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lilhawkeye3 · 4 years ago

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This Ohio discourse has got me dying to create discourse about every other state now hehe so I officially present:

Hawk’s review of 36/50 US states!

In alphabetical order because that fuckin song “50 nifty United States” has been stuck in my head since fourth grade.

Arizona: Phoenix is hot. Can’t believe y’all choose to live in a place that gets haboobs. Saw Sen. John McCain in the airport. I feel that sums up the state well. 4/10

California: as a resident of the state of Oregon, I’m legally required to say fuck California😌 unless anyone else talking shit about Cali and then we got your back😤 SoCal vs San Fran vs Northern Cal are totally different worlds though. 7/10

Colorado: damn idk how y’all breathe there, them air is thin. But really pretty out there! 7/10

Connecticut: oh my god fuck New Haven. And Stamford, and Hartford, and— Yknow what? Let’s just toss the whole state into the Sound. For real, traffic is the WORST here and I’m so sorry that y’all gotta live like that. 3/10

Delaware: I cannot believe this is considered a state. There’s no difference between Delaware and Maryland/Pennsylvania. 1/10 should not be a state

Florida: “the only hills in Florida are the highway ramps and the Matterhorn!” —the shuttle driver at Disney World. He was right. Shit is flat as fuck here. And hot. And humid. The Gulf Coast is nice? But tbh it’s just all very touristy which is kind of a bummer. 5/10

Georgia: ...I can’t with the humidity or thinly veiled racism. But y’all got nice peaches! Also Black Panther filmed there so thank you for blessing us with that. 6/10 for fruits

Hawaii: okay pineapple farms are cool. Tbh I just feel really bad for how much mainlander/tourist bs all the islanders put up with. Ik price of living is v high and keeps going up. That said I did love Hawaii... although I was stung by a jellyfish. Hate those little bastards. 8/10 for wonderful people and nature

Idaho: as an Oregonian I’m required to also say fuck Idaho 😝 you da hoes. Okay for real tho southern Idaho has become v white white and kinda scary tbh. The northern part of the state is pretty chill tho. Also Oreida kettle chips are partly made in Idaho so I gotta give you half credit for that. 4/10

Illinois: at least you’re not Indiana. 4/10.

Indiana: I never want to step foot in Gary, Indiana again in my life. (Passed a Mack truck hauling a race car to Indy 500 though so that was cool.) 2/10

Iowa: I almost moved here. I’m so glad I didn’t. Why are the Quad Cities actually a group of five towns? I hate that. Also the roads were all cement, felt like driving on a sidewalk. Was also interesting because the second we got out of the city proper, it was just... corn fields everywhere. 2/10 y’all raising children of the corn.

Kentucky: I really don’t have anything to say about Kentucky. I thought the trees were pretty? 5/10 yeah idk

Maine: my relative has totaled two cars by hitting moose in Maine. Maine scares me. Or rather, the moose do. Also the lobster roll hype is real. And the coast truly is beautiful. 8/10 but an extra point for the moose bc I hate that relative so 9/10

Maryland: oh god Baltimore. Also I’m blaming you for the DC traffic because it’s on the land you gifted them. 3/10

Massachusetts: Patriots fans are the worst NFL fans (the racism is real, especially after fans burned the jerseys of Black players who knelt for the anthem). Liking Dunkin’ Donuts is not a personality trait. The North End in Boston is truly the best place to get pizza in the entire country. Western Mass is not the same state. And the Cape Cod bridges give me nightmares. 5/10 but cause I had to pay taxes two years and it really is Taxachusetts, knocking it down to 4/10

Michigan: it’s a lot bigger than I initially thought. 5/10

Minnesota: it’s Canada but in the US. Pretty driving through the southern part. Cops suck tho. 5/10

Montana: okay Montana is downright gorgeous. (Except Billings. Sorry, Billings.) I must include a photo. I wanna get a cabin here and just exist. 8/10

New Hampshire: can’t decide if it hates Massachusetts or wants to be Massachusetts. All it knows is that it’s better than Vermont. Which... y’know, valid. (If you wanna see NH culture watch North Woods Law tbh). 4/10

New Jersey: why are there so many goddamn highways in this state? Also there are more places to weekend trip than the Shore or the Poconos. Although you do have people pump gas for you just like Oregon, so... that’s valid. Things my friends have added: Newark airport is cursed (valid), the jughandles are nightmares (true), pork roll/Taylor Ham is good and so are bagels and New Jersey pizza (allergic so idk), and everyone is split on whether the shore is actually decent or not 😂 I give it a 3.5/10 out of spite

New York: NYC is fun, Upstate is MASSIVE but really beautiful. Long Island is... yeah I don’t have anything nice to say about Long Island. 8/10 For NYC, 6/10 for Upstate, -2/10 for Long Island, gives us an average of 6/10

North Carolina: very good peaches. Isn’t South Carolina. Keep it up👍🏽 6/10

Ohio: I already told y’all how I feel about this flat ass boring state. I feel no need to slander it any more lmao. 3/10

