appeared trusting, and optimistic.

“I am Makoto from the Kyogoku family in Ba Sing Se, Capital of Earth Kingdom.” Makoto suddenly continued, and he thought about what he had to say next, after telling her who he really was. “Please forgive my intrusion. And I apologize for the disturbance and unease that I have caused you, My Lady.”

He watched as her soft blue eyes widened in realization as she too, was probably recounting the last time she’d heard his name. “You’re… Are you the man I’m supposed to marry?”

“It appears so.” Makoto looked away shyly, and his right hand rubbed at his nape in an act of nervousness. Coming from a pretty influential family in Earth Kingdom’s capital city and equipped with years of battle experiences at a young age, he was deemed an excellent choice to be wed into a family member of the Water Tribe chiefdom. He was initially against the idea, but politics are politics, and there wasn’t much he could do except hope that the other side would reject the idea. Because normally, offsprings of a chief had to marry within the tribe to ensure the continuation of the chiefdom’s power. So, he’s surprised when the Water Tribe Chief agreed on it too himself. Makoto thought that the Chief probably had his city’s interest at heart. The marriage would ensure a small, albeit steady alliance between the two cities. And at the brim of a war like this, who wouldn’t want that?

After a brief silence, Makoto dared to sneak a glance at the girl. Soft blue eyes found his again, as she said, “I thought we weren’t supposed to meet until next month, on the agreed date of our engagement.”

“Yes,” he spoke, voice barely above a whisper, “that’s right.” If only he was patient enough, he wouldn’t have to waste his time and energy to come all the way from Ba Sing Se. “I just had to see what kind of person I am going to be married to.”

To be honest, Sonoko wasn’t looking forward to the day of her marriage either. It’s approaching unbelievably fast, and with every day, she’s getting more and more worried about having to marry someone she’s never even met. She sighed deeply and had accepted her fate.

This rugged man, however, was handsome and mysterious; she’s intrigued.

So was he. The young Lady stood in front of him with pride, although her eyes were full of uncertainty. She was probably just as nervous as he was. They barely knew each other and in a month, they’d have to be living together already. The thought of it sent him to a frenzy and he turned around, ready to leave the Palace, once and for all. “I suppose I have to leave now.” He murmured incoherently.

A cool hand touched his shoulder and Makoto was returned to his current situation, the tension in his shoulders dissipating at the contact. He looked down into Sonoko’s kind eyes, and for some reason it did make him feel better. Makoto decided not to think about it too deeply. Not yet.

“Actually,” Sonoko started, softly, “I’d rather get to know you more first, rather than at our engagement reception. I’m sure you think so too, or else you wouldn’t have come all the way here.”

He silently shook his head and Sonoko smiled in delight, tentatively. The hand on his shoulder squeezed in a gesture of comfort. “Then stay! I’m pretty sure we’re not so different, you and I!” She helped Makoto down even though she knew he was capable of doing so himself. 

Her hand lingered around his arm as she pulled him through the corridors of the Palace, expertly weaving around the pillars whenever any guards came into view. Before he knew it, they were at the open space at the very top, overlooking the entire Northern Water Tribe City and the broad Northern Seas. They stared at the night sky, where the stars were splattered liek random dots on a dark blue canvas, surrounding the moon that looked bigger than he’d ever seen before.

“So, future husband,” Sonoko said teasingly, deciding to start off easy. “Do you have any hobbies?” 

Makoto’s eyes left the familiar constellations and took in the childish expression on Sonoko’s face. For the first time that day, he smiled.

I ✥ II

[in-arlathan]

Chapter One | Read on AO3

Here’s chapter two of that Solas novella. More author notes at the end of the chapter. For summary and tags, please go back to chapter one. Enjoy! <3 ____

Chapter Two: What Lies Beyond

Solas didn’t look back when he exited the council chamber. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back, his chin raised high and walked all the way back to Mythal’s estate in fast strides. Neither did he care for the hundreds upon hundreds of people who had come to hear the news from the Hahren’al outside the palace, nor did he answer any of their questions. He simply walked and the crowd parted before him like the sea.

To them, he must look proud and confident, but that was not what he felt. His thoughts raced, as unrest settled in his guts. There was much more going on here than the Evanuris had revealed to him. He was sure of it. Yet, he needed more information before he could solve the riddle. And for that, he needed a place of peace and quiet, far away from the eyes of curious elvhen.

Luckily, he knew where he could find such a place.

Centuries ago, Mythal had granted him accommodations within all of her estates in Elvhenan, including the temple the elvhen had erected in her honor at the center of Arlathan. The edifice was nothing short of an architectural wonder, rising high above any of the other buildings within the city. In its middle stood a large stone tower, decked with intricate reliefs of Mythal’s war against the Titans that seemed to touch the very heavens. Around it, crystalline structures grew on the stone, interlaced with lush greenery and myriads of glowing flowers. 

His chambers were high up in the tower, though not on the top level. These were reserved for the All-Mother herself and served as her personal sanctuary. From her rooms, she could look far and wide, taking in all of Arlathan and the vast world beyond the floating city. Solas had been summoned to a private meeting with her in her chambers on more than one occasion and tried to replicate the marvelous view in more than one of his paintings. It went without saying that he failed miserably. The beauty of Elvhenan was too much to behold, too much to be captured in one image.

In the temple’s atrium, he was greeted by many of the spirits in service to Mythal. In fact, the All-Mother only had a handful of elvhen servants, including himself. Unlike the high keepers and priests that had sworn themselves to Dirthamen, Falon’Din and the rest of the Evanuris, Mythal’s servants had devoted themselves willingly to her and therefore enjoyed her unwavering trust. They worked side-by-side with the spirits, offering help and seeking guidance every now and then. It was a reminder of their shared past. One of the many reasons why Solas had been loyal to Mythal all these years. She had never forgotten that spirits and elvhen were, in fact, the two sides of the same coin.

“Welcome home,” a spirit of diligence said as it passed him. “We have missed you.”

Solas couldn't help but smile. “And I have missed you. All of you.”

Diligence let out a soft chuckle. “I will tell the others. They will be pleased.”

“Could I ask a favor of you, my friend?”

“How may I help you?”

“I will retire to my chambers,” he explained. “I do not wish to be disturbed until I awake from the Beyond. Could you arrange that?”

“Of course,” the spirit replied. “We will make sure that you will be left in peace.”

“Thank you,” he said, still smiling. He had almost forgotten who good the company of spirits felt. They listened without judgment. They were pure that way. 

If he could only be one of them again…

He bid the spirit goodbye and turned towards the one eluvian in the atrium. It was a gateway to another chamber within the tower and was open to any elvhen who entered the palace. Solas sighed and stepped through, passing through the realm of the Crossroads in a heartbeat. Then, he found himself in the Hall of Travels at the heart of the tower, though he had to admit it was a large corridor rather than a hall. Eluvians of various shapes and sizes had been erected to both sides, anchored in the stone walls of the tower with works of gold and greenery. Some let to far-flung corners of Elvhenan, others allowed him to move freely within the tower. The only thing required was to know which key to use.

He turned towards one of the smaller eluvians and reached out to the Beyond. In an instant, he felt its warm energy flooding through him. With his mind, he redirected it towards the eluvian and released it. The magic manifested in a gust of blue smoke streaming towards the eluvian, unlocking it. Light rippled across the mirror’s surface, welcoming him home just like the spirits had before.

Solas stepped through the eluvian and, a moment later, found himself back in his private chambers and the eluvian went dark once more. 

His chambers included a main room with an array of chairs and a couch at the center where he could receive guests as well as two seperate rooms for his personal conveniences. One served as his bedroom, the other for grooming and body care. 

At night, all of the rooms were lit by floating motes that gave off a soft green glow that reminded him of the Beyond. During the day, however, natural light streamed into the chambers through high stained-glass windows showcasing some of Mythal’s magic wonders – like her conjuring of the second moon to light the Darkest Days at the beginning of the world. Beyond that, vines climbed the stone walls, covering large parts of the windows.

By the position of the sun in the sky, Solas knew the day was about the end. The sun had already begun to set, its glowing beams peeking through the vines and illuminating the stained glass windows. Entering the grooming chamber, he started to undress. For the meeting with the Evanuris, he had changed from his dirt-soaked traveling clothes into a floating robe of green silk embroidered with elvhen writing. Though most elvhen were comfortable in this type of dress, Solas always felt more at ease wearing simpler clothing. 

He dropped the robes by the side of the washbasin and conjured new water from the Beyond to clean himself. He cupped his hands and filled them with water, then splashed the cold liquid on his face and neck. Letting out a sigh of relief, he leaned over the basin and rubbed his neck and shoulders. 

Solas knew he needed to learn more about the threat in the south before he embarked on his journey. But it wouldn’t be easy. The creature had been but a shadow and most elvhen tried not to notice it. They were too horrified by what happened to their brothers and sisters and would rather not speak of it. When Solas tried to ask them about what they had seen, they had responded in anger or had pushed him away. He couldn’t blame them. They were afraid of something they didn’t understand. 

Of course, Solas had pondered with the idea of entering the Beyond then and there, in an attempt to learn more, but the elvhen were in dire need of his help. There had been no time to enter the World of Dreams.

The only hope he had left was that maybe valor the elvhen who had fought against this dark creature had captured the attention of nearby spirits. Maybe they could help him learn more about this threat.

He cursed under his breath. It would have been easier to contact these spirits while he was in the area physically. This far away north, it would be much harder to reach out the them. But he didn’t not have the time to go back and enter the Beyond there. He would have to do it here, where he was safe. He had to try, at least. 

After he had cleaned himself, Solas changed into a set of light-brown leggings and a long flowing tunic. He kept his hair in a long braid on the top of his head, with both sides of his head shaved clean, but used magic to make it dry within a few heartbeats. 

Bare-footed, he walked across the main chamber and entered the bedroom on the other side. The room was almost empty, except for a large bed that could hold two or three people at the same time. Someone had changed the sheets for him and had lit incense of the nightstand. The familiar smell of herbs made him relax almost instantly. 

“Let’s see what we can find,” he said to himself, drawing back the linen sheets.

***

Being in the Beyond always gave him comfort. There he felt welcome, free of all bonds of physical existence. He could go wherever he wanted to seek knowledge and wisdom, far away from anyone who might keep him from it. 

Also, the Beyond lacked the presence of the Evanuris. 

Despite the fact that the elvhen gods called it home, they seldom walked the Dreaming World anymore. They were more concerned with the matters of the Waking World in which they could bend and bind everything and everyone to their will. In their lust for power, they had all but forgotten where they had come from.

Maybe that is why they had to send him, he wondered. Because he didn’t turn his eyes away from the Beyond like they had.

If it hadn’t been for Mythal, he would still be a spirit, walking freely among his brethren. He would give advice to anyone who wished to hear, and he would learn more about the world, gaining knowledge beyond the comprehension of the elvhen. But the All-Mother had called for his help in the Waking World. Unable to refuse her, he had become Solas, her servant, and had stayed with her ever since, marveling at her insight and thoughtfulness, while she relied on him for guidance.

He entered the Beyond in a place of rare beauty, lush and full of life. The area reminded him of the rainforests underneath Arlathan, with little details that seemed slightly off. Neither did he hear birdsong, nor the rustling of leaves as the wind brushed through the canopy. Instead, he heard a soft hum, the remnants of the ancient magic that had created this place.

While he walked through the woods, he saw spirits of love and compassion that tended to the trees and sang to the flowers that had all but started to grow on its branches. Spirits of hunger picked up the fruit that had fallen from the trees and shared it with each other. Solas knew they were acting out a play, emulating the life of the elvhen, but he envied them anyway.

For hours, he wandered the forest until he finally reached its borders. Beyond lay wide open plains full of ghostly grass. He looked up and raised one hand to protect his eyes from the gleaming sunlight. Unlike the spirits who formed as a reflection of the elvhen and their desires, the sun of the Beyond and the sun of the Waking World were the same thing. It encircled all states of existence, allowing both spirits and elvhen to drawn from its power. That was how Elgar’nan first learned to take on a physical form. In studying the sun, he had found a way to manifest his dreaming self in the Waking World, proclaiming himself the son of the sun and ruler over all of creation.

Solas turned his gaze to the south and squinted. Was there a streak of darkness dimming the light on the horizon or was he just making that up?

His head began to hurt and he turned away, Sighing deeply, Solas pressed his hands against his forehead. Once again, he wished he had stayed a spirit. In his spiritual form, he could have journeyed into the deepest parts of the Beyond without difficulty. He could make the journey to the southern regions to investigate in a heartbeat and carry that knowledge with him. But he was bound in his physical form, like all other elvhen. It was the price each of them paid for their ability to reshape reality. 

What must I do?, he thought.

That is when the spirit found him. 

“What is it, you are looking for, wanderer?”

Its voice was deep as thunder and older than any voice he had ever heard before. 

Solas turned in surprise and found a spirit of knowledge sitting on the trunk of a tree that had fallen by the edge of the forest. The spirit reminded him of those who worked as Archivists at the Vir Dirthara. But this one was an old woman compared to Ghil Dirthalen. He noticed wrinkles around its eyes and mouth. Even the ghostly skin looked weatherbeaten. It reminded him off…

Was this someone speaking to him from uthenara?

He knew that some of the elders had chosen to enter the eternal dream after the war with the Titans. Their bodies resided in the Waking World, while their spirit drew sustenance from the Beyond itself. He had visited one of the temples dedicated to the dreamers in uthenara when he was younger, learning everything he could about the eternal dream. Those who were able to reconnect the spirit with the Beyond had looked young and beautiful, much like the elvhen that walked the streets of Arlathan. Only those who failed to move onto this new state of existence withered away and died, despite the infusion of herbs they received to strengthen their connection to the Beyond. When he had tried to find them in the Beyond, he would never find them. It seemed like their spirits simply faded away, leaving nothing but an empty shell behind.

A cold shiver worked its way down his spine. It was much like what he had witnessed in the south.

“I’m looking for answers,” he told the spirit, or whatever it was. “Who are you?”

“You may call me Ghil Din’an,” the spirit said. 

“Andaran antish’an.”  Solas bowed slightly. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The spirit cackled. “We’ll see about that,” it replied. “So, you are looking for answers. To what questions?”

“The first one should be obvious,” Solas said and gestured towards the spirit. “Who are you? Why do you chose to look like that?”

The spirit tilted its head ever so slightly. “That are two questions at once, my elvhen friend,” it said in a tone of amusement. “But I’ll answer as best I can. Come, sit with me.”

Reluctantly, Solas sat beside the spirit on the tree trunk. 

“I am the spirit that guides those who seek death for I know it intimately,” it told him. “Many centuries ago, back when Elvhenan was still young, I was a skilled officer under Mythal’s command. I aided her in her quest for power. But when we slew the mighty Titan in her name, I felt regret for what we had done. I became weary of this world, knowing that I should have known better than to challenge the forces of nature. I entered uthenara in the hopes of finding peace in the eternal dream, and when I came back to the Beyond, I chose this spiritual form as a warning.”

“A warning?”

