#This took 3 hours in full with the first two images averaging a half hour per bean

[se7ens-oc-heaven]

Skeld Crew Skeld Crew Skeld Crew Skeld Cr-

Here's my cast for the main focus of my among us story! I had a lot of fun drawing these guys out and getting into the swing of bean body language for them all!

Fun fact - the premise of my story is, "sitcom-esque scenario where there's only One Crewmate, and rather than any successful murders or sabotages, Hijinks Abound". Think you can single out the crewmate from this lineup? :)

Edit: Forgot Rosalia's Halo alternate - she changes accessories around!

[ninbayphua-moyan]

Moonlit Sparrow Through Parted Clouds

Thunderous grey clouds hung heavy in the sky as I made my way towards the lecture hall. My body ached with a bone-deep exhaustion and each leaden step I took felt heavier than the last. I stopped, wanting to turn back, but time and time again, my body refused to obey as my legs carried me towards my destination.

          Half an hour later, I found myself standing outside the empty lecture hall despite the countless hesitations along the way. Sighing, I sank to the floor and closed my eyes, too tired to remain upright. That’s what university does to you. It sucks out your soul, your passion, and your youth, leaving nothing behind but an empty husk of a human being.

           A familiar voice calling my name pricked my hazy, sleep deprived brain and I cracked open my heavy eyelids. My facial muscles moved like clockwork, automatically forming a smile to greet my friend.

           “You look like a corpse!” Chu Ying exclaimed worriedly at the sight of the heavy dark circles beneath my vacant eyes.

           “Haven’t been getting much sleep this week…” I replied with a nonchalant shrug as I quickly scrunched up my eyes until they turned into little crescents of laughter, “assignments due soon.”

           Seemingly convinced by my explanation, she gave me a look of sympathetic encouragement and left. The second no one was looking, I let the smile fall. Amazing what a simple smile could conceal. You could probably murder someone, smile, plead innocent and everyone would believe you. Sighing softly under my breath, I grabbed my bag and joined the gathering crowd of students as they trickled into the dimly lit lecture theatre.

           My laptop sat quietly on the desk, an empty word document laid open on its illuminated screen as the lecturer’s monotonous voiced droned on and on in the background. I should have been taking down notes but my mind was too preoccupied with my issues with the Undergraduate Office to focus on what the lecturer was saying.

           A rhythmic vibration drew my attention towards the phone sitting on my lap. Glancing at the pop-up notification, a wave of anxiety and hope surged through my body as I registered who the sender was – the Undergraduate‘s Office. Quickly, I pulled up the email and immediately felt my heart sinking after reading the first line.

          All seminar groups are full and we cannot move students.

          Lies.

          Another notification, this time, from my personal tutor.

          It’s only week 3, relax.

          Disappointment. Betrayal. Frustration. Anger. I clenched my trembling hands into fists as the tsunami of emotions threatened to explode and spill out of my shaking body. Half of me wanted to storm over to the Undergraduate’s office and let loose the unbridled rage coursing through my veins at the unfair treatment. The other half of me wanted to lash out at my tutor’s condescending advice. My body trembled at the barely, ever so barely contained anger.

          Sixteen thousand pounds. That would be eighty-four thousand two hundred and seventy-nine ringgit each year in school fees. Fees which didn’t even include the amount I needed to spend in order to buy the books required for the modules. Sixteen thousand pounds per year just to get an education, an education that I wasn’t even getting at this point and her advice for me was to relax? How could I when my parents worked their entire youth away, saving every cent just so they could send me, all the way to Britain to get a proper education! Did they even know what the stakes of sending me abroad to study was?!

          My father’s average yearly income is twenty-four thousand ringgits, barely twenty-eight percent of my yearly school fees. Was it that unreasonable to want to be in a class that will allow me to learn and improve after paying for that much money out of my parents’ own pocket?! Why would anyone in their right mind come half way across the globe, paying that ridiculous amount of money, and being so far away from family and home for years, just to fool around? If that had been my intention, I wouldn’t even have bothered going to university in the first place, let alone coming all the way to Cardiff!

          University will be fun they said. You’ll meet open-minded people passionate about learning they said. Hah! That’s the biggest misconception if there ever was one. First of all, the university doesn’t care about whether you actually learn anything so long as you're paying the fees. The majority of lecturers or seminar leaders will only do the most minimal amount of work required and by that, I mean three hundred words of prose only per weekly assignment. What kind of creative work could anyone produce under three hundred words? In prose! Some don’t even bother with critical commentary which is just as essential as the creative pieces. Not only does the lack of practice in writing critical commentaries and limited word count for the creative pieces inhibit students from developing any work of significance, it also underprepares students for the three-thousand-word portfolio due at the end of the semester.

          Secondly, British universities are also especially discriminatory towards outsiders or people of colour, often treating minorities and international students with hostility or disregard. I’ve experienced this discrimination first hand upon requesting a seminar change. Despite having emailed the Undergraduate Office at the same time with the exact same reasons, I was denied the change whilst my British classmate was immediately allowed to swap seminars. The office even went so far as to lie about the class being full even though I was told by the professor leading that very seminar that it wasn’t. So much for the integrity of the institution.

          At the end of the day, international students are nothing but cash cows to British universities.[1] Not only do they have to pay double of what British students pay in terms of fees, they also have to deal with the discriminations that come alongside being an outsider. I understood that in this day and age, education was a business, and that the university itself was, essentially, a business, but doesn’t actual passion for learning still count for something? Or was I wrong in believing in that as well? Oh, so naïve, so very naïve!

          Old memories started to surface amongst the turmoil of emotions. My father and his worn-out clothes, refusing each time to buy new ones for himself just to save a little more money. My mother mending them as best she could whilst we slept, never once complaining. Images of my father’s prematurely greying hair and bloodshot eyes as he worked his health away to provide for his children’s future. My mother’s back bent low, labouring away at some project or another in order to make ends meet. Yet, they never once showed us how tired or how tough things were. There was always enough food on the table and they always had a smile on their faces around us. Sometimes, I noticed that they would eat a lot less than usual but whenever I asked, they merely joked and said they were trying to lose weight. They could have enjoyed their youth, their honeymoon, but they decided to save it all, sacrificing their health and comfort just to ensure mine by sending me here.

          I remember the times where they would secretly check their wallets whenever I begged them to buy me a book. Oh, how those very books painted and fuelled my illusions of Britain’s perfection. If only I had known the reality of it all before applying to study here. But it’s too late for regrets now.

          A sharp stinging pricked the back of my eyes, tears threatening to fall as my body shook with suppressed, uncontrollable rage. Maybe if I was a little braver…maybe if I fought a little harder…maybe if I confronted them a bit more…maybe…maybe…maybe…

          Then as quickly as they appeared, the tsunami of emotions faded away, leaving behind an empty husk. My clenched fists loosen and fell limply at my sides as a quiet, bitter laugh escaped my lips. Nothing was going to change. No matter how hard I fought, the end results will remain the same so what’s the point of even trying in the first place?

          As the cold hard reality of the situation finally presented itself, I slumped against the chair, my empty laptop screen staring blankly back at me. Resignation dragged me deeper and deeper into the murky depths of my mind. I was drowning. No one knew and no one cared. But that’s fine. The ending remains the same regardless. Always the same…

          The sound of rustling papers and loud chatter momentarily draws me out of the murky waters. Realising that the lecture had ended, I gathered my things and shuffled towards the exit, my mind returning once more to the depths of the void. Outside, the rain was pouring. I plodded down the streets drenched to the bone as my legs moved mechanically towards my flat. A stifling numbness engulfed my mind as I trudged on in silence, the howling wind battering my shivering, rain-soaked body from all sides. Rounding the corner, I pulled out a key-card and entered the cramped grey flat. Out of sheer habit, I grabbed the letters from my letterbox and stuffed them into my coat pocket before heading upstairs.

           Entering the dingy room, I dropped my backpack on the bed and sank to the floor. Hugging my knees to my chest, I stared vacantly at the bleak wall. My phone rang insistently in my pocket but I didn’t answer, too tired to move. The crushing weight on my lungs forced out whatever little oxygen I managed to draw, making each breath a struggle. The clamouring voices in my mind grew louder and louder, growing in intensity yet forcefully contained, like built-up pressure without release on the brink of implosion.

You’re useless

          I’m…not…

You can’t even stand up for yourself or fight for what you believe is right

          Yes I can! And I’m trying! I’ve –

You’re a disappointment to your parents and your family

          I’m not! I swear! I –

You’ll never amount up to anything

          That’s not true! I –

You’re pathetic

          No –

Nothing but a Failure

          Stop saying –

Human garbage

          Please! Just –

Waste of space

           “SHUT UP!”

           Silence. Nothing but the sound of my ragged breathing in the darkness.

The world would be better off without you

          I don’t know how long I had stayed there on the floor but by the time I came around, my dripping wet clothes were nearly dry. The chaotic calamity within had finally died down and I was filled with an eerie calmness. A deafening silence blanketed the air, pierced only by the hypnotic rumbling of trains across tracks. Ah yes…the railway…my ticket to solving everything…just two blocks away…and it’ll all be over…permanently…

          Forcing my lethargic limbs to move, I wobbled onto my feet and stumbled towards the door. A tiny parcel fell out of my pocket and the handwriting on it made me paused. It was my mother’s. Even under the dimness of the moonlight trickling in, there was no mistaking that immaculately cursive hand.

          Letting go of the door handle, I kneeled down to pick up the neatly wrapped package. Then, slowly, as if afraid it would fall apart at the slightest touch, I began unwrapping the parcel. Upon opening the box, tears welled at the corner of my eyes. Six little cylindrical bundles of haw flakes were carefully packed within, each attached to a tightly rolled up strip of paper. Gently untying the scrolls from the sweets, I began reading them one at a time.

          Jie![2] I got you your favourite sweets! Wanted to buy you more of them but Ma said there wasn’t enough space in the box. Don’t worry, I’ll send you a big box of them once I’ve saved up enough money.

– Di[3]

          My heart ached as I thought about how much it must have costed for them to ship the parcel all the way from Penang to Britain. And with the little amount of pocket money…it must have taken Di-Di months of saving to be able to afford buying that one bundle of sweets…

          Jie, just because you’re the oldest doesn’t mean you have to hold everything in on your own y’know? It’s okay to rely on others a bit more from time to time. Enjoy the sweets you idiot, you’re crazy about those haw flakes. No idea why you like them either, they aren’t even that nice.

– Mei[4]

          Tears pricked the back of my eyes as my sister’s grumpy voice echoed in my ears. I could even see the disbelieving eye roll at my odd preferences in sweets after the last sentence. How I’ve missed our senseless squabbles and late-night chats….

          A-Yun, being an international student in the UK isn’t always the easiest thing, especially when you’re a minority there. You’ve already taken the necessary steps and have done all you can in that situation. Remember, it’s the end result and not the process that defines a victory. Remember what Sun Tzu mentioned in The Art of War? ‘The most important rule to victory is to know when to pick your fights and how to fight it’. Not all battles need to be fought to win the war. Never forget our family values and never lose sight of your goal. Don’t worry about finances, let me handle that. Just focus on your studies and aim for that first-class honours. The best revenge is to succeed despite their efforts to stop you. Continue to work hard and don’t give up. Know that regardless of the outcome, your Ma and I are proud of you and that we love you very, very much.

– Ba[5]

           A sob catches at the back of my throat as tears flowed freely down my cheeks. Acute pangs of longing weighed heavily on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

          A-Yun[6] ah, if it ever becomes too much to bear at Cardiff, come home. Ma will make you your favourite dishes. I know you want to do well but don’t overwork yourself. Remember to get enough rest and try to change your bad habit of skipping meals. Two boiled eggs alone don’t count as a proper meal either!

– Ma[7]           

          A sheepish giggle escaped my lips despite the tears, Ma’s exasperated voice ringing in my ears. I could almost picture the look of indignation on her face as she judges my terrible meal choices before proceeding to fill my bowl with steamy boiled dumplings.

          Ah…Ma’s famous boiled dumplings…the saltiness of minced pork marinated with soy sauce and sesame oil…the refreshing sweetness of spring onions and carrots contrasting the pork’s saltiness…flecks of finely chopped hei-mu-er adding a chewy texture to the tender meat whilst thin sheets of delicately wrapped dough encapsulated it all…the slight bitterness of the herbal broth complementing the savoury dumplings…[8] My stomach growled in protest as I smiled fondly at the memory.

          Wiping away the remaining tears, I unrolled the last strip of paper. Elegant brushstrokes painted familiar characters in horizontal lines. A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I recalled sitting on A-Gong’s [9] lap in the garden as kid, watching him practice calligraphy. I remembered how he used to read his poems aloud as I gaze at his hands guiding the bamboo brush across the ivory sheet, entranced by its flowing movements. Each word written was like a piece of art, each stroke of ink painting a meaning of its own.

Tranquil night’s darkness, the moon shines bright, From the mud the lotus rises, its petals pure despite. Vermillion red blossom like wildly raging flames; Elegant, virtuous, delicate, yet exquisitely untamed. The wise once said that adversity yields flair, An upright heart, oblique shadows don’t scare. Dripping water with time wears the stubborn stone, Sturdy wood too can be cut with rope saws alone! [10]

          A strange tranquility wrapped itself around me as I read the poem, A-Gong’s calm and mellow voice resonating in my ears. It was almost as if he was standing right before me with the usual toothless smile and twinkling eyes on his wizen face. Tenderly cradling the small box of sweets, a faint smile graced my lips. Their vermillion red and gold wrappings shone with a certain warmth under the soft light of the moon. Gently unwrapping one of the thumb-size bundles with shaking hands, I popped a disk-like piece into my mouth.         

          Immediately, a wave of warmth spread throughout my cold and hollowed body, almost as if it was infused with the life-giving heat of home. The familiar tart sweetness of the hawthorn berries cleared the heavy fog that clouded my mind and for the first time in a long while, I felt energy slowly seeping back into my worn-out soul, reigniting the snuffed-out fire within. Strange how something so small, barely the size of my thumb, could bring so much comfort and hope. That night, the moon shone a little brighter than usual, and the normally barren sky seemed to be exploding with billions of twinkling stars.

NOTES

[1] Alina Schartner & Yoonjoo Cho, ‘“Empty signifiers” and “dreamy ideals”: perceptions of the “international university” among higher education students and staff at a British university’, Higher Education, 74 (2017), 455-472

[2] ‘Jie’ means older sister in Chinese

[3] 'Di’ means younger brother in Chinese

[4] 'Mei’ means younger sister in Chinese

[5] ‘Ba’ means father in Chinese

[6] ‘Yun’ is written as ‘云’ meaning ‘cloud’

[7] 'Ma’ means mother in Chinese

[8] Hei-mu-er is the Mandarin term for black cloud ear fungus, a type of mushroom often used in Chinese cuisines.

[9] ‘A-Gong’ means grandfather in Chinese (specifically, the Hainanese pronounciation)

[10] This is a self written and self translated poem I wrote. The original Chinese version can be found here.

[11] ‘Moonlit Sparrow Through Parted Clouds’ is a play on 守得云开见月明 meaning the moon will shine brightly again when the clouds part, and 麻雀虽小五脏俱全 meaning though a sparrow is small, it has all the vital organs.

Author's Notes:

So this is one of my earlier prose pieces from uni (all the way back from first year lol). I don’t usually post prose? Not prose of this length at least. Anyways, I thought I’d take the leap and try posting them online now since I decided to start doing that for my poetry pieces? The rest of my prose pieces throughout uni somehow ended up becoming interlinked with several recurring characters though there are some inconsistencies since they were initially intended as stand-alone pieces rather than a series of somewhat loosely linked short stories. I’ll be posting them in story timeline sequence (or at least as closely to a sequence as I can since I didn’t exactly plan out the timeline of these pieces either) rather than in the sequence it was written in so there might be a slight fluctuation in writing style cuz they do kinda change over the years? Anyways, I hope you enjoyed reading Part 1~ 

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 

Since exams are over and graded and I've officially graduated, I can finally post my work online without having to worry about Turnitin picking it up as plagiarism because apparently you aren't allowed to plagiarise yourself according to university which is absolutely ridiculous but I'm not the one making the rules here so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also, please don't reupload my works without permission.

[marshmallow-phd]

The Anormic

Part of The Experiments Universe

Genre: Lucky One/Obsession AU

Pairing: Kris x Reader

Summary: You were everything he needed to feel human. But not even your presence could keep the nightmares away. The years had gone by and it seemed his dreams were all that was left of his trauma. When his past comes back and snatches you away, the human mask he’d worked so hard to create will be ripped away and he’ll stop at nothing to get you back.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3

**

You stumbled back, tripping over your feet and barely catching your balance before you could meet the floor. You felt like you’d been tossed in front of an eighteen-wheeler. To keep you steady, you placed your palm against the cold cinderblock wall. No. It couldn’t be the same Kris that he spoke about, not your Kris. Sure, he had a mysterious past, but you took it as easily explainable; a bad childhood or dysfunctional family he was trying to outrun, maybe even a criminal record that he deeply regretted. This was something else entirely.

You racked through your memory, trying to find any sort of sign or clue that this man was telling the truth. Kris couldn’t have any powers or extraordinary gifts. He was an average person who worked a laborious job, who came home to you in the evening, and lived an ordinary life. But the dots were there to connect: the ambiguous past that he rarely spoke of, the quick reflexes, and lifting of objects that should have taken more struggle. This Dr. Brandt had said he was like a dragon – a possible hint as to what else Kris was hiding from you?

“Quite a shock, isn’t it?” Dr. Brandt said, amused.

The words to snipe back were far out of reach. Part of you wanted to jump him like an overprotective cheetah, clawing his face with your fingernails until you drew blood. But the meeker part of you couldn’t find the strength to attack, barely able to keep your knees from buckling under.

“He was one of the subjects that progressed quickly. A shining example for the other eleven.”

Other eleven? Tao. Did that mean Kris’ friend Tao was among them? Were the other men you saw leave part of that group as well? Dr. Brandt’s smirk deepened, if that was possible. He seemingly enjoyed your confusion.

“So… you want to cage them all up again?” It was the only question you could push out onto the surface. There many more – more details of the experiments, what he meant by Kris jumping sides. A deep labyrinth lied before you. While you had no idea what sort of Minotaur waited in the middle and you were left without a string, you knew you would have to move forward to get to the truth.

“Actually, we’ve made progress without the original subjects,” he said. “Much more than could have ever hoped from the first trials. However, we’ve hit a bit of a wall. If we are to keep forging a new way, we need to glance back. We need Kris’ cooperation to do so.”

You swallowed thickly. At least he wasn’t trying to be the mysterious mad scientist in the tower. He came right down and had no issues explaining to you his evil plans. “So what do you need me for then? To make him help you?”

“Unfortunate collateral. We know that getting Kris here would be more trouble than it's worth. You were the easier target, so we brought you here. Eventually, Kris will come to us and be more than cooperative. Then, when we have all that we need, the two of you can go on your way.”

Great. You were bait. Like a worm on a hook. The tension in your jaw made the muscles under the skin ache. Even your teeth were whining from the pain. “So, I’m guessing you left him a little map on how to get here?”

“Oh, no!” Dr. Brandt laughed. “That’s not nearly as fun. But we did leave behind a clue to get him started. He’s an intelligent being. He’ll find us… eventually. Until then, enjoy the hospitality.” Like a dancer, he whirled on the balls of his feet and exited the room. The door slid closed behind him, the click finalizing the idea that this would be your prison for the foreseeable future.

You were battling yourself. You wanted Kris to come rescue you, but him getting pulled back into this mess of a place was horrifying image. It was hard to wrap around the thought of Kris living a life of experimentation, of tests and needles and torture. And for what? What was the purpose behind all of this? You almost shouted for the mad doctor to come to answer the questions, but you held your tongue. Now wasn’t the time to draw attention to yourself. While the doctors and guards might be aware of your presence, you needed to fade into the background of their minds. If you were going to get out of here, you needed to become almost invisible. So, instead of screaming into the abyss where your words would fall on uninterested ears, you lied down on the bed, eyes focused on the slick white ceiling. Kris would come for you, but in the meantime, you would create your plan. Because you would get out of here and you refused to let Kris be caged ever again. In order to that, you would have to find your own way.

**

It was hot. It was the kind of memorable hot where beads of sweat dotted the hairline in a way that was never ending and the sun shined up in the sky without any mercy from the clouds that had been dotting the sky for the past few days. Overnight they had either drifted off to another landscape or dissipated back into their individual water droplets. Despite the heat, it was still a beautiful day. The park was full of families and couples enjoying the fresh air, but it wasn’t overcrowded to the point of being suffocating. You took in the sights with a smile as you sat at one of the picnic tables by your lonesome. Textbook and pen at the ready, you were killing two birds with one stone by finally leaving the confining walls of your studio apartment while still getting plenty of studying done before your test next week.

After a few hours, your eyes were tiring from the glare the glossy paper gave off. The words were beginning to blur. You were no longer able to recite the previous sentence that you’d read. A break was certainly earned.

As your gaze wandered around the park it settled on a small food truck across the bike path. The signs all over the metal sides said their specialty was ice cream. Well, you’d worked hard for a treat, hadn’t you? Packing up your things, you threw your bag over your shoulder and made way to the truck expertly dodging children playing tag in the process. The line moved at a tolerable pace, giving you enough time to pick out a treat before approaching the front window. The woman inside the truck was friendly. She wrote down your order with a smile and, after handing your card back, pointed you off to the side where you could pick up your sundae. You were practically bouncing with anticipation as you watched from the opened back door; the employee scooped up the vanilla ice cream and torched the marshmallows until they were a perfect golden brown. The grin on your face was wide to the point of making your cheeks ache as you thanked the young man who handed the Styrofoam bowl to you. Not wasting time to find a spot to sit down, you walked down the bike path as you attempted to eat at a pace that was acceptable for the public.

All afternoon you had been hearing the typical noises of the park, most not bothering you in the slightest. You weren’t so easily distracted, but the blissful air you were currently in must have made you more susceptible. The chime of a bike bell caught your attention. You glanced over your shoulder to see a teenage boy peddling fast and laughing as he left his friends in the dust. But he wasn’t paying attention to where his bike was going, thinking that his bell was enough to clear the way as he stared behind him. Before he could collide with you, an arm wrapped around your shoulders. It pulled you out of the way in time but at the expense of your ice cream.

The bowl was cracked nearly in half. Chocolate syrup and melted mush covered both your shirt and the shirt of the wannabe hero.

“Well, that was nice while it lasted,” you murmured in disappointment.

“I’m so sorry,” a deep voice apologized.

You looked up and – as much as you hated to admit it – your irritation dissolved away, all because of the very handsome face that you were getting lost in. You waved his sorry away. “It’s okay. Better than being a bug squished on the cement.”

That made him laugh. “Let me replace it.”

“Oh, no, that’s alright. Thank you, though.”

“No, I insist.”

“Really, its-” You were completely ignored. The man – the very tall, handsome man – was already walking towards the food truck, wallet in hand. Nerves and butterflies took over your body as you stood there on the edge of the path, unable to walk away when you would have in any other situation. But there was something intriguing about this man. Not to mention, you were a sucker for chivalry.

The man came back with a new s’mores bowl balanced in one hand. Balanced wasn’t really the right word as what took two hands for you to carry rested nicely in his single palm. His other held onto a stack of napkins. The latter was handed out to you first.

“Thank you.” You took a few napkins shyly. Once you were cleaned up, you took the sundae. “Thanks.” You already said that. Clearing your throat, you tucked the used napkins under your arm and held out a free hand. “I’m (/y).”

He smiled broadly. “Kris.”

**

The building looked different. For over a year, the sight of the lit-up windows and the silhouette outline against the setting sun was a welcoming one – it loosened his tense shoulders, opened up his lungs. He felt stronger, even more so than he already was. A deep rest couldn’t do for him what seeing this place had. He always felt like he could live forever. Invincible, like Superman.

Now, though? Now it was simply a monument to his faults. Bricks and mortar that stood for nothing but loss. If he’d known that meeting you that day in the park would lead to this, he would have left the second he pulled you out of the way of the bike. He wouldn’t have smiled as you enjoyed the ice cream or even given you his name. Or, at least, he hoped that he would have gone the other way. As he walked up the stairs of the apartment building, he was bombarded with memories. The happy ones, most of all. But even the fights came pushing through. In those moments he’d been angry and frustrated, wanting to never have another scene like that again once you’d both calmed down and said sorry. In the present, though, he would give anything to have another fight with you. Back and forth he bounced, from wishing he’d never met you to praying he’d be able to hold you in his arms again. With unstable fingers he unlocked the front door and went inside.

The place was still a disaster. He hadn’t bothered cleaning up or even attempting to right any of the overturned furniture before he’d left. Dust was already starting to settle on every surface – something that would have driven you crazy. You couldn’t stand a dirty home. You wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything else until it was spotless, just the way you liked it. Although, Kris had always thought that you simply used that as an excuse to procrastinate your studying. If it was you who had made the mess with your homework, then it wasn’t a dire situation. He’d always laughed at your pitiful argument against his statement. The lights suddenly flickered on.

“Kris?”

Turning around, Kris felt immediate relief.

Standing in the doorway were four of his brothers. He hadn’t seen them in quite a while. The exact amount of time was lost to him. Years, maybe? They all lived on the military base that kept them safe. It had crossed his mind once or twice to take you there to live. It might have helped drive the worry and the nightmares away. But that would have meant telling you everything. That inevitability haunted him even more.

“Chanyeol.” He tried to swallow down the shakiness in his voice. Thankfully, the younger hybrid took the first step, not even acknowledging the way Kris was barely holding it together. He closed the space between them with long strides and hugged Kris for the first time in years. Kris sighed into the embrace, even patting Chanyeol on the back. When they parted, Kris said, “Thank you for coming. I know this is probably the last thing you want to get involved in.”