Oregon: she flies with her own wings, mi amor🥰 to list all the reasons I like Oregon (and the issues too bc it ain’t perfect), I would need a whole other post. I’ll just leave you with this picture I took of Mt. Hood, the queen of our Cascades. 11/10

Pennsylvania: so apparently PN is three states hiding in a trench coat like NY. There’s upstate, philly and Pittsburg. Personally I think they’re just trying too hard and wanna get the same recognition as NY. Meh. 5/10

Rhode Island: THIS FUCKIN SHAM OF A STATE Just merge it with Connecticut and be done with it!! It’s tiny. Providence sucks. There’s nothing unique about this state that you can’t find in Southern Mass (except MA has cheaper taxes so y’all come to work and shop in MA anyways smh). Also the fingers are really annoying to drive down to get to some beach areas haha. 2/10 you’re barely better than Delaware.

South Carolina: my Black father was invited to a party celebrating General Robert E Lee’s birthday. So... 0/10

South Dakota: very gorgeous, didn’t realize the Missouri River went this far west, but VERY LARGE. I mean it looks big on a map but then you get there and... yeah. No speed limit on highways is a great time though. And the Badlands have mountain goats! 6/10 bc while pretty, living there seems really hard. (Picture is me in the Badlands).

Texas: gave us Juneteenth and Beyoncé and JJ Watts. Thank you Texas. But is very big, got independence from Mexico to keep slavery (yikes), is like 97% private land (yikes) and is like the second or third largest state. Very big. That said, everyone I’ve ever met from Texas is lovely. 6/10.

Utah: Other than Idaho, this is the whitest state I’ve been to. Or it feels that way. Like a, the people crossed to the other side of the street and held their bags because I’m brown, state. And I don’t ski so I can’t even say that’s a good thing (I fell off the ski lift the one time I went, long story). Yeah 0/10.

Vermont: wants to be New Hampshire or Canada and can’t decide which. So it’s just kinda there. Pretty hills though. 3/10

Virginia: let’s be real we all forget that Virginia exists west of Richmond. Nova is a beauracratic and traffic nightmare and half our neighbors had to pass security clearance checks. Hampton Roads and beach area is a tourist and mosquito nightmare. But there were dolphins and I made snowmen on the beach. Good times. 6.7/10

Washington: again, legally required as an Oregon resident to say fuck Washington because it’s all your fault we now are getting a toll on the I-5 border. But you’re better than California. And the Sound is really cool for fishing, love Wicked Tuna. And the fish market. Best salmon I’ve had. Eastern Washington... y’all got Spokane but the rest is kinda sparse. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 8/10

Wisconsin: cheese is actually good. Again, pretty state, much larger than I initially thought. 7/10

Wyoming: this was the ONLY STATE I lost cell service in when diriving cross country. Kinda surprised it wasn’t Montana, but no, it was Wyoming. Views are gorgeous though so I was distracted either way. 4/10

Thank you for joining me on this cross-country edition of Tea Time with Hawk. Please respond with any reactions, corrections, addendums about any and all of the states mentioned. And thank you for taking part in this wholesome Clone Wars fandom discourse with me 🥰💕

DISCLAIMER: THESE RATINGS ARE ALL A JOKE PLEASE DO NOT ACTUALLY GET MAD ABOUT IT

#ohio discourse #50 states reviews #oregon #midwest #california #texas #New York #massachusetts #deep south #midatlantic #New England #united states #the clone wars #DISCOURSE COMMENCE

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queenbirbs · 5 years ago

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the way home | Ch. 1 | Edward x MC

Pairing: Edward Mortemer x MC

Word count: 2,048

Summary: In which traveling to the past is only half the battle; or: Elena finds her way back.

Warnings: language

Notes: This series is complete. I’ll be posting chapters on here and over on AO3. Title taken from Tony Anderson’s The Way Home. Continue on to chapter two.

Inspired by @choicesmonthlychallenge day 16 prompt “tick tock / time.”

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“You heard what my colleague said.” Robert’s voice sounds from the backseat, pulling her from her study of the countryside. “If this doesn’t work, then we may get stuck somewhere else with no--”

“Fuck that,” Elena cuts him off. “It’s going to work.”

He rolls his eyes at her in the rearview mirror, but says nothing more. They’ve spent enough time together over the last two years that he’s learned when to stop bothering with trying to change her mind.

“Damn straight it better work,” her sister Gabby says around a mouthful of sour gummy worms. “I didn’t put two-thousand miles on my car for you all to get skunked.”

Robert makes a face at the unusual term. “Are you forgetting that if we get caught then you’re an accessory before the fact?” he points out.

“Yeah, but that won’t really affect my trade-in value, now, will it?”

Up ahead along the highway, a yellow sign reads: Welcome to New Mexico; Land of Enchantment. With Colorado in the rearview now, Elena pushes out a breath, trying to calm her racing heart as the pockmarked landscape passes in a blur.