“Yes,” the spirit confirmed. “To warn others to mind the paths they walk, for there is no knowing what might become of them, if they are not careful.”

Solas swallowed, hard.

“I understand,” he said, although he felt like he didn’t. Not truly.

There is always more to learn , he reminded himself. 

“Have you heard about the darkness in the south?” Solas asked.

“Indeed, I have. Its doings ripple through the skies and threaten to tear this world apart.”

That doesn’t sound good.

“Do you know what it is?”

His heart sank, as the spirit shook his head. “No, sadly,” it said. “I never encountered it myself, but there were other spirits who fled from the south because of it who told me about the terrible things it did. They came to me to know if they were going to wither away like I had. They were terrified. ‘It tried to consume us’ they told me. ‘Now it is eating the elvhen alive. What should we do?’”

“So, the creature attacked the spirits first ,” Solas said, perplexed. “Why didn’t the elvhen know about this?”

“We believed it would be enough to stay away from the creature, to starve it until it disappears from our realm. We didn’t think it would turn to your kind. Besides, we spirits do like to keep to some things ourselves,” Ghil Din’an told him with a warm smile on its lips. 

“Yet, I wish you would have come to me,” Solas said sourly. “I could have offered you help.”

“And what would you do for us, I wonder,” the spirit mused. “With your physical body, you can no longer go where this creature came from. If you want to end its life, you have to remove it from the Beyond and drag it to the Waking World in its entirety. Only there, in our own reality, you will be able to face it and stand victorious.”

Solas blinked. “How do you know that I want to kill the creature?”

“I am a spirit of knowledge, my elvhen friend. That is my essence, my purpose. I look at you and I know what is on your mind. I hear you speak and I know what troubles your heart. That is why I have come here. To help you find your way. And to save your life, if I can.”

“So, you knew what I wanted to learn, all along?”

Ghil Din’an wiggled its head. “It was an educated guess.”

Solas felt his jaws go tense. “And what happens if I bring the creature to the Waking World?” he asked. 

The spirit shrugged.

“So, you don’t know? A spirit who claims to know everything?”

“I did not say that I know everything,” Ghil Din’an corrected him. “That is something you assumed. Besides, how should I know what will happen? Nobody has that kind of power.”

Solas pressed his lips together, thinking about what the spirit had told him. 

Remove it from the Beyond, he thought to himself. Drag it to the Waking World in its entirety.

But how? 

To enter the world physically, a spirit had to form a strong sense of self. It was the foundation, the frame for its physical body. Without it, no spirit could imagine a new shape and claim it as its own. It would go on reflecting the world around it, reacting the bloody past over and over again. 

Did this mean that the creature was a spirit of some kind? And if the creature originated from the Beyond, did it have a concept of itself that had allowed it to enter the Waking World, at least in part? 

Maybe it uses the spiritual essence to sustain itself, he wondered. Just like the elvhen draw energy from the Fade when they enter uthenara. 

Solas sneered. He had come here looking for answers, but all he found were more questions.

“What is so funny, my friend?”

“It is never easy, is it?” Solas asked.

Ghil Din’an looked at him, curious. “Why should it be?”

He opened his mouth, looking for a reply. When no words came, he sealed his lips once more and shook his head ever so slightly. 

“The elvhen call you Solas, don’t they?” The spirit gestured towards him, a sly smile on its lips. “You take pride in your wisdom. You should know that it is not so easily obtained.”

He had to admit that the spirit had a point. 

“Well, I guess this is it, then,” Solas mused. He stood and bowed before the spirit once more. “Though there are many more questions to be answered, I thank you for your help.”

“It was my pleasure,” Ghil Din’an said and dismissed his thanks with a waving gesture. “But if you happened to go to the Vir Dirthara again, could you please give Ghil Dirthalen my greetings? It has been a very long time since we have spoken. I want them to know that I have not forgotten.”

Despite himself, Solas smiled. “I will,” he said. “Although I am fairly sure they already aware of your affection.”

“That doesn’t mean they will not be happy to hear from me,” the spirit replied and waved at him. “Off you go no, my friend. The Waking World awaits you.”

“Goodbye,” Solas said.

And then, he woke.

___

A/N: Oh dear, this chapter involved much more Fade-talk than I expected but it was so much fun to explore Solas’s origins as a spirit. Everything is now in place to move the plot forward, yay. I hope you enjoyed reading this! The next chapter will be up tomorrow, so stay tuned for that. <3

[khalix-hyetology]

Fate and faith: The Epilogue comic’s new questions and theories

Now that the comic is available online we realise some things that could be both illuminating and also disturbing. 

As seen from the picture it was the Walrider like nanites that caused the massive power storm that made the game end in Outlast II. The light and everything we see is part and parcel of it. Also, it could have been half imagined by Blake. By the end of the game he is so perturbed and affected by the signals that he starts seeing things. Of course, the baby was a fabrication. 

The feedback loop seems to help the nanites materialise and appear allowing them to do things. Though, it is still tip of the iceberg for the Morphogenic engine technology (we are coming to that as Peacock explains). 

This scene was pretty scary. It seems like the nanites are responsible for Lynn’s death (as @camerashippping pointed out to me Lynn’s teeth are too healthy to be of Temple Gate denizen’s). It is really sad and ironic if you think in the beginning Lynn was the one questioning Anna Lee strangling herself to death. Now, a fate similar has happened to her. That something killed her that she is not aware of. 

Blake is alive. Though alive can certainly be a relative word here. As Glick states he is in a catatonic state. My friend mentioned that they found him in a small shed because he thought he was in the school with Jessica. That makes sense. The agent says a prayer and as usual Glick knows it is for the bible and pretty much tells the agent not to try to impress her.  So, now he is still in a mental space far away from reality. We don’t know what will happen to Blake. We know he will not be taken care of. That he will become another experiment for Murkoff. That is a very sad case but that is where the plot is veering towards. We may find out in DLC or in  a later game that what analyses done on Blake yielded what answers. Obviously, there would be some answers pertaining to the gateways phenomenon and how Blake’s trauma triggered them. 

Glick mentions Marion is dangerous now. Well, if they have had the scuffle after this then there is already signs that Marion has proved how dangerous he is. We don’t know what has happened to Marion’s daughter as of yet. Simon Peacock has had Marion captured for a while and he asked me some questions. Well, they want to say it is canon that Miles Upshur is dead. By this time of the story we don’t know exactly if he is and what kind of “death” it would mean. Marion also mentioned Billy died twice. And, in the comics we had seen him died twice. 

Now the frame is shifted to Simon Peacock. Murkoff is eager to continue doing experiments on him. He, on the other hand, is interested in the Walrider. My thoughts/theories on this have somewhat come true. That Peacock is a “rough draft” of a Walrider. Not the realised version of it. That is why he looks the way he does. So Peacock is thoroughly interested in the Walrider. Perhaps, to learn more of his condition or to reverse it? His intentions are not yet clear to us but we now have a character actively interested in finding out about the Walrider. 

Then Peacock speaks about Temple Gate and ominously talks about manipulating religion to instill aspects that would generate effects of the Morphogenic Engine. “Gods dividing themselves and into components that men could understand, a trinity.” That also speaks of the countless wheels of Ezekiel which was very similar to the Nanohazard sign at Mount Massive.  

And the comic ends in the ominous note and acknowledging us gamers and story followers of the outcome that has happened. Wernicke is the father of the experiment, The Son is the Walrider: the fruits of that experiment and the Holy Spirit is Knoth or rather the agent who was manipulated by Murkoff to make a cult. 

This isn’t the first time that religion, or rather how religion is interpreted, is used in the Outlast series. Throughout Mount Massive you remember Variants talking and mumbling about it. One of them says that “they” were angered by their science when a mysterious “he” only wanted faith. Then someone talks about how Wernicke explains that showing a caveman our technology he would call it magic thus the Walrider looks like magic. Another friend of mine said that the Walrider is technology but for some people it feels like magic. For me personally, something here is more than technology if not necessarily magic and religion.  One Variant also says that Billy always knew something was in the mountain with them. There can be a checking of veracity on that statement but something is there that meets more than the eye. Peacock also speaks of it. 

We also shouldn’t forget that the Walrider or Mara is a Norse mythological creature thus in old belief systems the Walrider if not deified was the reification of demons or inner nightmares. And, how can we forget Father Martin? Father Martin considered the Walrider as a god or a saviour. Father Martin believed that the Walrider offered him salvation. Someone in tumblr has aptly noticed that their are good differences between Father Martin and Papa Knoth. I want to focus a bit on their similarities. The similarities being that they both are approached by Walrider like entities that are controlled by Murkoff instigating them to do things. Papa Knoth’s gospel heavily implies that he talks to a mixed bag of beings that resembles a clusters of Walriders. This has become more potent seeing the nanintes are a cluster of insects that look like ants.  Father Martin and Papa Knoth both believe this Walrider like entity will give them salvation. So, the entity could be evolving now aside of Murkoff thus wants an escape as with Mount Massive and Temple Gate. In the end of the first games we see the Walrider out in the world and even in the end of Outlast II the Walrider fries the radio as if to escape the feedback loop itself. These are viable questions. Perhaps, the Walrider like entity that Knoth talked to, I call it “Engorged”, and the Walrider from Mount Massive both want freedom from Murkoff. Meaning Murkoff has lost control of its experiment by now. This is only a theory but I feel it can have some credibility.

Questions remain at what happened to Val? The Scalled may have also died but we are not certain of that. Though Glick’s investigation finding hundreds of bodies may tilt towards the fact that the Scalled are also dead. We know Blake is alive and now in Murkoff custody. We know Lynn died from multiple traumas and now disturbingly we know that is not related to “childbirth.” We don’t know the fate of Marion’s daughter but hopefully we will. And the fate of Marion and Glick as the story continues. We now know that Glick is a major antagonist as well. And that Marion and Peacock have started their own road into these twisted thorns planted by Murkoff. 

Peacock is interested in the Walrider as it is the most stabilised version of the experiment. The gateways phenomenon and Walrider are connected, however, how they intersect is not fully clear but I suppose as before the Walrider allows the host more power and control in the gateways as in one’s mindscapes. Thus the Walrider is an invaluable tool. Nor else, you will be like Blake facing a monster and trapped in the gateways of your own mind, defenseless.  They keep on saying Miles is dead but I think this could either be what Marion believes or we don’t have the complete picture. In Whistleblower we did see Miles come out. It was heavily implied that Miles helped Waylon escape. So, [perhaps, like Billy, his death is not completely concrete at the moment. Which would be cool to extrapolate in future games.  So now we knew that it was the Morphogenic nanites that caused the surge in Temple Gate. They messed up the radio. Perhaps, that was meant to eventually happen. So these nanites, Wernicke first mentioned nanohazard, has evolved now from Walrider and gateways to machines that just appear like this, probably stimulated by the feedback loop. 

Hopefully, Red Barrels will expand their mythology further with future games and the DLC. 

Update 14th April, 2018: We know now that Red Barrels will not do an Outlast 2 DLC. They wanted Outlast 2 to be a self contained experience so this epilogue comic is very important.

However, they will make an Oulast 3 eventually and may work on a separate game not related to Outlast but in present in the same universe. They hinted it is something fans may want. Thus, we can now safely term this universe the Walrider universe, where Walrider like beings exist.

[darkspellmaster]

Voltron Theory: Lotor grew up on Pollux?

So as time goes on I’m pondering more and more about the situation with Lotor. Not so much HOW he was born, nor when, but where he grew up and what shaped him into being as he is now. And it’s a puzzle that I think could have some pieces in the Polluxian home world.

If you look at Lotor’s actions and reactions to things around him he seems like he hates any idea of being connected to being Galra, save when it suits him to use it to his best advantage.

His Ship only has drones aboard vs. actual crew members, and the crew that he has, his four generals, are half breeds, and not full Galra. He treats Haggar and his father with utter distain. However when talking of Honerva, whom I noticed he speaks of in the past tense, it’s tender and pretty respectful.

Given what we know about the Galra having any connections to the Altean’s would be seen as bad for them, so how would someone like Lotor get the idea about his mother being an Altean, or for that matter, how would he know to make the Quintessence so pure and use it on the gate? All probably writings of his mother, but it’s damn clear he wasn’t raised on that ship. So then where would he have gone to?

Logically it would be a place that he would have been safe. Question is, who took him there? I would hazard a guess, the Blade, or at least one of Kolivan’s operatives did under orders from him. Now we know that the Blade has members in the Galra military, so that’s not too see happening. But why bring him to Pollux?

Well for a few reasons. Assuming that Pollux was around before Altea’s destruction, one could assume that it was one of the colony worlds that could have been terraformed as per Allura’s observation on Naxcella. If that is the case then it wouldn’t be too hard to then assume that perhaps Honerva came from Pollux herself. So let’s say for this hypothical situation that she did. If Lotar is her son, it’s not hard to see them willingly taking him in if they believe that Zarkon killed her, and protected him from Zarkon.

We know that Lotor mentioned some place that the Generals didn’t know about, and if that is Pollux, then why hasn’t Zarkon attacked. I think that he had an idea of the fact that his son was missing, but didn’t quite know where he was and let him be. Or maybe he didn’t even know Lotor was around to begin with. After all they don’t have the best of relationships, so I can assume that Zarkon wasn’t exactly looking for his son.

So if he was raised on Pollux how would that have affected his view of things? Well, given Lotor’s looks we have to assume that he’s in the 18 to 25 range physically (although he could be way older depending on how they have him coming about). That would mean he would be about the same age as Romelle’s brother Prince Avok, the heir to the Pollux throne. Now, we can do some guess work based on how the series has been  going and what Avok was like in the past to get a gage on what they may do with him.

Avok was the son of the King and a kind of one dimensional person. He longed for Glory to prove himself and wanted power and to beat Arus and Voltron. As it stood Pollux was the “Evil” side of the family to King Alfor and so they were kind of mean spirited people, save for Bandor and Romelle. In the case of modern take on Avok, given the situation with Altea being destroyed and the Alteans not having as much power as they once did, I can see Avok being very much anti Zarkon and Galra in general, but not willing to screw up his place in the Empire right now, or  this could be his dad Kobra.

Anyway, if Avok grew up with Lotor, there’s a huge chance that the anti galra sentiment of the Altean’s probably wormed it way into Lotor himself, causing him to view his people with a rather disinterest and contempt. Avok would and could have been an influence on him, same as Shiro on Keith. Someone who was there for him, but also taught him things in regard to how the Galra were.

So how did he learn about his mother? Well again if Honerva was from Pollux then there may have been notes and history on her. The one that probably helped him with this could have been Romelle. In the original series she seemed the most incline on the political end of things, knowing about the history of the world, and if that kept true to the modern telling then she could have easily helped him find out about who Honerva was and her connection to Zarkon. This could have started Lotor on the path he’s on.

So what of their relationship? Well in the original show Lotor wanted Romelle just as much as he wanted Allura. So it could be that they may play on a slight romance between them, as it would make sense in regard to some of his past characterisation. And, given that Avok isn’t the sort to do magic for going through warp holes, Romelle may have been his teacher in that sense. We saw that he knew somewhat of what he was doing, and if Haggar is right about the Ancient power, then it stands to reason that Lotor was probably trained or taught somewhat by an Altean who knew magic.