“Hence why there’s only four of us,” Baekhyun huffed. The haughty air was clearly fake given the smirk dancing in the corner of his mouth.

“Nice to see you, too, Baekhyun.”

“So, Chanyeol said that your… friend was taken.” Minseok crossed his arms and leaned up against the door after shutting it behind him.

“My girlfriend,” Kris correct.

“And you both lived here?” Yixing asked.

Kris nodded. “Yeah. I don’t know how they found us. The apartment is under her name.”

“Does she know about you?” Chanyeol ran a hand through his messy black hair. “Does she now about us?”

“No,” Kris admitted. “Well, at least she didn’t before. Now- now there’s no telling what she does and doesn’t know.”

Yixing walked deeper into the apartment until he reached the living room. Crouching down, he examined the shards of glass sprinkled all over the rug. He scooped up a hand full, not bothered at all by the tiny cuts the edges made on his fingers and palms; they healed just as quickly as they were formed. “How long ago did they take her?”

“Day and a half ago. Why?”

“Just wondering. I wasn’t sure if they tried to come back and get you as well. Or if this was caused by them coming back.”

“Nothing’s changed since I left.”

“Did you find anything on your original search?”

Kris cleared his throat. Yixing and he… well, they never really had the closest of relationships, even back before they were separated. As thankful as he was that the latter had volunteered to help, Kris still couldn’t help against feeling the slightest bit awkward. “I didn’t do a thorough search, but I did find this.” He walked over to where his duffel bag was sitting on the floor and unzipped the pocket that held the frayed badge.

Baekhyun narrowed his eyes at the symbol. “What is it?”

“It’s the symbol for Regeneration Science, camouflaged unit for EXO. Wang told me about it. She considerate it their back up plan. I never put too much thought into it. The way she talked about RS made it sound like that’s where they would move everything in case something were to happen.”

Minseok took the patch, examining it closer. “Is it possible that they had a copy of the files that you didn’t know about?”

Kris shook his head. “I wouldn’t have thought so. Wang was protective of her research. She didn’t like the idea of copies floating around. While I was still undercover, I tried to find all the copies that I could. They didn’t exist.”

“They obviously still have something on us,” Baekhyun chimed in. “Why else try to come after us again after all these years?”

“That’s a good point,” Yixing said as he straightened himself back up. “If you found that,” he pointed to the patch, “without looking, then maybe there’s something else here. I think we should dig a bit deeper, maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

So, the four of them started searching around the apartment, checking under the couch and in the different rooms for any other clue the enemy might have left behind. Kris headed towards the bedroom, but found himself frozen in the doorway. His brain, adding to the cruel torture he was already in, imagined you sitting on the bed, covers draped over your legs, smiling at him as if he’d just come back from a long day at work.

“You alright?” Minseok asked. His sudden appearance made Kris jump.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” Behind Minseok, he watched as Chanyeol picked up the bookcase and set it against the wall. On the floor were scattered papers and folders, creased from the pressure of the wood that had lied on top of them. “Excuse me.” Kris passed by Minseok to get to the living room.

“Is this yours?” Chanyeol asked.

Kris shook his head. “No, it was (y/n)’s. For one of her classes.”

Frowning, Yixing picked up several of the papers and skimmed their contents. “Are you sure about that?”

“Of course.” Why would you lie about something like that?

Yixing held up one of the papers for Kris to see. “I think this might have been how they found you.”

In a flash, Kris snatched the paper. His eyes flew over the words. Slowly, their meanings sank in. It was a list off all the previous places he’d lived, including the different aliases and variations he’d gone by. Only after meeting you had he gotten weak and used his real name. How did you find any of this? But more importantly….

Why were you looking for it in the first place?

[soudam-appreciation]

A Special Kind Of Lamp? (3)

TW:: this chapter contains depression and brief/vague mentions of s*icide. Stay safe loves!

. . .

Gundham knew he should get up. His mother had left hours ago for her job, and he felt hunger gnawing at his stomach. Heaving a sigh, he rolled his feet off the edge of his bed and let his body follow. He sat there for a moment, on the floor. The random assortment of objects that lay scattered across his room did not make his position any more comfortable. He contemplated sitting here all day doing nothing, or maybe cleaning up the mess that had been gathering for months, or perhaps even taking a shower (since gods know he could use one). Groaning, he decided against all of those things and stood, trudging out of his darkened cave without even putting on pants.

He glided down the stairs, kicking up a cloud of dust and animal fur with every sullen step. Like a ghost, he wandered through his household, barely registering the pristine condition of the place. Winding his way around the bright Victorian style living spaces, he reached his destination.

He rifled through the pantry, then the fridge, grabbing a single can of soda. Then, opening the freezer, he removed a bag of frozen tater tots and an entire tub of ice cream. Dropping them on the countertop quickly, and shaking the cold from his hands, he pushed the freezer shut with his sockless foot. Not bothering to get a plate, he pulled a spoon from a drawer somewhere and a towel from another and wrapped up the bag of frozen tots. Picking up his items, he began to leave. However, as he took a few steps, he caught a glimpse of a note on the countertop.

"Happy 21st birthday, love!" the note read. "I know you haven't felt right lately, but I thought maybe today you could go out around town! I've left some money for you, in case you want to go out and get anything!"

Gundham sighed. It was sweet of her, for certain, but he didn't know if it was alright to take her money. He certainly had enough of his own, for the time being. But then, on the other hand, was it now expected of him? Was he supposed to go out and about because his mother had both suggested and paid for it?

Lifting his frozen items, he tromped into the main living room and sat on their plush rose sofa. He opened the bag of tots, popping one into his mouth as he contemplated.

He must have spent around 20 minutes munching the solid, ice-cold chunks of potato before halfheartedly making up his mind. Standing, he briefly wondered if that meant his mind was, in fact, not made up, but he brushed that aside and wandered back to the kitchen. When the leftover frozen goods were replaced in the freezer, he scooped the money and note from the counter. Now that life down here was back to the norm, he retraced his earlier steps and returned to his room.

He switched on the light, wincing at how utterly disgusting everything looked when one could see it. The room was quickly returned to darkness.

Snatching a pair of jeans and a ratty band tee from his closet, he changed quickly and tugged on his boots. He didn't want to bother with a shower, he knew he'd lose all energy far too soon. Cold, stiff fingers ran through his greasy, tangled hair, and he considered a hairbrush. No, too much. He had to get outside, spend whatever money he had been given, and return. No need to look nice.

Shoving his arms into a dark jacket that smelled slightly of mildew and was probably a size or two too small, he trotted back down the grand staircase. He grabbed his (majorly unused) car keys from a dish by the door, checked to make certain his phone and the money were both stuffed into his pockets, and opened the door.

The light shining in his face almost made him shriek, but he caught himself and threw his arm before his eyes instead. A sudden and steady hiss pushed from his lungs, and it took far too long for him to snap out of his haze.

When he lowered his shield, he glanced at the too-bright world and rows of houses. He also caught the eye of a small group of children that had probably been playing in the street, before they noticed him. He took a moment longer to understand why he must seem so strange, and why the children were likely staring. To test his suspicion, he bared his teeth and hissed once more, this time at the kids. They scattered, screaming.

Of course, how were they to know he wasn't a vampire?

Already feeling far too strange after this interaction, he stepped fully outside. The warmth of the sun washed over him, and the soft scent of flowers drifted in the breeze. He took a long, deep breath, and closed the door behind him.

He hadn't driven in so long he wasn't sure he remembered how. After a few failed attempts at reversing, thankfully none of which ending in property damage, he finally got out of the garage. Gundham was on the road again.

For the first several minutes, Gundham's average car speed was around 10 mph. He wasn't sure he could keep the car in control if h went much faster, and he had forgotten his wallet and ID at home.

After he had been out and about for about half an hour, the sun was becoming more bearable and he could finally get nearer to the speed limit. He pulled into a parking lot at the local superstore, ending this extra-long car trip with the world's worst parking job. Whispering an apology to whoever may need to park near to him, he locked the vehicle and wove his way into the store.

Entering the building felt like an enormous undertaking. He had to get in, exhaust as much of the money as he could, and get out. Unfortunately, this also meant he had to force himself through aisle after aisle of bright lights and items he had no need for.

He spent twenty minutes simply looking for things to buy, eventually encountering the pet section. Looking only briefly, a deep unease and upset coiled in his chest. His hamsters were the only part of him that he had taken above excellent care of, and even then they had not lived past a few years. He hadn't managed to breed them at that time, and the absence of his always-present companions dampened his spirits considerably.

He pushed on, reminding himself that this was not about his Devas. This was about buying what he could and going home.

Scooping up some shampoo, he wormed through personal care and clothing aisles, ignoring nearly everything on the shelves. He made a beeline for the electronics aisle, certain he could pick something up for a fairly high amount. Unfortunately, he wasn't precisely sure where that was and got turned around quite quickly.

Somehow, he ended up in a deserted and dusty section of the store. The rows of shelves seemed nearly empty, despite being stocked full. The graphics on the packages were mostly faded as if they were quite old compared to the other items in the building. Glancing around for a hint of where he had found himself, a sign hanging above the aisles caught Gundham's eye. Upon it was printed, Old and Discontinued Stock.

Intrigued, he continued through the packed shelves, passing rows of what seemed to be ancient exercise equipment. Rows and rows of items advertising their 'as seen on TV' status in bold red (or rather, pink) spiked bubbles filled his line of sight, and remembering stupid infomercials from his slightly younger years almost made him smile out of sheer annoyance.

As he turned a corner, a slightly different item brought his attention. In large, curly letters, the banner across the front of the box crossed an image of a fairly nondescript lamp, sporting the words LoveLight™. He approached, sliding one box off of the shelf. Turning it around, he hoped to read what exactly it was supposed to do on the back of the box. Fortunately for him, that is exactly where such a description was found.

It seemed to claim something about... connecting soulmates? He wasn't sure how well it could work, but he thought he might as well buy it anyways. It was right about the amount he needed to max out the gift from his mother and return home. He didn't care much about what color the lampshade was, so he carried to the checkout the box he was already holding.

. . .

Tromping up the stairs, he dumped the bag of lamp onto his overcrowded desk. He groaned as a few stray papers slid to the floor. They gathered around the edge, adding to the steep piles of clothes and garbage that littered the area. 

He threw himself onto his bed, wrapping his favorite comforter around himself. Today had been longer than expected, and he was exhausted from his excursion, even if it was only an hour and a half. Pulling out his phone, he opened YouTube and began the first video in his feed. He didn't even try to focus as his eyes drifted shut, and sleep overtook him.

. . .

When he stirred, it was long past dark. He groaned, twisting his body sluggishly to be freed from his cocoon-like prison of the blanket. Propping himself up on his elbows, he tried to blink the sleep from his eyes. When this attempt was unsuccessful, Gundham rolled back over and tried to return to sleep. 

Unfortunately, his blankets were still too tight, and he was made painfully aware of two things. The first was how hot it was; the second was how badly he needed to pee. 

He squirmed yet more, struggling to free his arms. When he had at last accomplished this, he slowly peeled the comforter away layer by layer, until he was sitting fully clothed, shoes and all, on his bed. He tugged off his boots, exhaustion numbing his fingers, and slowly began to make his way to the bathroom. 

. . .

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he yawned and looked for something to do. The night was often when he was "productive", but tonight he still felt ready to collapse in on himself, like a dying star. What a worthless waste of space he was. 

Tonight was certainly not the first night he felt ready to give up. This was, in fact, a near-daily occurrence. However, he knew that his mother would be left alone and that he, too, was far too afraid of what lay beyond, so he instead searched for an occupation for his hands.

He settled upon the plastic bag that contained the boxed “soulmate lamp”. Lifting it, he noted that it felt a bit heavier than before, but attributed this to his cold and tired limbs. Once the box was freed from its thin plastic containment, he searched for an opening.

He examined it, locating the circular sticker that secured the cardboard. Picking at the edges with his overgrown nails, he managed to peel up the side (with great difficulty). The packaging from there was not too difficult to decipher, though it still caused mild annoyance.

Only when the lamp sat undisturbed atop his bedside table did he begin to feel the stirrings of excitement. Before, it had merely been a vessel for assuaging boredom and returning home as quickly as possible, but now it seemed to radiate a faint... hope.

He plugged it in, wincing as the bright light flicked on. Snatching the instructions from their perch beside the lamp, Gundham wrestled with the folded paper to find the directions to dimming the damned thing.

Said directions were fairly simple to find, so when he had saved his eyes from the caustic sheen, he began the calibration process.

The process was long and bothersome, it seemed. First was simple, imputing the kinds of personal information every internet-connected device needs. Each answer was written against the shade with the "specialized" pen, and submission was accompanied by a pleasant blip sound. Then came the long series of questions that needed answering, a process by which the lamp was to determine one's soulmate. This step took the greatest time of the setup, costing him nearly an hour total. If he had had anything else to do, he simply would have given up.

Finally, however, the setup was complete, and he was alerted to this by another small electronic noise. Gundham tossed aside the instructions, groaning audibly as a loading circlet began rotating against the shade. He replaced the pen in its slot at the lamp's base and leaned back against his plush comforter. The loading process took several minutes, as it ran through the extensive database of other questionnaires (or so he assumed, this was never stated in the instructions). It took quite a few minutes, long enough for him to begin to drift off to sleep.

He was awakened by yet another blip sound, this one likely stating that the final stage was complete! He bolted upright, watching the shade warily for any signs of writing.

And then, something appeared.

A hasty message scrawled in sloppy and nearly unintelligible print. It seemed rushed, letters running together on the mesh shade.

"Hi! I just got this thing and I'm super excited to talk to you!!!"

It worked.

He blinked, quietly astonished, amazed that such a device could do much of anything at all. As he sat in the dark, bewildered, another message began to appear.

"I can't wait til you get these. I'm so excited to talk to you!!"

He shook his head, strands of grimy dual-colored hair falling out of place. His chest felt tight, the sensation of someone other than his mother even speaking to him so foreign. Even if the messages did sound as if they were written by a child.

"Hey again! I hope your getting these!"

Fists tightened against wrinkled sheets. Gundham felt his stomach churn, yearning for another message.

"Today was fun! I got to hang at the Skate park! What did you do today?"

Tears pricked at his eyes, the sweetness and innocence in each message rushing over him.

"I don't have many friends. I think when we get to meet we'll be real good friends! Right?"

A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed hard.

"Good morning! I hope you respond soon!"

One single tear dropped from his face, hitting his exposed skin.

"Hey, just seein if youre ok! I had a weird day today :("

They kept coming, messages appearing faster and faster. Was it a backlog? Were these old messages? Gundham wasn't sure.

"Guess what today is? It's my birthday! I'm 14!! How old are you?"

The tears kept coming too, streams of salty liquid flowing freely across his cheeks. He couldn't have stopped it if he tried.

"I wonder what kinds a things you like?"

Messages appeared faster and faster, quickly filling available space across the lampshade.

"I hope ya feel alright today! I still can't wait to talk to you. :)"

Gundham's vision blurred, too much to see the individual messages. Hundreds of letters blurred to nothing but glowing gold clouds, soft light filling, and obscuring, his vision.

The years of isolation began to crumble. He had tried so hard to harden his heart, to erase this feeling of crushing loneliness, and the facade he had so tirelessly built with shaking and scarred hands had started cracking from the pain. He hadn't understood how much he craved this, how desperately he had needed someone to talk to. For someone to ask if he was ok.

His body shook with sobs, ribs splintering under the pressure of the world as golden light flooded his room. Messages poured in, the light now nothing less than a glowing orb in his eyes, but he couldn't look away. He watched as more and more scribbled notes filled his mind, the emptiness usually stored in his chest now replaced with intense hurt. Love was what he needed, friends and company and care were the things he desired so desperately, the things he had never allowed himself to want.

The light began to fade, the most recent messages having used their allotted minutes. He sniffed, scrubbing tears from his eyes with harsh hands, and squinted at the lamp. Choking, he continued to press against his eyes. Perhaps if he tried, he could stop the next wave.

He caught another flicker of light, quickly leaning back toward the device to read whatever was there. Then he watched as, in real time, more words scrawled across the shade.

"Just wanted to say I still love you."

His last chance at holding back was ruined, and again he began to weep. Pushing away just enough to reach for the pen, he grabbed it with shaking fingers and raised it to the shade. Slowly, he pressed the tip against the mesh fabric and began to write.

"I'm so sorry."

[pakistannews2021]

Imran Khan Biography

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FULL NAME Imran Khan Niazi

BORN October 5, 1952

HEIGHT 6 ft 1 in (1.85 m)

NATIONALITY Pakistan

ROLE All-rounder, Right-arm fast Bowler, Right handed Batsman

RELATION(S) Bushra Manika (Spouse), Ikramullah Khan Niazi (Father), Shaukat Khanum (Mother), Sulaiman Isa Khan, Qasim Khan (Sons)

Imran Khan Biography

In addition to being a former first-class cricketer, Imran Khan Niazi is also the leader of Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf.

Currently serving as a Member of the National Assembly, he was born on 5th October 1952 in Lahore, Punjab.

Pakistan’s national team used him as an all-rounder between 1971 and 1992.

Just behind Garry Sobers as the best all-rounder in the history of the sport is this right-handed batsman.

He was inducted into the ICC Cricket Hall of Fame in 2010.

Background

In Lahore, imran Khan made his debut as a first-class cricketer at the age of sixteen. A few years before making it into the main team in 1970–71, he played for smaller teams based out of Lahore.

During 1973–1975, imran Khan played for the Blues Cricket team at Oxford.

In his county cricket career, he played medium-pace bowling for Worcestershire from 1971 to 1976.

Debut

On 3rd June 1971, he made his Test debut against England which ended in a stalemate as he failed to take a single wicket across both innings and scored just five runs.

Three years after making his debut in the ODI format, he played against the same opponents for the Prudential Trophy at Trent Bridge.

However, he finished his 10 overs with the third best economy of the match while failing to claim a single wicket.

Rise to Glory

The following year, he returned to Pakistan, where he has been an integral part of the national team since 1976–1977 after completing his education at Oxford and serving his tenure at Worcestershire. He played his initial Tests against the mighty teams of New Zealand and Australia.

Tony Greig subsequently signed him up for Kerry Packer’s World Series Cricket after the West Indian Series.

With a speed of 139.7 km/h, he finished as the fastest bowler in that tournament, which was the third-fastest ball.

A bowler with at least 50 wickets in a year had an average of 13.29 while playing nine tests in 1982. He got 62 wickets at that average, the lowest in Test history.

It took the all-rounder only 75 Tests to achieve the all-rounder’s triple of 300 Test wickets and 3000 Test runs, second fastest behind Ian Botham who reached the milestone 3 matches earlier.

Club Career

From 1975–1976, he played for Dawood Industries and between 1980–1981, he played for Pakistan International Airlines.

His time as a student in England saw him represent Oxford University, Sussex, and Worcestershire. As a member of Australia’s New South Wales team during the 1984–85 season, he also represented the United States.

Captaincy

Javed Miandad appointed him captain at the age of 30. His side won 14 tests and lost eight matches while he was their captain.

Over the course of his 139 ODIs as a captain, he lead his team to victory 77 times and lost 57.

It is suspected that the injury caused him to miss more than two years of the 1982 international season.

In the 1984–1985 season, he returned to basketball. He retired from International Cricket after failing to reach the 1987 World Cup before returning to the team in 1988.

He provided significant contributions with both the bat and the ball throughout the 1992 Cricket World Cup, as he took Pakistan to victory at the age of 39.

Imran’s Record in Numbers

The Wisden Cricketer of the Year award was given to him in 1983.

A cricketer among fifty-five inducted into the Hall of Fame of the International Cricket Council during its centennial celebration, he was one of fifty players.

Even in 1985, he was named Player of the Year by the Sussex Cricket Society.

Retirement

When Pakistan faced Sri Lanka in the series decider, he played his final test as a Pakistani.

After failing with the bat in his first two innings, he failed to bowl either innings. Pakistan eventually won the series by 3 wickets.

He is Imran Ahmad Khan Niazi (born October 5, 1952, Lahore, Pakistan), former cricketer, politician, and prime minister of Pakistan (2018 — ) for leading the Pakistani team to a Cricket World Cup victory in 1992 and then became interested in politics during the corruption scandal in Pakistan.

Early life and cricket career In addition to being educated at elite schools in Pakistan and the UK, Khan was born into an affluent Pashtun family in Lahore. In his family were several accomplished cricket players, including two elder cousins who served as Pakistani national team captains, Javed Burki and Majid Khan. He continued to play cricket at the University of Oxford even as he studied philosophy, politics, and economics. The first time Khalil Khan played for Pakistan’s national team was in 1971, but he did not become a regular member of the team until after he graduated from Oxford University in 1976.

imran Khan was named captain of Pakistan in 1982 due to his outstanding skills as a bowler and all-rounder in the early 1980s. Khan gained fame in Pakistan and England because of his athletic ability and good looks, and his appearances at London nightclubs provided entertainment for the British tabloid press. The 1992 World Cup was the greatest sporting accomplishment of Khan’s career, as he led Pakistan to its first World Cup championship. The year after he retired, he was regarded as one of the greatest cricket players in history.

imran Khan remained a prominent philanthropist after 1992. The young man had embraced Sufi mysticism and shed his playboy image after experiencing a religious awakening. Khan served as the primary fund-raiser for the Shaukat Khanum Memorial Cancer Hospital, a specialized cancer hospital in Lahore that opened in 1994. Khan’s mother died of cancer in 1985, and the hospital was named after her.

Entry into politics imran khan became an outspoken critic of government mismanagement and corruption in Pakistan after retiring from cricket. In 1996, he founded Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (Pakistan Justice Movement; PTI). Khan won only one seat in the 2002 elections, a seat he filled with less than 1 percent of the vote in the following year’s national elections. His party had received less than 1 percent in the election the following year, and it lost no seats in the National Assembly. Khan attributed his party’s low vote total to vote rigging. Khan was among a group of politicians who resigned from the National Assembly in October 2007 in protest of President George W. Bush. Currently, Pervez Musharraf is running for president. Musharraf, who had declared a state of emergency, briefly imprisoned Khan last November. For its part, the PTI opposed the state of emergency, which ended in mid-December, and boycotted the 2008 election to express its opposition to Musharraf’s government.

Although imran Khan’s populist positions found support, especially among young people, in spite of the PTI’s electoral struggles. Pakistan’s participation in the fight against militants near the Afghan border belied a lack of economic equality and corruption, which he opposed. In addition, he attacked Pakistan’s political and economic elites, accusing them of being Westernized and out of touch with Pakistan’s religious and cultural norms.

A list of Khan’s published works includes Warrior Race: A Journey Through the Land of the Tribal Pathans (1993) and Pakistan: A Personal History (2011).

Political ascent imran Khan and his party drew large crowds at their rallies in the months leading up to the early 2013 legislative elections and attracted the support of several leading politicians from Pakistan’s established parties. A 2012 opinion poll found that Khan was the most popular political figure in Pakistan, which is further evidence of Khan’s political rise.

Days before the 2013 legislative election, imran Khan fell from a stage at a campaign rally, causing injuries to his head and back. From his hospital bed, he addressed the nation hours later. Although the PTI won its highest numbers ever, it won only half as many seats as the Pakistan Muslim League–Nawaz (PMLN) led by Nawaz Sharif. PML-N leader Khan accused them of rigging the polls. The opposition leader, along with other opposition figures, led four months of protests in late 2014 in order to bring Sharif to justice.

When the Panama Papers linked Sharif’s family to offshore holdings, suspicions of corruption were heightened. Later that year, Khan organized new protests but canceled them in response to the Supreme Court’s decision to open an investigation. He was forced to resign from office after his candidacy was disqualified by an investigation. Khan, meanwhile, was also discovered to have offshore holdings, but in a separate case, the Supreme Court did not disqualify him.

The following year, in July 2018, elections were held. Despite being attacked for too cozy relationships with the military, Khan ran on a platform of fighting corruption and poverty. Following PTI’s majority in the National Assembly, Khan was able to form a coalition with independents. On August 18, he was sworn in as prime minister.

Premiership

As prime minister, imran Khan faced a mounting balance of payments crisis. A key reason for the growth in the economy, imports, and debt commitments is the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC).  CPEC News And Updates When the United States refused to provide Pakistan with $300 million in promised military aid just a few weeks after becoming prime minister, the crisis deteriorated rapidly. In a bid to use foreign assistance to help Pakistan’s macroeconomic situation, Khan eschewed a bailout by the International Monetary Fund (IMF). A dozen previous packages from the IMF had failed to solve the country’s macroeconomic problems. In the absence of favorable terms for foreign assistance from other countries, Pakistan requested financing from the IMF. The United States, China, and Saudi Arabia offered him foreign aid in return for investment.

In addition to courting foreign aid, Khan presided over several significant developments in Pakistan’s foreign relations. Both the country and the United States achieved a mutually beneficial understanding through negotiations with the other. In February 2019, India launched its first air campaign against Pakistan in over five decades after a suicide attack on Indian security personnel killed 40 Indian soldiers in Kashmir. An attack by one country raised concerns about a possible conflict with the other.

Pakistan has downplayed the impact of the incident and appears to have avoided escalating the situation. India again entered Pakistani airspace, leading to Pakistan downing two fighter jets and capturing a pilot, who was later returned to India. As a result of this incident, Khan passed legislation to establish international standards in Pakistan’s laws, made arrests, and shut down multiple religious schools.

Early in 2020, the COVID-19 pandemic worsened the economic situation of China. Khan was less eager to endorse a lockdown than some of his critics. In contrast, the opposition-controlled Sindh government imposed an immediate lockdown on the province in March. His government eventually instituted a nationwide lockdown in April and began limiting it to areas with high rates of infection in May.