She’s tired of having her fate sealed, printed onto expensive cardstock, and ogled by museum-goers. What a life she led! How tragic, though, about Captain Mortemer spending all that time searching for her! the people at the museum tut and shake their heads before moving on to the next room. Elena’s tired of coming back home, of staring at that portrait of him and wondering if it’s the last she would ever see of him.

During their four trips to the past, she’d managed to find Edward only twice. Though she was glad to be leaving it behind, there was something to be said about the ease of communication in the twenty-first century. After their last return, Elena and Robert didn’t bother with the faulty compass or time anomalies. Every deadend, every long night of research, and every weekend trip to scope out a lead was for the assurance that this would be their final voyage to the past. There would be no more time-hopping, no more disappearing for months at a time. With each stone they overturned, there was hope that it would bring them here. Here, she bemuses, to the long stretch of empty highway between southern Colorado and northern New Mexico.

The trip to South Dakota had been a last-ditch effort. Robert’s old colleague from Oxford let him know about a warehouse hidden away in the Badlands, rumored to house hundreds of artifacts -- including the one they were after. Convincing Gabby to be their getaway driver was the hardest part; putting on a show of being a damsel in distress with a broken-down car and incapacitating the guards was much easier, in Elena’s opinion.

Under her touch, the artifact in her hand glows the same eerie shade of blue as the compass. The whistle is a tarnished gold, engraved with the initials of a sailor who escaped H.M.S. Fletcher after its sinking off Cape Horn in 1890. News articles about the event were vague. The sailor’s diary, however, detailed his two days trapped in an air pocket, blowing his whistle desperately for help, and suddenly appearing on the shore eight years in the past. The only corroboration was the event log of a fisherman who watched the man “step out of thin air.” By all accounts, the tale was nothing more than a fantastical story.

They reach Urraca Mesa with plenty of light left -- surprising, given that they were forced to hike around the scout ranch that owns the property. The mesa glows crimson in the afternoon sun, towering above them as they make their way up the trail. Elena’s duffel bag smacks against her thigh with every step. Along the next rise, Robert stops and consults his map with a scowl.

“The lodestone minerals makes navigating this place a pain in the arse,” he grumbles as his compass refuses to cooperate. The needle jerks back and forth, never settling on a clear direction.

“Does it have to be exactly on the ley line?” Elena asks, fidgeting with her bag’s strap to move it to a less sweat-drenched part of her back.

“Of course it does. That’s why we drove all the way down here in the first place. The electromagnetic energy is at its peak along--”

“Okay, okay!” Gabby interrupts. “How about we try something else: do you have the exact coordinates?”

“Yes, but a compass doesn’t work like that.”

“Yeah, but a phone does,” she snaps back, tugging her phone from her backpack. “Lemme have ‘em.”

“We’re too far out of range for cell service.”

“Maybe, but it’s worth a shot.”

Robert sighs, then flips his map over for the coordinates scribbled on the back. Gabby’s fingers fly across her screen. Within a minute, the automated voice is telling them to continue south for 256 feet.

“Verizon,” she offers at his look of surprise.

You have arrived at your destination! the phone announces as they come to a copse of trees underneath the mesa’s shadow. Elena isn’t sure she really believes in all of Robert’s theories about magnetic fields, but there’s something different here. An odd sensation tingles down her spine and through her fingers, as if she’s touching a live wire. The smell of ozone is heavy, as if a tremendous rain fell moments ago, though the desert is bone-dry.

“Well?” Robert motions to the whistle in her hand.

She lifts the whistle to her lips and blows. Its shrill cry pierces the air, the mesa’s steep walls echoing the noise. At first, nothing. Then, as if ripping a seam through the fabric of reality, a portal cleaves the open air before them. That blinding blue-and-white color shimmers before them.

“Holy fuck.” Gabby grabs her arm and squeezes. “You-- you weren’t making this shit up.”

At that, Robert turns and lifts an eyebrow at her, a smirk stretching across his face.

“You think we’d make you drive two-thousand miles for a practical joke?”

“I mean, we used to play them on each other growing up,” she says. “But this would be one hell of a trick.”

“No trick,” Elena tells her, turning her attention away from the portal and back to her sister. “But it does mean…” she trails off, her throat too tight to finish the sentence.

With tears welling in her eyes, Gabby throws her arms around her and hauls her in for a tight hug. The portal sparkles against Elena’s closed eyes; tears drip steadily down her face.

“You’re really sweaty,” Gabby complains against her hair, prompting a laugh from her sister. “I hope you didn’t forget to bring anything, because there’s no CVS on the other side.”

“I’ll be okay. I have everything I need. And there’s always the local market.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they’re stock-full of tampons and condoms.”

Robert clears his throat, gesturing to the portal when both sisters glance over at him.

“I’m sorry, but we really need to go, sooner rather than later. I’m not sure how long the portal will stay open. If it closes, we may not get another chance.”

Elena nods, crushing her sister against her one last time before letting go.

“I know you’ll have a badass sword or whatever, but make sure you use those moves I taught you,” Gabby tells her. “I didn’t close up shop at the gym for a whole day just for you to rely on weapons only.”

“Okay,” Elena nods. “I will.”