So how did he end up back by Zarkon? Easiest thing to believe is that he decided to go back to actually get the resources to build the Sincline Ships, or at least use the Galra to achieve his goal. He probably recruited the Generals along the way, offering them a place in the Empire when they were mostly rejected, and no doubt making Axca be the most trustful and loyal to him. He probably saved her from a situation that she didn’t want to be in.

So how does this all tie back into Pollux? Assuming that he still keeps in contact with them, since clearly it wasn’t the Galra that built the gate, then we can assume that in the time he had vanished from Voltron’s radar he went back to them and got them to help build and design the rest of the Sincline ships and also the Gateway. 

He, no doubt, could have easily convinced Avok, who more than likely would love the idea of being King to his people, and that the gate would allow them to gain the upper hand on the Galra and his father. Not only that but Avok, again assuming the power thing, wouldn’t be beyond the idea of marrying his sister to Lotor as they probably are friendly or friends with one another.

So it’s a pretty easy set up for Season 5 to show case this group and have Voltron go to Pollux with Lotor as part of the deal they make at some point. After all, if he can show Allura that there are other Altean’s out there, he would easily have her as part of his manipulation. Avok can eventually take over Lotor’s less desirable role of pure Villain, and Romelle could actually be used in lieu of Allura as the “Romance Triangle” between her, Lotor, and probably Shiro over Keith in this case. And Bandor, well, he could be used as the kid that grows up as the rest of the series goes on.

At least that’s my theory on it.

[dfroza]

A single path...

this is the hope we hold in the treasure of grace.

Paul writes of leaving the past (tense) behind in his Letter of Philippians

[Chapter 3]

It is time that I wrap up these thoughts to you, my brothers and sisters. Rejoice in the Lord! (I don’t mind writing these things over and over to you, as I know it keeps you safe.)

Watch out for the dogs—wicked workers who run in packs looking for someone to maul with their false circumcision.

We are the true circumcision—those who worship God in Spirit and make our boast in Jesus the Anointed, the Liberating King—so we do not rely on what we have accomplished in the flesh.

If any try to throw around their pedigrees to you, remember my résumé—which is more impressive than theirs. I was circumcised on the eighth day—as the law prescribes—born of the nation of Israel, descended from the tribe of Benjamin. I am a Hebrew born of Hebrews; I have observed the law according to the strict piety of the Pharisees, separate from those embracing a less rigorous kind of Judaism. Zealous? Yes. I ruthlessly pursued and persecuted the church. And when it comes to the righteousness required by the law, my record is spotless.

But whatever I used to count as my greatest accomplishments, I’ve written them off as a loss because of the Anointed One. And more so, I now realize that all I gained and thought was important was nothing but yesterday’s garbage compared to knowing the Anointed Jesus my Lord. For Him I have thrown everything aside—it’s nothing but a pile of waste—so that I may gain Him. When it counts, I want to be found belonging to Him, not clinging to my own righteousness based on law, but actively relying on the faithfulness of the Anointed One. This is true righteousness, supplied by God, acquired by faith. I want to know Him inside and out. I want to experience the power of His resurrection and join in His suffering, shaped by His death, so that I may arrive safely at the resurrection from the dead.

I’m not there yet, nor have I become perfect; but I am charging on to gain anything and everything the Anointed One, Jesus, has in store for me—and nothing will stand in my way because He has grabbed me and won’t let me go. Brothers and sisters, as I said, I know I have not arrived; but there’s one thing I am doing: I’m leaving my old life behind, putting everything on the line for this mission. I am sprinting toward the only goal that counts: to cross the line, to win the prize, and to hear God’s call to resurrection life found exclusively in Jesus the Anointed. All of us who are mature ought to think the same way about these matters. If you have a different attitude, then God will reveal this to you as well. For now, let’s hold on to what we have been shown and keep in step with these teachings.

Imitate me, brothers and sisters, and look around to those already following the example we have set. I have warned you before (and now say again through my tears) that we have many enemies—people who reject the cross of the Anointed. They are ruled by their bellies, their glory comes by shame, and their minds are fixed on the things of this world. They are doomed. But we are citizens of heaven, exiles on earth waiting eagerly for a Liberator, our Lord Jesus the Anointed, to come and transform these humble, earthly bodies into the form of His glorious body by the same power that brings all things under His control.

The Letter of Philippians, Chapter 3 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 4th chapter of 2nd Kings where several miracles are documented that occurred through Elisha:

One day the wife of a man from the guild of prophets called out to Elisha, “Your servant my husband is dead. You well know what a good man he was, devoted to God. And now the man to whom he was in debt is on his way to collect by taking my two children as slaves.”

Elisha said, “I wonder how I can be of help. Tell me, what do you have in your house?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Well, I do have a little oil.”

“Here’s what you do,” said Elisha. “Go up and down the street and borrow jugs and bowls from all your neighbors. And not just a few—all you can get. Then come home and lock the door behind you, you and your sons. Pour oil into each container; when each is full, set it aside.”

She did what he said. She locked the door behind her and her sons; as they brought the containers to her, she filled them. When all the jugs and bowls were full, she said to one of her sons, “Another jug, please.”

He said, “That’s it. There are no more jugs.”

Then the oil stopped.

She went and told the story to the man of God. He said, “Go sell the oil and make good on your debts. Live, both you and your sons, on what’s left.”

One day Elisha passed through Shunem. A leading lady of the town talked him into stopping for a meal. And then it became his custom: Whenever he passed through, he stopped by for a meal.

“I’m certain,” said the woman to her husband, “that this man who stops by with us all the time is a holy man of God. Why don’t we add on a small room upstairs and furnish it with a bed and desk, chair and lamp, so that when he comes by he can stay with us?”

And so it happened that the next time Elisha came by he went to the room and lay down for a nap.

Then he said to his servant Gehazi, “Tell the Shunammite woman I want to see her.” He called her and she came to him.

Through Gehazi Elisha said, “You’ve gone far beyond the call of duty in taking care of us; what can we do for you? Do you have a request we can bring to the king or to the commander of the army?”

She replied, “Nothing. I’m secure and satisfied in my family.”

Elisha conferred with Gehazi: “There’s got to be something we can do for her. But what?”

Gehazi said, “Well, she has no son, and her husband is an old man.”

“Call her in,” said Elisha. He called her and she stood at the open door.

Elisha said to her, “This time next year you’re going to be nursing an infant son.”

“O my master, O Holy Man,” she said, “don’t play games with me, teasing me with such fantasies!”

The woman conceived. A year later, just as Elisha had said, she had a son.

The child grew up. One day he went to his father, who was working with the harvest hands, complaining, “My head, my head!”

His father ordered a servant, “Carry him to his mother.”

The servant took him in his arms and carried him to his mother. He lay on her lap until noon and died.

She took him up and laid him on the bed of the man of God, shut him in alone, and left.

She then called her husband, “Get me a servant and a donkey so I can go to the Holy Man; I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“But why today? This isn’t a holy day—it’s neither New Moon nor Sabbath.”

She said, “Don’t ask questions; I need to go right now. Trust me.”

She went ahead and saddled the donkey, ordering her servant, “Take the lead—and go as fast as you can; I’ll tell you if you’re going too fast.” And so off she went. She came to the Holy Man at Mount Carmel.

The Holy Man, spotting her while she was still a long way off, said to his servant Gehazi, “Look out there; why, it’s the Shunammite woman! Quickly now. Ask her, ‘Is something wrong? Are you all right? Your husband? Your child?’”

She said, “Everything’s fine.”

But when she reached the Holy Man at the mountain, she threw herself at his feet and held tightly to him.

Gehazi came up to pull her away, but the Holy Man said, “Leave her alone—can’t you see that she’s in distress? But God hasn’t let me in on why; I’m completely in the dark.”

Then she spoke up: “Did I ask for a son, master? Didn’t I tell you, ‘Don’t tease me with false hopes’?”

He ordered Gehazi, “Don’t lose a minute—grab my staff and run as fast as you can. If you meet anyone, don’t even take time to greet him, and if anyone greets you, don’t even answer. Lay my staff across the boy’s face.”

The boy’s mother said, “As sure as God lives and you live, you’re not leaving me behind.” And so Gehazi let her take the lead, and followed behind.

But Gehazi arrived first and laid the staff across the boy’s face. But there was no sound—no sign of life. Gehazi went back to meet Elisha and said, “The boy hasn’t stirred.”

Elisha entered the house and found the boy stretched out on the bed dead. He went into the room and locked the door—just the two of them in the room—and prayed to God. He then got into bed with the boy and covered him with his body, mouth on mouth, eyes on eyes, hands on hands. As he was stretched out over him like that, the boy’s body became warm. Elisha got up and paced back and forth in the room. Then he went back and stretched himself upon the boy again. The boy started sneezing—seven times he sneezed!—and opened his eyes.

He called Gehazi and said, “Get the Shunammite woman in here!” He called her and she came in.

Elisha said, “Embrace your son!”

She fell at Elisha’s feet, face to the ground in reverent awe. Then she embraced her son and went out with him.

Elisha went back down to Gilgal. There was a famine there. While he was consulting with the guild of prophets, he told his servant, “Put a large pot on the fire and cook up some stew for the prophets.”

One of the men went out into the field to get some herbs; he came across a wild vine and picked gourds from it, filling his gunnysack. He brought them back, sliced them up, and put them in the stew, even though no one knew what kind of plant it was. The stew was then served up for the men to eat. They started to eat, and then exclaimed, “Death in the pot, O man of God! Death in the pot!” Nobody could eat it.

Elisha ordered, “Get me some meal.” Then he sprinkled it into the stew pot.

“Now serve it up to the men,” he said. They ate it, and it was just fine—nothing wrong with that stew!

One day a man arrived from Baal Shalishah. He brought the man of God twenty loaves of fresh-baked bread from the early harvest, along with a few apples from the orchard.

Elisha said, “Pass it around to the people to eat.”

His servant said, “For a hundred men? There’s not nearly enough!”

Elisha said, “Just go ahead and do it. God says there’s plenty.”

And sure enough, there was. He passed around what he had—they not only ate, but had leftovers.

The Book of 2nd Kings, Chapter 4 (The Message)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Wednesday, december 9 of 2020 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible, along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A post by John Parsons that reflects on inner illumination:

"Whoever has my commandments and keeps them, such is the one who loves me. And the one who loves me will be loved by my Father, and I will love him and will manifest myself to him" (John 14:21). Note that the Greek word translated "manifest" means to "shine inside" (i.e., ἐμφανίζω, from ἐν, "in" and φαίνω, "shine"), indicating that the revelation would be inward light of the Presence of Messiah himself (Χριστὸς ἐν ὑμῖν, ἡ ἐλπὶς τῆς δόξης, Col. 1:27). As we receive God’s love, as we embrace it as our own, the love of Yeshua our Messiah will become inwardly visible to you. This comes from a place of surrender and acceptance. As Paul Tillich said, "Sometimes in a moment of weakness light breaks into darkness, and it is as though a voice says, 'You are accepted; you are accepted... Do not seek for anything; do not perform anything; do not intend anything. Simply accept the fact that you are accepted.’ If that happens to you, then you experience grace, and everything will be transformed." Ultimately Chanukah is about salvation and transformation - beauty for ashes (פְּאֵר תַּחַת אֵפֶר) - and the inner light of God’s love for you. [Hebrew for Christians]

https://hebrew4christians.com/

12.8.20 • Facebook

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

December 9, 2020

Loving the Word

“O how love I thy law! It is my meditation all the day.” (Psalm 119:97)

This emotional stanza in Psalm 119 bursts with passion for the Word of God. “How sweet are thy words unto my taste! yea, sweeter than honey to my mouth!” (Psalm 119:103).

Previously, David’s 19th Psalm opened with praise for the “speech” and “knowledge” available in “the heavens” (Psalm 19:1-6) and gave his most open praise for the “perfect” laws (Psalm 19:7) of God that are “more to be desired...than gold, yea, than much fine gold: sweeter also than honey and the honeycomb” (Psalm 19:10).

The focus of this particular stanza (Psalm 119:97-104) is on the practical effect that knowledge of the Word of God has had on the psalmist’s ability to give a powerful witness.

“Thou through thy commandments hast made me wiser than mine enemies: for they are ever with me” (v. 98).

“I have more understanding than all my teachers: for thy testimonies are my meditation” (v. 99).

“I understand more than the ancients, because I keep thy precepts” (v. 100).

The excitement that comes with the “love” and the “sweet” taste of God’s Word in a believer’s life produces an assurance that results in a readiness to “give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you” (1 Peter 3:15). Indeed, since it is clear that “the weapons of our warfare are not carnal” (2 Corinthians 10:4), we should be all the more committed (as is the psalmist) to refrain “from every evil way” (Psalm 119:101), being sure that we do not depart from the “judgments” (v. 102), and that our understanding of the precepts ensures that we “hate every false way” (v. 104). HMM III

[dailygrace64]

Random—that’s what my thoughts are tonight. But gonna share some little tidbits of gratitude anyway.

Am thankful for…. blueberries, fresh, tasty blueberries—not just to save for a recipe, or a salad, or a pie…but to eat right out of a cute little bowl. I’m thankful I didn’t have to share any of them. I’m also sad that I didn’t have to share any of them.

And, am thankful for flowers–not purchased for me, but purchased by me for a friend. Am not thankful for the reason why I’m buying the flowers because this co-worker-turned-friend, won’t be my coworker for long. The assistant in my classroom is having to move on…not because she wants to. That’s another thing I’m NOT thankful for because she’s having to move on because she needs a higher paying job. Education, well, sometimes it seems like the wages per hour don’t amount to diddly squat.  We lose so many good folks who have a heart for the kids.  So many. But that’s another topic.

Back to the flowers…I’m thankful for what will happen tomorrow as the students take a flower to give to my co-worker-friend who is soon to not be my coworker.  I’m already thankful for the words that will be spoken and the memories made for all. And then we’ll move on and practice reading and writing and math, and maybe not realize that so many of the best lessons learned are so far removed from those of academia. I’m not thankful for the sadness that so many of the students will feel at having another adult come in and out of their lives. But I am thankful for it at the same time. My coworker-turned-friend has left her mark on these students (and me) and she will be missed. There’s always a flip side to things isn’t there? Oh, and even though the flowers were bought to give away, well, the cool thing is I got to enjoy them for a bit. That’s the thing with giving things away–we’ve had the gift of enjoying them first.

  I’m thankful for facing down fears. I’ve faced down quite a few lately and one of those moments was just a few minutes ago as I walked outside to see the soon to be “HARVEST MOON ON FRIDAY the 13th (which happens to coincided with the Friday before our three week break).  I’m not superstitious, and I know how it sounds to be worried about a full moon, but I’ve been in education long enough to know that full moons are to be noted. Nope, I can’t explain it, but I get that it’s a reality, and teachers all over the area have chuckled, (nervously, for real!) about what challenges tomorrow will bring. Funny, the moon looks beautiful hanging in the sky so peacefully, but I’m not quite sure how I’ll feel about that beautiful moon tomorrow! Life is full of the flip sides of things for sure.