Efforts by Khan to crack down on militants and keep close ties with the military continued to draw opposition. With a stated goal of increasing the independence of civilian governments from the military establishment, the major opposition parties formed a coalition in late 2020, called the People’s Democratic Movement (PDM). The PDM has called for Khan to “step down” in protests and rallies organized by it down.

Khan’s coalition partners narrowly survived a vote of confidence in his government in March 2021 after these parties boycotted it.

Quick Facts

Birthday: October 5, 1952

Age: 68 Years, 68 Year Old Males

Sun Sign: Libra

Also Known As: Imran Khan Niazi

Born In: Lahore, West Punjab, Dominion Of Pakistan

Famous As: 22nd PM Of Pakistan

Quotes By Imran Khan Cricketers

Political Ideology: Pakistan Tehreek-E-Insaf

Family:

Spouses/ex-: Bushra Maneka (M. 2018), Jemima Khan (M. 1995–2004), and Reham Khan (M. 2015–2015)

Father: Ikramullah Khan Niazi

Mother: Shaukat Khanum

Siblings: Aleema Khanum, Rani Khanum, Rubina Khanum, Uzma Khanum

Children: Qasim Khan, Sulaiman Kha

What is Imran Khan’s background?

The 22nd Prime Minister of Pakistan is Imran Khan Niazi, a former cricketer. Young cricketers looked up to him as an inspiration. One of Pakistan’s finest cricketers, he rose to popularity with his incredible skills. From cricket’s biggest heartthrob to one of the most influential politicians, his journey is remarkable and inspiring. During his reign as Pakistani captain, he led the country to its first Cricket World Cup title in 1992 by beating England. This led him to be described as one of Pakistan’s most famous and accomplished captains. As he could bowl fast and was a good all-arounder, this outstanding cricketer made the game of cricket more popular in his country. Cricket and politics were not the only areas in which he excelled. His involvement in politics began in 1992 when he formed his own political party, Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (Movement for Justice). Following the death of his mother from cancer, he established Lahore’s first cancer hospital. By raising money for health and education projects, he is helping the underprivileged and deserving.

Childhood & Personal Life

Ikramullah Khan Niazi and Shaukat Khanam raised Imran Khan Niazi in a well-to-do Pashtun family in Lahore.

Following schools at Lahore’s English-medium Aitchison College, he went to Warwick, England, for higher studies at the Royal Grammar School.

The University of Oxford graduated him in philosophy, politics, and economics in 1975. Growing up in a family of cricketers, he played the game in Pakistan and in England.

Career

As a result of his not-so-good performance in the 1971 English series in Birmingham, he failed to make a mark in tests.

When he returned to Pakistan in 1974, he debuted for the first time in one-day international (ODI) matches through the Prudential Trophy.

In the 1980s, he became a prominent fast bowler in Pakistan after a stellar performance against New Zealand and Australia in 1976–77.

Pakistan chose him to be their captain in 1982. In a stunning performance, he led India to its first Test win over England after 28 years at Lord’s, as a fast bowler and all-rounder.

A draw was achieved in 8 of the 48 matches Pakistan played under his captaincy. A total of 139 ODI matches were played, with 77 victories, 57 losses, and one tie.

For two years, he was sidelined by a stress fracture in his shin. Following a win over India in 1987, he also won in England to give Pakistan its first-ever Test series win.

General Zia-ul-Haq invited him back to Pakistan after he retired in 1987. With 23 wickets in three tests, he was named ‘Man of the Series’ against West Indies.

Shaukat Khanum Memorial Trust was established in 1991 as a charity organization for cancer research and development that honors his mother.

A test and ODI record of 3807 runs and 362 wickets, and a ODI record of 3709 runs and 182 wickets, prompted him to retire in 1992.

Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI) was founded by him in 1997 as a means to eliminate corruption and mismanagement in Pakistan.

Mianwali was the seat he won at the October 2002 elections.

Besides founding Namal College, a campus of the University of Bradford, he also set up the Institute of Imran Khan Foundation.

In 2013, he launched ‘Naya Pakistan Resolution’, which threatened the Pakistan Muslim League-Nawaz (PML-N).

Pakistan Peoples Party (PPP) rejected his proposal to collaborate.

When he fell off a stage during a campaign rally, four days before elections, he injured his head and back and had to be hospitalized. However, he maintained his campaign appeal through the hospital and his party lost.

Imran Khan’s party finished first in Pakistan’s general elections, defeating the ruling party. In August 2018, he became Pakistan’s 22nd Prime Minister.

A number of British and Asian newspapers as well as Indian publications have published his views on cricket, including Outlook, Guardian, Independent, and Telegraph.

As an active cricket commentator, he has worked for Star TV, BBC Urdu, and TEN Sports.

Records & Achievements

In 1992, despite suffering from a ruptured shoulder cartilage, he became the hero of Pakistan by winning the first-ever ODI Cricket World Cup for Pakistan, defeating England in the finals at Melbourne.

Three thousand runs and three hundred wickets made by an all-rounder in 75 tests are second only to Ian Botham’s 72 wickets in test cricket.

Aside from most wickets, best strikes and best averages, he also had best figures (8 wickets for 60 runs) when he was captain.

Awards

The Cricket Society Wetherall Award was given to him in 1976 and 1980 for being the best all around player in England’s first-class cricket.

1985 was the year he was named Sussex Cricket Society Player of the Year.

Hilal-e-Imtiaz, the second highest civilian award given by the Pakistani Government to him, was the highest civilian honor he received.

As a result of his support for various charitable programs, he received the Asian Jewels Awards Lifetime Achievement Award in London in 2004.

On April 28, 2007, in Kuala Lumpur, he received the Humanitarian Award for setting up Pakistan’s first cancer hospital.

As one of many cricket legends present at the AICC (Asian Cricket Council) Awards in Karachi in 2009, he was presented the special silver jubilee award.

During the centennial celebration of the International Cricket Council (ICC), he was inducted into its Hall of Fame in 2009.

Towards his activities in Pakistan treating cancer in 2012, he was awarded an honorary fellowship by the Royal College of Physicians of Edinburgh.

Globa lPost recently ranked him #3 in its list of the top nine world leaders of 2012.

Personal Life & Legacy

It was in Paris, in May 1995, that he married socialite Jemima Goldsmith, a convert to Islam, in a traditional Islamic ceremony. After a month, they remarried in Richmond in a civil ceremony. Both sons are born to them — Sulaiman Isa (1996) and Kasim (1999). Jemima cited difficulties adjusting to Pakistani life as the reason for the couple’s separation in June 2004.

Jemima’s father was Jewish, making Jemima’s decision to enter politics a source of attacks by his opponents.

In January 2015, despite objections from his own family, he married British-Pakistani divorcee Reham Khan, a former BBC weather girl, in a secret ceremony at his home in Islamabad. In October 2015, the couple divorced after being married just a year.

Bushra Manika, his spiritual advisor, married him in February 2018

He belongs to a cricketing family that has produced successful cricketers, including Javed Burki and Majid Khan, both of whom graduated from Oxford and served as captains of the Pakistan national team.

Vote for Your Favourite Pakistani Leaders

Famous As: 22nd PM of Pakistan

Birthdate: October 5, 1952

Sun Sign: Libra

Birthplace: Lahore, West Punjab, Dominion of Pakistan

The current Prime Minister of Pakistan, Imran Khan is also the founder and chairman of the political party Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf. Before making an entry into politics, Imran Khan was an extremely popular international cricketer who led Pakistan to its first ever Cricket World Cup title in 1992. As a philanthropist, he established Pakistan’s first cancer hospital in Lahore.

[musicollage]

Benoit Pioulard. The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter, 2016. Kranky. ( Mastered By – Rafael Anton Irisarri )  ~ [ Album Review |   1) Pop Matters  +  2) Exclaim!  + 3) All Music  +  4) Impose Magazine  + 5) Echoes And Dust  ]

1) The peculiar title of Benoît Pioulard’s latest album gives the impression that it could be some kind of best-of collection. It isn’t, but The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter could stand in as a succinct summation of Thomas Meluch’s charismatic melding of dream-folk, field recordings, and sandwashed atmospheres.

The completion of The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter has been trailed by poignant timing and tragic coincidence. Meluch’s first album for Kranky, Précis, was released ten years earlier, nearly to the day. His brother, for whom the record is dedicated, passed away on the same day that it was finished. Listening Matter’s mood is not easily read. Its pleasure and melancholy are both wary. Meluch being a photographer as well, several of his Polaroids serve as the album art. There’s surely some reflection of the music to be drawn from the cover image; a fish eye mirror on a dark weathered wall, offering a detached and bent view of a beautiful day.

Starting with Sonnet in 2015, Benoît Pioulard has let loose an outpouring of ambient releases. There was Stanza, a companion to the Sonnet LP, Stanza II, the Noyaux EP put out by Morr Music, and the tour EP Thine. This past June he released the Radial EP, which featured an ‘interpretation’ of the Aphex Twin song “Stone in Focus”, to help pay for medical bills he incurred breaking his wrist while hiking in the Cascade foothills near North Bend, Washington.

Listening Matter swings back toward the singer-songwriter yin to Meluch’s structure-averse yang, a mode he hasn’t dwelled much in since Hymnal in 2013. Working again with Benoît Pioulard here is Rafael Anton Irisarri, who mastered the album at Black Knoll Studio in New York. Along with being the go-to guy for completing his own music, Irisarri is a composer with whom Meluch collaborates as Orcas. The duo’s stunning, underappreciated second album, Yearling, is a standout in both of their bodies of work.

Opening euphoric gust “Initials B.P.” is both a clearing of the throat and a girding of the loins. Outside the door lay a progression of perils to face down. “Narcologue” wastes no time, cutting into time and distance’s grip on love: "But this freezing of the heart / Is a shameful shuttering born of being apart / With numbness but in command / My senescence proves we hold together like sand”. Addiction lurks in “Layette”, which begins with the admission, “In a matter of time / I’ll slowly burn through my vices / Cos when I level with them / They still put me through my paces”.

The elated melody of the brief but voluble “Anchor as the Muse” belies its sense of futility. Nearly halfway in and there’s still no resolution in sight on “I Walked Into the Blackness and Built a Fire”: “So I will give chase / The back roads are clearer than before / But mist is in pace / And I can’t see the paths anymore”. Not to overstate the point, but after going practically speechless since Sonnet, Meluch has a lot to get off his chest here. He also gives himself a narrow window in which to do it; a baker’s dozen of future-past pop songs etched onto water-warped tape that average in length somewhere in the two-minute range.

Contradictions being key to the album’s balance, it is only natural that Listening Matter’s greatest moment of levity comes wrapped in cataclysm. On “The Sun Is Going to Explode But Whatever It’s OK”, each successive verse is an eloquent capture of a different thought or perspective in the context of the end of it all; a couple of the sentimental kind, but most of the ‘oh well’ variety. “Oh in the great conflagration of the universe / The sun is going to fucking explode/It doesn’t help to block it with your hand / So just tremble with the ruptures in the land”. It’s the “Take It Easy” this generation deserves.

2) Over the past decade-and-a-half, Thomas Meluch (aka Benoît Pioulard) has covered a lot of musical ground. The Washington-via-Michigan producer has averaged a release per year, tackling electronic, ambient, electroacoustic and even shoegaze and folk along the way but on his latest LP, the aptly titled The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter, Meluch has focused on a subject that has seemed to elude him over the years: himself.

According to Pioulard, the album was recorded during a rough period in his life; the 13-track LP tackles such subjects as grief ("I Walked Into a Blackness and Built a Fire"), turmoil ("In-the-Vapor") and self-medication ("Narcologue"). Opening the record off with the bleary and antonymous electronics of "Initials B.P.," Pioulard goes on to fill the album with guitar strums and vulnerable vocal sighs, while distancing himself from his most recent work. Despite the themes covered throughout, tracks like "Defect" and "A Mantle for Charon" sound honourably optimistic and cheery as Pioulard's voice comes off clean, clear and often chatty, akin to the warbling vocals of the Beta Band's Steve Mason.

Surrounded by ambient hiss and faint female backing vocals, The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter shows Pioulard expressing emotion through simple but intensely personal songwriting.

3) Over a decade's worth of albums, Thomas Meluch took Benoît Pioulard's music in such wide-ranging directions that, by the time of Sonnet's expansive ambient instrumentals, it seemed unlikely he'd return to the project's folktronic beginnings. However, he does exactly that with The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter, an album title that hints at coming full circle: if Precis was a concise introduction, then these songs are a poignant summary. Benoît Pioulard's music feels lighter and freer than ever, even as it touches on heavy subject matter. Within half an hour, Meluch reflects on life's impermanence ("Narcologue"), the fleeting comforts of vice ("Layette"), and mortality ("A Mantle for Charon") in ways that give Precis' affecting simplicity a greater depth. On songs such as "Perennial Comforts" and the gorgeous "I Walked into the Blackness and Built a Fire," he couples his flair for atmosphere with lyrical storytelling that paints a more complete picture of his world than ever before. Meluch surrounds these deep dives with ambient pieces that are the mainstay of Benoît Pioulard's work -- the breezy album opener is even called "Initials B.P." -- and the interplay of space and texture is lovely as always on "In-the-Vapor" and the velvety final track, "Ruth." Nevertheless, a voice as expressive as Meluch's should be used as much as possible, and his singing is especially welcome after Sonnet; on the lilting "Like There's Nothing Under You," he says as much with his circling harmonies as he does with his poetic words. Indeed, The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter features some of his catchiest songs in some time, from the shimmering "Anchor as the Muse" to "The Sun Is Going to Explode But Whatever It's OK," a brisk singalong for an end-of-the-world campfire. A tenth anniversary is as good a time as any to take stock, but to Meluch's credit, it doesn't feel like he's revisiting the past merely for nostalgia's sake. Instead, adding the clarity of experience to his early work's atmospheric conciseness only makes The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter all the richer.

4) Musicians often need to assume a persona, giving an alter-identity to better create and perform. Thomas Meluch has been working under such a pseudonym for his solo efforts since 2005, moving deliberately toward his current intersection of folk and ambient electronica. His previous output under his Benoît Pioulard name has often been nebulous and, as with the case of last year’s album Sonnet, voiceless. With the release of The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter, Meluch opens up his expressions both lyrically and via acoustic guitar. With this new effort, he shades his atmospheric music with a humanity that also works as a curative measure for his grief and emotional state.

Listening Matter begins with one of Meluch’s signature drone-based expressions, reminding of the ethereal and isolating moods of Brian Eno. Throughout the album, he uses these quick interims as a respite between vocal sets, seemingly giving himself a breather from his realizations and confessionals. When he does open up, his voice has a calming lilt reminding of many heartfelt troubadours like Nick Drake and Elliot Smith, recalling moments while looking forward. “Narcologue” has a flamenco flair but soothes like a opiate, emulating that painless relief from reality. With the bright outset of single “Anchor and The Muse”, Meluch reaches for balance and awareness in the aftermath of his struggles. Meluch states poignantly that “If you still resent me after everything I’ve done/ Well, then I can’t really blame you, can I?”, owning his faults with a weary finality.

The tracks on The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter rarely last beyond the three minute mark, but the impressions made are distinct and indelible. His production is stark yet sprightly, finding the right moments to add a layer of anodic ambience or environmental hum. The harpsichord produced on “I Walked Into the Blackness and Built a Fire” matches well with an understated gallop as rhythm track, echoing with rich history and a tangible sound. The album’s best track “A Match for Charon” features an uplifting chord progression and swells that creep out gradually bursts through the mix like sunlight. The listener acts almost as an audience member in a theatre, where Meluch’s songs are vignettes to be experienced as well as heard.

That hazy, memorable ambience is a trademark of the music from Chicago-based label Kranky and its impact is easily recognized on the Benoît Pioulard signature. What makes the efforts of Meluch distinct on this LP is his representation of the ebb and flow of life, acting both as the cause and effect of his music. One can perceive Meluch lift the weight off of his shoulders as his songs resonate with individual pain and resilience. This feeling becomes clearer with the knowledge that he lost his brother tragically upon completing this album. With this, Listening Matter is an unmistakable release from a record label committed to a singular sound and an individual effort from a musician still coming to terms with his own art and station in life.

5) Following an excursion of a wholly ambient release, one that truly enveloped the listener into a world that offered intrigue and mystery, composer Thomas Meluch offers his latest work under the Benoît Pioulard moniker. Returning now to his roots of experimental ambient folk, The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter features Meluch taking a step back from his 2015 album of Sonnet, utilizing his incredible range of ambient composition to further push and extenuate his own acoustic-folk musings. The result of it all is an album that that feels strangely familiar and comforting, whilst managing to express many ideas and notions that are certainly different.

Whilst Sonnet emphasized ambient techniques greatly and featured very sparse vocals, The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter instead focuses around Meluch’s own folk notions, all accompanied, pushed, moved and broken up by his own ambient techniques. At the heart of every musical technique, is Meluch himself who examines himself and his own experiences and understanding of troubling times with great examination, using the recording process of The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter as a growing and healing process. Vices, virtues, life and death are all mused upon and expressed by Meluch, all blurred and obscured by ambient washes, as though there’s only so much we’re supposed to see.

There’s a great intrigue following this album and its release. Meluch seems to have spent much of the past two years really turning his gaze into himself, looking at how he views the world and understands it, before turning at introspection outward through the medium of his songs. There’s an incredible fragility to much of the work on the album, whilst also being incredibly headstrong and confident. As a body of work, much of the album seems to jump further ahead than much of Meluch’s work, sounding more concise and direct than the 2015 ambient work of Sonnet or even the more folk-directed 2013 album of Hymnal.

Meluch’s works may sometimes feel a little hard to really tap into at times, especially much of his earlier work which really felt experimental at times. It seems now Meluch has really honed in his incredible range and talents, creating an album that is no doubt experimental, but is also much easier to digest and understand, whilst still being a wonderful album experience that simply achieves everything it has set out to do. It’s arguable that Meluch has created a perfect entry point into his music for those who may be unfamiliar to his unique style, whilst also releasing a work that will really inspire his many lifelong fans.

[assassins-and-hidden-blades]

The Predator and the Prey -- Part 2

A/N: (Early) Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays, everyone! Got a bit sucked into this to get back into the mood to write requests, and after this I feel a lot more inspired and out of the writing slump I’ve been suffering from for the past who-knows-how-many months. Hope you guys enjoy this as an early Christmas present, haha.

Feedback is always greatly appreciated; I’d love to know what you think!

Taglist: @marshmallow--3​ (shoot an ask if you wanna be tagged!)

Part 1 HERE (With general synopsis)

Previously:

“There’s been another robbery.” You flashed the envelope his way. “You might have one too.”

“Let’s go and get it.”

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

You arrived with Jacob back at his rented flat, and he parked next to Evie’s dark blue beetle. Jacob scrunched his nose up in disgust. “Ugh, Evie’s taste in cars is something ’ll never understand.”

“At least it’s not pink, and it hasn’t got eyelashes on it.”

“Don’t even joke about that.”

Jacob was the first one through the door. “Evie! We’re here!” he called up the stairs. He dropped his keys in the dish on the side and made his way to his bedroom. It was simple, but was still cosy and had more than enough room. He had a double bed -- not made-- and one of his walls was a soft shade of tangerine patterned with white birds in flight; they had a major resemblance to the one tattooed on his chest. He went to open his drawer, shielding its contents from you. 

“Don’t worry; I won’t ask about what you’re hiding from me.” 

All you got in response was an amused scoff.

As Jacob found the document, Evie came up behind you, drying her hair with a towel. “You both going into work, then?” she asked.

“I think we’re going to have to; we didn’t last night when the first one was reported. They’ll need more people to do the legwork.” 

“Even though you were both stuck to your laptop screens filing reports the night before?”

“Especially because we were both stuck to our laptop screens the night before.” 

“If you need anything, either of you, just give me a call.” She moved out of the room.

“Thanks, Evie.”

The door closed softly a few moments after. 

You sat down on the bed that was littered with one or two shirts, sliding your finger under the lip of the envelope in your hands. Inside was a typewritten letter that was signed by Henry Green -- your Detective Chief Inspector and Evie’s partner. You opened it and began to read:

        Inspector Y/N Y/L/N,

            At 0234 hours on Sunday morning, we received reports of theft that                  had taken place. At first, it was written off as an unrelated event, but is              now being filed as yet another heist linked with previous frauds that                    had stolen similar artefacts. 

            This is an urgent message. You and Inspector Jacob Frye are required              to come to Scotland Yard ASAP, in order to converse our course of                   action. 

           As you know, there have already been seven artefacts that have                       already been looted from various locations; this makes it the eighth. We             are only aware of these international crimes because of one reason.

           When you arrive, ask for an urgent meeting with me. We’ll discuss it                   then.

    Signed,

     HenryGreen

    Detective Chief Inspector (DIC), Henry Green

           P.S -- You both are the best I have. I need you to head this operation                with me. I don’t trust anyone else.

You checked the entirety of the letter to double check that you had read it thoroughly. Looking back at Jacob, you saw him writing notes in a notepad. “Do we need to change?” 

He clicked his pen and stood up. “I wouldn’t bother. It’s a Sunday, after all.”

You smirked, agreeing with him. “We should probably go.” Picking up your essentials, you followed him down the stairs.

“Don’t wait up for us, Evie. We’ll probably be a while!”

“Noted!”

You both went back to Jacob’s car and set a new course for New Scotland Yard.

------

You entered your workplace with your rucksack over your shoulder, while Jacob parked his car outside. The receptionist looked up at the sound of the doors opening and greeted you with a plastered smile.

“Hi, Caroline. Inspector Frye and I have an urgent meeting with--”

“Chief Inspector Green? Of course, I’ll let him know. Take a seat over there for a minute, will you?”

You nodded with a smile, and somewhat reluctantly sat on the chairs beside the desk. Jacob came in moments after, pocketing his keys in his back pocket. He seemed somewhat surprised to see you waiting. 

“You waiting for me?” He winked coyly, a corner of his lips upturning. 

“Caroline’s on the phone to let Henry--”

“You two need to go to the meeting room on the third floor urgently.” Caroline had put the phone down without a care in the world, ready for her weekend shift to be over. 

“Thanks, Caroline. Hope you can get home soon.” You and Jacob headed to the elevator. 

“Didn’t mention that we’re not here for fun?” He decided to ask as the doors shut and elevator music began to hum in the background. 

“I said it was urgent! She just seemed to want to be in charge.” You shrugged. 

Jacob scoffed in amusement. “Uh-huh.”

The elevator came to a stop on the floor you needed quickly enough. The meeting room was at the end of the open plan floor full of scattered wooden desks, of which about a third were littered with papers and files of all kinds. Walking through the paperwork minefield, almost everyone greeted you both, ranging from surprised waves to casual nods; all of which you responded to identically. 

Jacob reached the meeting room first, knocking twice and waiting for an affirmation before opening the door, which was labelled ‘Do Not Disturb’. Henry was sat there in a semi-casual outfit consisting of smart jeans and a  white shirt, no doubt displeased at having to be brought in on a Sunday. He sat at the end of a long glass table, surrounded by loose paperwork and random documents that stretched almost out of his reach. A laptop was open and charging beside him. He looked up when the door closed and put his pen down. “Glad you could make it,” he began, reclining into the leather behind him.

“We wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Jacob remarked sarcastically, slumping casually into the nearest chair. 

“Shut the blinds.”

You looked out onto the rest of the floor and quickly shielded the room from view, much to the curiosity of people loitering around. After, you followed Jacob’s actions, with an extra kilogram of dignity.  “What’s up, Henry?” You pulled out an average-sized notepad and a small pencil case, whereas Jacob pulled out a pocket notebook and a clicking pen from his pockets, resting his forearms on the table.  

“This morning, at about half past two, something was stolen from the British Museum.” Henry took the charger out of his laptop and turned it around, showing the artefact. He stood up briefly to turn the light down. It was a folded gold fabric that had white patterns inscribed upon it. “This was labelled in the exhibit as the ‘Shroud of Eden’. That obviously has many connotations that make it quite precious, especially to the public. This piece is not at all common-- in fact, it’s the only one of its kind-- so it can have an extremely high street value.” 

Your eyes drifted to movement in front of you. Jacob had lifted his legs up to rest his feet on the desk. His notebook was practically empty compared to yours, bar a few scribbled words. “How much is it worth?”

“Too much; possibly up to seventeen million-- most likely more.” Jacob wrote the figure down. “Continue.”

“The bottom line is that we need to retrieve this artefact. This was scheduled to be properly studied by the end of the week. Now that can’t happen and we have no idea what this thing does.”

“Who found it?” Jacob piped up again.

“A Lucy Thorne-- British curator, quite young, though.” Henry held up a picture of her. “It raised a few initial suspicions, but the head curator let it pass. Might be a good time to follow it up.” 

Jacob wrote down another few words. 

“How does any of this link internationally?” You asked your first question of the meeting, already two thirds of the way down the page. 

“This is why.” Henry pressed on with the slideshow, showing images of the other artefacts that were stolen across the world. They all held a similar resemblance of colour and patterns. “These all originate from the same place. Whoever stole these items know something we don’t. This is why it’s urgent. We have no idea what these things are capable of, what they do, and what that means for everyone else on this godforsaken Earth. 

“This isn’t just a matter of national security; it’s a matter of international safety.” Henry finished with a deep exhale through his nostrils, slowly moving to turn the lights on again. 

“Our primary objective is to retrieve all eight artefacts. Our secondary objective is to put the people found guilty behind bars. If that’s too dangerous for you both, abort. Get the artefacts back to MI5 first, but if not, bring them back here. That is of paramount importance.” 