“And try to get a message to me. I’ll keep an eye out for any new pirate documents and artifacts. There’s a subreddit I follow that keeps me up-to-date.”

“Okay, I will.”

“And tell that little boy of yours, whenever he comes along, that he has a really cool aunt.”

“Okay,” Elena promises, her voice breaking around the words, “I will.”

Nodding at Robert, she walks with him to the portal’s edge. This close, she can smell the salty wind and feel the humidity of the Caribbean. Glancing back at her sister, she gives her a watery smile.

“Love you,” they say in tandem, prompting the other to chuckle.

After a final wave, Elena turns and links her arm through Robert’s.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Together, they step into the portal, and the world closes up behind them. For the briefest moment, she glimpses that swirling mass of colors that surrounded the Intrepid during the chase with the Admiral. Then: white sand; a blazing, blue sky; palm trees swaying along the curve of a coastline. The salty wind that she caught the scent of earlier rushes past, a cool balm against her sweaty skin. Across the blue stretch in front of them, ships cruise toward the shore, their sails trimmed for an easy docking. Through the trees to the west, a bustling town sits above a busy port.

“Where are we?” Elena asks, squinting at the buildings to see if she can recognize where they’ve landed.

“Santo Domingo -- though you’d know it as the Dominican Republic,” Robert explains. “That white flag with the odd-looking red ex is a symbol of the Spanish empire. The ships out there are flying the same colors.”

“Okay. Now, more importantly, when are we?” she asks.

“The Spanish ruled this half of Hispaniola between 1697 and 1795.”

“Oh, yeah, you know,” she scoffs, “just a hundred-year span of time.”

“Quiet, I’m not finished. Do you notice something off about the buildings? Extensive damage like that isn’t caused by a tropical storm. That would be hurricane-force winds.” As he lectures, he swings the bag on his shoulder round and starts to dig through it. “In 1754, Santo Domingo was hit with what would’ve been a category three hurricane. Twelve ships were lost.”

“That history degree of yours is coming in clutch,” she says, grinning when he scowls at the slang term.

“Our only real way of knowing, of course, is to go into town and find out.”

Pulling a tube from his bag, Robert bends to set it down in front of the portal. She forgot it was there at all, too excited at the prospect of returning home. “I’d advise you to retreat,” he tells her as he backs away, a pistol in his other hand.

Elena heeds his warning and follows him several paces away. She claps her hands over her ears just as Robert pulls the trigger. The gunpowder explodes into a ball of fire, eating away at the portal until it collapses in on itself, blinking from existence.

“So.” Her words sound muffled to her, still ringing from the blast. “That’s why you didn’t want to fly to South Dakota.”

“Not really. I just hate flying.”

“Convenient that you picked a century when airplanes haven’t been invented yet.”

Robert grins at her and shrugs, though the jovial expression drops from his face as he gestures to the whistle, still clutched in her hand.

“For the next item on the agenda, you need to get rid of that.”

“What? No!” Elena takes a step back and holds it against her chest.

“Elena--”

“Not until I find Edward. If we went too far in time, then this was all for nothing.”

He settles his hands on his hips and shakes his head at her.

“If you hold onto that, you’ll be drawing unwanted attention to yourself. There are those that can… sense power in objects. You’d be wise to toss that thing into the sea.”

“Later,” she snaps, then hesitates, trying to reign in the irritation at his lack of understanding. “Look, I know that for you, your goal is complete: you’re back. But mine isn’t.”

Robert grimaces, glancing away and towards the ocean beyond. Finally, the set of his shoulders loosens and his breath escapes him in a sigh. He digs through the bag at his side for a moment, before pulling out a long, gold chain.

“Here.” He takes the whistle from her and loops it through the chain. “So you don’t lose it in the meantime.”

Elena settles the necklace across her chest; the whistle disappears into the top of her shirt, hidden from view.

“Thanks.”

“Now,” Robert gestures towards the town, “let’s bury these bags and go see about this pirate of yours.”

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References:

The warehouse full of artifacts in the Badlands is a reference to Warehouse 13, a show about a warehouse full of artifacts in the Badlands.

#edward x mc #edward mortemer #distant shores #distant shores fic #august choices challenge #Kaila writes things #f: the way home

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treewithcare · 6 days ago

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Tree Felling Services in Cape Town

Cape Town is known for its stunning landscapes, lush greenery, and diverse flora. However, as much as trees enhance the beauty of the city, there are instances when tree felling services are required. Whether due to safety concerns, property development, or disease, professional tree removal is an essential service that helps ensure the health and safety of your environment. If you're looking for tree felling services in Cape Town, here's everything you need to know.

Why Tree Felling Is Necessary

Tree felling is not always about cutting down healthy trees for aesthetic purposes. Often, trees need to be felled for various practical reasons, including:

Safety Concerns: Trees that are damaged, diseased, or decaying pose significant risks. Overhanging branches can fall during storms, potentially damaging property or injuring individuals. In such cases, removing the tree is crucial to maintaining safety.