I said goodbye to our son on Sunday as he was home from college because of the hurricane and was able to go back to school on Sunday. Not without a little skateboarding before he got in the car tho. ❤    There’s no telling how many falls our family has taken on skateboards collectively. But the loop de loops on the ramp, well, that wouldn’t have happened without falls, and loop de loops  (no the skateboarders’ terms , lol) are really cool. Yep. Flip sides of things are everywhere…

Well, I don’t know what you’ll face today. Could be great things like sharing memories with a coworker, or sad things of saying goodbyes. Could be eating a great meal or catching a quick bite with a friend. It could be seeing a beautiful sunrise or reading a great verse that encourages deep.  I don’t know what I’ll face either. One of my sons is flying over the Atlantic as I write this and I’m so excited for him and love to hear  of his ventures. But yes, there’s a flip side that comes with adventures because life is full of uncertainties.

We have all probably flipped a coin and you just never know whether it’s going to turn up heads or tails. I mean, we can flip the coin and determine odds and control variables, but we still don’t know whether the flip of the coin is going to be heads or tails until it lands. Life is full of coins—some heads, some tails…and we all face the uncertainty of what the next day or situation might bring.

But here’s the thing. There’s always a flip side. Always. I can say that with certainty because the Bible says so. Romans 8: 37-39 says:

“No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.38 For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, 39 neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

It’s saying that God is with us EVEN IN THE WORST OF TIMES.  I mean, death and life, angels and demons–these are as serious as it gets. But the Bible says we are conquerers. We can find the flip side. We’ve just gotta turn the coin over and turn to Him. We’ve gotta seek out the flip side, seek out what His will might be. Sometimes it could be a lesson or a gateway to a new season, but sometimes, well, the most beautiful flip side of all is finding that God is truly- God. He is not some terrestrial cosmic euphemism. He IS.  Emmanuel. God with us. He IS. He loves. He created you and me. He KNOWS it all…and is in the midst of us. The Bible says that “underneath are the everlasting arms.” No matter what side our coins will land on today, He is underneath…He can catch it all, and turn it in a heartbeat. And that’s the bottom line. God wants us to draw near to Him. He wants our hearts. Not robot servants. Heart-beat followers.

Well, it’s Friday morning and I should’ve already taken my shower. And it’s not good to be running behind on a day that is the triple threat that this day is (Harvest Moon+Friday the 13th+last day for students before break). And there’s lots more that I wanted to write about who God is…how He loves us in the midst of things, but time is ticking away so I’ll just have to live it today–not write about it–but look for the flip side in my little world…because all those coins are held in the hand of one who loves me well. He knows where the coins will land today, how the chips may fall. And underneath are the everlasting arms. I can trust in Him.

Blessings ~

Heather

p.s. Please feel free to breathe a prayer for teachers and students today! ❤  Oh, and for my son…that he lands safely in Sweden and has a sweet trip to see some grieving friends that have faced some flip sides they never saw coming. Blessings to you and yours …

        Romans 8:26-28: In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.27 And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God.

28 And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who[i] have been called according to his purpose. 29 For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters. 30 And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified.

and…

Romans 8:37-39: “No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.38 For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,[k]neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, 39 neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

  Thankful Thursday Random---that's what my thoughts are tonight. But gonna share some little tidbits of gratitude anyway. Am thankful for....

[queen-swagzilla]

Knights of Oberon, A Fairy Tail Fanfiction—Chapter 1

Rated: M

Summary: Almost a decade has passed since one of Fairy Tail's strongest teams, The Knights of Oberon, went missing on a job and left the rest of the guild heartbroken. Now, three months after Fairy Tail's victory at the Grand Magic Games, Lucy's seeing the full scope of their grief and loss—most notably where Gray and the Thunder Legion are concerned.

As she trains and learns more about her capabilities as a celestial wizard, strange things start happening in the guild. What happened to the Knights, and what on earth does it have to do with Lucy?

Like the story? Consider buying me a coffee!

Don’t know what’s going on? Read it all on Ao3!

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“We finally made it back.” Dag groaned, collapsing to his knees. 

“Well,” Ayla collapsed next to him. “Almost. But we’re probably never getting out of this rift, so this is as close as going to get.” 

“How long until we fade?” Nole asked, sitting next to his teammates. Ayla shrugged, eyes drinking in as much of her surroundings as possible. 

“It took a lot to get back to here. You too are running low on magic energy.” She muttered.  

“After the rift finishes draining our magic energy, it’ll absorb our kinetic energy, then our souls.” Dag continued. “I only use this space as a gateway. We’re only supposed to be in here for a few seconds at a time. We’ve already been here too long—living things can’t survive in here. That sealing spell is keeping me from getting us back out, though. That said, we’ve got pretty large magic containers, so it could be a while. It’ll suck, though.”

“Well,” Nole sighed. “At least we made it back to Fairy Tail.”

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“Morning Mira!” Lucy greeted the beautiful barmaid as she bounded forward to slip into her seat. They’d woken up from their seven-year nap only three months ago, and the Grand Magic Games had just passed. Winners. They were back on top with a brand new guild hall and an impressive underdog victory under their belt. Everyone’s spirits were high. 

“Morning Lucy. Your usual?”

“Yeah. Can you add protein? Capricorn’s on me about my diet and training.”

“Sounds good. Just give me a minute.” 

As Mira walked away, Lucy turned her attention back to the rest of the Guild. She was running later than normal, so the place was packed. Natsu was chatting merrily with Happy, Lisanna, Warren, and Elfman; and Erza was eating strawberry cake while discussing the merits of various weapons with Pantherlily. Levy was chatting with Jet and Droy while Gajeel napped nearby. Cana was still asleep next to a barrel of unknown alcohol, but it would be noon soon, so she’d be starting her day with a fresh flagon any minute.  

Everything seemed normal. That is until the Thunder Legion walked into the guild. They made their way to their usual table, but everything about them seemed off. Bickslow’s totems were conspicuously absent and he was scowling. Evergreen’s hair was in a messy bun, and it looked like she was wearing one of the guys’ training shirts and a pair of black shorts. Freed’s hair was in a ponytail, and he was wearing a training outfit too, looking unkempt and sullen. In the time she’d known them, she’d never seen Bickslow without his babies, nor looking anything less than happy—if not mischievous. Evergreen was never messy. Even in training gear, she looked polished and lethal. Freed, on the other hand, was virtually never seen outdoors without proper clothing and perfectly coiffed hair. Furthermore, she’d never seen any of the Thunder Legion in workout gear unless they were training. 

More than anything else, they just looked gloomy. 

“What’s up with them?” She asked Mira. Mira looked up from her task and glanced over at the Thunder Legion. She blanched, eyes flicking to the calendar, before dropping back to the task before her. 

“It’s not just them. Laxus and Gray will be in shitty moods, too.” She muttered. Lucy’s eyes widened. Mira rarely swore. 

“Your mood just tanked, too. What’s going on?”

Mira glanced around, taking in all the faces who hadn’t realized what day it was yet. She realized, however, that they’d all know as soon as Laxus or Gray arrived at the guild. They wouldn’t be quiet or subtle about it. 

“Nine years ago to the day, we received notice that a Fairy Tail team was defeated—obliterated. We searched for months and found nothing except scraps of clothes and armor from the fight. They were particularly close to the Thunder Legion, but one of them was Gray’s best friend. They’d been attached at the hip since he joined the guild.”

“Gray wasn’t talking to her when she left. They’d gotten into a huge fight.” Cana continued, sliding into the seat next to Lucy’s. “I don’t think you’ve ever been present or conscious for the anniversary. Gray’s awful to be around. You should go get a coat.”

Lucy’s eyes widened in surprise. “What, like he’ll lose control of his magic?” Cana shrugged. 

“He has in the past. When he wasn’t paying attention and his mood got worse. Especially when Ayla’s on his mind. He gets guilty and sad and angry and everything nearby gets frosty.”

“Laxus used to lose control, too.” Mira muttered. “Remember when we had metal bannisters on the stairs? One time, Gray froze them and Max got his hand stuck. Then Laxus electrocuted him on the way up to the S-Class lounge.”She glanced at Lucy knowingly.

“What’s that look for?” Lucy demanded.

“Your best friend and your wet dream are about to be the most intolerable people in the guild.” Cana chuckled. It lacked its usual level of humor. Lucy blushed anyways and socked Cana in the arm. 

“That’s supposed to be a secret!”

“Lucy, I’m hard-wired to spot romance.” Mira tutted. “I’ve known since we woke up on Tenrou.”

Lucy grimaced. “Anyways,” she grumbled. “Why were Gray and…Ayla fighting?” She struggled to remember the name. She’d never heard it spoken before. 

“Ayla was about to start dating someone that Gray disapproved of. He didn’t trust the guy, but Ayla was falling in love with him. Gray made her pick. She didn’t. She grabbed a job, grabbed the Knights, and left. We never saw them again.” Cana explained, voice soft and words quick.

“Who was the guy?”

“We haven’t been able to find that out. Whoever it was seemed to be overshadowed once we lost them. The Thunder Legion and Gray were…explosive in their grief. Everyone else was distraught. It really made us face our mortality.” Mira replied. “Then we lost Lisanna, and we were all in a serious funk.:

All of a sudden, the temperature plummeted. “Oh, shit.” Cana grumbled. Lucy glanced over at the Thunder Legion, only to see them look even more defeated, expressions dark and sad. Conversation ground to a halt around them. Macau and Wakaba’s expressions went blank before their gazes dropped down to their glasses. 

Natsu grew uncharacteristically solemn, and Lisanna’s kind eyes grew sad. Happy looked close to tears. Warren, Elfman, and Max halted their debate, and Erza went silent, only speaking again to quietly explain the situation to Lily, Carla, and Wendy as she waited for Gray to arrive. Levy quietly did the same for Gajeel while Jet and Droy wilted beside them. 

When he finally arrived, Gray looked terrible. His eyes were bloodshot—his hair and clothes rumpled. His cool facade was decimated. The Thunder Legion made room for him at their table, and he joined them wordlessly. 

“What job did they go missing on?” Lucy asked. 

Mira glanced at her. “Why do you ask?”

“So I know what kinds of job to avoid for the next few weeks. It’s my turn to choose.” She murmured. It was growing almost unbearably cold around them. 

“Solo mage kidnapping civilians near Clover Town. The research they did beforehand suggested that the Mage worked with some sort of Spatial magic, and that the citizens were being used as some sort of sacrifice.” Cana told her. Lucy, now shivering, cut her eyes over to Natsu. He met her gaze, taking in her frozen form. She felt the temperature in the room pick up. Not enough to piss Gray off—just enough to keep the entire guild from getting frostbite. Lucy shot him a sad but grateful smile. 

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

“I hate that they’re still mourning us.” Ayla murmured. Her voice was raspy and thin—her skin pale and waxy. 

“You’d think they’d start to move on.” Nole replied. “It’s been nine years.”

“Not really.” Dag reminded him. “Nine for us.” His voice shook from the sheer effort of speaking. “They went missing for seven years, so it’s still fresh for them. Especially those five.”

“God, I think it’s actually colder in here.” Nole groaned, miserable. “I didn’t think it was possible.”

“They didn’t mourn together the second year. Only the first. That’s when Laxus went crazy and tried to overthrow the Master.” Dag continued, as though Nole hadn’t spoken. Then, he fell silent. They all did. Speaking too often used up too much energy. It tired them in mere moments, and began to hurt the longer they continued. This was a place of silence and stillness.

“I’m glad Lucy found Gray.” Ayla murmured, almost inaudible. “She’s good for him. For all of them, but especially him.”

“I can’t believe they’re a team. Gray, Natsu, and Erza.” Nole muttered. “And they haven’t murdered each other. If Blondie weren’t there…”

“If Miss Heartfilia weren’t there, they’d have either destroyed Fiore or never banded together.” Dag agreed. 

“I hope she sticks with them. Even after we’ve faded, I hope she’ll keep looking out for them.”

“I don’t think you have to worry. She’s incredibly loyal.” Dag muttered. “Even with the threat of eviction and destitution, she sticks with the team that spends most of their reward money on paying for repairs.”

Ayla smiled. “You’re right. They’re in good hands."

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[burmecianblackmage]

🎁

A Merry Sceada Advent - Day 24

@deriision - 🎁 Day 24: A Three-Day Vacation

Adara and Aero had both always been a welcome sight to the Burmecian, and he had enjoyed the company of both of them immensely. Adara was a very interesting woman, quite strong and able to hold her own while raising her adopted son with unconditional love - he truly admired and respected that. And Aero was a little cutie of a boy, very eager in everything he did, be it playing or learning. Oh, and he seemed to like the Burmecian’s soft fur quite a bit, too.

Suffice to say it had not taken him long to embosom the two and hold them dear.

And as such, it was no doubt a special pleasure that he could offer them a truly special gift for the end of his advent calendar, one that he hoped both of them would enjoy:

A Three-Day Vacation to Esto Gaza.

Granted, three days were not a long time for a vacation, sometimes barely enough to arrive there and begin seeing what one’s destination offered, but it fit very nicely into this season. It left room for other endeavors and preparations before the end of the year, while making full use of the holidays at the same time - what more could one really ask for?

Granted though, he was at first a bit unsure whether he had picked a fitting destination for the young mother and son.

Esto Gaza was, no doubt, a beautiful place, but it was not especially known as a holiday destination, nor for being kid-friendly. It was a somewhat religious place, or at least it used to be, having opened up to tourists as well in recent years. And it was cold up there, really cold. Especially in this season...

On the other hand, that made it the perfect destination for this season, with winter being embodied here better than anywhere else he knew. And, of course, there was the natural phenomenon that attracted people from near and far, and that was especially visible during this time of the year:

The Shimmering Island.

Just off the shore of the continent, and easily visible from Esto Gaza, there was a certain island which would from time to time shimmer and shine in bright colors. Some people called it the “Spirit Road”, saying it was a gateway for wandering souls into the afterlife, sparking a small religious movement around this notion. Others called it a natural wonder and a miracle, praising the beauty of nature and it’s ability to never cease to surprise and amaze. And again others just considered it pretty, caring precious little for any spiritual meaning or something like that.

For the most part, Sceada belonged in the last category, and it didn’t matter to him whether others saw more in it. To him, it was just beautiful, and something he wanted to share with others.

And what better time to do so than now, when the island’s light shimmered the brightest?

“Well... what do you say, Adara?”

He had just finished explaining it all to the young woman, making her the tempting offer to invite both her and Aero on this trip, and now he was awaiting her answer.

“...it’s... a bit sudden. I’m not sure I can just leave here so suddenly... Aero and I have already been invited to a party, too...”

“I understand. I mean, it’s just an offer, you know? And one that will still stand at a later time. If you can’t do it now, we could always go another time.”

“That’s really generous of you, Sceada. How can I even repay you for that?”