“I have a plan.” Jacob put his feet down and leaned forward, arms back on the table. “We find this Lucy Thorne, and we interview her; take a statement, ask her a few questions-- find out what this thing does. We ask if she’s headed any investigations prior to working at the British Museum. We ask for the names of her superiors in her previous places of employment, maybe even search the place to find what else she might be hiding.” He gestured his point discreetly.

“We can’t do that without a warrant,” you remarked.

“But we know someone who can give us one…” Jacob looked to Henry. 

“I trust you both; I’ll give you whatever you need, but there’s no time to waste. We have to do something now.” 

You nodded. “I agree with Jacob.”

The corner of Jacob’s lips upturned. “Great. Let’s do--”

Before you both could stand up, there was a knock at the door. It opened almost immediately to unveil a very old rivalry. He stood tall, with his hair tied back with a red ribbon, dressed as if it was a weekday at the office. 

“Good to see people working, even on a Sunday.” He adjusted his cuffs. “Mr Frye, Y/N.”

“Shay.”

[twopedalpushers]

Travel update #3

Cartagena to Medellín

We have made it to Medellín! When I first got off the boat and took my first (wobbly) steps on Colombian soil I had no idea how incredibly vibrant, beautiful and challenging the road ahead would be... after 36 hours of non-stop travelling at sea, Cartagena was an overload to our senses.

Cartagena is an old Spanish colonial city full of cobbled streets, balconies decorated with huge bougainvilleas, graffiti, brightly coloured buildings and lots and lots of street performers (with varying degrees of talent). After the soulless, American style cities in Panama, Cartagena felt like a breath of fresh air. We ended up spending a week in Cartagena, exploring the city and getting some of the components swapped on our bikes to make the road ahead easier.

After the longest break from the saddle so far, we finally continued our journey. We cycled a few hundred kilometres from Cartagena to a town called Coveñas where Max convinced me to get my PADI scuba diving license. I had only done snorkeling before so the sensation of breathing underwater was peculiar. Diving in the Caribbean Sea was blissful, there was no need for a wetsuit as the ocean temperature averaged 30°C. The corals were still vibrant and full of tropical fish despite rising sea temperatures. We went out to some islands off the coast of Colombia to dive and got to visit the most populated island on Earth - Santa Cruz del Islote. Unfortunately the majority of the island is in poverty and the foundations are literally built from rubbish.

After I got my diving license we decided to cycle everyday in order to get to Medellín - the half way point in our journey through Colombia. Cycling in Colombia is divine. There is music everywhere, blasting out from little tiendas (shops) on the side of the road or from peoples houses. One sound system merges into another while we cycle along; in Colombia it’s a constant party. Out of Coveñas, roads around the coast were fairly flat enabling us to do 100km a day. We were fuelled by incredible Tinto’s (espresso’s) from little old ladies at fruit stands along the road - it’s the best coffee you will ever have for only 10p!

Anything goes in Colombia. On the road, you frequently see 4 or more people travelling on one motorbike and people transporting long metal wire by dragging it along the floor off the back of their bikes. On one occasion we saw a guy transporting a dead pig on the back of his motorbike.

It’s fun travelling through a country where cycling is a national sport. On the weekends the roads are full of other cyclists and some sections of roads are closed and turned into huge cycle lanes. We spent a morning cycling with around 30 other cyclists, all cheering each other on.

This section of the journey saw us stray off paved roads more than usual. We took a road between Moñitos and Arboletes that we thought would be a shortcut. The road happened to be a dirt track, which we happily bumped along until it started to torrentially rain. We quickly found shelter and watched the once dirt road turn into sloshy mud. Of course when we set back off on our bikes once the rain had stopped, cycling was impossible - our wheels got clogged with thick mud until they would no longer turn. Some locals helped us carry our muddy bikes to the side of the road and we sat outside a tienda and weighed up our options. The shop-owner told us that there was a bus that went down this road that could take us to Montería, leaving in an hour. As we were stuck and losing daylight quickly we decided to wait for the bus and get back to a paved road before it started raining again. After an hour, the bus splashed down the road. The bus driver took one look at us (covered in mud) and our bikes (covered in mud) and refused to let us on. It was now late in the day and we were quite literally stuck in the middle of nowhere.

There were private farmyards on either side of the road for the entire stretch, making wild camping risky. We asked a few locals if we could camp in their garden and eventually a little old lady agreed and we spent the night in a tent next to her pig sty. In the morning she brought us coffee and wished us well on our travels as we set off on the now dry road. The moment that the dirt road turned back into tarmac was as joyous as a border crossing.

Writing this down, it sounds like a crazy ordeal but in hindsight I find it funny. The moment the bus drove past, both of us completely covered in mud will be forever ingrained in my memory.

Peoples lives outside of cities in Colombia are tough. The old lady who’s garden we stayed in had very very little, which seems the case for the majority of rural Colombia. Most people live in self built wooden huts with a dirt floor, no electricity and no plumbing. They share their space with farmyard animals that they keep for food. At first I found this pretty shocking because this was not the image I had in my head when I thought about Colombia before the trip. You would never see this side of Colombia travelling by bus from city to city. I feel really grateful for the real version of each country that I am experiencing by travelling by bike.

After our mishaps in the mud cycling to Arboletes, we had a day off to clean our bikes before hitting the road again - this time travelling every day in order to get to Medellín. We left the coast and pedalled into the mountains for the first time on this trip. Being off grid in the mountains with epic views, waterfalls and rivers felt really special. It wasn’t until the final ascent into Medellín that we started to realise just how challenging the cycling had become.

Medellín lies inside a crater, so for 3 days you climb around 2600m day after day before losing all of your ascent 75km away from Medellín. The final day entails climbing from 0 back up to 2800m and descending for 18 Km into Medellín.

On the final day, a road had been washed out by a river, which meant that we had to take a detour along a dirt track with a ridiculous level of gradient that was impossible to cycle. Max could push his bike up the mountain, but my bike was too heavy for me, so I had to take my luggage off my bike, push my bike up the mountain and then go back down and carry the luggage up. It took 2 hours to travel 2km of the 75km overall journey! The road after this was much easier at a lower gradient, enabling us to cycle.

However by 4pm we were wondering when the mountain would drop off - we had counted on the downhill in order for us to get to Medellín in one day rather than two. By 5pm and 6pm we were still crawling up hill, losing morale and starting to feel that we wouldn’t get there in one day. It didn’t help that every 800m or so there would be a bunch of dogs that would bark and try and chase us, meaning that we would have to get off our bikes and scare them away before walking past them.

We were now cycling in the dark, out of energy and still waiting for the downhill to appear when we stumbled upon a little village called Boqueron where we got hot chocolates and put on warm clothes (it’s cold at 2800m!) Finally as we turned the corner out of Boqueron the hill dropped off and there was the downhill! We whizzed down, in complete darkness and got epic views of the cityscape from above which was beautifully lit up at night.

We spent the next two hours going downhill into the city - that’s how high up we were! At points it was too steep to go downhill and we had to walk down. By 9:30pm (16 hours on the saddle!) we finally made it to our hostel where we would chill out for the next week.

The challenging cycle into Medellín made us appreciate our time in the city much more.

Medellín is an interesting city with a dark recent past - only 20 years ago it was the murder capital of the world and now it is much safer than a lot of cities in the United States. The city has a friendly vibe with lots of street art and performers. Everyone seems keen to put the past behind them and move on to happier times.

We are leaving Medellín now and travelling to Salento, where we will be spending Christmas.

As usual, here is the link to track our progress http://share.garmin.com/DMB7R

Remember to hit “view all” and zoom out to see the whole journey. We are halfway through Colombia now!

I plan on making the Colombia video in two parts, so I will post it to here shortly - when I have finished editing it.

[deadlybeautydbz]

“Behind Enemy Lines” - Sneak Peek!

The other week, I mentioned my long-fic I’m working on. Set in a future universe that is being destroyed by the androids, Goku has died from the heart virus and there are no dragon-balls to help. This will be a K/18 story like no other and with a twist that you wont see coming.

In this scene, Krillin finds himself coming face to face with 17 and 18 for the first time. Let me know what you think and if you’d like to see more! This scene is about 3000 words, and so far I’ve written about 30,000 (which is maybe 1/3 of the intended total length) so there’s plenty more where this came from!

Read below the cut. And please ignore any spelling/formatting errors, this is still very much a WIP

Another explosion, closer this time. More frantic screaming.

“No. Those people need my help. You go. Now!”

With that, Krillin turned around and ran. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel for Yamcha, he did, honestly, but right now, there were people who were in more serious need of his attention. He ran as fast as he could, feet pounding against the broken pavement, quickly covering the few blocks between himself and the Androids. His heartbeat quickened as he approached, not from exertion, but from fear. So far Krillin had managed to avoid a face to face confrontation with these monsters and he’d been hoping to keep it that was for as long as possible. There was literally nothing he could do to stop them. When it came to his power level verse theirs, he was as useless as any ordinary human. Hell, even Vegeta couldn’t put up a fight against the two of them, so what hope did he have?

Standing idly by wasn’t an option though. He knew he couldn’t take the Androids on, but that didn’t mean there weren’t people there he could help. Rounding the final corner, Krillin came to a screeching halt and felt his heart lurch up into his throat.

‘Okay,’ he surveyed the scene. There they were, right there, no more than 50 meters away. The Androids. Gohan and Vegeta had described them to him, but to see them here, 17 and 18, in the flesh – so to speak… it felt surreal. They looked like, well, like normal people. Krillin didn’t know what he had been expecting, something straight out of The Terminator maybe? Maybe that they would sound or move like the robots of bad 1950’s sci-fi? But here they were, standing right in front of him – they hadn’t noticed, or at least acknowledged his presence yet, and so Krillin was able to observe them for a tiny moment. Everything about them seemed, from this distance at least, unremarkable. If he hadn’t of known what to look out for, these two could have easily been mistaken for average survivors. A shiver ran down Krillin’s spine at the thought.

The girl, 18, stood on the sidewalk, arms crossed over her body, scuffing the tip of her boot into the ground. She looked bored. And 17, he was… oh no! He was holding a poor woman, who was too petrified to even call out for help, by the scruff of her shirt; a bright blue ball of energy sat in 17’s other hand. His crazy laughter echoed down the otherwise silent street.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as what happened next unfolded.

“Noooooooo…” Krillin cried, alerting the Androids to his presence. Both twins turned to look directly at him. Two pairs of icy blue eyes piercing right through to his soul. He tried to run, to save that woman, but Krillin could only move at a snails’ pace. Everything around him happened in an instant, and it was taking hours for his brain to even make the connections. The woman was dead before he had even taken a single step towards her. Her lifeless body slumped to a heap at 17’s feet.

Time sped back up.

“Shit.” Krillin was a sitting duck, standing right here in the middle of the road, two killer Androids staring him down. Beside him, was the burnt out husk of a car, and without much more of a thought beyond surviving the next five seconds, he tucked and barrel rolled behind it, out of the line of sight of his predators.

 “Where did he go?” A male voice, dripping with sarcasm asked, making Krillin’s face blush a shade of red so bright, he was probably creating a glow. What a fucking idiot he was. These weren’t toddlers he was dealing with, they understood the concept of object permanence. All Krillin had managed to do was make himself look like an incompetent moron in front of them. Great. Classic Krillin.

Krillin took a long, deep breath, trying desperately to calm his racing heart. “Okay,” he said to himself, “okay.” Beads of nervous sweat trickled down his neck as he willed his mind to come up with a plan. Something, anything would do at this point. The Androids were closing in on him, the sound of their footsteps grew louder with every inch of ground they covered.

 “Come out, come out where ever you are,” 17 taunted Krillin, as he slammed his fist down into the hood of the car the small human was cowering behind. Krillin yelped in surprised fear, the pathetic sound that came out of his mouth was not one that he was proud of. Yet another thing to add to the list of stupid things to do on the last day of your life. The twins cackled with laughter as he leapt up from his ‘hiding’ place and tumbled out onto the road where he narrowly avoided crashing right into the pair.

“Found you!” 17 exclaimed with delight and clapped his hands. Krillin was bemused by the display to say the least, a reaction that he hoped wasn’t too evident on his face. Maybe he was dealing with a toddler after all.

18 was done, she’d had enough of 17’s moronic behaviour for one day. It was time to get down to business. “Knock it off,” she elbowed her brother in the ribs, and shot him a nasty glare, not so subtly reminding him that they were supposed to be intimidating and scary.

Receiving his sister’s message loud and clear, 17 cleared his throat, straightened his posture and put on his best detached, murderous psychopath look of nonchalance. It worked, Krillin was about ready to soil himself.

 “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure,” 18 turned her focus away from her immature brother and towards the man she had been stalking for a large chunk of the afternoon. “18,” she introduced herself with a coy smile.

“K…Kr… Krillin”

“I know who you are!” 18 snapped, silencing Krillin’s pathetic attempt at verbal communication. She would never stop enjoying the thrill of luring men into her trap with her sweet and innocent act before revealing her true, cold self and demolishing them. With looks like hers, it wasn’t hard. She fully intended to murder every living being on this planet, and still, men fell in love with her every day.

Krillin strained his neck to look beyond the pair, trying to spot any survivors further down the road, despite his better judgement and years of martial arts training screaming at him that now was the time to focus. Never take your eyes off your opponent. That was combat 101 right there. What would Goku say if he ever found out about Krillin’s lack of discipline? What would Vegeta say? They weren’t too far from Capsule Corporation and Krillin could feel the Ki signature of the Sayian superpower closing in on them; he must have sensed the sudden influx of Krillin’s power. He’d be here any minute.

‘Ok, great!’ Krillin thought, pepping up. All he needed to do was not die for a few more minutes, and then Vegeta would be here and he would be able to sneak away to find somewhere to hide – and cry, there would most certainly be crying. For a brief second, a relieved smile wormed its way onto Krillin’s face. It vanished as quickly as it appeared though, when the tall blonde standing before him cleared her throat and locked her dangerous eyes onto him, commanding his full attention.

 Who the fuck did this guy think he was? Ignoring them? Ignoring her? No man had ever dared look past her, and she wasn’t about to let them start now.

“Hey,” 18 bent over at her hips, bringing herself to eye level with Krillin. She was well aware of the fact that the scoop neck of her teeshirt was hanging in such a way that it allowed a perfect, unimpeded view of her perky, and very ample breasts - which were barely contained as they strained against a silky red bra. “I’m talking to you. It’s rude not to look at someone when they’re talking you know?”

‘Please,’ Krillin said a quick prayer to himself, eyes darting frantically up, down, left, right, anywhere but straight ahead. Of course he’d known the Androids were ruthless, but he was only human and this was just cruel! Why was 18 doing this? Obviously the second he looked it was lights out for him. But 18 was waiting, and he didn’t really see any other choice. Oh well. Krillin surrendered. He was most certainly going to die, and really, as far as final images went, this one was pretty good. With a loud, nervous swallow, Krillin looked directly ahead, copping an absolute eyeful of undeniably spectacular cleavage, before moving his gaze up a few inches and meeting a pair of the iciest blue eyes he had ever come across.

“Enjoy the show?” 18 asked, as she stood back up, a big victory smirk sitting smugly on her face.

“Uh, sis, I think he’s about to be sick,” 17 took a curious step forward, apparently not at all phased by the threat of vomit. “Looking a bit green there, short stuff.”

“Really?” “Definitely.” “Ugh. Gross.”

18 let out a sound that was half groan, half sigh and all frustration as she took a step towards the queasy looking Krillin and in one swift movement, kicked him square in the gut. Not too hard, she didn’t want to kill him yet, but with just enough force to knock him a block or so down the street. Not even 17, who was usually pretty good at reading his crazy sister, had seen it coming and he couldn’t help but laugh as he watched the small bald warrior fly through the air, a stream of literal projectile vomit following behind him.

They watched until he landed with an unceremonious thud in the middle of an empty intersection. Show over, 17 was finally able to turn away from the spectacle, and towards his sister. His one arched eyebrow said more than any words he could produce would be able to.

“I didn’t want him to get it on my boots,” 18 answered his question before he had even asked it. She shrugged her shoulders as she turned her back on the messy scene. “I like these boots.”

 Krillin pushed himself up onto his elbows, pain shooting through every fibre of his body as he tried to piece together what in the hell had just happened. His brain was still cowering behind that car 50 meters up ahead, it needed a few seconds to catch up. That was okay, Krillin had time to wait. It wasn’t like he was completely helpless and alone with two sociopathic killers or anything. What the hell was taking Vegeta so long? If he showed up with a Slurpee or something, Krillin would be so pissed!

“Hey!” apparently his brain had also detoured for an icy treat, because Krillin did not remember standing up, or shouting out to the Androids, who had already lost interest in him and were walking away. Yet here he was, doing exactly that. What was wrong with him? Why was he so hell bent on dying today? “Hey, stop!”

Krillin could feel that vomit coming back up as the twins stopped in their tracks and spun back to face him. He was a good distance away from them now, too far to hear what they were saying to each other, but close enough to know he was still in big trouble.

“Or what?” 17 called, his voice echoing down the empty road. Even from here, Krillin could see the sadistic grin on the Androids face. He swallowed nervously.

 “Or I’ll blast you into the next dimension!”

‘Oh thank god.’ The sound of Vegeta’s voice made Krillin weak at the knees. Relief flooded through him and he may have felt a few tears stinging at the corners of his tired eyes, not that he would ever admit it.

 “Oh, great,” 18 rolled her eyes. Vegeta was a cocky piece of shit who had no right to swan around acting as high and mighty as he did. Sure, he might have been the most technically accomplished fighter this planet had to offer, but he was still no match for her.

“Vegeta,” she spat out his name like it was a bad taste in her mouth. Honestly, she wasn’t in the mood for a real fight today, she just wanted to pick off weaklings like Krillin without ruining her outfit. “You take him,” 18 said to her brother, “I can’t be bothered with that buffoon today.”

“With pleasure!” 17 was like a kid in a candy store as he leapt off the ground and charged up into the sky towards Vegeta. A fierce battle broke out between them immediately. It was a flurry of lighting quick kicks and punches, much too fast for the normal eye to keep track of. 18 held up hands up above her eyes, as a sort of make-shift sun visor, it was a bright day and she wanted the best view possible, it was always fun watching Vegeta get his arse kicked.

 What was happening up above was of very little concern to Krillin right now. He could hear the sonic boom like crashes as arms and legs collided, the familiar crackle of a charging Ki beam and more than a healthy amount of swearing, but he was much more interested in what was happening on the ground.

18 had all but forgotten than he existed as she watched her brother clash with the only person on this planet who was any sort of real threat to them. This was his chance to escape.

Carefully, with the stealthiness of a ninja, Krillin tiptoed his way out of the intersection. 18 either hadn’t noticed his departure, or she didn’t care that he was running away, but he was able to slip around the corner of a building and out of her immediate sight with relative ease. For the first time since he’d offered to go on this stupid mission for Bulma – lesson learned there - Krillin let out a sigh of relief. He felt his muscles starting to relax as he rested his back against the cool brickwork and closed his eyes, he hadn’t realised how tensed up he was. Thank god the Androids didn’t actually engage him in a fight, he was not prepared.

“Help!”

What was that? Krillin’s eyes shot open and he instinctively dropped his body into a battle position. “Help!” he heard it again, a loud whisper. Normally, Krillin would have raced blindly towards the cry, ready to help whoever it was who needed him. Now though, after the cruel encounter he had just had with 18, he wouldn’t put it past her to play mind tricks on him, and so he preceded slowly with weary caution.

Following the sound of frightened whimpering, Krillin ventured into the guts of the building he was hiding behind. Like most every other structure in the city, and the whole world probably, it was mostly collapsed and in no way a safe place to seek refuge, but when the Androids showed up, you hid where you hid and worried about structural integrity later.

“Hello?” Krillin whispered into the darkness, carefully stepping over broken office furniture and collapsed cubical walls. As his eyes adjusted to their new dark surroundings, he was able to make out a figure huddled behind a makeshift forte of old desks which had been pushed onto their sides. Two figures actually.

“Please, sir, help us.”

A woman, maybe in her early twenties popped out from behind the desks, she had a small child, who looked to be about three or four with her, clinging tightly to her leg. She was wearing tattered clothes which were covered in a thick layer of grime, but that wasn’t what caught Krillin’s attention at first. It was her eyes. They were wild with fear. “What’s wrong? Are you alone?”

“Yes,” the woman nodded, seemingly grateful to have found someone kind in this cruel world. “Yes, it’s just me and my son, please, we need supplies. Food, water, anything. Can you help?” She wrung her hands together nervously, already preparing for a no.

Instinctively, Krillin went to reach for his backpack before remembering he’d given it to Yumcha. He had nothing. But he couldn’t do nothing. Not with that woman’s scared eyes burning right into him, begging for help.

A sound interrupted Krillin just as he was about to reply to the woman’s heart wrenching plea. A sizzling noise he knew all too well. “Watch out!” he yelped and lunged towards the woman and her child, knocking them both to the floor. He managed to reach out and scoop the boy into his grip as he was falling, pulling all three of them into a tight huddle, and as he did, a stray energy ball came careening into the building, missing them only by meters. By using his own body as a shield, Krillin was able to protect the pair from the danger of the flaming debris that was falling all around them. It burned through the thin jumper he was wearing as it hit him, scolding his skin, but he had been through worse before, and knew  worse would be coming after, so he grit his teeth and took it, knowing that he was capable of surviving much more than this.

“Are you okay?” he asked, lifting himself up off the pair as he did, and trying not to wince at the long forgotten, yet intimately familiar pain of fresh burns.

The poor woman wrapped her arms around her wailing son and pulled him close into her, she stroked his dark hair and kissed the side of his head over and over, fully aware of how close to losing him she had just been. “Thank you” she said through tears, “Thank you, thank you. You saved us. I’m Nora, this is my son, Ronin.”

“My name is Krillin,” he smiled a warm, honest smile at the pair, but it was short lived. They were still in very real danger. “We need to get out of here. We’re not safe.”

Carefully, Krillin lead the mother and son towards the exit of the dark building. The explosion had blocked their original path, but with some careful rearranging of obstacles, they were able to make it back out into the bright sunlight. Up above Vegeta and 17 were still trading blows, it was hard to tell who had the upper hand from down here, but Krillin had a feeling it wasn’t Vegeta. This whole area could be nothing more than a smoking hole in the ground any second, they needed to get away.

Where the hell was 18? Krillin’s eyes darted around frantically, he had no idea which way to go. Not that it made much difference really, it wasn’t like they were going to outrun her if she decided to toy with them. “This way,” he arbitrarily picked a direction and began to run.

[artemisnightingale216]

Love and What We Do in its Name: Ch 4- Predator

Authors Note: He finally arrives!

Prologue

Chapter 1- Unemployed

Chapter 2- A New Beginning

Chapter 3- Hopeful

Ottilie stared deep into those crimson eyes, nearly lost in their depth. She should have removed herself from the floor by now, but she couldn’t seem to move. Glued to the spot, she was left with nothing to do but stare back as those eyes looked deep into hers as well, almost as if they were looking into her very being. A chill ran down her spine, colder than even her skin. There was no denying that there was a certain allure to them that was drawing her in, but at the same time she found herself afraid of them. They spoke of an ancient time when fear ran deep and creatures roamed the night, searching for prey to sink their teeth into.

***

The demon said nothing as he stared back at her. It was a waiting game she was unwittingly playing with him. He wanted to see who would make the first move. Would he get bored of waiting or would she get nervous enough and look away, he wondered. He wasn’t exactly known for getting bored so easily, however, so it was just a matter of when she would realize the situation she was in.

Her eyes were wide enough that she was clearly alarmed, something he always found amusing, but she wasn’t acting twitchy either. She was surprisingly still whereas anyone else would have either looked away or tried to make a break for it by now. He could almost admire that, but he much prefered outright fear. They were still playing, however, and he was not prepared to lose.

***

Ottilie was not sure how long they stared at each other. It could have been five minutes or it could have been an hour, but either way she realized how odd it must have been for her to just be staring at him like this and eventually blinked rapidly to break whatever spell his eyes had her under. Unknowingly losing their game and making his eyes narrow slightly in satisfaction, she shook her head a bit and regained her focus.

The demon sitting before her appeared to be of the deer variety, two small black antlers sprouting from his head. His two long ears stood straight up, twitching slightly every now and again as if he were searching for unknown noises, and were colored red but blended into black halfway to the tips. His hair, which was cut in an almost bob-style fashion, was colored the same as his ears and his bangs were parted to the side away from his face. Those perplexing eyes were crimson in the scleras but scarlet in the irises, his brows extending in an arch to meet each corner with the area in between being a dark red hue. His smile, which bared large pointed teeth that seemed to spell death in their terrifying glint, was easily the largest part of his face with the way it took up half of it. His nose was of average size, but ended in a point that made it look longer than it actually was. The skin of his face was ashen white, but his hands were black with long slender fingers that extended into scarlet claws in the middle. His attire, not unlike hers, was a thing of the past. His knee length overcoat had large pointed shoulders that appeared to be padded, scarlet pin stripes that ran down the length of it, black lapels, and scarlet cuffs. His undershirt was scarlet and the hem peaked out at the bottom from the opening at the bottom of his overcoat, an inverted black cross spread across his chest as the buttons near the top were left undone. His black pants bent backwards and then forwards again, following the curve of his legs, and were lined with scarlet at the hems. His black dress shoes were long and pointed on his feet, large but somehow slender at the same time. A black monocle with dark red glass sat on the corner of his his left eye and the beaded chain extended down to nowhere, leaving her to wonder how it stayed in place.

“Um… I’m sorry for bumping into you,” she apologized, moving to stand up off the floor.

He moved at the same time as her, surprising her as he reached his full height. Easily towering over her, she just barely came up to his shoulders. Now that he was standing, she could see that the bottom of his overcoat was slightly tattered and it hugged his slender waist, his chest broad in comparison. His legs appeared to be the longest part of him, but that may have had something to do with the fact that she couldn’t see his hips.