Property Development: When building or renovating a home or commercial property, some trees may need to be cleared to make way for construction. Tree felling services can help you remove trees efficiently, without compromising the integrity of your project.

Tree Health: In some cases, a tree may be beyond recovery due to disease, infestation, or poor growth conditions. Instead of allowing it to deteriorate further, it's often better to remove it to prevent any negative impact on the surrounding trees and landscape.

Landscaping and Design: As part of maintaining a beautiful, functional garden or landscape, some trees may need to be removed or pruned to create the desired aesthetic.

Choosing the Right Tree Felling Service in Cape Town

When hiring a tree felling service in Cape Town, it’s important to consider the following factors:

Experience and Expertise: Look for a service that has extensive experience in tree removal. Seasoned professionals can ensure that the job is done safely and efficiently. Additionally, they will be able to handle tricky situations, such as felling trees near structures or power lines.

Licensing and Certification: Always opt for a certified tree felling service. In Cape Town, tree removal requires proper permits, especially if the tree is located in a protected area. A professional service will be familiar with local regulations and ensure compliance with all legal requirements.

Insurance: Tree felling is a dangerous job. It’s essential that the company has the necessary insurance to cover any potential accidents or damage that may occur during the process. This protects both you and the workers.

Equipment and Techniques: The company should use modern equipment and safe techniques to carry out the work. From chainsaws to cranes, proper tools make the job more efficient and reduce the risk of accidents.

Customer Reviews: Check customer testimonials or ask for references to gauge the quality of service offered by the tree felling company. Positive reviews can provide insight into their professionalism and reliability.

The Tree Felling Process

The tree felling process involves several steps, including:

Assessment: A professional tree removal company will assess the condition of the tree and the surrounding environment.

Planning: A detailed plan is made for the safest way to fell the tree, considering factors such as the tree's height, location, and surrounding obstacles.

Felling: The tree is carefully cut down using appropriate techniques and equipment.

Removal and Clean-Up: After the tree is felled, the company will remove the debris, including branches and the trunk, leaving the area clean.

Conclusion

Tree felling services in Cape Town are vital for ensuring the safety, health, and aesthetic appeal of your property. Whether you need to remove a dangerous tree, clear land for development, or maintain your landscape, hiring a qualified tree felling service is the best way to ensure the job is done right. By considering the experience, certification, and equipment of the service provider, you can ensure a smooth and safe process.

#Tree Felling Services in Cape Town #Tree Trimming Services in Cape Town #Tree Removal Services in Cape Town #Plot Clearing Services in Cape Town

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penaltybox14 · 4 years ago

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Decofiremen: The Letter

@zeitheist @darknight-brightstar @squad51goals Oh no more Decofiremen. Is it still found family if you’re finding it again? Do you get double points for that?

Or, Josiah is way in over his head.

...

Josiah sits at his desk a long time, and the pile of scrapped letters grows around him, and the bells pass the day away. With the windows open to the big yard, he can feel like chill in the autumn air, the swift kiss of a one-time lover in the morning.

Monroe is shouting at his team - quicker this, steadier that. An engine coughs, groans, and finally turns over, to cheers and clapping - that'd be Lieutenant Jackson, who brought his new rank and a second kerodiesel up from the city back in early summer. He keeps carefully and deliberately breaking the engines piece by piece, teaching the lads to put them back together again. He will likely do something after dinner like pull the fan-belts or throw bacon grease into the pump levers - Josiah thinks the oakbellies would have a faint if they knew what Jackson was doing, but Jackson knows the kerodiesels like some men knew their horses, and Josiah trusts him.

But what choice does he have? He was shipped here to be masters of men who had more than a decade of service on him, and belts so heavy with commendation, so fat with brass you'd need a team three abreast to carry them. He stands beside them some mornings and feels as if he ought to be in line with the lads instead.

Lieutenant T. Castor, Engine 27, Bronx Battalion District ...

No. He crumples the paper and shoves it off the desk to where the waste-paper basket probably is, buried somewhere. He taps his pen on the blotter, leaving little wet, smokey blobs of ink on the worn leather. No, too formal, that. When did he get so formal? His fingers are callused and cracked, still thickest where they gripped the horse and axe. There is a deep scar on his right arm where Chubs, their old bay gelding, bit him for not giving up a mint. His left arm is a muddled, molten map, scoured of hair and curiously pale, so he pulls the sleeve down. For the chill.

Lt. Thomas -

Now what was Silky's middle name? Did he ever know it?

Lt Castor -

No, God, no. They were on nicknames before they even hit the cobbles together. Never so tough-tongued as a surname between them. Thomas, he'd said, at breakfast. I'm Thomas. I about ran you over yesterday, I'm sorry. Grab an extra biscuit, Eddy's recipe is the best.

Silky was almost eighteen, and he was wide about the shoulders but leggy, like a colt at Saratoga. He had auburn hair and a broad, friendly face, and he didn't know his family, and he had been at the foundling hospital in the city and then Mary of the Assumption Home, which was in Nyack, and then he had gone to school with the Jesuits at Saint Joseph's in Rochester, and Captain Parson had come to see him about a month ago and asked if he didn't want to come and be a fireman, and Captain Parson seemed so awfully familiar well, he couldn't help but say yes.