“Ah, no, please. there’s no need for that. I simply want to see you and little Aero happy.”

“...you’re a sweet man, Sceada.”

That statement caused the Burmecian to blush, and nervously fiddle with the coffee cup on the table before him. At the same time, Aero came running up to his mama, promptly plucked up by her and placed on her lap. She would let him decide, it seemed.

“Hey little man... would you like to go with Mom and Uncle Sceada here on a little vacation? We would leave right away, which would mean we can’t go to the party tomorrow... So which would you prefer? The party or the vacation?”

That was a difficult question for the little boy. Both sounded so good! And he had been looking forward to this party, too.... But the vacation sounded good too... Hmm...

“Do I get to sleep in Mama’s bed if we go...?”

“Of course, Aero. And... if you want him too, and he is okay with it, Uncle Sceada could sleep in the same bed too.”

While she winked at Sceada in a rather telling manner, Aero’s eyes lit up. That means he could cuddle up to Uncle Sceada’s warm and fuzzy fur! That sounded like fun! A lot of fun!

“I wanna go vacation! Vacation! Vacation!”

“Hehehe, easy there, easy... I understand, Aero. So we’ll go on a little vacation with Uncle Sceada, hmm?”

“Yeeees!”

“Okay then. Now, wanna go back to play while I get everything ready?”

“Uh huh!”

“Off you go then!”

Adara would send the child off with a loving, motherly kiss to the forehead, and look after him as he hurried back to the living room. Seems like the decision was made then, huh?

“Well, you heard him... Give me just a couple hours to get everything ready, and then we’ll be good to go.”

“Alright. I’m looking forward to this already!”

“Oh, me too, Sceada. Me too...”

Again she’d wink at him, causing the Burmecian to blush. It wasn’t hard to hear a double meaning in her words, but he couldn’t be sure she really intended for that... Ah well, either way, it would turn out fine, and they’d hopefully enjoy this vacation, just the three of them! And while she would get ready...

“I’ll go watch Aero for a bit then. Maybe play with him, if he wants me too.”

“Thanks. You’re so sweet...”

And with a soft kiss to his cheek, Adara would send Sceada off to join Aero, and begin her preparations.

Esto Gaza, here we come!

[anarchistbanjo]

Early Church Views Toward Women

Today we are going to talk about the views of the early Church toward women. But first a little note about the early goddess religions that were mystical in nature and balanced between male and female. They began to be demonized and the early Church began to consider them satanic. Now you're not going to believe what I'm about to say so I will just quote it. These are quotations from the early Church fathers and their attitudes toward women. [My translation from the German]

“Up to this time Satan as the antichrist had not been born. The evil God was dual in nature. Satan as father, Satan as Samyasa, Satan as poet and philosopher, lived in the proud all knowing and all powerful cast of the Magi. He lived in the silent mysteries of the Chaldean temples and his priests were the hakamim (physicians), the khartumim (magicians), the kasdim and the gazrim (astrologers).

This Satan lived in the doctrines of Mazdeism and it’s children, the Magi, were the great protectors of the sacred flame that came down to them from heaven. Satan also lived in Ahura Mazda, the good God, that taught Zarathustra the secrets of the Haoma plant and in the Egyptian God, Thoth, Trimegistos, who wrote the secret knowledge down into 42 books and taught his chosen ones the important parts of the body. The terrible Hecate shared the gift of magical visions and workings with her chosen ones, as well as the gift of the invisible death stroke.

But besides Satan as Thoth and Satan as Hecate, there lived on the earth. Satan as Satyr, Satan as Pan and Satan as phallus. He was the God of the instincts and carnal lust and was equally revered by the highest in spirit as well as the lowest. He was the inexhaustible source of life's joy, the enthusiasm and the ecstasy. He taught women the arts of seduction and allowed men to double their sex drive and satisfy their lusts. He reveled in colors, invented the flute and set the muscles into rhythmic motion until a holy ecstasy enveloped the heart and the sacred phallus inseminated the fertile womb with its abundance.

Pan was Apollo then and Aphrodite at the same time. He was the God of the home hearth as well as of the bordello. He was the author of schools of philosophy. He built museums and glorious temples. He taught medicine and mathematics while at the same time, his temple in Astarteion was an immense bordello. The priestesses at Astarteion practiced the sexual arts and over the long years learned every imaginable means of sexual gratification.

Around this time, around the time of Tiberius, the great migration of the gods to Rome began. It was a time of the highest refinement and aristocratic enjoyment of life. The good God that had until then remained enthroned in his invisible kingdom of indolence and pleasure decided that the measure of sins had become too great and so he sent his son to earth, that he might make clear to the offspring of the bad God his dreary truth of the invisible worlds.

And he came to earth, this son of the good God, and revealed himself at first to the poor, the oppressed, the slaves and the day workers that had never tasted the holy joys of Pan.

Why trouble yourselves over your daily bread? Who dresses the lilies in the most beautiful colors compared to which scarlet and brocade are only empty rags? Who nourishes the birds that neither sow nor reap? Why do you strive after worldly things that will perish? What value is your pride when the highest on the earth will become the lowest in the kingdom of heaven? And what of your carnal desire, isn't it the gateway to hell?

Oh, carnal desire, most especially carnal desire, the seat of all the passions, the inexhaustible source of life's joy, the will to eternal life. It had to be destroyed so the kingdom of the invisible could take over the earth.

The Master said that a man had already defiled a woman when he looked upon her with lust. The disciples went much further. St. Cyprian said of the girl that was created in such a way that she excited a sigh of love from a man- that she was shameless, and if she allowed anyone to burn with lust for her- even unknowingly- then she was no longer a virgin.

“Woman! What do you and I have in common with each other?” asked the Master. The disciples went far beyond the Master.

Tertullian wrote “You are the portal to the devil.”

“You are the destroyer of the tree.”

“You are the first sinner against divine law.”

“You are the one that persuades those that do not wish to turn to the devil.”

“Everything evil comes from woman,” moaned St. Hieronymus. Yes, he even proclaimed that woman was not created in the image of God because the Holy Book said nothing about the soul of woman at the creation of the female.

The good God of the invisible hated earthly beauty. He hated everything holy that Satan as pan revealed and celebrated. He taught the transitory nature of the world and what was right. The smallest revolt of the flesh was a sin that had to be punished with long years of penance.

Tertullian raged with fanatical hatred against every purple ribbon that women sewed into their clothing. Lactantius cursed the poets and philosophers for dragging innocent souls into ruin. Paintings were destroyed, “That which grows naturally is the creation of God, everything man-made is the work of the devil.” Theater and the circus became “inventions of the devil”.

Yes, the holy fathers themselves warned of the colors of the flowers with which the demon, the evil enemy, clothed himself in color and splendor.

Isaurius, the Iconoclast, competed with Gregory the Great in the destruction of artistic images. Theodosius II had every Temple destroyed and crosses erected on top of them. They destroyed the most majestic poetic works with disastrous falsifications or annihilated them completely. The diabolist Cyprian taught that various works of the demon were hidden in poems.

The priestesses of Aphrodite became whores that anyone could pelt with filth, and love, love became God’s love! “Vanquish love, vanquish the devil!”.  Everything natural was forbidden, especially the healing powers of nature. God sent illness into the world as a way to allow man to atone for a portion of his sins while still here on earth. It was a sin to frustrate this decree of God. At best, exorcisms were still allowed, not to heal a disease, but instead only to demonstrate the triumphant power of good over evil.

“The demon is everywhere.”  According to Hieronymus. Even the air is full of trembling demons that scream and wail over the death of the old gods. The demon is hidden in every flower, in every tree, that brings joy, fertility, wealth and beauty. He brings the day as Lucifer and closes it as Venus who brings voluptuous lewd dreams.

The first century only knew one religion, the battle against the demon.

But that battle was not easy. In its fanatical lunacy the Church threw itself against the deepest and most sacred bonds that united man to the cosmic. It forcefully tore man loose from nature, isolated him, and suspended him between heaven and earth. The mysterious rapport that the naked soul of man had with the soul of ALL became completely separate from the brain and was declared satanic, a deception of Satan.

Ancient man had stood in an intimate relationship with nature. They lived directly in and with nature. They were a part of it, were one of nature's nerves that sounded at the smallest change in the environment. And if all the inventions of the human spirit were only organic projections, then the power of every polytheistic cult to bless and destroy was an organic projection as well. Just as the soul was a mechanism of the body that looked out from the inside of it and projected out into the world, nature revealed itself to the heathen cults in powerful symbols.

In a confused battle the church destroyed one by one the veins, through which the blood of the earth flowed in man. It destroyed the unconscious natural selection process of nature that expressed itself in external beauty, strength and nobility. It defended everything that nature wanted to eliminate, that which was so powerfully repulsive, filth, ugliness, disease, the crippled, and the castrated. The Church would have loved it if everyone was castrated, the light extinguished and the entire earth allowed to be consumed with acid rain. It's only desire, its burning request, was the ardent wish that the recently promised Day of Judgment would finally come at last.”

[idornaseminary]

Chapter Sixty-One: Unlikely Company

Enzo sat on the rocking chair that overlooked the Quidditch pitch and the Gladur forest in the room he, Mel, and Beatrice had dubbed ‘The Den.’ If the three of them were caught in public speaking of ‘the hidden room’ or ‘the hideaway’, someone could - and would - catch a hunch. If it was not whoever was behind the suicides - murders - then it could be someone thinking they were the murderers, plotting in the privacy of their own, secret oasis.

He tapped his foot against the scarlet painted rug, illuminated by the full moon overhead. Five minutes to midnight. He knew Beatrice was in now, but he had no idea if the Seer would show - or even if she was honest about her abilities. Still, he needed to try. He tried to keep his expectations low, knowing better than to count on a person like her, but still, he hoped her curiosity was piqued.

He looked over at Mel, sitting on the chaise. She had shown up just minutes ago, whereas he had been there for hours, going over what would be said. “You think they will show?” he asked, his jaw tight.

Mel shrugged, saying nothing. She could sense the nervous energy rolling off of Enzo’s back, his shoulders tense as he sat with his back to her. She was nearly tempted to reach out and dig her fingers into his muscles, in an effort to smooth out the knots, but she thought better of it.

Truthfully, Mel wasn’t sure if Beatrice would actually show. She’d seemed pretty worked up about it a week ago, and Mel had to wonder if she’d only agreed in the moment for show.

Furthermore, she knew nothing at all about this other person, and Enzo had acted pretty cagey when she tried to pry more details out of him. All Mel knew was that this person was a seer who was going to lend their powers to the cause. With as little knowledge as she had, how was she supposed to offer an opinion on their trustworthiness?

So while Enzo stared anxiously out over the black horizon, Mel sat and kept a careful eye on the portrait hole, counting the seconds to midnight.

The portrait swung open, creaking on its tense joints, causing the bolts to swing as Beatrice stepped inside, a polite but genuine smile playing on her plush lips. “Hey guys,” she sighed, eyes twinkling in the firelight dancing around the room as she smoothed down the braids wrapped around her head in a crown. “How’re you?” she wondered aloud, hooking her thumbs in the belt loops of her high-waisted bell bottom jeans, glancing behind her as she heard the door swing open again just before it closed, grin widening to expose her pearly white teeth to the evening chill. To say the sudden turn of events with Calix made her happy was an understatement. Perhaps it was his training as a healer, or perhaps it was just who he was that led him to an understanding of Beatrice that no other person had ever achieved, even her own grandmother. Birds of a feather, there was something there that now had a chance to flourish between the two of them, a deeper friendship that allowed trust to grow in faith that they cared for one another. Having a friend she knew she could share her vulnerabilities with, especially about Enzo, Mel, and the Gladur Forest, was a relief, and it made it easier to commit herself to their task knowing there was somebody she knew she could trust entirely.

“So…I found a healer to join our crew,” she said, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet as Calix entered behind her, the sheer sight of her boyfriend instantly making all her worries melt away.

Calix stepped through the portrait, over the threshold of The Den, into another hidden room, masked and concealed from the populace that scampered around the halls every day. He looked over his right shoulder, wincing slightly as the beautiful painting of the woman ran red with blood. The dark liquid dripped down her chest, seeping from a wound in her breast where the plunging blade had ruptured her flesh. It was deeply macabre, far darker than any other magical gateway he had ever seen. As a healer, Calix couldn’t imagine anyone concocting such a gruesome and grisly mechanism of entry, having already charmed the door with a password.

Walking into the room, Calix’s hand still grabbed at the air where Beatrice’s soft skin had been mere seconds ago, the warmth of her fair wrist against his soothing and calming. He missed holding her hand, but the exciting spirit had jumped into the secret Den, and Calix didn’t want to pressure her to make any big reveal.

Stepping into the room, he scanned his surroundings, observing the obvious, architectural similarities in design. His eyes were drawn firstly to the splendid artwork of the four birds of Idorna hanging at the cardinal points and then to the two people waiting for him.

Mel Winters. Enzo Bellerose. This should be fun. At least one person might be happy to see me.

“Hey,” Calix said quietly, a genuine and sincere smile spreading across his face. “I guess that makes me said healer.”

Enzo watched the pair make their way through the portrait. First Beatrice, looking happier than the last time he saw her, and behind her… the mediwizard who tended to his wounds. Of course. Still, he couldn’t be upset. Beatrice had pulled through and found someone willing to help. It might be more than what he could have done. His eyes trailed to the clock. 11:59. Where are you?

Shaking his head, his stood. “Good job, Beatrice,” he muttered before looking to the man… What was his name again? “And you. Thank you for coming.”

Mel smiled, pleasantly surprised to see Calix. Mel and Bea ran in different circles, so she hadn’t expected to recognize anyone Bea might have brought.

“Hey Bea. And Calix! Fancy seeing you here.” She made a dramatic flourish, gesturing to the room around her. “Welcome to the Den.”

Beatrice chuckled and shook her head, her fingers brushing against Cal’s course palm, a little spark of electricity singing her hand the farther she pulled away. She headed deeper into the room over towards a loveseat just under one of the ornate windows, chewing at her lightly bruised lip.

“Should we be expecting anybody else or can we get started?” she wondered aloud, casting a glance back at the portrait hold as she sunk down into the plush seat, crossing her legs at the knee.

Calix’s fingers gently and subtly tickled Beatrice’s palm as she passed by, his eyes following her towards the red, velvet loveseat in the corner. He winked playfully as she sat down, a natural happiness to the tone of his voice when he spoke, despite the chemical knowledge that Enzo Bellerose had completely forgotten him - he could sense the confused chemistry, like he was trying to dig up memories that weren’t stored away where they should be. I was the guy who patched you up, Enzo.

“Hey, Mel,” he whispered politely as he walked towards the painting of the wise owl, the artist capturing the bird’s ostentatious grandiloquence perfectly in the brushwork. “How are you? Feeling better since we spoke? How’s your arm?”

“Better” Mel replied with a grin. She rolled her sleeve up, revealing fresh bright colours where her tattoos had healed. “In all aspects, thanks.”