“Don’t fret about it, sweetheart! No harm, no fowl!” the demon said in an overzealous tone, pulling her from her thoughts. It was one thing to hear his chuckle, but his voice was another thing entirely. It had a certain charm to it, but the crackle of a microphone that came with each word made it a bit disconcerting.

Something began to nag at her now that she was actually seeing who owned the voice in person. She felt as if she should either be running from him or at the very least extremely cautious around him, but she couldn’t figure out why. She was not naive enough to believe there wasn’t anything he would or could do to harm her; they were in Hell, after all, but he had yet to lay a finger on her, either. Still, there was a voice at the back of her head practically screaming at her to flee from him.

An image suddenly popped into her head. A poster she’d seen many times on buildings while out in the city. A sense of dread filled her and it showed on her face, the first real bit of emotion he’d seen her make. His attire, voice, and demeanor all seemed to make sense as it finally dawned on her who he really was. There were things about the poster that didn’t match up with him, but there were plenty more that did.

“You’re... the Radio Demon… Aren’t you?” she asked quietly, her voice a bit shaky. She already knew the answer before he even said it, but still she dreaded the words that came next.

“Well, I prefer the name Alastor… but yes, I am,” he smiled sinisterly down at her.

***

Alastor was a bit caught off guard by this small slip of a demoness in front of him. Not many demons could recognize him so easily, especially when he was in this inconspicuous form. Charlie and Vaggie had known who he was instantly, but that probably had more to do with the fact that the first of the two was the princess. Angel hadn’t a clue at the time, though, in his case, Angel didn’t pay attention much to anything unless he wanted to have sex with it or found it entertaining; not to say that Angel hadn’t mentioned on more than one occasion that he found him attractive, but they simply weren’t each others types.

He was also a bit confused by her. He was more than used to seeing demons of all shapes, sizes, and colors, but he was certain he’d never seen a blue incubus demoness before. They were also standing at least a foot apart from each other and yet he could feel the cold rolling off of her. He could only imagine what her skin must feel like. It also came as a bit of a surprise that she had a British accent. He knew quite a few people from Britain, but he never would have guessed that she would be as well.

He was certainly not confused by her fear, however. He was more than used to seeing that from both his many years in Hell and even his time as a human. He thrived on it, letting it drive him on like no other emotion could.

“You know, between you and me, quite frankly I’m surprised you caught on so fast. None of the previous maids did… and it cost them dearly,” he pointed out, watching and waiting for her to realize just what he was saying.

“You mean.... Did you… You killed them,” she tripped over her words, catching on to his words rather quickly. It wasn’t even a question by the time she was done with it. She already knew what he’d meant.

“Yes, I did,” he replied bluntly.

“Why would you tell me that? I could easily just run and tell Charlie,” she said, taking a step back and away from him.

“Oh? And who is she going to believe? A long time resident of the hotel,” he placed a hand to his chest, “or some young woman they hired in off the street who could very well just be trying to start trouble?” he gestured with his other hand towards her. Charlie certainly knew him well enough to know it wasn’t a lie, but he would hardly tell her he was bluffing. That would ruin his fun. “Besides… who said I would make it easy on you?” He took a step towards her and leaned down so their faces were level, the sound of static filling the air around them as his eyes took on their unnatural glow.

She was visibly alarmed at the sight of his partial demonic form, but he was completely taken aback when her expression turned to a blank slate. There was nothing about her he could read. No fear, no animosity, no anger. Nothing. It was as if she’d been wiped clean of any sort of personality.

“You’re right. No one would believe me over you. And I have no real reason to tell them. I didn’t know any of the previous maids,” she said, her voice as blank as the face she was making.

He stared at her wide eyed, his ever present smile still on his face even as his jaw closed with a slight ‘clack’. He stood up straight again, not sure what to make of the woman before him. “Well… good to know we’re on the same page, then!” He continued to stare at her for a moment, something being to nag at him now. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“No,” she said with certainty, shaking her head a bit.

“Are you sure?” he asked, raising a brow and tilting his head slightly. “I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere…. I haven’t killed you before, have I?”

“I think I would remember something like that,” she remarked. “Perhaps you’ve seen me on the street or something like that.”

“That’s true, but I don’t think that’s the case… Hm,” he hummed in thought, knowing it would likely bug him all day until he remembered where he’d seen her. “Oh, well! I’m sure it’ll come to me! It appears you have lots of work to do, so I’ll not be taking up any more of your time! I’ll be seeing you around, Miss…?” He trailed off purposefully, knowing full well he hadn’t bothered to ask for her name yet.

“Ottilie,” she replied, not even hesitating to give him her name.

“Ottilie,” he repeated, finding that it had a nice ring to it. “Do have a nice rest of your day, Miss Ottilie!”

“Thank you. I hope you have one, too.” She leaned down and picked up the sheets she’d dropped after they bumped into each other, leaving him to wonder how she expected to carry them all the way down stairs when she could hardly see over it. “I will see you around the hotel, then.” She was careful to step around him this time as she made her way towards the stairs again.

“Oh yes,” he smiled as he watched her retreating figure, a devious sense of satisfaction filling him as his eyes glowed once again. “You certainly will.”

*****

Ottilie wouldn’t admit it, but she’d been happy to be as far away from Alastor as possible once she made it down to the laundry room. She could still feel chills running up and down her spine every time she so much as thought about their encounter even though it’d been nearly two hours. Thankfully, she’d had the laundry to keep her mind otherwise occupied.

When her mind did return to her interaction with the Radio Demon, though, she wondered if his room had been the one with the red ‘x’ on the door. It would only make sense. She hadn’t met everyone in the hotel yet, but she couldn’t imagine there’d be anyone else they’d have to take such drastic measures against. The previous maids who’d been there before her now seemed justified in their refusal to go anywhere near his room. They’d had every right to be wary of him, but that hadn’t seemed to do them any good in the end.

It was strange that they hadn’t reported him to Charlie once they recovered from whatever he did to them, though. Demons regenerated any wounds they might sustain and it usually didn’t take them long. Regeneration speed depended on the demons themselves, but they always bounced back one way or another, so his admission to having killed them perplexed her. She’d expected him to correct her and say he’d either harmed or scared them into silence, but he hadn’t done either. The only thing that could kill a demon were the spears that the Exterminators carried, so she could only hope that he hadn’t gotten his hands on one.

Unable to bare the thought any longer, she shook anything having to do with Alastor from her mind. She knew it would be hard considering he lived in the same place she worked, but it wouldn’t bother her at all if she never had to talk to him again. She’d be even happier if they had nothing to do with each other at all.

It was much easier to focus now without Alastor on her mind. She could more easily get her work done and find time to get the laundry room in a working order. Charlie and Vaggie probably had a lot on their plate, so she could hardly blame them for the state it was in. Getting it organized between loads reminded her of when she would set out Angels makeup and pick up after him once shooting was done for the day. Some things never seemed to change for her.

Despite the sound of the washer and dryer going constantly, it was remarkably quiet in the basement. The concrete walls surrounding her blocked out the sound of footsteps above her head and no one bothered her while she worked, leaving her with a rare sense of peace. At the studio, she’d next to never been alone with people rushing out and about and at her cottage she’d only ever felt lonely, but at least here she knew there were others not too far away.

Like it always did, the need to hum came unconsciously. It was a lovely little tune with no real words to it that rose and fell like the tide in the sea. Eventually, though, it turned into a steady rhythm and words began to flow quietly from between her lips.

“Dancing bears,

Painted wings,

Things I almost remember,

And a song someone sings,

Once upon a December.

Someone holds me safe and warm,

Horses prance through a silver storm,

Figures dancing gracefully across my memory.”

She swayed slightly with the beat of the tune, the washer and dryer almost seeming to play along with her. Her hands paused in their task of folding the pillow case she’d been holding as her arms raised into the air and her feet began to move, her entire body gliding and spinning around the floor as if she were in a trance. Gone for the moment was the pain in her feet and any other worry she’d had on her mind.

“Someone holds me safe and warm,

Horses prance through a silver storm,

Figures dancing gracefully across my mem-.”

She never got to finish the melody. There was a brief flash of cold pain across her head, like someone had taken a spike made of ice and stabbed it into her brain, before she was sent into a kneeling position on the floor. Though brief, the pain had left her reeling. She felt dizzy and weightless, like she might completely drop to the floor at any second. She held her head between her hands and closed her eyes, taking deep breaths to steady herself as she waited for whatever ailment had fallen over her to subside. Once it did, a strange image came to her mind. It was short, only lasting about as the pain had, but still carrying a significant amount of weight to it.

It was a memory.

There was a man standing in front of her, but he toward over her, the top of her head just barely coming up to his hip. He was wearing a finely tailored white suit and black loafers, for whatever odd reason making her wonder why he wasn’t wearing a brown suit, and his shoulder length blonde hair was tied back in a low bow. Her toes were placed on top of his and his large hands held her tiny ones as he kept her balanced. He was smiling down at her as he said, “Would my lovely little Lottie care to dance with me?”

It was so short. Perhaps only thirty seconds or even a minute at best, but even so she knew it was a memory. With really so few to speak of, she’d been grasping at them and holding tight so she wouldn’t lose a single one, so there was no trace of doubt that it wasn’t just her imagination. The problem was, however, that it certainly didn’t come from her time in Hell. She would have never allowed herself to forget those kind and lovely green eyes.

‘My childhood, perhaps?’ she thought, but that didn’t make any sense. She couldn’t remember anything prior to the day she’d died, so there was no reason she should have this memory. ‘Unless…’

A sense of excitement filled her as she stood from the floor and rushed out of the room like it was on fire. Not even caring if she got lost, she ran up and down the hallways, looking into each room she passed and forgetting her manners as she threw open doors without knocking first. In one of the rooms was a short fish-like demon messing around with multi colored liquid filled vials, beakers and burners all around the table he was standing at.

He turned to look at her in surprise, nearly dropping the purple beaker he was holding, his hands fumbling quickly for it before he firmly gripped it again. His surprise turned to a grimace as he regarded her. “Why don’t you knock next time?” His jaw dropped as she simply closed the door without so much as an apology. “Humph. How rude.” He moved to turn back to the table, but the beaker slipped out of his hand and fell to the floor, the glass shattering against the hardwood. “Uh oh,” he frowned as smoke began to rise from the bubbling spot.

Ottilie ignored the small explosion she heard behind her as she came to a cross in the hallway. She looked up and down the hall, unsure of where to go. Feeling as if she were trapped in a maze, she briefly entertained the idea of just giving up and finding the stairwell when a familiar voice echoed down the hall. Sprinting faster than she had that morning when she was being toad around, she followed the voice until she found herself standing outside a drawing room with a bar to one side and seating area to the other.

Angel was sitting at the bar, two hands on his hip, one elbow on the wooden surface, and the other hand propping up his chin. A seductive smile was spread across his face as he addressed the person bent over the bar with his head buried in his arms, apparently trying to ignore his flirting. “Why do you keep trying to fight this thing we have between us, Pussyfoot? Wouldn’t it be easier to just give in to your feelings?”

“The only feeling I have right now is the desire to break a bottle over your head,” came a muffled reply, the voice sounding tired and hoarse.

“Oh, so you do have a desire for me?” Angel laughed, leaning closer to the bent over man. “And you’re even comin’ up with fantasies already. How practical of you.” His affections were met with a groan of annoyance, but he never got the chance to address it.

“Angel Dust!” Ottilie called excitedly as she rushed into the room.

Angel looked up in shock at hearing her call for him so loudly while his companion merely peeked out from his arms before burying his head again. Ottilie nearly skidded past him, but he caught her shoulders and held her in place as she panted slightly from the exertion of running. “Whoa, where’s the fire, kiddo? Or do I just make you that hot?”

“I’m about as hot for you as the temperature of my skin,” Ottilie replied, making Angel pout slightly.

“I’m a little busy here, toots. Can’t this wait until-,” Angel started as he gestured his head toward the bent over man.

“I had a memory!” Ottilie beamed, catching him off guard.

“Wait, what? Really?” Angel asked, his eyes wide before they filled with delight. “What happened? Tell me everything!”

“I was doing the wash in the laundry room when suddenly I saw this image of a man. I was so small, so I think I must have been a child. He had me standing on his feet and was holding my hands when he asked me to dance,” Ottilie explained, a smile on her face as she recalled it, the image still playing over and over in her head.

“That’s what all the fuss was about?” the man asked, peeking out from his arms again and raising a brow at her. “Seems like a lot of fuss over nothing.”

Angel narrowed his eyes slightly. “She has memory loss. Up until now, she hasn’t been able to remember anything since the time she died.”

The man gave a crude and unconvincing laugh. “Lucky.”

“Eh, don’t mind him,” Angel rolled his eyes. “He’s been a grouch ever since Queenie and Princess took away his liquor.”

“Don’t say liquor,” the man groaned again.

Ottilie looked between the two for a moment before her gaze settled on the one bent over. “I take it this is Husk, then?”

He raised his head fully now and looked at her, his brows furrowed. “How do you know that?” He leaned forward slightly, looking rather angry now. “Did the casinos send you? Tell them I’m not paying a cent until they apologize for being a bunch of cu-.”

“I don’t work for any casino. Angel Dust talks about you a lot, is all,”  Ottilie explained.

Angel laughed nervously at that. “What she means is, I mentioned everyone from time to time when we worked together on the set. It’s not like I went out of my way to talk about you or nothin’.”

“I said what I meant,” Ottilie deadpanned, making Angels face fall in annoyance as Husks fell in disinterest.

In the short silence that followed, Ottilie took that time to look over the person that had apparently left Angel so enamored.

Husk appeared to be of the cat variety, something she didn’t see much of in Hell. The thing that set him apart from most cat demons, however, were the large scarlet, black, and white wings sprouting from his shoulders; the majority of the feathers were scarlet, but black stripes containing red hearts and whites spades inside them lined the inside, and plain black stripes on the outside with a row of dots between the top two stripes and a row of hearts between the bottom three. Had he been standing up straight, she would have seen that he was fairly tall, coming up to Angels shoulder when not including his ears. He was covered from head to toe in white and black fur, the fur resembling a suite but in reality he was practically naked; the only two pieces of clothing he was actually wearing was a scarlet and gold buckled top hat and a scarlet bow tie around his neck. A black tail hung from his backside, the tip fanning out into feathers that matched his wings, but were without the hearts and spades. The interior of his ears were white with pink stripes and white hearts and his small black nose was heart shaped as well. His scarlet eyebrows were thick and bushy, starting out thin but thickening as they extended away from his head. The black fur on his arms poofed out at his elbows and his fingers were white, making it look like he was wearing fingerless gloves. His eyes were a dark brown with his irises standing out in a lovely gold, but there were dark circles under and around his eyes, like he was constantly tired.

“Any how, you two haven’t been properly introduced yet. Pussyfoot, this is Angel Face. Angel Face, this is Pussyfoot,” Angel said, clearly not liking the silence that appeared to have been centered around him.

Husk let out a long sigh as he sat up, though he still leaned against the bar, and held out a hand towards her. “Husk.”

“Ottilie,” she said in reply as she hesitantly took his hand. She was rather surprised to find that his hands were cold as well. Not nearly as cold as hers, but cold enough that she could tell they weren’t as warm as they were supposed to be. Like most people, he noticed how cold to the touch she was even through gloves, but it didn’t seem to bother him as much as it did others. “Do you drink often?” she asked once they pulled apart.

“Whenever I can,” Husk shrugged, placing his chin in his hand. “Which isn’t very often around here.”

Angel looked at her in question. “Why do you look like you just ate a lemon?”

Ottilies face had contorted into one of displeasure. She’d been unaware of this until it returned to its blank state. “I don’t know. It just sort of happened.”

“I’m guessing you don’t drink often, then,” Husk assumed.

“I’ve never had any alcohol, that I know of. I’ve tried to, but something made me stop every time I tried,” she explained. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

Husk shrugged again. “I’ve had worse done to me. Sour faces don’t bother me anymore. Nothing really bothers me anymore.” He glanced over at Angels smirking face. “Except you.”

“Oh, come off it, Pussyfoot. You know you want all this,” Angel said as he caressed his chest and slide his hands down the length of his body. Husk rolled his eyes and started walking around the bar, his back slumped a bit and his steps unenthusiastic. “Hey, where are you going?” Husk ignored him as he headed towards the entryway. “Come back here! I will not be ignored!” He chased after him, making Husk move faster than he had before.

Ottilie shook her head, feeling a pang of pity for Husk. Once Angel set his sights on someone, there was no stopping him until he got what he wanted. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him go so hard someone, however. Then again, Angel didn’t handle rejection very well, and Husk appeared to be doing just that every step of the way. That would only make him want Husk all the more.

With nothing left for her upstairs, she returned to the basement, painfully aware of the throbbing in her feet again as she waited for the washer and dryer to finish their last load. Once she was out of sight, she slipped her shoes off and let the cool stone beneath her feet soothe her pain. While one foot sat against the concrete, she rubbed at the other, feeling slight relief without the cumbersome confines of her shoes.

Thinking back to the shoes in her closet at home, she realized she didn’t have any that would be appropriate for this sort of work. Everything she had only had heels on them. She didn’t have enough money to go out and buy a new pair of shoes, either. She wasn’t even sure if her landlord would wait for her to have enough money to pay off what she would owe; her landlord had always been a stern woman who didn’t allow any wiggle room when it came to her tenants. She was more than happy to have a job once again, but in the end she was halfway back to where she was at the beginning, which was facing living out on the streets, if only for a short while.

***

So deep in her thoughts as Ottilie was, she was unaware of the figure lurking near the doorway, watching her intently with a predatory gaze.

Like most things, it didn’t go unnoticed by him that her shoes were causing her pain. That simply wouldn’t do for him. If she fell behind in her work, she may lose her job and his new prey might disappear from sight; it wouldn’t be the first time Vaggie had let someone go for falling behind, something that had always miffed him in the past. Not to say that he wouldn’t be able to find her; he’d found all the others who’d been unexpectedly let go without a problem on his part. It would be an inconvenience for him, though, and he was not about to take that chance due to poor choice of footwear.

It had become a sort of habit for Alastor to watch the maids, be they new or old. In the beginning, when there maids a plenty, he would spend most of his day watching them. He would learn their habits, how they interacted with the guests and each other, and what seemed to frighten them the most. The others had been easy. They wore their emotions as easily as they wore their uniforms.

Right off the bat, Ottilie seemed to be a special case. Unlike the other maids and just about everyone else in Hell, she had looked him dead in the eye and showed no fear. Or any emotion at all, for that matter. There was something admirable to him about this, but the smell of her fear and the look on her face had been delectable to him. For someone to hardly show emotion like she did, one could almost consider them a delicacy.

He could smell her even though the laundry soap and water wafting through the air. Whatever emotion she’d been feeling when she’d been sprinting through the halls was what made him follow her, the fragrance like an irresistible perfume to him. Her scent was cool, like the first snowfall of winter over a field of mint leaves, but there were brief undertones of spring there as well. Orange blossoms, jasmine, rosewood, and just a hint of lavender. They were best noticeable whenever she had a spike in her emotions and left his mouth watering in anticipation.

He knew he was hooked. There was no denying it for him. He craved that scent like an addict craved their fix. He needed more of it. He would have more of it even if it was the last thing he ever did and, if he had any say in the matter, he would have a taste of her as well.

He was going to enjoy this.

***

“Good afternoon, Angel Dust. You’re looking rather radiant today,” Alastor casually approached the spider demon where he sat in the foyer, his and Ottilies interaction not too long ago telling him that the two were fairly close, and her scent pooling off of him only furthering that assumption. If he was going to get any useful information he could use, it would be from him, though he knew it would be tricky. While not necessarily smart, the long legged demon was quick witted and prone to anger, meaning he’d have to tread lightly if he was going to get what he needed.

Like Alastor knew he would, Angel ate the compliment up and turned to look at him with a smirk as he placed the magazine he’d been reading in his lap. “Well, you’re not lookin’ too bad yourself, deer boy.”

Alastor ignored the nickname and returned the smirk. “You seem to be in rather good spirits, too. Anything special happen today?”

“Well, I finally got that thing that was stuck in my teeth out, if that’s what you’re askin’,” Angel shrugged as he picked the magazine back up and resumed slowly flipping through the pages. It wasn’t what Alastor had meant at all and he felt a twinge of annoyance, wondering how anyone could be so daft. “Oh, and I got a gal pal of mine a job here. That’s something, I guess.”

Alastors eyes narrowed slightly and his smirk widened, this fact going unnoticed by the other demon. It was a step in the right direction. “Really, now? It wouldn’t happen to be that new maid I saw out and about, would it?”

“Yeah. She used to be my makeup gal but they canned her cause they said her work was too ‘old fashioned.’ I thought it was great, but hey, what do I know? I’m only the star, right?” Angel chuckled.

“Right,” Alastor agreed for the sake of his cause. “That’s such a shame, though. Poor girl must have been devastated when she lost her job.”

“She was, but I found her in the nick of time,” Angel commented.

“Oh, really? How so?” Alastor pressed further, smoothly making it seem like he was just keeping the conversation going.

“She was about to lose her place in a few days if she didn’t find a job soon. Lucky for her, I swooped in and found her one. She’s lucky I’m such a saint who always looks after his pals,” Angel said, half sarcastic and half serious.

Now that was certainly something Alastor could use to his advantage. “Yes,” his smile broadened further. “Very lucky for her indeed.” He checked the time on the clock. “I’m very sorry to have to cut our conversation short, but I have a prior engagement I need to attend to. Please do excuse me.”

“Sure, sure,” Angel waved him off as he headed down the hall, unaware of the trouble he might have just caused.

***

“Come in,” Charlie called from the other side of the door, Alastor having knocked lightly on it. He walked into the room and shut the door behind him. “Oh, Alastor! Right on time, as always! Come in and make yourself comfortable. I’ll put the tea on.” She set the papers she’d been looking over aside on the desk and stood from her chair.

“Thank you,” he said as he walked over to the sitting area in the study-turned-office, the routine all too familiar after having done it every week for several months. He propped his staff up against the arm of the sofa and waited patiently as he took his usual seat at the end of it. “We have a new employee, I see.”

“Oh, yeah! Ottilie! Really nice once you get to know her, but a bit shy at first. I think she’ll do well around here,” Charlie said as she waited for the tea bags to seep into the hot water and pulled out a small stack of papers while she did. “Hopefully we can keep her on. I just don’t understand why the other girls just up and left like they did.”

“Well, I’m sure they had their reasons,” he cocked his head slightly. He always found her naivety to be childlike and quite frankly laughable, but it suited his needs. She had been wary of him in the beginning, but in the end never saw what was going on right under her nose.

“I’m sure they did, too, but I wish they’d at least have left a notice. Maybe Vaggie was right. Hiring people that came after the nineteen fifties was a bad idea,” Charlie shook her head and sighed as she handed him a cup and saucer before placing the papers on the table. She placed them in an orderly fashion so she could see the more important parts and sat down. “Now, last session we got into the emotions you feel whenever you get the urge to kill someone, so I thought we’d expand further on that. Tell me about your day, Alastor. Tell me how you’re feeling in this very moment.”

He just loved it when things fell right into place for him and he barely had to do a thing to make it happen. Resisting the smirk that pulled at his face, he let his smile waver as he stirred his tea and placed the spoon down. “Well… you see… I find myself troubled.”

“Oh no. Did something happen?” Charlie asked worriedly.

“Not to me, per say, but poor Miss Ottilie,” he explained, feigning worry himself but somehow still masterfully wearing his signature smile. “I’m afraid I’ve just learned that she’s been facing being put out on the streets. Angel tells me that this job was her way of keeping off of them, but I fear she won’t be able to afford her lodgings with only a few days left to come up with it.” He let out a sigh and took a sip of his tea. “If only there were some way to help her.”

Charlie looked incredibly empathetic in that moment, her eyes staring down at the table as she wracked her brain for some sort answer to this unforeseen problem. Her face brightened as an idea seemed to strike her and a smile pulled across her face. “Why don’t we just have her stay here? She works here already, so it only makes sense!”

Alastor smiled as well. “Now isn’t that just a wonderful idea! I’m sure she… wait…”

“What is it?” Charlie asked, her face falling slightly.

“I only had a small chance to speak with the young miss today but, from what I can tell, she seems much too prideful to accept such a generous offer,” he pointed out.

“That’s true.” Charlie thought to herself again, her finger tapping her chin. “Oh! We can just tell her it’s something we do for all the employees! I’m sure she’ll want to take it then!”

He was practically beaming at her now, feeling a slight sense of pride that she was able to work it out more or less on her own. “Fantastic! That ideas more sensational than the building of the Hoover Dam!”

“This is so amazing! Thinking about other people is a sure sign you’re on the road to redemption! I’m really proud of you, Alastor!” Charlie clapped her hands. “I’ll go and tell her right now! Do you mind waiting while I do?”

“No problem at all, sweetheart. I can wait all day if you need me to,” Alastor smiled.

“Great! I’ll be back as soon as I can! Don’t go anywhere!” Charlie said as she dashed out of the room.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

***

Eventually, the buzzer on the dryer went off and Ottilie let out a sigh as she was pulled from her thoughts. After switching out the sheets and beginning to fold the dry ones, she decided she would go and talk to her landlord. With a bit of hope, her landlord would be a bit understanding, or she would have a few days to pack her handful of belongings. At the very least, it would give her some piece of mind.

She was putting away the folded linens when the sound of hurried footsteps ran across the floor above her head. She looked up in confusion, wondering if running about was common in the hotel. Working below the first floor, she assumed she’d have to get used to the sound.