Josiah found all of this out in line at the mess before they even sat down.

I'm sorry. The brothers told me I talk too much. Actually the sisters said that, too. But I was the best at reading the Latin at Mass, they told me. What's your name?

Silky - someone started calling him Silky sometime that winter, and Josiah can't recall why, but maybe it was during a card game, or maybe it was because he kept his hair slicked down with some sort of glue he got from the drug store in town, or maybe it was just because he could have talked the ladders into becoming trees again, his voice so smooth and his eyes so kind. Silky had no enemies, had probably never had an enemy, except after card games in the wintertime. That was Silky.

Birchy! We're doing ladder runs today - come let's be on my team.

I bet I can get Peps to hit the quarter-mile gate in a flat minute, Birchy, will you time?

Silky made a man want to be better, not to beat him, but because he cheered it so. Which was why Silky was so often the second man on the line - he would push you, and you knew you couldn't, wouldn't ever need to, turn back. No matter where the fire glows, the song said, we'll bring the bastard down. And they would - when things shone, when his leg was solid under him, he could catch the humming edge of a thought before it hit Silky's tongue, and Silky rested in his amicable quiet, and the two of them brought terror and some begrudging respect to their captain.

The sun was good, then. The summer was high and the winter never cut through their coats. They had grown up together, until the smoke came and the beam fell and neither of them was enough to see it coming.

Through the ether and the pain, Silky's voice pulled him back, over and over, even when he wanted to leave, even when he wanted the echoes and the needles and the endless white - the white coats, the white sheets, the white, stark, sterile ward - to end. Silky pulled him back. Silky's hands in their white wrappings held his, and his Sear murmured as earnestly as his voice did. Him that would persuade the devil to abandon his house, him that would settle a horse with his eyes.

There were long days, endless days, when he wanted to fall forever. Yet Silky pulled him back.

Silky had written him letters just about every week, after his promotion, when he was assigned to Wynantskill. Eddy or Lufty Parker would dutifully leave them on his desk, where they stacked, precarious and unopened. After a while the letters came every month, and Eddy stopped clearing his throat when he brought one, and Lufty stopped staring meaningfully at the pile, and Josiah had dumped them wholesale into a drawer to stop the burning in his chest when he saw Silky's precise Jesuit cursive on the envelopes.

He'd put the key under the blotter. So there is one less drawer to use. So it is.

After the first night, young Cleary hasn't said much to anybody. Antoine and Ellis have been pressing Lufty Parker to let him participate in some of the day's drills, and Jules keeps trying to coax the boy into one of the evening's baseball games. Josiah sees him watching Betram Cochrane play the fiddle in the evenings, and remembers piano lessons, and a little girl with a pink bow and a dutch bob, and remembers chloroform and morphine and nursing sisters in dark capes and white hats. The little fellow calls him Capper, which he ought to mind, but he can't bring himself to discourage. He calls the boy Davey, or young Cleary, depending on who's listening.

Outside, Antoine is lining up his team to race for the ladders. He calls for David Cleary on the line, and Josiah hears Monroe sighing mightily and telling Antoine, again, that Cleary is not in training, Cleary is not even sixteen, and would you please stop asking.

Antoine is going to make his captain gray, wherever he is assigned. He thinks Antoine could be a driver - he is brave enough, to take the narrow streets at speed - but that he will have his own house someday, too. Josiah should look to send him to the Bronx, where the tenements are so tight they seem to be held together with moss and mothers' shouting, where there will be many families who will need his courage and his kindness.

Engine 27, Lieutenant -

No, no.

Ellis is arguing that a growing boy needs exercise and fresh air, not just to sit on the sidelines.

Josiah pulls the key from under the blotter, then puts it back again. Then pulls it out.

In the drawer are more than a dozen letters, neatly sealed, which get thinner as the months draw out between them.

He puts the key back again.

Silky sat by his bedside at Bellevue, his auburn hair loosed from its dapper glue to spring in waves around his temples. Josiah had wanted so badly to leave, to shed his body, to tumble down some ethereal stairwell in a dreamless morphine sleep where the sun was bright and nothing hurt, where his leg would be straight forever. But Silky held him pinned to the dark, smoking earth, and a part of him had hated him for it, and the hate was like an abscessed hoof, rank and hot. He could never ride the boards again, he could never go back, yet Silky pulled him back anyway. The selfish bastard, who had sweat and fevered with him when the sear broke.

An evening breeze rustles the crumpled sheets, the abandoned lines, the empty words around him. Ellis and Antoine are arguing for Davey's sake, and Monroe sounds close to giving in. Good for them.

He grabs the edge of the desk and heaves himself, haltingly, the few lumbering steps to the window, leaning out over Monroe's bald spot.

"Captain Monroe!"

Monroe looks as surprised as the lads to see him, leaning, gritting against his leg, out the window.

No one can see how white his knuckles are in the long afternoon light.