Enzo folded his arms over his chest, looking to the healer. Cameron? Carson? “I trust those healing abilities of yours can be used out of a controlled environment?”  

Calix, suppressing a chuckle since Enzo still hadn’t addressed him by name, glanced over his shoulder and smirked: “Enzo, have a little faith, please. What part of the last few weeks has been controlled? I promised to have you flying soon, didn’t I? Don’t you think I can handle it?”

“Just give him an opportunity,” Beatrice piped up, a coy smirk tugging at her lips as she studied the two men facing off with piqued interest. “Given the chance, he doesn’t shrink under pressure. He saved my life, made sure you can not only walk and sit and stand, but fly too. Trust me at least, Calix is exactly what we’re looking for,” she said, playfully winking at the Ibina, a faint crimson blush rising on her cheeks.

Calix winked once more at Beatrice, subtly fading quickly as his face blushed with pride at the defensive testimony of his girlfriend. He turned away to hide the redness that seeped into his cheeks, pretended to study the paintings in detail. Instead, he wondered how many times it would take either Mel or Beatrice to say his name before Enzo finally memorised the simple five letter arrangement.

“Very well,” Enzo replied, nodding. “I’ll explain everything once the last member arrives.”

Mel glanced around, watching the fire flicker on her companions’ faces. “Okay. Well where is this mysterious last member?”

Natasha hadn’t been sure if she was going to show up. She didn’t like to be kept in the dark, nor did she make a habit of showing up when she didn’t know who or what to expect, and she was very close to not going at all. But something about the urgency in Bellerose’s voice, along with how clearly reluctant he had been to invite her, made her interested. He had no interest in associating with her, of course, but his need was so desperate that he was willing to put up with it. Plus, this clearly had something to do with the murders, which meant she wanted to get involved.

The German took her time making her way up to the fifth floor. She knew that he had said midnight, and that they would likely be anxiously anticipating her, or at least hoping that she showed, and she could at least exercise the power to make them stew a bit. But she finally decided it was time to go, slipping on a pair of shoes, gathering up her Divination supplies, and grabbing her wand as she headed out the door. When she finally reached the portrait, it was almost a quarter past midnight. She quietly uttered the same word she had heard from Enzo that night, clear enough despite his drunken slur, and stepped through the doorway that was revealed.

She was faced with four people, three of whom she already knew. Enzo, she had expected. Beatrice, not so much, and that was a bit frustrating as the girl was someone Natasha had been far too vulnerable with already, and didn’t want to associate with in a group of people. And Calix, the boy who had been ever so defensive of his friend. She couldn’t help but smirk, knowing how he must feel to have his little group be dependent on someone he hated so much. And then the last girl, a blonde woman that she didn’t recognize at all.

“Am I late?” she asked innocently, tucking a bit of long, dark hair behind her ear.

Enzo turned as the woman stepped through the portrait. He shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said, looking at her supplies. “Thank you for coming…” He trailed off, realizing he never quite caught her name.

“I don’t think you and the others have met, right?” he muttered, hoping she would introduce herself with a name.

Natasha raised an eyebrow at Enzo’s words, but glanced at the group again. “Actually, I already know Beatrice and Calix,” she murmured, flashing a smile in their direction that she knew Calix would absolutely loathe. This would be fun. “I haven’t met you yet, though,” she said to the blonde woman she’d seen upon first arriving. “I’m Natasha. And you are?”

Mel trailed her eyes over the newcomer’s form, cautiously sizing her up. She carried herself in a way that reminded Mel much of a sultry widow, prowling the halls of her gothic estate. Normally that would be something that would pique Mel’s interest, but she noticed the way everyone else who already knew her sort of bristled at her arrival.

“Melanie,” she said finally, returning her smile. It was a smile that used to drive Enzo crazy, in very different ways depending if it was trained on him or someone else. “Mel is fine.”

“It’s good to see you again,” Beatrice said with a friendly smile, standing up to embrace her. The atmosphere in the room changed, and it was palpable in the thin air suddenly teeming with a chill the roaring fire couldn’t seem to assuage. She clasped the witch’s smooth hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze as a cold shiver ran down her spine. “I didn’t know Enzo had recruited you to be our first line of defense,” she said, glancing at the silent, spellbound man who seemed for the first time in her experience that he was at the mercy of somebody else.

Calix’s blood went piercingly cold, the glacial vitality that flowed in his veins numbing his senses, as the dark Curcurrion who tormented and tortured his best friend spoke, her sickly sweet voice filling the air with her noxious presence. His eyes widened, but he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, the scarring on the soft skin beginning to break open as his teeth cut deeper.

Beatrice’s delight at seeing the corruptive temptress brough bile to the back of Calix’s throat, which he quickly forced down. Didn’t she know how sadistic this witch could be?

He glanced at Enzo, who looked as disconcerted as Calix. He spoke quietly, an eyebrow raised, his voice neutral but far removed from his typical lilting pleasantry: “First line of defence?”

“Beatrice didn’t give you all of the information?” Enzo asked, raising an eyebrow, glad that he was able to focus on something other than the woman - Natasha.

All the information? Calix couldn’t tell whether something had been left out or not. But, Beatrice certainly didn’t mention her.

Calix slowly shook his head, “What am I missing?”

Enzo licked his lips, uncomfortable with speaking in front of so many people. He supposed he would answer Calix and Natasha’s lingering questions at once. “You were there during the Quidditch game, non?” he asked rhetorically, looking back and forth between the two newcomers. “We are trying to figure out what exactly was said by the students who jumped from the bleachers. Unless any of us remember and also speak Icelandic, that is not possible without a… Seer,” he said, gesturing to Natasha.  

He turned his body towards Natasha now, setting his jaw. “You asked what our plan is. The Gladur is tainted now, clearly, and it seems to be coming from the middle of the forest, according to a few…” he looked to Calix, “individuals. Our plan is to figure out as much as we can on the situation, and enter the Gladur to see if there is some root to the issue. No one else is doing anything, and we don’t want to wait around for more of us to get picked off.”  

Calix nodded his head in brisk understanding, his jawbones locked in place as drops of blood spotted onto his tongue. He slowly turned away from Enzo, setting his stormy eyes on their Seer. Calix was beginning to realise how dangerous this woman was - a manipulative and persuasive enchantress with the capacity to see glimpses of the past and future, and who was apparently friendly with girl he was beginning to fall head over heels for.

“Unless I’m mistaken, I am a Seer,” Beatrice said defensively, crossing her arms over her chest as she stood beside Calix. “What we needed is somebody skilled in charms. And I thought you said that Mel could fill that requirement easily. We need somebody who if our backs are pressed against a wall, can get us out of a tight spot,” she explained, setting her hand lightly on the Irishman’s arm, stroking his skin with her pinky finger. There was something between the Calix and Natasha that she wasn’t aware of, a sinister past that threatened to drive a wedge between the Samoan and her new boyfriend. She wished they were alone so she could reassure him they were on the same page, that there were in fact no secrets between the two of them, that she didn’t know Natasha was going to be involved.

Calix, blood hammering in his ears, fresh droplets bleeding onto his tongue with every forced beat of his thundering heart, welcomed Beatrice’s gentle affection. Her pinky rested on his arm, her fingers brushing against his skin softly. It was a calming gesture, a relational warning sign that she had recognised his immediate animosity towards Natasha and wanted to delve deeper into the matter with him later.

He let out a long, shaky breath, looking down at her. He couldn’t understand how his girlfriend and Natasha could be so friendly. He didn’t trust the Cucurrion nor had he any intention of forgetting her wrong-doings, but, for Beatrice’s sake, he would stomach her timely poisons. One false step however, one attempted manipulation or infliction of pain, and his patience and acceptance, forced into compliance, would snap, stretched beyond the limits of their elasticity.

He wrapped his arm around Beatrice tightly, “There must a reason you asked her, right? What does she bring to the table that Beatrice can’t.”

Natasha gave Beatrice a faint smile and squeezed her hand lightly. But when she realized how off-put Calix looked by her closeness to the Samoan, she gave her a full-fledged grin and made sure they seemed more friendly than they actually were. She would love to make him even more upset, however she could accomplish that.

She realized there was suddenly a debate as to why she was needed, and after hearing Enzo’s explanation of why they needed a Seer in the first place, she understood and could explain. “I didn’t mean to encroach on anything, Beatrice,” she told the Samoan girl first. “But by the sound of it, you all need to be able to recreate what happened at the pitch with enough detail to hear the exact words that were said. Am I mistaken?” She looked around, seeing that no one was disagreeing. “Without a Pensieve, which I doubt any of you have, you need someone skilled with a crystal ball to recall past events like that, particularly in order to share them among several people. I can do that, which is why our dear Enzo asked me to help.”

Beatrice nodded slowly and gave Calix’s arm a gentle squeeze, leaning back against his chest. “I can understand that,” she said quietly, her chest rising and falling in time with her boyfriend’s behind her in an attempt to keep him calm. The tense air in the Den swirled around and around, stemming from the German witch as it clouded around the four other individuals.

Enzo nodded, exhaling slowly and quietly, not realizing the oxygen he had kept held in his lungs throughout the entirety of Beatrice and Natasha’s exchange. “So,” he said, looking at Natasha. “What do we need to do now? How does this work?”

Natasha glanced at Enzo again, the tension in the air palpable. But she was used to this, and it didn’t bother her in the slightest. In fact, she thrived on it. So she just smirked softly and spoke.

“Well, if I’m searching specifically for the words, it will be more difficult. Typically what I see comes in visions, without hearing the exchanges.” She had only heard words once or twice, and the level of clear-headedness it required was immense. But she would manage it. “But, it is nighttime, which makes it easier. I’ll have to sit in complete quiet, and it may take quite awhile. Effectively, if the vision appears, I can try to project it onto all of you. But the Sight isn’t easily controlled, so I cannot guarantee we’ll find what you’re looking for.”

Enzo chewed the inside of his cheek as she spoke, giving the others a quick glance - all except Beatrice, awkwardly leaning against the torso of their healer, seemed as confused as he was. “Is there anything we need to do?”

The German shook her head. “No. Besides trying to clear your heads and open them up. It will be easier for me to project something into your minds if they’re clear. I am not a Legilimens, and I cannot get in unless you allow me to.” At least not in the literal sense, she thought to herself, although she didn’t say that. “It is tricky, and I’ve only ever done it with one person, so if I have to pick one person, who is it going to?” she asked, looking around at them all.

Enzo stared at his feet, toe clicking against the edge of the rug. He thought back to that day. Wednesday, he remembered. It was storming outside, dark…

He looked over to Beatrice. “You were with Halina when she jumped, were you not? And you have the translation spell…” He didn’t want to finish speaking, because he knew he would be asking a lot of her. There is no way she would want to relive that experience again. “If you can’t, though…”

Rain starting to fall on her sweat beaded face as Beatrice stepped out from under the tarp overhead, grabbing hold of Halina’s left hand, digging her nails into her friend’s flawless ebony skin. Beatrice shrieked, the fierce grip on Halina’s hand slicing through her malleable skin, leaving blood on the hands of a woman incapable of grasping what happened in that moment. She swallowed tightly and looked down, her eyes clouding with tears as her stomach knotted up. “I….” she coughed and nodded quickly, “I can do it.”

“You shouldn’t push yourself,” Mel said, eying her with concern. She gently squeezed her shoulder. “But if you’re sure, you don’t have to worry. We’ll all be right here for you.”

“Mel’s right, Bea,” Calix palliated soothingly, rubbing comforting circles into his girlfriend’s back as her shoulders began to hunch and her eyes began to haze. He understood the trauma she had suffered when Halina fell from the bleachers – they had all suffered that day and reliving those memories was distressingly painful. “Besides, if our seer is as good as she’s supposed to be, you won’t be doing anything alone. We’re right here, all of us, right beside you.”

Natasha caught the pointedness of Calix’s words, but it didn’t bother her. “Beatrice, you won’t be reliving your experience. You’ll be reliving mine. So hopefully it won’t be too bad. But I will try to project it to all of you, if possible.”

She thought for a moment before speaking again. “You all plan on going into the Gladur once you know what was said?”

Enzo nodded, half-watching Beatrice, half-watching the moon outside create red patterns on the Den’s floor. “Something did this, and I’m willing to bet that it’s connected with the forest. The forest feels sick. It is possible that the cause might be in the forest itself.”

The German shook her head a bit. They were insane. She understood wanting to know what was going on, but considering the number of students that disappeared a year, she didn’t think that the warning about the forest were empty. “You’re going to get yourselves killed, but alright,” she said, taking a deep breath.

Mel scowled, ignoring Natasha’s grim words. Instead, she offered Bea a reassuring smile. “Are you ready?”

Clearing her throat and stepping forward, Beatrice looked up at Natasha with a brave nod. “What do I have to do?” she asked, already beginning to clear her mind of the things worrying her so she was ready to receive the memories.

Calix took one step backwards, plunging his clenched fists into his trouser pockets. He kept his sharp eyes fixed on Beatrice’s braided curls, ready to step in at a moment’s notice. Divination was a branch of the magical arts Calix didn’t fully understand, a secret alchemy known only to practitioners – not fully understanding the risks, Calix could only prepare for any eventuality.

Enzo turned his view to Natasha, nodding almost as to give her the floor.

“You’ll have to give me some time,” Natasha told them, disliking having them all looking at her they way they were. She normally didn’t mind being the center of attention, but Divination wasn’t easy to do on command, particularly not under pressure. “Beatrice, I will have you sit near me, but the rest of you, just be quiet and don’t stare.” She pulled her crystal ball out of the bag she’d brought and walked over to the window. She sat cross-legged in front of it and set the ball in its stand in front of her, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

Mel settled onto the floor, leaning her back against one of the beds. She eyed Natasha carefully, highly aware of her own breathing as she did her best to be quiet. She turned her gaze from Natasha and instead focused it on the light the fire cast on the plush carpet, trying to keep her eyes fixed there.

Beatrice sat down with her legs tucked beneath her body, kicking off her sandals as she settled into a comfortable position that she’d be fine in for quite some time, if needed. She looked at the other three around the room and offered them a small smile. “So, the translation spell I discovered is very simple. The caster just needs to point their wand at somebody speaking, and say ‘interpretari vicissim’ and their words will translate into a language you can understand,” she explained, nervously drumming her fingers on her legs.

“I don’t know if I’ll be lucid enough to cast the spell myself, so you should all be prepared,” she added before turning more fully towards Natasha, letting out a slow, steadying breath. “I’m ready when you are.

Nodding his head slowly, Calix offered Beatrice a sweet smile as he pulled the back of his shirt up. The lifted fabric exposed the small of his back and the willow wand that was tucked into his waistband. He then let go, the tail of the shirt falling behind the wand as he crossed his arms defensively in front of his chest, and stood beside Enzo, watching the two girls closely.

“We’ll be ready, you just concentrate on yourself.”

Enzo remained standing, taking a few steps back between Mel and Calix. “Good luck,” he said to Beatrice and Natasha.  