It wasn’t until the sound started to echo through the room that she realized whoever it was had come to the basement. She turned to the door, a slightly look of worry on her face. There was really no reason someone should be coming down here unless they needed her for something. Her worry spread into a bit of fear, wondering if it was Alastor coming. She may have been able to put on a blank face in front of him, but that didn’t mean she was stupid enough not to be afraid of him. As the footsteps came closer and closer, she backed away until her back hit the washer, wanting to put as much distance between herself and the door as she could.

“Ottilie!” a voice called, making her jump in surprise, before she saw a blur of white, black, and blonde go skidding past the door. A second later she heard a crash followed by the clatter of mops, brooms, and a bucket went rolling past the doorway. Charlie came into the view after removing herself from the floor, her clothes rumpled and hand against the doorframe to steady herself. “There you are. I’m glad I found you before you left.” She was slightly out of breath, having run all the way there.

“Oh,” Ottilie said, relaxing a bit at the knowledge that it wasn’t Alastor. “Did you need me for-.” She happen to glance down and ended up doing a double-take. Trying to repress the smile that was trying to overtake her face, she covered her mouth as her shoulders shook slightly.

Charlie cocked her head in confusion. “What is it?” Ottilie pointed at her foot, unable to speak for fear of bursting out laughing. She looked down to see a bucket stuck to her foot. Her cheeks burned in embarrassment and her own smile reflected this as she looked back up. After kicking the bucket off her foot, she adjusted her clothing and righted herself before clearing her throat. “Yes. I did need you. There was something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Ottilie felt her worry return. Charlies tone was all business and, in her experience, that never ended well for her. “Have I done something wrong?”

Charlies eyes widened. “Huh? Oh, no! No, no, no! You haven’t done anything wrong at all!” She walked further into the room before stopping and looking around, noticing how tidy it was now. A smile came to her face. “Actually, you seem to be doing really well. No, I just wanted to talk to you about your room here.”

“My… my room?” Ottilie asked in confusion.

“Yeah! All the employees here get their own room during the duration of their employment here!” Charlie explained. “We figure since you’ll be working here anyway, it only seems fair that we give you your own room.”

Ottilie should have been jumping at the chance to take what was being offered her. Anyone else would have, but she found herself reluctant to do so. She had spent a long time living in relative seclusion, only leaving her home when it was necessary. There were times when she was lonely, but her seclusion had kept her safe. It had kept people from asking questions and looking at her like a pariah. No one had done that here, but it was only a matter of time, and her interview with Charlie had left her uncomfortable enough.  

It wasn’t as if she was attached to her home, though. Most of the furniture there belonged to her landlord and the articles that did were only trivial possessions. Even so, there was something about it that she was reluctant to leave behind. Perhaps it was because she had spent so much of her time there that many of the memories she had, bland and boring as they might seem, were permanently tied to it.

Was she really willing to take the chance of uprooting her entire life, she wondered.

“Um… I…” Ottilie trailed off, unsure of what to say.

“Yes?” Charlie asked, confused at Ottilies hesitance.

“Well… it’s not that I’m not grateful for the offer but-,” Ottilie started.

“Of course she’ll take the room!” Angel proclaimed as he came bursting into the room, walking over to stand beside her.

“But Angel Dust, I-,” Ottilie started again before he shushed her.

“I need to borrow her for a second. Hold that thought,” Angel said as he placed his hands on her shoulders and scooted her out of the room, Charlie watching them go with no idea what to do in this situation. “Why didn’t you say yes as soon as she offered it to you? This is a really good opportunity for you!”

“I know but…” Ottilie trailed off once again, not used to voicing her thoughts like this.

“But what?” Angel pressed, not letting the subject drop for a second.

“I’m scared,” she admitted in a quiet voice, quieter than usual.

“Why? I’m here with you, aren’t I? What do you have to be scared of?” he crossed all of his arms.

“I… I…” The words kept getting stuck in her throat, not wanting to come up no matter how hard she tried to force them. She let out a long sigh, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Nevermind. I was just being silly. Of course I’ll take the room.”

“Yay!” they heard Charlie cheer from inside the room.

******

A figure across the street from the hotel waited patiently outside of a casino, not intending to go in to either establishments. His arms were crossed over his chest and his back was leaning against the brick wall behind him, his fingers tapping his forearms in slight agitation. He was patient, but only to a certain extent. He’d been waiting there for a few hours now and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could endure it.

“Hey, budy. You looking for a good time?” a demon approached him as he opened his jacket, revealing a hidden pocket with a packet of a white, powdery substance inside.

He sneered in annoyance. It hadn’t been the first time someone had come towards him to offer their cheap, knock off drugs. They may have been in the upper class area, but that didn’t necessarily mean the drugs met those standards. He wasn’t against the use of drugs. He quite enjoyed them, but he needed to be level headed and he couldn’t be in the right state of mind with them in the picture. He also wasn’t in the habit of lowering himself to partaking in buying from such a low life demon. He had standards, after all.

“Beat it, quack. I wouldn’t touch that stuff even it were coated in gold,” he replied.

The demon growled and spit at his feet. “Suit yourself, ya dick.” He stalked off, looking for another potential buyer as he stuffed his hands into his pockets.

His sneer turned into a grimace as he looked down at the snot on his previously polished loafers. After pulling a handkerchief out of the pocket on his chest, he wiped the blemish from his person and tossed it aside, wanting nothing more to do with the tainted cloth. He then brushed a miniscule speck of dirt from his suit, making sure he was perfectly presentable before the public.

He noticed a few women smirking at him as they passed, flirty smiles on their faces as they looked him over. Reasonably handsome as he was, their attraction was only furthered by the fine clothing he wore. He smirked back at them, having to resist the urge to chase after and work his charm on them. If he left to chase after them, he’d miss his chance, and he couldn’t promise it would end well for them once it was all said and done.

His patience seemed to have paid off, though, because he saw four figures stepping out of the hotel. One he recognized as the princess, the tallest he knew from some adult magazines he’d happened upon, and the other he’d never seen before. The fourth, however, he felt his eyes narrow on, that blue skin and lavender hair all too recognizable. The four of them walked down the stairs and waited as a limo started come around from the back.

He hurried across the street, pretending to look down at his phone as he slowed his pace once he was within hearing distance of them.

“Now, I know staying here at the hotel will be a bit of an adjustment for you, but we’ll try to make it as easy as possible!” the princess said enthusiastically.

“And be sure to let us know if anyone starts to give you trouble. I can name more than one who’ll do that,” the unknown grey skinned demon said as she glanced at the taller male demon.

“Hey, I know how to be behave!” he shot back. “I just choose not to.”

“Angel Dust, Vaggie, not now,” the princess hushed the two before turning back to Ottilie. “For now, why don’t we focus on getting your things and then we can get you settled into your new room? Hopefully we can get your things all in one go.”

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” Ottilie said. “I don’t have much.”

“That’s a relief,” Angel sighed before Vaggie punched him in the gut, not giving him any time to retaliate as the limo pulled up and she climbed inside. He grimaced in anger. “Get back out here, you little bi-!” The rest of his words were lost as he jumped in as well, the long car starting to rock once he was inside.

“Oh, come on! I just had the upholstery fixed after the last fight you two had!” the princess ducked inside, clearly not in the mood to break up another fight.

Ottilie stepped in once they were all inside and closed the door, the limo pulling off and driving down the street.

He felt his phone start to crack as he gripped it to the point of breaking. He couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Anger was bubbling and festering inside of him, making his already red skin turn an even darker shade, and steam began to rise up around him.

Ottilie had spent only one day at the hotel and yet here she was moving into it. He knew all about the hotel and what it was made for, but he couldn’t believe for even a second that she would be signing up for the redemption program. It just wasn’t her style. It also wouldn’t suite with his needs if she was. He needed her alone, not around other demons who could hinder his plans.

The phone began to melt in his hands and he dropped it before the molten pieces could stick to his hands. Though there was no dirt on them, he brushed his hands against each other and calmed himself as he turned away from the hotel. Getting angry right now wouldn’t help him. He simply needed to adjust his plans.

He was deep in thought as he walked the opposite way the limo had gone down the street. Everything he’d worked for the last few months had just been tarnished, so he had a lot to think about. He needed to find a way to get her alone again, but that would be difficult around so many people, especially with the princess involved. One wrong move and he’d have the whole of Hell raining down on him. He’d have to tread lightly, but that simply wasn’t his style. He much prefered to work out in the open where everyone could see him. Everything he came up with, however, only seemed to end badly in his favor.

It wasn’t until someone bumped into him that his thoughts were interrupted. The woman looked him up and down and glared up at him. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going? You males can be so careless.” He grumbled a few profanities and adjusted his suit as she stalked off, her nose turned up in the air like she was better than him. He was tempted to show her where she could stick her nose, but something caught his eye before he could make the decision.

A neon sign was blinking high over his head, the bright letters letting him know that he had somehow made his way all the way to the West side of the Pentagram. He stared up at the sign for a moment, the gears in head turning with gusto. A wicked smile spread across his face as he stepped toward the building the sign was attached to.

The woman sitting in the reception hall looked up from filling her nails as he stepped inside, immediately rolling her eyes at the sight of him. “We told you before. We don’t want your business here anymore.”

“Oh, come on, Harriet. You and I go way back. Just hear me out, won’t you?” he asked as he walked over to the desk, leaning his elbow on it in a flirtatious manner. She gave him a dull look in reply, clearly not willing to. He gave her a quick look over. “That’s a lovely blouse you’re wearing. Is it new?”

“This old thing?” Harriet looked down at her top. “Yeah, it is.” She smiled at him, confirming that he’d at least gotten her on the hook, now he just needed to reel her in.

“It suits you so well. I can’t remember the last time I saw a woman look so radiant,” he smirked. Her eyes fluttered as she turned her head to the side and giggled. He let out a sigh. “Well, I know when I’m not wanted. I won’t take up any more of your time.” He turned away but paused. “I’m glad I could see you one more time.”

Harriet bit her lip as she watched him go, calling out, “Wait!” when he reached the door.

His hand stopped on the handle, a smiling pulling briefly at his face before he wiped it off and turned back to her, looking a bit sad. He always knew how to work her down. “Yes?”

Harriet let out a long sigh, her shoulders sagging a bit. “I’m not supposed to do this, especially after the last time, but I’ll overlook it because it’s you.”

He let his smile return. “I always knew I could count on you, Harriet.”

“But no money up front. You either deliver the product or you don’t get paid at all,” Harriet said matter of factly.

“Of course. I’ve learned my lesson,” he swore, taking off his hat and pressing it to his chest as he raised his free hand in the air.

“I’m not kidding. This is your last chance here, understand?” Harriet asked, crossing her arms. He nodded. “So what’s the name, Elias?”

His smile turned cruel and sadistic as he placed his hat back on his head. “Ottilie.”

[dragonshost]

Two’s Company

Look at me, doing my own challenge like a nerd.  I love 50 sentence challenges, but this is my first attempt at one.  It took a long time to finish, but I’m proud of and happy with the result.

Fandom: Fairy Tail Pairing: Minerva x Max Challenge: Link Dedicated to: @ahumanintraining & @lucienn​

1. Frisky

That Minerva was even capable of being frisky was not something that Max would have ever thought possible before the Grand Magic Games, but somehow knowing that even her playful side had a somewhat cruel tinge to it made it much more believable.

2. Eye

Discount train fares were slapped proudly into Minerva’s outstretched palm, much to her shock; Max’s eye for bargains was not to be underestimated, she decided, and something she would have to make use of if they ever went on another joint job.

3. Cat

“I’m sorry,” Minerva apologized, running a lint roller over her evening dress, picking up red cat hairs galore, “but this is probably going to take a while – what do you think about eating in, instead?”

4. Rose

It was a cliché, certainly, but Max had always been a sucker for the classics… and more to the point, it seemed that Minerva was as well, if the blush rising in her cheeks as she inspected the dozen long stemmed red roses was anything to judge by.

5. Guilt

As a spoon rapped upon his knuckles, Max let out a yelp and guiltily withdrew his hand from the bowl of batter Minerva viciously guarded.

6. Heroes

Minerva envied Max his view of the world – so bright and full of heroes to look up to, whereas her own childhood had contained only villains.

7. Spell

He wasn’t anything special to look at, painfully average even – so how was it that Minerva found herself so thoroughly under the spell of his smile?

8. Flawless

A flawless gem of any decent size was more than a little out of Max’s price range, but maybe something flawed would be better suited for them, anyway.

9. Badge

There was a small scar on Minerva’s eyelid – a hardly noticeable, tiny thing, a memento of her time as a demon – that Max would place a kiss upon every night; a badge of merit worth more to Minerva than any the Council could ever bestow.

10. Foam

Minerva stood in the surf, her arms gripping Max’s, as she tried not to giggle at the tickle of foam around their legs.

11. Believer

Most of her days with him were spent waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the day Max would inevitably figure out that she was damaged and not worth the effort, because one day it would, and she had never been a believer of fairy-tale happy endings in the first place.

12. Dancer

Lucy’s impromptu lessons way back when had not really improved Max’s capabilities as a dancer, as Minerva’s sore feet soon found out.

13. Eastern

Max thought maybe there had been a little more enthusiasm than necessary in their kiss for the fake couple act they were trying to pull off for the eastern border patrol, but he wasn’t so sure he minded.

14. Obsession

The rate at which the scruffy Fairy Tail mage was overtaking her daily thoughts was beginning to border on obsession, much to Minerva’s frustration.

15. Gift

An accounting tome hardly seemed an appropriate gift after all the wonderful memories and happiness he’d given to her over the past year, but he certainly did seem extremely excited when he unwrapped it.

16. Plaid

Plaid was definitely not a style Max wore well, but he did wear it proudly, legs akimbo, as Minerva laughed herself silly at his ridiculously scrawny limbs sticking out of the kilt.

17. Weak

To love was to be weak, Jiemma had told her many times, and to be loved was to be pitied – though she was finding that Max’s love made her feel strong, instead.

18. Judgement

This scruffy Fairy had no right to sit in judgement of her, of the things she’d had to do to survive.

19. Fight

An inter-guild brawl was truly something else, Max thought, carefully sweeping bits of the fight debris away from the comatose former combatants, but the warm light spilling from Sabertooth’s kitchen was good company, and so was the gentle humming emanating from within.

20. Monarchy

Max couldn’t help but think it was a bit rich to hear about the faults of monarchy as a government system when it was coming from someone with a former king-complex.

21. Purple

It may have been a faux-pas of the highest order to don the color of royalty at a party which boasted attendance of the genuine article, but Max thought Minerva looked truly stunning in her dress all the same.

22. Crawl

The whispered words of her many detractors didn’t usually crawl under her skin this much, though Minerva suspected it only did so now because she had changed for the better, even if only a few people acknowledged that fact.

23. Hook

It was a strange feeling, of hooks sinking into his very being, and Max sort of wished that his heart had chosen someone a little less dangerous to fixate upon.

24. Rebel

The strength it must have taken for Minerva to rebel against her father in all the little ways that she had was something Max would always admire in her.

25. Feather

Feather-light kisses trailing up her neck, Minerva believed that there was no better place in the world to be than here and loved so much.

26. Ocean

Max inhaled deeply – the breeze carrying with it the scent of the nearby ocean – and he rejoiced that he and Minerva were able to spend their vacation in such a lovely location as this resort.

27. Cryptic

Puzzling out the cryptic reasons behind Minerva’s seemingly unprovoked rages could be a chore and a half; the labyrinth of Minerva’s horrible upbringing hiding more monsters within it than Max would probably ever be permitted to fully understand.

28. Disorientation

Minerva woke up violently, her heart hammering in her chest, cold sweat plastering her clothes and hair to her skin, and found herself in a place she didn’t immediately recognize; it was only upon seeing Max’s sleeping face that the disorientation left over from her nightmares faded, and she was able to calm down once more.

29. Aquatic

Monsters of the aquatic persuasion and seafaring criminals, Minerva discovered, were a lot easier to deal with when one’s partner could create a sandbar anywhere and beach them with ease.

30. Mysterious

Max’s ability to talk about nothing for hours on end would never cease to be bafflingly mysterious to Minerva.

31. Scheme

Concocting a proper scheme to surprise Minerva for her birthday was a tricky proposition at best, but Max was more than willing to rise to the admittedly daunting occasion to make it the most memorable one for her yet.

32. Horizon

Their future together had always felt a transient thing, much like the setting and rising of the sun over the horizon, and yet… it always seemed just as inevitable, as well.

33. Pale

“You need to leave your shop and get some sunlight once in a while,” Minerva lectured her beloved, “and don’t even try to convince me that you already have because you’re paler than Yukino’s hair.”

34. Cheerful

It was an unspoken rule in Sabertooth that under no circumstances were Max and Sting to be left alone with each other for any length of time, or else their equally cheerful dispositions would lead the guild into something catastrophic for them all.

35. Opposition

“How does it feel to be dating the opposition?” Jason inquired of the pair, his enthusiasm for the topic only damped slightly by Minerva’s glare and prior threats upon his person should he even consider uttering the word, “cool,” again.

36.  Daydream

Sometimes, Minerva allowed her mind to wander to the future, her heart and soul filling with pleasant daydreams of a life spent happily with her favorite scruffy Fairy and children they might one day have.

37. Sprites

Malicious sprites were stomping all over her stomach, and Minerva wanted nothing more than to throttle them into submission, but that would have to wait until after she was done emptying said organ into the toilet while Max held her hair back for her.

38. Heartbroken

Her first miscarriage struck her harder than she ever thought possible, leaving both her and Max both utterly heartbroken, and unable to function for a long time; the second and third were, if anything even more painful.

39. Mother

Minerva wished that she had gotten to know her own mother, and some days she wondered if the woman was still somewhere out there in the world – and if maybe she’d be excited to know that she’d become a grandmother.

40. Birthmark

There was a small birthmark behind Max’s right ear that Minerva discovered one day – the blemish rendered extra fascinating by virtue of being in an extremely ticklish place for Max.

41. Amulet

It eventually came to pass that Minerva carried a small locket with her everywhere – an amulet of protection, containing the images of the people she loved most in the world: her husband and their child.

42. Metallic

Blood, metallic and warm, filled Max’s mouth – the unfortunate consequence of accidentally biting his own tongue in the middle of an impassioned retelling of how he’d met the mother of his child and a wound that Minerva would then proceed to tease him about for days.

43. Imprint

Their breaths hung in the air in pale clouds as they walked down the street together, bathed in the gentle glow of streetlamps and their feet following the imprints of frozen leaves on the cement laid out before them to mark the way to the guild celebration that awaited them at the end of their chilly trek.

44. Salt

It was a playful joke in their household that Max was generally discouraged from cooking meals due to his tendency to accidentally over-season anything he made rendering it inedible – though not with salt, but with the fine grains of sand that always stuck to his clothing.

45. Hybrid

Dread filled the pit of Minerva’s stomach – a gross hybrid of worry and foreboding clouding her thoughts as she ruminated endlessly on how Max should have come home from his job long before then, the feeling only alleviating when the welcome sight of his scruffy visage appeared in her doorway.

46. Ginger

Great surprise had consumed Minerva and Max at the sight of their newborn child, and the strange ginger-colored fuzz that covered the infant’s head; although it fell out eventually and was replaced with the same sandy blond as Max’s locks, they never figured out where that first shade had come from.

47. Bittersweet

Chocolate was best served up bittersweet, in Minerva’s opinion, but she would concede to making sweeter batches to suit Max’s tastes for Valentine’s Day, at least.

48. Tree

Flower-viewing beneath the rainbow sakuras was a must for the couple every year; Max insisted that the brightly hued petals sustained the soul and sitting beneath their splendor, Minerva was disinclined to doubt his words.

49. Bewitch

Although the flush of youth had long since faded from their bodies, Max found that Minerva’s smile could still utterly bewitch him.

50. Genuine

In a world where so little had been good for Minerva, the love and friendship she’d found in Max had been the most genuine thing she could wish for, and even at the end of it all, she knew she wouldn’t have changed a thing that had led to it.

[reading-time]

Sanmao’s “Stories of the Sahara”, 《撒哈拉的故事》，素人渔夫 Amateur fishing man, Tâm Anh translated.

      Once on Sunday, Jose was at company for over-time work, whole day not home.

　　I, to pass the time, took out all the money Jose has earnt during this year from March till now, counted carefully, noted down on a blank sheet of paper, awaiting him to come back.  

　To the evening, Jose was home, I placed the note paper in front of him, saying: “You see, during this half a year we have earnt, sum up, this so much money.”

　　He took a glance on the calculation I did, very glad, saying: “Hard to imagine, we have earnt this so much money; enduring the hard days in the desert, it worths our efforts.”

　　“Let’s eat out today, anyway we have this much money.” He joyfully proposed.

　　I knew he wanted to take me to dine at the National Hotel, very quickly I changed clothes to go out with him; this kind of reality was once upon a time.

      “We want best-quality red wine, seafood soup, beef-steak for me, four helpings of prawns for my wife, ice-cream cake as deserts, also four helpings, thank you!” Jose said to the waiter.

　　“Lucky, today I have not eaten any the whole day, now we should have a big meal.” I whispered to Jose.

　　National Hotel was one under the organization of the Spanish Government; the dining hall was decorated very nicely like an Arabic royal palace, with very local ambiance, very comfortable soft lights, customers were not many; in here the atmosphere was fresh, no smell of dirt, knife and fork are kept clean to snow-like shining, table cloth was well ironed, soft music sound was like stream water flowing. I was sitting there, almost forgot we were in the desert, but seemed going back to our good old days.

　　After a while, foods were served, on a nice silver plate, a large row of fried prawns lined with green lettuce, glass filled with dark red wine.

　　“Ah! The blue bird of happiness is coming!” I exclaimed in excitement, looking at the dish.

　　“So delicious, from now on we should come here more often!” Jose sounded very generous that evening, like a tycoon.

　　Living in the desert for a certain time, it makes people learn a good thing: any little real-life enjoyment can bring about exceedingly heart-felt satisfaction and make people fly high. In other words, we take our senses more serious than our head.

　　Dinner finished, spent on it a fortune, we were very happy walking home, that evening I was a very happy person.

　　The following day, we of course ate at home; on the dinner plate there was one baked potato cake, one bread, a pot of water.

　　“We’ll share, wait I divide, this cake, you eat 2/3, I take 1/3.”

　　I was one hand sharing the potato cake, the other hand placing the bread in whole in the bowl for Jose, made it look quite full.

　　“It’s very delicious, I have added onion, let’s eat!” I started to eat.

　　Jose, like a tiger, ate up his cake in a wink, then he stood up heading to the kitchen.

　　“There’s no more, today let’s have just these.” I immediately stopped him.

　    “What’s wrong today?” He did not understand, looked at me.

　　“You look on this!” I passed on to him to see another calculating note.

　　“This is the sum-up of our expenses in recent half a year, yesterday’s calculation was of income, today’s calculation is of expenses.” I patted on his shoulder, explained.

　　“This much, we have spent this much? All has been spent!” He yelled.

　    “Yes.” I nodded.

　　“You see, on the note paper it is written clearly.”

　　Jose grabbed the note paper reading the cash flow I have done ——“tomato 60 kuai per kilogram, melon 220, pork half a kilogram 300——"

　　“How come you bought such expensive food, we could eat less a little bit——” He was reading the note and talking to himself.

　　Till he read to ——“car maintenance 15,000 kuai, gasoline half year 24,000——” his voice was louder; he picked himself up.

　　“You don’t need to panic! Half a year we ran 16,000 km, you calculate to see, doesn’t it need to cost this much money on gasoline.”

　　“So, money we have earnt we have spent all, there’s no gain out of this hardship.” Jose looked very annoyed, his looks was like he was on a stage.

　　“Actually we did not waste any, clothes expense was none in the past half a year; expenses were all on eating out with friends, making photographs, long distance travelling; these have eaten up our money.”

　　“All right, starting from today, single friends we do not invite to dinner, photographs only do black and white, travelling also no more, this whole area of desert we have been through how many times.” Jose announced with very much determination.

　　This poor townlet, mentioning cinema there’s only one both dirty and broken, a little bit of bustle also not have, magazines received to hands are mainly outdated, television on average is broadcast two or three times a month, on which images are as terrible as ghosts, home alone people do not dare to watch, power-cut water-cut are as common as daily meal, like to take a walk around then whole day there is strong sandy wind blowing.

　　Days passed by here, except for Sahara people who take it at ease, Europeans most are alcoholism, husband and wife fighting, single persons commit suicide, very common, all these drama are caused by this life in the desert. Only us, can be considered as people who understand 'the art of living', hard days still we can endure, our living still can be considered as not too bad.

　　I was keeping quiet listened to Jose while he was making announcement on plan of expense cut. Then, I started to warn him: “This too economical, you are not afraid three months later we would either become crazy or commit suicide?”　

     Jose forced a smile: “Indeed, during holidays if we do not go out, we would be living sad to death.”　

  “Think about this, we do not go to Algeria that direction, travel inland no more; we go to the seaside. Why not take advantage of the over 1,000 km coastline here; we should go there to explore.”

　　“Go to the seaside, travel through the desert a round trip gasoline also costs a lot.”

      “Let’s go catch fish then, we do salted fish sun-dried, we can save money on food, also can lower money spent on gasoline.” My strength has always been solid, talking about playing, I never lose heart.

　　The following weekend, we carried tent, walked along the seaside to research nearly 100 km rock shore; at night we set up tent sleeping on the edge of the cliff.

　　Rock shore with no sand beach has a lot of good things, using ropes to hang on the edge of cliff was very convenient; when the tide had withdrawn, on the rock revealed barnacles, in between of the holes there were crabs, in the pool there were octopus, barred snake eel, trouts as-big-as-a-plate, also thousands of black seashells growing on the stone, we could recognize they were a kind of mussels, also fatty kelp which can be dried to make an ingredients for soup, driftwood could become a modern sculpture, little stones taken home put onto cardboard would become paintings. On this vast area of seaside, there was nobody around, was still intact and wealthy of resources.