"Monroe, for God's sake. Just let the boy try for it. Antoine, so help me, if young Cleary injures himself, I'll saddle a horse with your hide."

Antoine is grinning, his black eyes bright as apples.

"Birch - "

"A boy needs to run, Monroe."

Monroe throws up his hands. "Fine then! Fine! Let the little fellow break his face! Let the state's hand come and flick us off the map like a horsefly! Fine! Antoine! Line 'em up!"

Josiah smiles, and hauls himself back to his desk.

My old friend, he writes, I am so sorry I haven't written. Please feel free not to forgive me. But I must tell you about the situation I find myself in - you were always the cleverer of the two of us, Silky. You could have talked the dead to dancing from their graves. My right hand, whatever God you once believed in has seen fit to trade a boy just twelve his family for his sear, and now at fourteen, he has finally come to us. Yes, he is too young to train, but he is too young for many things, and once, you told me that the Jesuits told you that God does not give us more than we cannot carry. Well, my first and last friend, this is more line than I can drag by myself. If you cannot bear to forgive my silence, Silky, than please bear to give me some advice. They gave me my captain's coat because they did not know what else to do, and I am lost. You were my brother from the day we met face-to-horse, and you shared the sear with me. What am I to do with this boy? I know that he is ours, he is our youngest brother, but I know we cannot replace his family. But when I was lost, Thomas, and wanted to stay that way, you pulled me back, bastard that you were and are. If anybody can tell me what to do now, that he is with us at last, it's you.

Your foolish and misguided friend, who apologizes for what it's worth,

Truly,

Birchy.

#decofire #decofiremen #original works #found family #found it now what #apologies are hard yo #if you need to picture silky just picture that hot guy in the munsingwear ads but with auburn hair #there you go

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platypanthewriter · 5 years ago

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The Dragon’s Prince (2)

Once Upon a Time, a Little Prince told a Dragon a Story

They circled to land within sight of the castle, at the edge of the battleground, where the fighting had turned the trees to rot and ash, and the earth to craters and spikes of glass.

“There was a dragon hunter when I was a child,” Steve said, and the dragon’s bluey-green eyes fixed on his face, his tail lashing restlessly. “He had—he’d captured a young one, and killed the dragons as they tried to win it back. He killed—over a dozen. He—faced his last stand here.”

“Friend of yours?” Billy asked, for once standing more than an arm's length away and listening, instead of—instead of being distracting, Steve thought, shaking his head.

“Wha—no! We were hunting him too. He’d—he had an early form of the magic dampening rituals, and he—he—”

“—this isn’t from then,” Billy pointed out, rapping at one of the still waves of glass with his claws.

“You—you’re right, yeah. Between the dragons and his sorcery, too much magic was released here.” Steve pointed into the forest. “You see where it’s darkest. It—he made a—a crack. A gate. Things, uh, things come through.”

“Things,” Billy repeated.

“When it’s cold,” Steve snorted a laugh, holding his hand up to catch a few flakes of snow. “—when it’s cold, they ride through, and we have to—only fire. Only fire stops them. We’ve brought everyone into the castle, but we aren’t prepared to feed so many. And it’s getting colder.” He took a shaky breath, and Billy stepped close, warm against his side.

“...the...hunter,” he said, breathing flames for Steve to warm his fingers, “—and the little dragon. He caused this?”

“He was—yeah.”

“Why didn’t you kill him?”

“What? They did, they were so close to the castle—we came out and tried to put a stop to it, but he’d already—he attacked us.”

“No, the little dragon. He caused this.”

Steve jerked away, staring at the dragon’s long golden face. “...no? He was a little kid— his whole body was the size of your head—”

“Your father was going to.” Billy's voice was flat as he surveyed the forest, and Steve stepped closer, running the flat of his hand over warm scales. “He—he gave the order to chop his head off, and then—you came running. You saved him. You told him a story.”

“That’s why you like me so much,” Steve laughed, sliding his hand up behind the fin-like scales protecting the dragon’s nape, and scritching the softer scales there. “Where'd you hear about it? What happened to him, d’you know? I tried to keep track—”

“Doesn’t matter.” Billy nudged Steve’s whole body with his head, like a giant horse. “Still his fault. You should—you should have killed him. Look at this.”

“It wasn’t his fault. He was held captive, him and Elle, the little sorceress. Hopper scooped her up, I just had to sit with a scared baby dragon until some more showed up, and got that horrible collar off.”

“It took hours,” the dragon snorted. “You got between him and a sword.”

“They wouldn’t have hurt me.” Steve rolled his eyes, accepting the snuggles of an adult dragon, and remembering the little one perfectly still against his shoulder, its scales still soft to the touch, as his voice going hoarse, and he started to jumble his stories together. Holding the little dragon close for warmth, and glaring down the guards standing around. The little dragon hadn’t spoken the entire time.

“...how many have died?” Billy asked, eyes fixed on the breach in the woods.

Steve swallowed. “We don’t—we don’t know what happens to the people they take. But.” He clenched his jaw. “Too many.”