Natasha didn’t listen to what the others were saying. She had to focus and forget about everything else. She slowly emptied her mind, making way for a vision to come. When she finally felt clear, she opened her eyes again and looked into the swirling mists of the ball, just waiting. Then, all at once, it hit her, and she only had a moment to mumble the right spell that spread her consciousness to not just Beatrice, but the three others as well.

At first, there was only fog. It wasn’t quite an emptiness, more like obscurity, where there was something there, but just out of reach. Natasha had never had to reach this far back into her memories, at least not to this level of detail, nor to share them with someone else, which made the task harder. She tried to keep her mind clear of other thoughts, pushing them away and compartmentalizing them as she always did, along with her feelings and everything else, and soon enough, the mists had started to blow away.

In front of them all now was the Quidditch pitch. It was fuzzy around the edges, not quite in focus, but it was there. Natasha didn’t waste energy and attention trying to make it seem clearer, knowing that this was not the detail they were looking for. It was a still image, however, and she needed to recall more than just the picture of the pitch. She needed the events.

That was when the rain started. It was echo-y, distant, as if being heard from the opposite end of a cavern, but it was there. Then the sound was joined by the roar of a crowd, cheering and screaming for their teams. Natasha had rarely been able to hear things when she had visions of the past, often having to fill in the blanks herself, but now, it was there, which almost caught her off guard and broke her focus. She was used to working in complete silence, and it was making this already-difficult task that much more challenging. But she re-centered herself and continued delving back into the past. It took another few moments, but finally, she broke through the barrier, and suddenly she was no longer in control of the vision.

Everything was moving too quickly. The rain was falling hard and fast, each drop sounding like a mini claps of thunder cracking through the air. The actual thunder was deafening, and the sky was illuminated every few moments with staggering bolts of lightning. Players zoomed around the pitch, nothing more than orange-and-grey and green-and-silver blurs. Nothing was clear, a dizzying whirlwind of colors and sounds, the icy wind cutting through the only constant.

And then, all at once, everything came to a grinding halt. The rain ceased to fall, and the crowd seemed to hold its breath. The Quidditch players were suspended in midair, some mid-action. Like the whole world was waiting for something. And it didn’t disappoint.

“Djöfullinn býr inni í veggjum.”

The words rang out, louder than the rain had been, louder than the thunder. It was louder than life, shaking the earth with its shattering roar. The vision quickly shifted after the sound, a blur around them before the only sight was McKayla standing on the edge of the pitch. Natasha’s demanding voice filtered through the air as a faint echo, but it was overwhelmed quickly by the 10 students speaking in unison, the tone more monotonous and terrifying that it had been in the moment, every emotion amplified.

“Leggðu leið fyrir drottninguna.”

Everything proceeded to move in slow motion. McKayla’s curls were all blown to one side, and she tilted forward painfully slowly, crossing the line to where gravity did its work. The blonde fell through the air, a cry erupting from her just before she crashed into the unforgiving ground, the sickening crunch the last sound anyone could hear.

Natasha gasped as she came out of the vision, her eyes flying open. She panted for air, the effort of the magic exhausting her. It hadn’t helped that she had to relive that moment. She finally looked at the others when she had her expression back under control. “Did that give you what you needed?”

Beatrice sat paralyzed, her eyes wide open and glassy, her heart hammering away at a painfully fast rate, the thunder in the vision having terrified her. She clenched her jaw tightly shut and swallowed the bile she felt rising in the back of her throat, knowing she needed to speak soon so they could translate the words. “‘Djöfullinn býr inni í veggjum’ and ‘Leggðu leið fyrir drottninguna,’” she repeated the words seared into her memory.

Mel scrambled to her feet, hurrying over to Bea and tapping her wand against the side of her temple. She murmured the incantation Bea had given her beforehand, feeling the newly translated words flow through her skull, words that were simultaneously her own voice and someone else’s.

The group watched Mel with bated breath while she sorted the words in her head, picking out the letters one by one like Scrabble tiles. Finally, she let out a shaky sigh and looked around the room, terror gripping her stomach in an iron vice.

“The devil is inside the walls,” she recited. “Make way for the queen.”

As Mel hastened to cast the translational charm, Calix reached for his wand and rushed across to Beatrice. He fell to the ground beside her, his knees burning as he slide across the carpet and his outstretched arm catching her falling body, supportively tucking her close as Mel muttered the incantation. Calix, concerned with the uncompromising rigor of his girlfriend’s slender frame, glanced up at Natasha. She looked exhausted, the energy expenditure required for the vision effectuating its toll on her body. He bit his tongue hard, angrily conflicted.

Fuck it!

“Locomotor. Vitalitas.” Calix, unable to stem the tide of his medical oaths, pointed his wand at one of the plush cushions in the corner of the room, enchanting its movement. The cushion migrated to behind Natasha’s back, as Calix’s energy transfer charm replenished some of her lost stores, despite his searing agitation.

He listened closely as Mel spoke, sending out small waves of soothing, pink mist to calm the shaking people around him. He engraved the wicked words that sent a shiver through his body onto the gears of his memory out of necessity. What devil? What queen?

He looked towards Enzo for any clarification, attempting to rationalise the mysterious wordings.

Enzo couldn’t move like the others. He stood, frozen in… something. Fear? Awe? Horror? He couldn’t quite place the feelings that were knotting his innards in a braid. Hearing those words being said again, it was something no one should have to hear.

All he could do was shake his head, his face stone cold.

Natasha expected to just sit back while the others figured things out. She felt drained, entirely, as if she could collapse at any moment, but she did her best to keep it together. It was a shock when Calix pointed his wand at her and muttered a spell that, instead of harming or incapacitating her, actually restored some of her lost energy.

She leaned into the cushion he had also provided for a moment, collecting herself. She was admittedly a bit shaken by the words as well, but didn’t want them to know that. “Well, if that’s everything, I guess I can leave now,” she told them, standing up slowly. But even with the help of Calix, she still felt weak, and she was a little wavery once she was on her feet.

Mel kept her eyes fixed to the carpet. Somehow, the translation had been more disturbing than she could have possibly expected. What were they supposed to do with this information? Old instinct caused her to look to Enzo, and she was vaguely comforted to see he at the very least looked as unbalanced as she did.

She broke the long silence, letting out a low whistle.

“Well fuck.”

“You can’t leave yet,” Beatrice mumbled, rubbing her eyes as she came out of her stupor, resting her head on Calix’s shoulder. Her temples throbbed, her pulse starting to return to return to a somewhat normal pace, knowing that the thunder wasn’t real, but simply a part of the vision certainly helping. She looked around at the three others and let out a small huff.

“It can never hurt to have another person’s input,” she added. “Because I personally don’t know what the hell it means, but I do know that whatever the heck is in that forest is way more powerful than I think we want to believe.”

“Sit down,” Calix snapped, glaring across at Natasha, “You’re in no position to go anywhere. Simple. You too, Enzo. Sit.”

Calix wrapped his arms around Beatrice, kindly enveloping her in his warm embrace, while raising his wand. The locomotion charm summoned one of the armchairs to Enzo’s side, his face troubled and frozen with worry, the upholstery of the chair tapping the back of his legs. He glanced back and forth between Enzo and Natasha, ensuring both of them complied with his requests. There was a hulking and burdensome tension of dread in the air, a dense cloak of despair as the enormous gravity of the translated words found its mark, and they needed time to compose themselves. All of them did.

There were far too many thoughts running through Enzo’s mind that he tried to make sense of. Too many questions. When Calix summoned him a chair for him, he didn’t want to sit. However, he also did not want to be the only one not complying, so he sat, letting his tense back muscles rest.

What first?

“Devil inside the walls?” he said. “That was the first voice - the one in the clouds… Does that not confirm that this was done from inside of Idorna?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Mel said immediately, but it was out of fear rather than actually disbelieving him. When the threat existed in the depths of the woods, it was easy to distance herself from it. Picturing the threat as someone she potentially saw every day was too much for her.

Natasha didn’t want to sit, didn’t want to stay there, but Calix didn’t exactly give her a choice. She sat back down and took a deep breath, listening to them discuss. “Does that mean you aren’t going into the forest? Because that seems like the smart decision.”

“What student is strong enough to stop rain as well as possess ten others to jump to their deaths?” Beatrice asked absently, shifting her head so she could listen to Calix’s heartbeat. “It couldn’t be a student. Couldn’t be a professor. What about the headmistress? How did she know immediately after they jumped that six of them were dead?” she asked, black eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

“Liara?” Calix questioned, shaking his head from side to side. “It couldn’t be? You saw her breakdown? But, I wouldn’t eliminate the possibility that it’s an inside job. And, we have to worry about the Gladur too. There’s a lot to consider.”

Enzo wet his lips, exhaling loudly in frustration as they others spoke of who might have been behind it. “We don’t have enough information to make clear estimates.”  

He placed his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes. He was exhausted, his body and mind wanting nothing more than to just rest, but that was not a possibility at this time - nothing but this was.

“I’m not going back on my plan,” he said finally. “I’m going into the Gladur. Something about it is wrong, and the way the leaves changed… they don’t turn slowly like that. Think of every time the Gladur changed. It’s instant, always. This is different.”  

Natasha looked at Enzo, the conviction in his voice surprising. She knew he wasn’t wrong, that there likely was something going on in the Gladur, but it just seemed insane. “That’s a suicide mission, especially if you go alone.”

“He won’t be,” Mel said firmly, moving to stand by his side. She gave him a determined smile. “Whatever the truth is, I’m going.”

Beatrice caught her lip between her teeth and looked up at Calix, concern showing in her eyes. “What do you think?” she asked quietly, taking his hand in hers. She knew that he promised he’d stand by her, but this was a lot to ask, especially after hearing the translation and knowing that Natasha could be a part of it.

There was a small silence, where Calix listened to the tempestuous beating of his heart as the words replayed in his mind. He ran his thumb over the back Beatrice’s hand, leaning his head against hers. “I think we should help, don’t you? If something evil is coming to hurt people, I’d want to try to stop it.”

She nodded slowly and laced their fingers together, giving his hand a small squeeze before turning towards the three other individuals in the room with a smile. “We’re coming too,” she said definitively. “There’s something going on, and the more help you have, the better.”

“She’s right,” Calix said, planting a subtly hidden kiss on Beatrice’s temple, “We’ve come too far to simply walk away now. We need real answers. And, as Enzo said, nobody else is doing anything about this.”

For the first time in a long while, hope swelled in Enzo’s chest. He knew their chances were slim, and if texts of the Gladur were correct, their chances of survival were not much larger. Still, there was no way he was going to sit around and wait for more people to die. He was glad the others felt the same way, too.

Finally, he looked at Natasha, standing up from his chair. “Thank you for everything,” he said. For some reason now, her icy glare didn’t chill him as much. “You have done more than enough, and no one would blame you if you never spoke of this again, but if you want to join… us, we could always use an extra wand.”

Natasha eyed Enzo when he stood and faced her. Clearly they were all insane, since they were planning on going into the forest, although she more she thought about it, the more she realized this could be the key to finding and getting revenge on whoever killed McKayla. “You really think you’ll find something in the forest?”

Enzo shrugged. “I can’t say for certain, but what else are we going to do? The only other option is to wait. There is no more information for us to analyze.”

The German girl nearly groaned. She hadn’t planned on endangering herself, on getting involved with this group, but she had a mission. “I’ll go,” she said finally. “When?”

Enzo looked around the group now, almost laughing to himself. Unlikely company. “Halloween,” he said to everyone. “If we are going to get into the Gladur without anyone noticing, we need to do it under cover of darkness, and when no one is at the castle. Enjoy what you can of the celebrations, but as soon as the clock strikes midnight, we go.”

[oldguardaudio]

Powerline image at HoaxAndChange

Ted Kennedy and Bill Clinton Drown and Rape at HoaxAndChange.com

Daily Digest

A Chappaquiddick Reckoning At Last?

John Kelly fires back at Luis Gutierrez

Irma update

Almost blacklisted by Google

The gutless Mr. Franken (2)

A Chappaquiddick Reckoning At Last?

Posted: 11 Sep 2017 04:46 PM PDT

(Steven Hayward)

I paid no attention to the fact that Hollywood was producing a biopic of Ted Kennedy’s famous “accident” at Chappaquiddick in 1969, and would have assumed that it was a typical gauzy pro-Kennedy puff piece if I had known. But Variety magazine, the main trade journal of Hollywood, offers a review that not only says that the forthcoming movie Chappaquiddick is suitably harsh on Teddy, but that he—and the Kennedy reputation—deserve it:

The film says that what happened at Chappaquiddick was even worse than we think. Kopechne’s body was found in a position that implied that she was struggling to keep her head out of the water. And what the film suggests is that once the car turned upside down, she didn’t die; she was alive and then drowned, after a period of time, as the water seeped in. This makes Edward Kennedy’s decision not to report the crime a clear-cut act of criminal negligence — but in spirit (if not legally), it renders it something closer to an act of killing.

But this is just the beginning. The reviewer, Variety chief film critic Owen Gleiberman, piles on:

“Chappaquiddick” is a meticulously told chronicle, no more and no less, and at times there’s a slight detachment in watching it, because it’s too tough and smart to milk the situation by turning Edward Kennedy into a “tragic figure.” . . .

Forty-eight years later, let’s be clear on what the meaning of Chappaquiddick is. Ted Kennedy should, by all rights, have stood trial for involuntary manslaughter, which would likely have ended his political career. The fact that the Kennedy family — the original postwar dynasty of the one percent — possessed, and exerted, the influence to squash the case is the essence of what Chappaquiddick means. The Kennedys lived outside the law; the one documented instance in American history of an illegallystolen presidential election was the election of John F. Kennedy in 1960. He lost the race to Richard Nixon, but his father sealed the presidency for him by manipulating the vote tallies in Illinois. That’s the meaning of Chappaquiddick. too.

I don’t say any of this as a right-wing troll. But those are the facts, and they are facts that liberals, too often, have been willing to shove under the carpet. And they have paid the price. Ted Kennedy became known as “the Lion of the Senate,” and did a lot of good, but when you try to build a governing philosophy on top of lies, one way or another those lies will come back to haunt you. (Hello, Donald Trump! He’s an incompetent bully, but his middle name might be “Liberal Karma.”) As a movie, “Chappaquiddick” doesn’t embellish the incidents it shows us, because it doesn’t have to. It simply delivers the truth of what happened: the logistical truth of the accident, and also the squirmy truth of what went on in Ted Kennedy’s soul. The result may play like avid prose rather than investigative cinema poetry, but it still adds up to a movie that achieves what too few American political dramas do: a reckoning.

I hope Gleiberman has good life insurance and checks his car’s ignition before he starts up every day from now on. Just to be safe, don’t park next to Oliver Stone.

For what it’s worth, some years ago I had a long conversation with someone who owned a second home on Chappaquiddick and was present that weekend, though, as a Republican, he was not at the infamous party. He told me the story went out over the weekend that Kopechne had fallen asleep in the back seat of Kennedy’s car, and that Teddy wasn’t aware she was back there when he drove off the bridge. This doesn’t square with a lot of the circumstances and other facts of the story, leading to the suggestion that this was the first version of an alibi that was abandoned because couldn’t hold up.