　　“This is King Solomon's Treasure, we get rich now!” I jumped up and down on the shining rocks, yelling, so excited.

　　“This big pile of stones is for you, you collect quickly, tide has withdrawn.” Jose threw to me a bucket, a pair of gloves, a knife; he also put on diving suit, was about to dive into the sea to catch big fish.

　　Not up to one hour later, my bucket was filled up with mussels and barnacles, also 16 red colored big crab sized as big as small washing-basin; the bucket became so heavy, I used rocks to make a blocked jail, temporarily locked them inside. Kelps I collected a big pile.

　　When Jose went ashore, around his waist there was a string of up to 10 big fishes, light pink-colored ones.

　　“You see, not enough hands to catch, there are a lot.” Only at this moment I learnt the taste of being a greedy person.

　　Jose saw my big crab, again went to catch, got nearly 20 black-grey little crabs. He said: “The small one is called Nicholas, compared to big ones they are more delicious.”

　　The tide was gradually rising; we retreated to under the cliff, scraped off fish scales, washed the fish belly, full a big bag. I took trousers off, two trouser legs made a knot, poured all the crabs in, the bucket was also fastened on the rope, that way we climbed up the cliff. That weekend going out on exploration for the first time, could be considered as return with full load.

　　On the way home, I urged Jose: “Quick, quick, we drive back then call colleagues in the single dormitory to come for dinner.”

       “You do not do salted fish?” Jose asked.

　　“The first time doesn’t count, we invite friends, they normally also did not eat well.”

　　Hearing that, Jose was very happy; before arriving home even went to buy a case of beer, half a dozen of wine to invite friends.

　　Later, for several weekends, colleagues also wanted to come along to catch fish. We were very delighted, bought 10 kg beef, 5 Chinese cabbages, made 10 more quiche, also brought along an ice-box, a charcoal furnace, 5 big buckets, 6 pairs of gloves, also bought a case of coke, a carton of milk. Several cars were mighty on the road, running up and down along the coastline; at night we set up tents, ate grilled beef, talking, had a great time together; the plan of expense-cut was lost on the way. 

       In our little family, no one manages money. Money, we put in the pockets of a Chinese cotton jacket, who needs then go to take. Bills, if we remember to note down, then write on any piece of paper at hands, throw into a candy pot.

　　Went out to the seaside not many several times, the jacket pockets has become empty, candy pot has filled up with little by little pieces of paper slip. “Again, nothing left, really fast!” I held the jacket talked to myself.

　　“Initially going out to the seaside was to catch fish making salted fish to save money on food, wasn’t it? Result, even more spending.” Jose was puzzled scratching his head.

　　“Friendship is also priceless wealth.” I could only use these words to console him.　

      “Next week, we will simply go catch fish to sell.” Jose again determined.

　　“That’s right, fish we can eat so we can also sell! So smart, I did not think of it!” I jumped up, patted on Jose's head.

　　“Just need to earn enough to balance the expense we spent on playing, that would be good already.” Jose is not a greedy ambitious person.

　“Good, sell fish, next week we sell fish.” I was thinking big, hoping this time gain a fortune.

　　That Saturday early morning 4:30, we got on our car in the dark, set off on the road when it was freezingly cold outside, our teeth were trembling; raising our flag of high craftmanship, boldness, well knowing of the way, we firmly drove in the dark desert.

　　8 o’clock past in the morning, the sun has just arisen for a while, already we have arrived at the cliff; behind us an endless, mysterious, and quiet desert; in front of us stormy waves and cracked shore, the immense ocean and scattered rocks; blue sky was without a cloud, seabirds in flock flied to flied back, here and now a few bird voice, made it filled with even more emptiness and solitary all around.

　　Upturned the collar of my jacket, widen my shoulders, I looked up giving out a breath, kept this posture stood still.

　　“What are you thinking about?” Jose asked.

　　“How about you?” I also asked.

　　“I am imagining some realms depicted in ‘Jonathan Livingston Seagull’ that book."

　　Jose is a clear and bright spirit; this moment, this scenery, thinking of that book perfectly matches him.

　　“How about you?” He again asked.

　　“I am imagining, I was that one crazily in love with a handsome crippled military officer, I was about to go for a walk with him on this plateau, surroundings us was beautiful heather flowers everywhere, the wind was blowing in my hair, he was enthusiastically gazing at me—— romantic, again dramatic time!” I lamented.

　　Talking, again I closed my eyes, held myself in my own arms, sighed with satisfaction.

　　“You're playing today is ‘Ryan’s daughter’?” Jose asked.

       “Your guess is right. All right, now start to work.”

　　I clapped my hands, walked out pulling the rope, ready to climb down the cliff. Through these some wild imagination, getting down to work could get some excitement: this has been the way I came up with to adjust the dry boring life.

　　“Sanmao, today work seriously, you need to give good hands.” Jose was in earnest.

　　We were standing on the rocky edge; Jose went down diving; each time he caught a fish, rose up, he threw it to the waterside; I quickly came up to collect, kneed on the rock, I used a knife to scrape fish scales, washed fish belly, cleaned it up, then put the fish into a plastic bag.

　　Scraped two or three very big fish, my hands were already scratched bleeding, dip into sea water oddly hurtful.

　　Jose was under water floating sinking, continuously threw fish up onto shore; I worked recklessly, placed the well-cleaned fish lined up neatly in the bag.

　　“Earning money is not easy!” I shook my head talking to myself, knees started to swell red.

　　After quite a while, Jose just then arose to shore; I quickly brought him the milk to drink. He closed his eyes, lying on the rock, face was pale white.

　　“How many we've caught?” He asked.

　　“30 more, very big, about 60, 70 kilograms.”

　　“Catch no more, almost tired to death.” He again closed his eyes.

　　I poured the milk, saying: “We, like this, could be called amateur fishing people.

　　“Fish is meat, Sanmao.”

　　“What I am saying is not about meat and vegetable. Previously, in Paris there was a group of people, weekdays they go to work, weekends painting, they called themselves amateur painters. We, on weekends go catch fish, therefore called amateur fishing man, also not bad!”

　　“You are so fancy, catching fish you could also come up with some new title.” Jose was not very interested though.

　　Enough of rest, we took it in three rounds, carried the whole pile of fish, as big as a little mountain, up to the cliff; put them inside car back space, topped up with ice from the icebox. Looking at the desert under blazing sun shining, this more than 200 km road driving back, again was another hard trip; strange it was, this time not yet having much of fun, body was also exhausted.

      Car soon arrived in the townlet, I softly begged Jose: “All on you, let me get a little sleep before we go out to sell fish, please! So tired already!"

　 “Can’t. Fish could get stink. You go home to rest, I will sell. “ Jose said.

　　“Go to sell then we go together, I keep up a bit then get better now.” I just rather said.

　　Car passed by castle-like boundering walls of the National Hotel, I suddenly got an idea, loudly called ——“Stop——"

　　Jose stopped the car; I barefoot got off, turned my head to look inside the gate.　

     “Hello, hello, ——” I softly called to Antonio at the counter.

　  “Ah, Sanmao!” He greeted loudly.

　 “Shuzzz, do not shout, where’s the back door?” I softly asked him.

　“Back door? Why do you want to go back door?”

　　I have not yet explained, right at that time the hotel manager was walking by, I was so scared hiding myself behind a pillar; he turned his head looking, I could simply sneak out get back on our car parking outside.　

      “Can’t! I can’t sell, so embarrassed.” My face was straight.　

     “I go.” Jose slammed car door, strode into the hotel. Good Jose, really has a style.　

     “Hello, Sir, manager.” He took out his hands towards the manager to greet; the manager came to him; I hid myself behind Jose’s back.　

    “We have fresh fish, do you want to buy?” Jose sound plainly, face also not blush, I think there’s a bit pretending.

　　“What, you want to sell fish?” The manager stared at us, worn-out trousers, face revealing a lot of hardship, as if we were humiliating him.

　　“Want to sell fish you go side door, talk to the person in charge of the kitchen——” He pointed to the side door, sounded quite intimidating.

　　I immediately shyed a long way back, recklessly pulled Jose to get out, told him: “You see, he looked down on us, we go to another place to sell; later if there’s any party we still have to see the face of this manager——”

  　“This manager is a dickhead; no need to be afraid. Go, we go to the kitchen.”

　　Kitchen people all gathered up to look at us, seems very odd. “How much a kilogram?” finally there’s a buyer.

　　We glanced at one another, did not know what to say.

　　“Uhm, 50 kuai per kilogram.” Jose called a price.

　　“Yes, yes, 50 kuai.” I hastily added.

       “OK, I take 10 fish, we go to scale to see how much it weighs.” The person-in-charge was very gentle.

　　We were very glad, flying-like ran to the car, chose 10 big fish for him.

　  “This bill, after date 15th, you can take it to our accounting office to claim your money.　

     “You do not pay in cash?” We asked.

　 “We are a public agency, you understand understand please!” The person-in-charge shook our hands.

　We took the bill for selling the first batch of fish, worth over 1,000 kuai, looked then looked, then very carefully I put it into my trousers' pocket.

　　“OK, now we go to Sisters 'Hotel.” Jose said.

　　This 'Sisters' Hotel' is Sahara renowned place; they often provide meals to workers, at night selling wine, upstairs there are rooms for rent. From outside look very glamorous, inside all day playing popular music, lights are green coloured only; often there are groups of gorgeous white women doing business inside.

　　Road construction workers from Spain, once get salary paid, often go to Sisters’ Hotel to play, get drunken then be thrown out; salary of a month of hard work, more than half is spent to these women’s pocket.

　　To the hotel door, I told Jose: “You go inside, I wait outside.” Waited almost 20 minutes, not seen Jose came out.

　　I carried one fish, also walked in; right in time I saw, behind the counter, a sexy 'sister' was feeling Jose’s face; Jose- like a leather-head bird- was standing. I strode to, fiercely straight face shouted to the woman: “Buy fish or not, 500 kuai per kilogram.” Also I put the fish carried in hand heavily slammed on the bar counter, made a loud bang.

　　“How come wildly raise the price; your husband has just said 50 kuai per kilogram.”

　　I stared at her; thought to myself: you dare to touch Jose’s face again, I'd increase price to 5,000 kuai per kilogram.

　　Jose pushed me out of the hotel, softly said: “You really know how to cause trouble; I almost had all the fish sold to her.”

 　　“Not buy then leave it, you sell fish or sell yourself? Even let her touch your face.” I raised my hands up to hit Jose, he knew he was on the wrong side, hold his head and let me hit.

　　Calmed down, again I rushed into the hotel taking back that fish we had left on the bar counter.

　　The sun was high on the sky; we were under the heat, hungry, and thirsty, also exhausted, also angry with one another; I was about to think of throwing away all the fish, only was speechless.

　“Do you remember Pug at the Sahara army group kitchen? “I asked Jose.

　“You are thinking of selling to the army group?”

    “Yes.”

　Jose did not say a word, drove towards Sahara army group’s camp site; not arrived at the army living quarter yet, we saw Pug right at that time was walking on the road.

    “Pug.” I loudly called out to him.

  “Do you want to buy fresh fish?” I was so much hopeful, asked.

　“Fish, where?” He asked.

    “Inside our car, there are more than 20.”

　Pug stared at me, shook his head strongly. “Sanmao, more than 3,000 persons in this army group, eat your more than 20 fish, enough?” He rejected.

      “This is not necessarily; you first take to cook to see! Jesus’ 5 cakes, 2 fish, were enough to feed his more than 5,000 persons; how do you say?” I again asked him.

　　“Let me tell you, you go to post office front door to sell; over there most people passing by.” Pug showed us a way out. Of course, our selling target is Europeans; Sahara people do not eat fish.

     So we again went to the stationery shop, bought a black board, a few pieces of chalk, again to an acquainted grocery we borrowed a scale.　　

    On the black board, we drewn a jumping red fish, again wrote "Fresh fish for sale, 50 kuai per kilogram.”

　 When we drove to the post office front door, already 5 o’clock in the afternoon; air-mails, air-packages were arriving; a large crowd of people was there opening their mail-box, very much bustling. We stopped the car, put the black board in front of car window, car back door was opened up. Completed with these, face already blushed quite a lot; we ran to the sidewalk across the street to sit down, not even dare to look at walking people on the street.

　　A crowd of people one group to another walked by; no one stopped to buy fish. Sitting there for a while, Jose said to me: “Sanmao, didn’t you say we are amateur people? Amateurs don’t have to live by selling spare-time stuff!”

　     “Go home?” Really I also ran out of energy.

　　Right at that time, a colleague of Jose walked by, saw us he came to greet: “Ah! Out for fresh air?”

　　“No.” Jose shyly stood up.

　　“Are selling fish.” I pointed to our car on opposite side across the road.

　　This colleague was a single, also a rough-and-ready kind person. He walked out taking a look at the black board, again looked at car back space, got the situation, immediately he walked back, grasped us both across the street to the opposite site.

　　“Selling fish ah, you need to calling out to sell! You two are shy like this do not work. Come, come, I'll help you.” This colleague in passing hands pulled a fish out, held it in his hand, yelled at high pitch: “Yu——yo, sell fresh fish yo! 75 kuai per kilogram yo ——aiyo——fish ah!” He even took his own initiative raised the price.

　　The crowd was attracted by his yelling, immediately gathered up around; we overjoyed at the turn of our selling: more than 20 fish was a little thing, just after a while all were sold out.

　　We were sitting on the ground counting money, more than 3,000 kuai; then again looked around for Jose’s colleague; he has already walked far away with a grin.

      “Jose, we should remember to thank him!” I told Jose.

　　Back to home, we were already exhausted. After a shower, I was in a towel yukata to the kitchen boiled a wok, put in a pack of noddle.

　　“Eat this?” Jose was unhappily.

　　“Just let's eat something. I'm almost exhausted to death.” I in fact did not even want to eat any.　

       “From early morning working that hard till now, you only gave me noddle, not eat.” He was mad, put on clothes to go out.

　　“Where are you going?” I shouted.

　　“I go eating out.” He said firmly, sound as hard as cement.

　　I could only also change clothes, chased him up, together we went out; the so-called eating out, of course could only be one place to go—— restaurant at the National Hotel.

　　At the restaurant, I whispered to Jose: “This world there’s only you this kind of person. Order the least expensive dish, do you hear me?”

　　Right at that moment, one of Jose’s bosses was clapping hands walking over, loudly he called out: “What a coincidence! What a coincidence! I am having no companion for dinner tonight; we three persons together then.” He by himself was talking and taking a seat.

　　“I heard today kitchen has fresh fish; how do you think, we take three fish to taste, this kind of fresh fish, not often seen around here in the desert.” He was again by himself talking.

　　The boss, accustomed to being a boss, forgot that he should also look at other people's face. Not a word to us yet, he said to the waitress: “Salad, 3 fish, wine, now, deserts later.”

　　The person-on-duty in the dining hall was exactly the one at noon in the kitchen buying fish from us; he was accidentally walking by our table, seeing Jose and I we were eating the fish we sold which now were served on dish at 20 times more of the price; his jaw dropped, like he was looking at two crazy people.  

　　After the dinner, we and Jose’s boss competed for the bill, result Jose won, used up the money from selling fish at the post office front door to pay, only left some change money. Just then I sensed, these fish no matter was sold at 50 or 75 kuai per kilogram, was still sold at such a loss; we, after all, were in the desert.

　　The following day early morning, we overslept till late. I got up making some coffee, washing clothes; Jose was still on bed, saying to me: “Lucky, still we have that bill at the National Hotel we can collect; otherwise yesterday a whole day was miserable enough; gasoline cost we also had to offset, not to mention so much tireness and hard work.”

　“You're saying the bill——that bill——”

 　I screamed, rushed to the bathroom, washing machine had already closed; out of the load covered up with soap foam, I took out my trousers, put my hands in the pockets to feel the inside——that bill has already been soaked with water, become soft and white a little heap; want to put them together also could not anymore.

　　“Jose, the last fish has also slipped away! We again will have to eat potato cake then.” I sat on the stone steps of the bathroom, crying and laughing out.

[ End of story ]

Image below: Home-grown new bloom. Photographed by Tâm Anh, on 13 August 2021.

[paralleljulieverse]

If New York’s Madison Avenue is popularly regarded as the symbolic headquarters of the American advertising industry, then Times Square would surely be the showroom. Positioned at the very heart of the nation’s commercial capital, Times Square has long been a prized platform for the latest and greatest in spectacular outdoor advertising. As early as the 1910s, the area was renowned as what O.J. Gude, the pioneer of illuminated display, called a “phantasmagoria of lights and electric signs” (Taylor, 236) –– and, a hundred years later, Times Square still attracts crowds from around the world who flock to experience its distinctive blend of kinetic urban energy and promotional razzamatazz. 

The vital blocks of Times Square between 44th and 46th streets have been an especially desirable focus for advertisers in their ongoing efforts to capture consumer attention with shock-and-awe ballyhoo. Over the decades these two blocks have been home to such promotional wonders as a gigantic neon sign with truck-sized bubble-blowing goldfish, an illuminated box of tissues woven out 25,000 light bulbs, towering bottles of soft drink four storeys tall, a Marilyn Monroe colossus, and, a 120-foot (36.6m) long waterfall flanked by a mammoth pair of neoclassical statues (Levi and Heller, iv; Shepherd, B5). 

In 1956, the Arkraft Strauss Sign Corporation, New York City’s preeminent sign designer and manufacturer, consolidated a range of formerly separate advertising spaces above the western side of the block between 45th and 46th streets to create what was proudly proclaimed as “the biggest billboard in the world” (Starr and Hayman, 194). Dubbed ‘the Astor-Victoria billboard’ because it sat atop two movie theatres thus named, the huge advertising hoarding ran the full length of the city block along Broadway and wrapped partially around the sides down W.45th and 46th streets. It rose to a towering height of 60-feet (18.3m) and had an overall surface area of 15,000 square feet (1394m2), or a third of an acre (“New Super-Billboard,” 3). 

The gargantuan billboard’s first ‘tenant’ was a hugely controversial advertising poster for Baby Doll, Warner Bros’ steamy 1956 film based on a Tennessee Williams’s one-act drama (Berger, 23). Designed for maximum visual impact, the poster for Baby Doll featured a towering image of the film’s young female star, Caroll Baker, sprawled across the horizontal length of the city-block hoarding –– “almost as big as the Statue of Liberty,” trumpeted the film’s pressbook (Palmer and Bray, 130). Semi-clad in a revealingly loose nightshirt, Baker was depicted lying in an over-sized cot sucking her thumb, gazing out from the billboard with sultry allure. In convincing the studio to finance this unprecedented promotional endeavour, the film’s producer-director, Elia Kazan argued the billboard would make Baby Doll “the talk not only of Broadway, but of the show world, of cafe society, of the literati, of the lowbrows, and of everybody else” (Palmer and Bray, 130). And he was right. The Baby Doll colossus of Times Square was an instant cause célèbre: suburban visitors gawped with wide-eyed disbelief, conservatives were scandalised, and the Catholic Archbishop of New York fulminated from the pulpit of St Patrick’s (Haberski, 61ff). Newspapers across the country carried stories––and pictures–– of the scandalous billboard, ensuring practically everybody in America knew of the film. It was a PR masterstroke that paid off handsomely.

The spectacular success of the Baby Doll campaign instantly marked the Astor-Victoria billboard as the premiere New York venue for blockbuster movie promotions. Over the ensuing two decades, the billboard would host a cavalcade of big screen luminaries including James Bond, The Vikings, Dracula, Krakatoa, Doctor Dolittle, and, even, The Bible. It was also used to promote the odd Broadway spectacular. Not surprisingly, rental of the site was at a premium with average leasing costs in the 1960s of over $30,000 per month (“Advertising”, 27). Because of the expense, the billboard typically saw rapid turnover. Most displays would feature for two or three months at most, before being painted over to make room for the next promotional colossus. 

In mid-1968, the billboard hosted one of its most lengthy––and iconic––campaigns when Twentieth Century-Fox took out an extraordinary six month lease to advertise their big new Julie Andrews musical, Star! Like all of the advertising displays featured on the Astor-Victoria site, the Star! display had to be hand-painted because the billboard dimensions were simply too big for preprinted posters. Working from a studio-produced plan, the crew of 12 artists, sign hangers and outdoor painters spent over 1500 man-hours and 100 gallons of paint to produce the finished product. Work on the billboard started in mid-May and was finally completed in early-June (Messick).

The Star! billboard was a prominent feature of the mid-Manhattan landscape right through the celebrated ‘summer of ‘68’ till after the film’s New York premiere on October 22, before finally being painted over in late-December. Because the Star! billboard was in situ for so long, especially through the peak summer season, it pops up frequently in photographs, postcards, tourist snaps, newsreel footage and even the occasional oil painting. Indeed, at times it seems as if more people possibly took pictures of the Star! billboard in Times Square than saw the actual movie when it come out in October! 

After Star!’s departure at the end of 1968, the iconic Astor-Victoria billboard suffered a slow but steady decline. In 1972, the Astor movie theatre closed its doors, lying fallow for many years, while the Victoria rebranded as a porn venue (Morrison, 158). As the 70s wore on, the billboard was still used for the occasional Hollywood blockbuster, but it was increasingly reduced to advertising B-grade exploitation pics and flash-in-the-pan rock groups. In 1982, the whole site and, with it, the billboard fell victim to the wreckers’ ball as part of the city’s master plan for the gentrification –– some might say the “Disneyfication” –– of Times Square (Shepherd, B1).

In a neat historical coincidence, the former Astor-Victoria site was eventually redeveloped as the Marriott Marquis, a hulking 50-storey hotel with a huge basement theatre that opened in 1985. The Marquis was the very theatre where Julie Andrews made her long-anticipated return to Broadway in 1995 in the musical stage version of Victor/Victoria (1995-97). It was a move that effectively saw Julie’s name back up in lights in more-or-less the exact spot where the Star! billboard had towered in 1968. 

But there’s a further historical twist! In late-2014, the Broadway facade of the Marriott Marquis was redeveloped to accommodate a massive state-of-the-art LED advertising screen that was breathlessly claimed to be –– you guessed it ––  “the world’s biggest billboard”. So half a century later, the western side of Times Square is once again home to a giant billboard the size of a football field.

Now, we can’t help but wonder if these historical synergies aren’t possibly trying to tell us something…like, oh I dunno, that this new state-of-the-art advertising screen in Times Square should host a special homage to mark the 50th Golden Anniversary of Star! Just imagine a digital recreation of the 1968 Star! billboard shimmering in 24 million-LED-pixel high definition glory across  the night skies of midtown Manhattan! Anyone feel like starting a GoFundMe campaign? :-)

Sources:

“Advertising News.” The Film Daily. 6 February 1964: 27.

Berger, Meyer. “A Red-Blond Beauty with 75-Foot Legs? Why, it’s Baby Doll of Times Square.” The New York Times. 22 October 1956: 23.

Haberski, Raymond. Freedom to Offend: How New York Remade Movie Culture. Lexington, KY: University of Kentucky Press, 2007.

Lehnartz, Klaus. New York in the Sixties. London: Dover Books, 1978.

Messick, Kit. Artkraft Strauss Records, 1927-2004. Manuscripts and Archives Division, The New York Public Library. 2011.

Morrison, Andrew Craig. Theaters. New York: W. W. Norton, 2006.

“New Super-Billboard for Times Square.” Advertising Age. Vol. 27, no. 42. 15 October 1956: 3.

Palmer, R. Barton and Bray, William Robert. Hollywood’s Tennessee: The Williams Films and Postwar America. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press, 2009.

Shepherd, Richard F. “Times Square: Trying to Keep the Panache.” The New York Times. 5 February 1987: B1-B5.

Starr, Tama and Hayman, Edward. Signs and Wonders: The Spectacular Marketing of America. New York: Currency, 1998.

Taylor, William R. ed. Inventing Times Square: Commerce and Culture at the Crossroads of the World. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1991.

Levi, Vicki Gold and Heller, Steven. Times Square Style: Graphics from the Great White Way. New York : Princeton Architectural Press, 2004.

© 2018, Brett Farmer. All Rights Reserved

[douchebagbrainwaves]

HERE'S WHAT I JUST REALIZED ABOUT SORT

The overlooked problem was to generate web sites automatically; in 1995, but the people we hired. 8747 From free 0. They felt a two-part one. In the thirties his support of the breach with Rome, his zeal in crushing the Pilgrimage of Grace, and his servers would grind to a halt during fundraising, which can be handed off to some lieutenant.1 Users Happy. But VCs also share deals a lot. If it's not what you might think.

When you're forced to figure out which fields are worth studying is to create new deal flow, as they should have been online. Those who would later be called the creative class in general. So in theory you ought to try to think of startup ideas, I'd encourage you to follow that constraint wherever it leads, found themselves switching to Intel boxes. If you tried this experiment, you'll find you have much less spare time than you might expect, considering the degree to which persistence alone was able to make arbitrary transformations on the source code of all the features we'd added since the last release, stick a new version in which half the code has been torn out and replaced, introducing countless bugs. Few thought of it, we were paying a PR firm admittedly the best in America, at least, a thesis was a position one took and the dissertation was the argument by which one defended it.2 The expert told him that every equation he included in his syndicates.3 Here I'm going to explain what they plan to do.4 Why would you want to make a cup of coffee.5 66. Research doesn't have to pay a PR firm $16,000 per month. All you have to be willing to look under rocks.