This person (now deceased) also said that the Kennedy machine descended upon Chappaquiddick like the Normandy invasion, canvassing the island’s small population to see whether there were any witnesses and tamp down any “rumors.”

   John Kelly fires back at Luis Gutierrez

Posted: 11 Sep 2017 03:20 PM PDT

(Paul Mirengoff)

I wrote here about how Rep. Luis Gutierrez called John Kelly, President Trump’s chief of staff, a “hypocrite” and a “disgrace to the uniform he used to wear.” Kelly served in the military for more than 40 years.

Gutierrez never served a day. However, he became hysterical over Trump’s decision to phase out the DACA program, while giving Congress the opportunity to implement its protections. Gutierrez claimed that Trump’s action violated a promise Kelly had made. As I demonstrated here, though, there is no inconsistency between what Gutierrez says Kelly promised — no mass deportations of “dreamers” — and the winding down of a program that granted them secure status plus benefits.

Kelly has now responded to Gutierrez. He said:

As far as the congressman and other irresponsible members of congress are concerned, they have the luxury of saying what they want as they do nothing and have almost no responsibility. They can call people liars but it would be inappropriate for me to say the same thing back at them. As my blessed mother used to say “empty barrels make the most noise.”

Kelly also defended the decision to phase out DACA, while giving Congress time to pass legislation that accomplishes the same things:

Every DOJ and DHS lawyer says DACA is unconstitutional. Every other legal scholar – right and left – says the same thing. Trump didn’t end DACA, the law did. That said, I worked and succeeded to give the congress another six months to do something. I am not confident.

It’s not really true that every legal scholar says DACA is unconstitutional. One can find left-wing academics who defend its constitutionality.

It’s telling though that a former left-wing academic initially conceded that DACA-style amnesty would be an illegal usurpation of power by the executive. The professor’s name was Barack Obama.

Rep. Gutierrez’s office responded lamely to Kelly. It noted that “the constitutionality of DACA has never been challenged successfully in court.” But the constitutionality of DAPA has successfully been challenged, and the arguments against DACA are very similar.

In any event, the president of the United States takes an oath to uphold the Constitution. He has thus sworn not to maintain programs that, in his view, are unconstitutional. He need not, and should not, wait for courts to opine.

If the president were considering a program to take some as yet unheard of draconian measure to punish illegal immigrants, it would not do for him to blow off constitutional concerns on the grounds that the constitutionality of the punishment has never been challenged successfully in court. It will not do for Gutierrez, apparently illiterate when it comes to the Constitution, to blow off constitutional concerns over DACA.

Gutierrez owes Kelly an apology. But Kelly probably doesn’t take the open-borders loudmouth seriously enough to want one.

   Irma update

Posted: 11 Sep 2017 02:38 PM PDT

(Scott Johnson)

Our Florida hurricane correspondent provides this brief update from Fort Myers and Cape Coral:

Irma passed very slightly to the east of Fort Myers, which was actually worse for the city since it saw nothing but eyewall for several hours instead of getting a respite in the eye. Still, there is little major damage – uprooted trees, a few houses damaged by falling trees, localized flooding, signs damaged or knocked down, widespread power outages (though LCEC has done a very effective job at restoring electricity to critical installations). The vicious storm surge everyone feared largely did not materialize; even Sanibel and Captiva suffered little significant damage. No doubt damage and fatalities would have been worse had a large surge occurred. Miami, Naples and the Keys suffered the most of what damage there was, and only the latter was really smashed. No reports of looting locally and the cleanup is proceeding.

Six deaths are attributed to the storm. Three emergency responders were killed in car accidents, a fourth death was a civilian in a car accident, and a carbon monoxide poisoning from a Miami man who ran a generator in an enclosed space. Only one person was killed by the storm itself, a man on Shark Key (Monroe County) who failed or refused to evacuate or go to a storm shelter and was apparently drowned in his house.

There is not a single other reported death — not at the landfall site in Collier (Marco Island; Naples), not in Lee County, nor anywhere else in the state. As Irma was still a huge Cat 2 storm when it raked most of the peninsula, I attribute the good outcome to Florida’s preparation and its building codes – Florida is a much harder target than pretty much anywhere else in the country. The authorities responded magnificently, organized, efficient, and firm. And the vast majority of people acted rationally and cautiously. I think having Harvey hit two weeks earlier probably prompted even the most blasé Gators to prepare and/or evacuate and/or shelter.

One notable casualty: the 100-year-old Banyan tree at the Edison estate. A shame.

   Almost blacklisted by Google

Posted: 11 Sep 2017 05:20 AM PDT

(Scott Johnson)

In a message addressed to us along with Drudge Report, American Thinker, InstaPundit, PJ Mediaand Gateway Pundit, Leo Goldstein writes:

Dear Editors,

You might be interested to learn, that your websites have been almost blacklisted by Google. “Almost blacklisted” means that Google search artificially downranks results from your websites to such extent that you lose 55% – 75% of possible visitors traffic from Google. This sitution is probably aggravated by secondary effects, because many users and webmasters see Google ranking as a signal of trust.

This result is reported in my paper published in WUWT. The findings are consistent with multiple prior results, showing Google left/liberal bias, and pro-Hillary skew of Google search in the elections.

I write to all of them to give you opportunity to discuss this matter among yourselves. Even if Google owes nothing to your publications, it certainly owes good faith to the users of its search.

Intentionally hiding conservative and/or libertarian websites from the customers is an obvious breach of good faith.

Those of you who do not know me are welcome to visit at Climate Realism Against Alarmism.

The almost blacklisted domains: americanthinker.com drudgereport.com powerlineblog.com pjmedia.com thegatewaypundit.com

Best regards, Leo Goldstein DefyCCC.com

All I can say at this point is that we are in good company.

   The gutless Mr. Franken (2)

Posted: 11 Sep 2017 05:00 AM PDT

(Scott Johnson)

President Trump has nominated Notre Dame Law Professor Amy Barrett to the Seventh Circuit and Professor Barrett once gave a speech to the legal rights organization Alliance Defending Freedom. The ADF has recently been designated an anti-LGBT hate group by the absurdly misnamed hate cult known as the Southern Poverty Law Center. Drawing on the SPLC’s assault on the ADF and Professor Barrett’s appearance to speak before the group once upon a time, Franken has attacked Professor Barrett as unworthy of confirmation.

Here we have absurdity heaped upon absurdity in the style of McCarthyite guilt by association, but with a twist. At the end of McCarthy’s attacks was the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. At the end of Franken’s attack is the Alliance Defending Freedom. Franken’s performance in the hearing on Professor Barrett before the Senate Judiciary Committee last week made for a sickening display of ignorance heaped upon bigotry and dishonesty.

Franken has drawn on the same technique to state his opposition to the nomination of Minnesota Supreme Court Justice David Stras to the Eighth Circuit. In the statement that he released after his pretended four-month study of Justice Stras’s record, Franken announced that he would withhold his blue slip and therefore prevent Justice Stras’s nomination even from consideration by the Senate unless it is dishonored by Judiciary Committee Chairman Charles Grassley. Here are the two operative paragraphs of Franken’s statement (with my editorial notation of falsehoods):

Early in his career, Justice Stras worked as a law clerk for Justice Thomas, one of the Supreme Court’s most conservative members [lie] Justice Stras has described Justice Thomas as a mentor, and at an event hosted by the conservative [lie] Federalist Society, Justice Stras talked about how the jurisprudence of Justice Scalia helped to shape his own views. He said, “I really grew up with a steady diet of Justice Scalia, and I’m better for it.” Justice Scalia embraced a rigid view of the Constitution that favored powerful corporate interests [lie], was blind to the equal dignity of LGBT people [lie], and often refused to acknowledge the lingering animus in laws that perpetuate the racial divide [lie]. As a state court judge, Justice Stras has not often had occasion to consider cases raising these issues, but I am concerned that a nominee nurtured by such an ideology would likely seek to impose it on the litigants before him [libel based on lies].

And as it turns out, there is good reason to be concerned about that. During the presidential campaign, then-candidate Trump proudly declared that he would “appoint judges very much in the mold of Justice Scalia.” And to make certain that his nominees would espouse such views, President Trump outsourced the job of identifying them to the Federalist Society and the Heritage Foundation, deeply conservative interest groups that cast skeptical eyes on workers’ rights and civil rights [a lie several times over]. Those groups produced a list of conservative judges for then-candidate Trump to consider naming to the Supreme Court-a list that included Justice Stras.

Again note the McCarthyite approach that makes up the sum and substance of Franken’s opposition to Justice Stras (and of his prospective opposition to Professor Barrett). Justice Stras clerked for Justice Thomas. Justice Stras has spoken highly of Justice Scalia. Justice Stras is supported by the Heritage Foundation and the Federalist Society (putting the facts to one side). Franken, therefore, opposes Justice Stras.

Franken cites nothing from Justice Stras’s scholarly or judicial record to support his opposition. Franken’s opposition is founded entirely on guilt by association — not with the Communist Party or some nefarious organization, but rather with Justice Thomas and with the Federalist Society.

I took a look at Senator Amy Klobuchar’s statement on the Stras nomination last week in “The many moods of Amy Klobuchar.” Klobuchar’s statement supports a hearing for Justice Stras while also supporting deference to Franken’s blue slip. Star Tribune reporter Patrick Coolican declared Klobuchar’s statement — seeking to please all while committing herself to nothing — “peak Klobuchar.” She is a walking parody of a politician.

They put the question squarely to Senator Grassley. Will he respect this nonsense?

   PowerLine -> A Chappaquiddick Reckoning At Last? Daily Digest A Chappaquiddick Reckoning At Last? John Kelly fires back at Luis Gutierrez Irma update…

[junker-town]

It's cruel to laugh at Floyd Mayweather's reading problems

There are plenty of reasons to criticize Money Mayweather. His struggle with literacy isn't one of them.

There's nothing funny about Floyd Mayweather's reading ability, and it is stupid and cynical to think otherwise. Moreover, the situation should induce an uncomfortable amount of pity and shame from the world, rather than laughter. Mayweather is reprehensible, that much can't be argued, and no amount of boxing genius can change the corruptness of the human spirit or the damage that he has done to the women he has encountered. But deriding the man for his struggles with reading is not only elitist, with roots in racism, it's just downright crass.

A recent war of words with Destroyer of Worlds Ronda Rousey went something like this: Dana White spent a few months last year proclaiming that Rousey could beat Mayweather in an MMA fight. When asked about this, Mayweather claimed to not know who Rousey was and even referred to her as "he." Rousey shot back by bringing up Mayweather's history of domestic violence, before taking another verbal jab at the boxing champion at the 2015 ESPYs. Mayweather responded with the "I'm richer than you" route and then attempted to dismiss the situation.

Rousey countered his insult (that she needed to make $300 million before speaking to him) with: "I actually did the math and, given the numbers of my last fight, I'm actually the highest-paid UFC fighter, and I'm a woman. I think I actually make two to three times more than he does per second ... so when he learns to read and write, he can text me."

The entire exchange is childish. It's embarrassing for both parties and their respective fans. It's entirely forgettable except for the strain at the end of Rousey's last retort. That snarky comment belittling him for his reading ability is insidious. Of course the public digested it and laughed with her, just as they had laughed when 50 Cent (a former friend of Mayweather's) introduced the embarrassing reality to Instagram some time ago. In one post, he even bet that if Mayweather could read one page out of a Harry Potter book, he would donate a specified cash amount to charity.

This led the leaking of an audio file of Mayweather struggling to read a drop for a New York radio show. In it, Mayweather could be heard struggling beyond the initial, "This is Floyd Mayweather." He tried multiple times and towards the end, it felt repulsive for the hosts to push for a completion, knowing that he was being recorded. After it was revealed, the jokes poured in from all angles. Mayweather, untouchable in the square circle, was now utterly human in the most public way possible. His defense had been breached and behind it was a fallible being who responded that he all needed to be able to read was his checks.

The problem here is that literacy still is and has historically been a weapon of the elite. Consider that 18 percent of Michigan, Mayweather's home state, is functionally illiterate. And that 21 percent of citizens in Grand Rapids, where he was born, are as well.

Acknowledge that he dropped out of high school and grew up poor, and that poverty and illiteracy are heavily linked. That Mayweather was once a black child, and that black children are more than three times as likely to live in extreme poverty than white children in America. That these black children enter school already behind and usually into lower quality institutions.

The problem here is that literacy still is and has historically been a weapon of the elite.

Factor in that poor black children are almost three times more likely to be held back in school than their white counterparts. That while they are only 17 percent of the public school population, they represent 35.6 percent of students who experienced corporal punishment, 37.4 percent of all students suspended and 37.9 percent of all students expelled. That around 12th grade, out of the remaining children who have not dropped out or been expelled, 84 percent of them can't read at grade level.

Be conscious of the fact that Mayweather took special education classes for reading in school. That black children are twice as likely as white children to be placed in a class for students with intellectual disability.

You have to know that we are a society in which literacy and intelligence are inseparable and yet, by design, the intermingling demographic of poor and black receive the short end of the stick. Then the labels and stereotypes feed the beast and the world acts as if no one knows why they suffer.

It's not by chance that the poorest of us are forced to live in the worst neighborhoods and given the worst education possible. And it's neither bad luck nor divine retribution for his atrocious nature that Mayweather struggles to read. He is just the most famous face of the many millions who are burdened with that indignity.

The cowardly rationalization will be to say that Mayweather is ridiculously rich and still hasn't changed his situation. But that assumes that people only look down on the wealthy in that regard. Immediately after the audio file, Mayweather was compared numerous times to the popular kid or the bully in school who would, to the surprise of his victims, struggle during popcorn reading sessions. His classmates would then laugh in revenge, and shame him out of attempting again in the future.

It's not just bullies who get that treatment. Victims are also made out of innocent kids who struggle with reading. It's an extension of human nature, to laugh and shame those we deem as unintelligent. Reading comes easy to us, so they must have a problem if they don't possess such a simple skill.

Literacy is just another feast for the gluttonous desire of humans to feel as if they're better than the next person. The same evil crept underneath the separate but equal doctrine with the prize being one that people sacrificed their bodies and humanity to integrate schools for. It should be a human right, but more often than not, it's a gateway to a secret society for a select few.

The few that then glare down their nose at those they find dumb, all without realizing their privileged position.

It should have been a sign of just how embarrassing this inability was for Mayweather when, out of all of the insults that he receives on a day to day basis, that this was the one that he chose to have a candid post about. The most somber moment of his career so far was to admit that he struggled with something many of us take for granted. And in return, the world laughed at him.

That laughter has to extend to the millions who suffer in the same way. The root is the same and the sneering and dismissive attitude is the same. It has to extend to the children who will be relegated by society and labeled as dumb and idiotic because of this inability. Floyd made millions because of his extraordinary talent as a boxer and overcame his situation; most in the same position will not. That's who you're laughing at as well.

Throw Floyd Mayweather in the trash heap for many of his shortcomings, but his struggles with reading are only funny in as far as how much of a national embarrassment it is.