If you're a hacker, here's a deal you can make yourself do it you have a meeting in an hour, then you probably are. When you talk to him about his childhood, there's a strong inverse correlation between performance and job security.6 By all means be optimistic about the possibility of failure. Some examples will make this clear. When angels make a lot of course. The reason this got stale in middle school and high school kids at least consider going into the sciences, even if no one happens to have become professional fundraisers who do a little consulting-type work at first. Demand transparency. But remember that ramen profitability is a trick for not dying en route. Our hypothesis was that if we wrote our software in Lisp, when he graduates from high school isn't how much time I must have been.

The founders want the valuation of the company so it could take care of, you're forced to figure out. The problem with these old traditions is that they're less stressful to raise.7 A rounds. I think the root of the problem here is, average performance means that you'll go out of business? 0 to 1000. What about in the general case what counts as a substantial offer depends on who it's from and how much is deliberate. VCs were jerks.8 Angels can take greater risks because they don't have to be an instant success, like YouTube or Facebook. They're not desperate for a job in a cubicle except late at night, and why only during their term of office?

This sort of trolling was in the bathroom. I wonder if they'd like to publish their lives semi-publicly on the Internet so it must be readily available.9 The peasant had to decide what Apple's next products should be considered the heart of the matter: Bloggers are sensitive about becoming mouthpieces for other organizations and companies, which is probably an overestimate, that's 2500 new companies. I see a man must either resolve to put out nothing new or become a slave to defend it. They never had to worry about those. The patents aren't mine, of course it was. And in any case, competitors are not the root cause of variation in income, as Occam's Razor implies, is dynamic: you don't have room for new stuff. So you spread rapidly through all the initial steps, but when they turn to raising money.

Notes

This was partly confidence, and made more margin loans.

My first job was scooping ice cream in the rest of the business much harder it is very high or especially very low, you need a higher growth rate as evolutionary pressure is such a baleful stare as they do, but rather by, say, good deals. But I don't know the inventor of something or the distinction between them. The Quotable Einstein, Princeton University Press, 1983.

And they are so different from a VC. European politics then had no natural immunity to dictators. Instead of earning the right sort of pious crap you were going back to the sale of art. Some of the biggest company of all, the local builders built everything in it, then used a TV as a child, either as truth or heresy.

I made because the ordering system and image generator written in C, and FreeBSD 1.

Proceedings of AAAI-98 Workshop on Learning for Text Categorization. Joe thinks one of the reign Thomas Lord Roos was an executive. Google's revenues are about two billion a year, but it's not always as deliberate as its sounds. It's interesting to 10,000 sestertii apiece for slaves learned in the past, and at least consider going into the heads of would-be-evil end.

In Boston the best startups, because they will fund you, they sometimes say.

The current Bush, for example, willfulness clearly has two subcomponents, stubbornness and energy. The current Bush, for the same price as the average major league baseball player's salary at the bottom as they do care about, just those you can do with down rounds—like full ratchet anti-dilution provisions, even to inexperienced founders. The two guys were Dan Bricklin and Bob Frankston. There are two non-exclusive causes of failure, just that it would be unfortunate.

I know when this happened because it looks like stuff they've seen in the beginning of the word as in a safe will be regarded in the long term than one level of links. They'd freak if they ultimately succeed.

99,—. So if you're measuring usage you need. Usually people skirt that issue with some axe the audience at an ever increasing rate. If you're part of grasping evolution was to realize that.

Thanks to Trevor Blackwell, Geoff Ralston, Aaron Iba, Sanjay Dastoor, Fred Wilson, and Robert Morris for reading a previous draft.

[tech-specialist98]

REALME NARZO 30A REVIEW: OFFERS GOOD VALUE FOR MONEY

PROS

Good battery life

Massive display

Sturdy design

CONS

Basic cameras

Dated chipset

Polycarbonate back

VERDICT Narzo 30A is an interesting phone. It's heavily inspired by the Narzo 20 launched last year, but that doesn't make it a bad phone. In fact, starting at Rs 8,999, it emerges as a value for money offering that impresses with its long-lasting battery, overall performance, and design. Its cameras do leave a little to be desired, but that's understandable, considering its price.REALME NARZO 30A DETAILED REVIEW Realme launched the Narzo series last year as the company's answer to growing user demand for affordable phones that also offer plenty of processing power for watching videos, browsing the web, playing games, and more. Realme even delivered on this promise as it launched a number of phones under the series which despite a few compromises impressed as complete packages. Now, Realme plans to do the same in 2021 with the launch of the Narzo 30 series smartphones. The series brings with itself two new phones, the Narzo 30A and Narzo 30 Pro.Of the two, we have the Narzo 30A with us today. This is the more modest of the two smartphones, as it brings with itself as it's available at a slightly more affordable price point. However, the phone still manages to pack within its frame enough firepower to impress when you start using it. Among its highlights are the Helio G85 SoC, a 13-megapixel lens-based dual camera set-up, a big display, and an even bigger 6000mAh battery. But as we found out during our time with the Narzo 30A, there's a lot more to the device than just the above-mentioned specs. Here's everything you need to know about it.📷 REALME NARZO 30A REVIEW: PERFORMANCE The Realme 30A is surprisingly good enough for most tasks that you throw at it and the primary reason for this is definitely its Helio G85 chipset that's paired with up to 4GB of RAM and 64GB of storage. This chipset is built using a 12nm process and has been used previously by Realme on the Narzo 20 launched last year.The chipset features an octa-core CPU that uses two ARM Cortex-A75 performance cores clocked at 2.0GHz for heavy lifting and six ARM Cortex-A55 efficiency cores running at 1.8GHz for apps of daily use. At the time of its launch, this chipset was touted to be one for mobile gaming on a budget, and even in 2021, it manages to live up to the promise. While the CPU definitely helps with running heavy-duty games, it's the ARM Mali-G52 GPU that does most of the rendering graphics. The GPU can boost up to 1Ghz for peak performance which helps provides a responsive user-experience while running games. But more on gaming later, let's first look at a few scores to see how the device does at synthetic benchmarks.This Helio G85 SoC powered device scored a decent 201637 on AnTuTu and when compared to the competition in its segment clocked an impressive 350 in the single-core test of Geekbench 5 and 1283 in the benchmark's multicore test. It also did okay when we tested the graphics performance using our battery of GPU tests. In GFX Bench (Aztec Ruins, high tier) the phone scored 746 while also scoring 701 on 3D Mark Wild Life. But Gamebench gave us the most insight into how the device handled popular titles like Call of Duty Mobile and Asphalt 9 Legends, with Narzo 30A clocking decent results for both. 📷 📷 For the former, Gamebench revealed that the Narzo 30A running at medium graphics settings clocked a median of 58 FPS at 87 per cent stability. As for Asphalt 9 Legends, the median was 30 FPS at stability of 99 per cent. Considering we're testing a budget segment device, these numbers look pretty impressive.These results also fell in line with our general experience of using the device in day-to-day life as the Realme Narzo 30A felt snappy and responsive for most parts. Apps and games were quick to fire up, with the device rarely feeling sluggish or turning unresponsive.As we found out during our review, the chipset can handle games like Call of Duty well at the highest available medium graphics settings with a few other toggles for visuals turned on. While the game initially recommends the low graphics preset for the device, we found it

to work without any hitches at the higher graphics setting also. The experience was similar for Asphalt 9 Legends which ran at high graphics settings without displaying any signs of stress on the hardware.📷 REALME NARZO 30A REVIEW: SOFTWARE AND FEATURES The Realme Narzo 30A comes running the Realme UI which is based on Android 10 and provides a relatively clean Android experience. The custom skin is built using Android 10, however, Realme has already promised an upgrade to the more minimalistic Realme UI 2.0 which the company claims will be coming soon to the Narzo 30A.While the update is definitely something to look forward to, in its current form, the Realme UI also brings with itself a lot to like as it is powered by the company's latest quantum animation engine which improves the screen fluency. Realme UI also brings in 11 new wallpapers inspired by natural elements.Further, it also brings with itself support for features like Dual Mode Music Share which enables output of audio through two different devices at the same time. For this, the user can connect a pair of wireless earbuds and wired earphones to share audio with a friend. Apart from this, this Android 10-based copy of Realme UI also brings with itself support for features such as Focus Mode and Dark Mode. Overall, all these elements come together to provide a good experience on what is essentially a budget segment device.📷 REALME NARZO 30A REVIEW: DESIGN AND DISPLAY Realme 30A offers an industrious design. However, the use of a sporty diagonal stripe pattern on the back panel helps make the device look a little sporty. This will be appreciated by gamers. The back panel also uses a Pixel-like dual finish scheme, where this striped design covering almost 70 per cent of the back, and the upper end of the phone using a more subtle solid black again in matter finish. This section also houses the phone's square camera set-up and round fingerprint scanner. Both look well designed, with the former protruding very little from the back panel.All the buttons of use are on the right of the device, with the volume and power button working as expected and feeling tactile and responsive. The phone's speaker grille is placed at the bottom which can be muffled while playing games. Moving on to the display, the front of the phone uses a 6.5-inch panel with support for HD+ resolution (720x1600 pixels). The display also promises a decent pixel density of 269ppi and high peak brightness of 570 nits, although when we measured it, the display topped out at 419 nits. In the real world, this panel does get plenty bright for use even under direct sunlight, however, its feels lacking in clarity because of the low resolution it runs at.The Realme Narzo 30A flaunts an average screen-to-body ratio of 88.7 per cent with some amount of bezels remaining visible at the chin of the display. At the top, and the sides there's little in the way of bezels to take you away from the experience, however, we do have a small water-drop notch that houses the phone's front camera.Despite weighing 207 grams, the Narzo 30A doesn't feel too heavy in the hand with the weight appearing to be evenly balanced across the device. The phone also feels quite compact in the hand, especially if you are moving from a bigger smartphone. Overall, it's a well-built device that feels nice in the hand and does just about enough to look appealing to the eye. 📷 REALME NARZO 30A REVIEW: BATTERY One of the most impressive things about the Realme Narzo 30A is its battery life. The phone is backed by a massive 6000mAh battery pack which provides very good battery life. On average, the phone can easily last a day and a half on moderate use with only gaming draining the battery of the device fast. During our review, we found the phone to lose about 7 per cent charge after a 30-minute session of Call of Duty Mobile when the phone was set at full brightness and audio played through the device's speakers. We also received similar battery results for Asphalt 9 Legends.But when it did run out of charge, the battery of the phone

took some time to charge as the device comes with support for only 18W fast charging. At this speed, the Narzo 30A takes over 3 hours for a complete charge. Apart from this, the Narzo 30A also comes with support for reverse charging to help fuel up other smartphones.REALME NARZO 30A REVIEW: CAMERA There's not a lot happening here in terms of the cameras with Realme deciding to equip the Narzo 30A with a rather basic dual-lens set-up. At the heart of it is a primary 13MP lens with an aperture of f/2.2. This is sat next to a secondary B&W portrait lens for adding extra information to shots. This lens has an aperture of f/2.4. In terms of features, the camera can click images in Super NightScape Mode, Night Filters, Chroma Boost, Beauty, Filter, HDR, Panoramic view, Portrait, Time-lapse, Slo-mo, and Expert Mode.All the heavy lifting here is done by the primary lens which clicks good enough shots in well-lit situations. Resultant images come out with a decent amount of detail, and the shots are generally sharp with adequate dynamic range. The lens does a decent job at locking into focus, however, the shutter response between images is poor with the camera app taking at least 2-3 seconds to process one shot and then move to click the next one. While this may not be a deal-breaker, it is definitely very frustrating if you're trying to click a few shots quickly as this delay between shots can easily lead to the user missing the intended shot.The Narzo 30A also clicks decent portrait shots, however, edge detection remains a problem. The phone does well with low light, with the NightScape mode definitely improving the quality of the pictures when the f/2.2 aperture lens is not fed enough light to work with. There's also little in the way of noise to ruin the shots clicked in low light using this lens.The phone also comes with an 8MP in-display selfie lens with an f/2.0 aperture. This lens manages to capture plenty of detail and accurate skin tones in daylight. However, its low light performance leaves a little to be desired. The selfie lens also offers support for features such as AI beauty, HDR, Panoramic View, Time-lapse and also brings with it various filters. The front camera can also click portrait shots, however, these are let down a little by the camera's average edge detection.REALME NARZO 30A REVIEW: CONCLUSION The Narzo 30A is by no means a stand-out phone that changes the game with the sheer value it offers in terms of its hardware or aesthetics. A quick look at the spec sheet will tell you that the device is heavily inspired by last year's Narzo 20 as it shares not only some hardware but is also similar to the previous generation Narzo device when it comes to the display and to an extent even the design. Yet, this does not make the Narzo 30A a bad phone. In fact, in isolation, the device manages to impress both with its overall performance and design. Its cameras do leave a little to be desired, but that's something that is a fair trade-off for the low price point that Realme has launched the Narzo 30A at.REALME NARZO 30A KEY SPECS, PRICE AND LAUNCH DATERelease Date:24 Feb 2021Variant:64 GB/4 GB RAM , 32 GB/3 GB RAMMarket Status:Launched KEY SPECS 📷Screen Size6.5" (720 X 1600) 📷Camera13 + 2 | 8 MP 📷Memory32 GB/3 GB 📷Battery6000 MAh

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Redrafting 2020 NBA lottery: Tyrese Haliburton rises

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Redrafting 2020 NBA lottery: Tyrese Haliburton rises

The 2020 draft class was labeled a weak draft class by many experts and surprisingly, 80% of players drafted in the first round saw solid playing time and were productive on NBA rosters this past season. 

Each year, we see a few players break out and play above their draft stock, causing some teams to regret who they drafted. If we could redraft the 2020 class, would Anthony Edwards still go No. 1? Where would James Wiseman fall, and would the 30th pick, Desmond Bane, sneak into the lottery?

After a few players outplayed their draft stock in their rookie seasons, here’s a look at Yahoo Sports’ redraft of the 2020 draft lottery. The 2021 draft lottery is 8:30 p.m. ET Tuesday on ESPN.

Actual pick: Anthony Edwards, Minnesota Timberwolves

Edwards’ draft slot: No. 1, Minnesota Timberwolves

2020-21 stats: 19.3 ppg, 4.7 rpg, 2.9 apg

Some think Edwards was robbed of Rookie of the Year honors since he played the full season and LaMelo Ball was out 21 games with a wrist injury. Despite not winning the top rookie honor, Edwards completely backed his No. 1-pick status this season. Edwards avoided the “rookie wall” and actually played better in the second half of the season, averaging 27 points per game in the month of May (including a 42-point performance May 5). He had one of the best dunks of the year on Toronto Raptors forward Yuta Watanabe and provided endless entertainment in postgame Zooms and media interviews. Edwards’ future is bright on this Timberwolves team as they try to rebuild. He told Yahoo Sports on draft night, “I just want to be the best player to ever play basketball.”

Anthony Edwards dunks over the Blazers’ Robert Covington on March 14, 2021. (Hannah Foslien/Getty Images)

Actual pick: James Wiseman, Golden State Warriors

Ball’s draft slot: No. 3, Charlotte Hornets

2020-21 stats: 15.7 ppg, 5.9 rpg, 6.1 apg

The news of Klay Thompson’s season-ending Achilles injury came one hour before the NBA draft on Nov. 18. That’s not a lot of time to make changes to your draft board, especially if the front office feels confident taking Wiseman at No. 2. After seeing what Ball did this season in Charlotte, Warriors fans can’t help but wonder, “what if?”

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Ball led the entire rookie class in assists (313) and was named the Rookie of the Year, despite missing six weeks with a wrist injury. He delivered amazing highlights night after night and made his teammates better with his phenomenal passing. Ball is the type of player you can’t help but wonder what he would have done as a stand-in Splash Brother playing alongside Steph Curry in Thompson’s absence. No one knows how many more years the big three of Curry, Thompson and Draymond Green have left in them and Ball could have been the future to build around for the Warriors.

Actual pick: LaMelo Ball, Charlotte Hornets

Haliburton’s draft slot: No. 12, Sacramento Kings

2020-21 stats: 13 ppg, 3.0 rpg, 5.3 apg

Haliburton was the steal of the draft at No. 12 to the Kings, and it’s still baffling to see how many teams passed on the 6-foot-5 facilitator out of Iowa State.

“It all worked out perfectly, I’m in the perfect spot. Coach [Luke] Walton called me and just talked to me about playing fast and that he loves my game,” Haliburton said.

He was second in assists out of all the rookies with 309 for the season and second in 3-point field goals made with 121. Haliburton has been a seamless addition in the backcourt to De’Aaron Fox and Buddy Hield. If the Hornets couldn’t have Ball, Haliburton would have been the second-best option. We might not have seen the full-court, underhand passes like we saw from Ball, but Haliburton can be just as deadly in transition and would have been excellent alongside Miles Bridges.

What if Tyrese Haliburton played alongside Miles Bridges? (Thearon W. Henderson/Getty Images)

Actual pick: Patrick Williams, Chicago Bulls

Williams’ draft slot: No. 4, Chicago Bulls

2020-21 stats: 9.2 ppg, 4.6 rpg, 1.4 apg

Williams was the biggest surprise of the draft and the Bulls front office must have known what they were doing when they took the one-and-done talent out of Florida State as a top-five pick. 

He had one of the most daunting tasks early on in his NBA career when he was assigned to guard LeBron James. Williams left an impression on James who said afterward, “I think he is going to be an exceptional talent. [He has] long arms. He has Kawhi-type of hands that I noticed out on the floor, so I knew I couldn’t play with the ball much. You can tell he is just laser-sharp on just trying to get better and better. I think Chicago has a good one.”

Williams was named to the the 2020-21 NBA All-Rookie second team alongside Isaac Okoro, Immanuel Quickley, Isaiah Stewart and Desmond Bane.

Actual pick: Isaac Okoro, Cleveland Cavaliers

Okoro’s draft slot: No. 5, Cleveland Cavaliers

2020-21 stats: 9.6 ppg, 3.1 rpg, 1.9 apg

Just like the Bulls’ pick at No. 4, the Cavaliers got their pick right in the 2020 draft, too. Okoro might not have been the flashiest player in this draft class but defensively, he got the job done. His only double-double came late in the season in a loss to the Indiana Pacers where he put up 22 points (including three 3-pointers) and grabbed 10 rebounds. If Okoro can get more consistent from 3-point range, the Cavaliers will have a deadly backcourt with Darius Garland, Collin Sexton and Okoro.

Actual pick: Onyeka Okongwu, Atlanta Hawks

Stewart’s draft slot: No. 16, Detroit Pistons

2020-21 stats: 7.9 ppg, 6.7 rpg, 0.9 apg

Stewart led the rookie class in rebounds with 453 and was 31st overall out of the entire NBA. He was one of the most physically ready rookies coming in this season listed at 6-foot-9, 250 pounds and it paid off in a big way when he started to see consistent minutes on a struggling Pistons team.

“For me, I just want to continue to work and build on my game,” Stewart said after an April 16 win over the Thunder where he grabbed 21 rebounds. “That’s the most important thing for me. I watch a lot of film and am just trying to learn from all my mistakes this year and get better.”

Atlanta is in the Eastern Conference finals for the first time since the 2014-15 season. Okongwu has been out for the majority of the season with a foot injury. Everything has worked out so far for the Hawks, but having a healthy player who could contribute right away like Stewart could have helped win some games early on when they went 4-11 in February.

Actual pick: Killian Hayes, Detroit Pistons

Bey’s draft slot: No. 19, Detroit Pistons

2020-21 stats: 12.2 ppg, 4.5 rpg, 1.4 apg

What a season for the 3-and-D guard out of Villanova. Bey was, by far, the best rookie on the Pistons this season. He set the record for most 3-pointers by a rookie in franchise history with 175 made threes, passing Brandon Knight, who made 106. Bey was named to the 2020-21 NBA All-Rookie first team along with Ball, Edwards, Haliburton and Jae’Sean Tate.

Point guard Killian Hayes missed half of the season with a torn hip labrum, and it will forever be a mystery as to why the Pistons took Hayes at No. 7 and passed on Haliburton.

Actual pick: Obi Toppin, New York Knicks

Tate’s draft slot: Undrafted, Houston Rockets

2020-21 stats: 11.3 ppg, 5.3 rpg, 2.5 apg

The 6-foot-4 wing has been one of the biggest surprises of the rookie class after going undrafted and playing for the Sydney Kings in Australia’s NBL last season. Yes, he’s 25 years old and significantly older than the other players in his rookie class, but he’s settling in comfortably in the NBA and proving to have a bright future on this struggling Rockets team.

The Knicks had a bounce-back season in the backcourt with RJ Barrett, Derrick Rose and Immanuel Quickley. Tate would have been just as productive off the bench after proving to be the best rebounding guard in this rookie class, grabbing 374 boards and shooting better than 50% from the field. He was named to the 2020-21 NBA All-Rookie first team and will continue to be a key player as the Rockets start to rebuild in the post-James Harden era.

Jae’Sean Tate was named to the 2020-21 All-Rookie first team. (AP Photo/Tony Dejak)

Actual pick: Deni Avdija, Washington Wizards

Wiseman’s draft slot: No. 2, Golden State Warriors

2020-21 stats: 11.5 ppg, 5.8 rpg, 0.7 apg

There were small glimpses of what Wiseman could be in a couple seasons with the Warriors. Unfortunately, Golden State is in a win-now mode and Wiseman looked a little lost on the court at times. He only played three collegiate games at Memphis and struggled to adjust to the pace at the NBA level.

His upside is still worth investing in with his 7-foot-1 frame and excellent shot-blocking mechanics on defense. There would be room for growth over time with the Wizards. The two stars of the team, Bradley Beal and Russell Westbrook, are both ball-heavy guards and not a lot would be expected of Wiseman offensively. 

Wiseman is rehabbing a meniscus injury and will hopefully bring some presence in the lane with the return of Klay Thompson next season.

Actual pick: Jalen Smith, Phoenix Suns

Pokusevski’s draft slot: No. 17, Oklahoma City Thunder

2020-21 stats: 8.2 ppg, 4.7 rpg, 2.2 apg

The Suns are in the Western Conference finals for the first time since the 2009-10 season and their actual No. 10 pick, Smith, hasn’t been a factor in any of the postseason games. Pokusevski, originally from Serbia, had a slow start to his rookie season, but quickly picked things up for the Thunder toward the end of the season. 

The 7-foot forward can extend his game past the 3-point line, hitting six 3-pointers in his final game against the Los Angeles Clippers. At only 19 years old, Pokusevski could have given solid bench minutes for Deandre Ayton and has a sold pick-and-pop game that would have complemented veteran point guard Chris Paul.

Actual pick: Devin Vassell, San Antonio Spurs

Quickley’s draft slot: No. 25, New York Knicks

2020-21 stats: 11.4 ppg, 2.1 rpg, 2.0 apg

Quickley entered his rookie season and showed off exactly what he had been working on in the eight-month extended time leading up to the draft. His floater in the lane is definitely the best in the rookie class and one of the best shots for a small guard in the league. He exuded confidence early in the season, letting shots fly from all over the court and impacted the game no matter how many minutes he played each night.

Three years ago, he was coming off the bench at Kentucky and averaged only 5.2 points per game. Fast forward to his sophomore season in Lexington where he was the leading scorer in the SEC and then was a first-round draft pick. Quickley is a phenomenal shooter with a high release and would have been an excellent option on the wing alongside Dejounte Murray and Lonnie Walker.

Immanuel Quickley showed off how his floater in the lane is definitely the best in the 2020 rookie class. (Vincent Carchietta/USA TODAY Sports)

Actual pick: Tyrese Haliburton, Sacramento Kings

Bane’s draft slot: No. 30, Memphis Grizzlies

2020-21 stats: 9.2 ppg, 3.1 rpg, 1.7 apg

Bane’s biggest criticisms coming into the 2020 draft were his size and length at the guard position. He’s listed at 6-foot-6, but has a 6-foot-4 wingspan. A lot of teams were worried about how he would defend the perimeter. Well, he did just fine in his first season in Memphis. Bane stole the ball 50 times and was a key rotational player for the Grizzlies during the postseason.

Bane complements Ja Morant and Dillon Brooks well, and he could have had the same impact in Sacramento playing alongside De’Aaron Fox and Buddy Hield. He finished the season shooting 43.2% from 3-point range and averaged less than one turnover per game for the season.

Actual pick: Kira Lewis Jr., New Orleans Pelicans

Anthony’s draft slot: No. 15, Orlando Magic

2020-21 stats: 12.9 ppg, 4.7 rpg, 4.1 apg

Anthony’s role in Orlando expanded immensely once Markelle Fultz went down with a season-ending torn ACL. Anthony rose to the occasion and hit two game-winners in his rookie season and had a season-high 37 points in his last game against the 76ers. 

Anthony is an extremely competitive guard who will have a long career in the NBA. He could have provided support to Lonzo Ball in the backcourt this season, and we would have undoubtedly seen some lobs to Zion Williamson in transition, where Anthony is most dangerous. With reports surfacing that Williamson’s family is unhappy in New Orleans, it’s up to the front office to make some changes and bring in some players who will turn around the franchise and keep their star player happy.

Actual pick: Aaron Nesmith, Boston Celtics

Maxey’s draft slot: No. 21, Philadelphia 76ers

2020-21 stats: 8.0 ppg, 1.7 rpg, 2.0 apg

Maxey was instrumental in the Game 6 win over the Atlanta Hawks that forced the Eastern Conference semifinals series to go the distance. He finished with 16 points and was a +12 coming off the bench. 

The former Kentucky guard was a little up-and-down at times this season, but he finished shooting 46.2% from the field and has a bright future as a shooting guard in the NBA. 

The Celtics took the Vanderbilt sharpshooter, Nesmith, at No. 14, but he struggled in his rookie season, averaging only 4.7 points per game. Maxey’s playmaking ability complements Jayson Tatum, and he might not have the shooting range of Payton Pritchard, but he could end up being a better long-term prospect down the road.

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