“Enough that they sent you to ask a dragon you thought had burned some innocent man alive.” Billy bit his lips.

“Enough for that.” Steve leaned to bump his shoulder against Billy’s jaw. “I knew better, though. I did all your paperwork.”

“You thought I might have,” Billy’s laugh was unsteady, and Steve leaned to kiss his broad golden cheek.

“Nah. I knew.”

Long enough later that he'd started to shiver, Steve jumped, startled out of his reverie by human-sized Billy leaning his head in so their noses nearly brushed. His scales and horns made him look a bit fierce, but Steve suspected, staring back into his blue eyes, that he was actually worried.

“We’ve got until tonight, right, your highness?”

“Ye-yeah.”

“Maybe you should sleep? Or eat?” Billy leaned in for a warm kiss, and Steve relaxed into it, glad to draw his eyes away from the amount of frozen blood splashed across the ground. There were mounds of broken armor, evidence of further battles while he’d traveled, and followed false leads, and the times exhaustion from his now-healed wounds had kept him asleep long unnecessary hours in inns.

“Thank you for coming.” He slid his arms around Billy’s neck, and sighed.

“I’ll fly you to the castle,” Billy whispered, nibbling his ear. “You can get some—”

“No,” Steve pulled back, “—I mean, if—if you want to—the town is right over there, we can eat—”

“The castle’s closer,” Billy cocked his head, rubbing the flats of his hands up and down Steve’s upper arms, “—but town is fine, you want to show me around town?”

“...we can get you some pants,” Steve told him, and his eyes narrowed.

“I have scales.”

“You do.” Steve pulled him close, smoothing them, then leaning to press kisses down Billy’s shoulder. “But you know you want to try different colors, and flex in front of the mirror.”

Billy stared into his eyes. “I—I really want to do that,” he snorted, and Steve dodged the tiny flames, grinning.

“Maybe we can find something sexy for when you’re huge and spiky.”

“You—” Billy laughed, glancing sideways, “—you think I’m sexy then?”

Steve stopped dead in the snow, and yanked Billy’s elbow, which ended in Steve yanking himself into Billy, but he just steadied himself on scaled skin and yanked Billy’s head into a deep kiss. Billy laughed, and Steve grinned back, turning his head to get at more of Billy’s mouth, and letting his eyes drift shut.

It was easy to forget that the icy gates would open that night, and the riders would come through, when Billy was humming happily against his mouth. Steve had to stop to breathe, and Billy chased his lips, panting as hard as he was.

“Convinced now?”

“...convinced you like me shaped like this,” Billy whispered back, grinning. “I must have gotten it right, right? I’m the prettiest human around.”

“Wait,” Steve stopped again, and ran his thumbs along Billy’s cheekbones, “—wait, no, that’s not right, you—you’re always—you’re always you, so you—”

“What?” Billy asked, cocking his head, “—careful, there, kinda sounds like you’re into lizards—”

“I am into a dragon,” Steve squinted at him, speaking slowly and carefully, “—and sometimes he’s got skin, and sometimes he has scales, and sometimes he has wings—”

Billy covered a snort, grinning, and pulled him into another kiss. “I’m gonna hold you to that,” he said against Steve’s ear, laughing at his shiver.

As the ice gate crumbled into shards and blew away, and whole company of tattered soldiers roared in relieved victory below, Steve let himself flop forward along Billy’s dorsal spikes. Billy laughed and flapped harder, spinning upward, and Steve yelled, scrabbling at the smooth scales, when Billy’s whole sinuous form jerked like he’d been hit, and began dwindling down to human-sized. His head lolled on his neck, his eyes rolled back in his head, and Steve grabbed for him in midair, screaming his name.

Their momentum held them up for a long second, and then Steve’s stomach flipped as the ground came spiraling towards them. He caught Billy’s outstretched wrist. When the towers of Harringtown in the distance were nearly at eye level, there was another whud sideways, and they somersaulted end over end to the ground.

When Steve staggered to his feet, Billy was yards away, flat in a crater of dirt, with three people in clean palace guard uniforms standing over him. The snow was starting to fall thickly. The ground shook behind him, and he pivoted and fell on his butt, staring up at another, smaller, bronzey-red dragon. “Y-you’re his sister,” he said hoarsely.

“You’re the prince,” her voice was growly, but she nodded, watching Billy over his head. “...if I...distract them. You can get him away?”

“Why?” he coughed, swallowing, and shoved himself upright again. “You—air dragon. You—helped us fall. Safely.”

“He was attacked by your people,” she hissed, her nostrils puffing steam. “Are you his enemy or his friend?”

“His friend.” Steve wiped his face, nodding. “I’ll take him—I’ll—I’ll make sure he’s safe.”

“He trusts you,” her voice rumbled as she leaned in to stare, her breath warming his chest, “—and so will I, but know that if you betray us—”

“I won’t.” Steve patted her nose, as he would a man’s shoulder, and her eyes narrowed.

While she blasted the guards back—he watched, riveted, as a man in full plate armor bearing his father’s colors cartwheeled back end over end—Steve scuttled across the battlefield, pushing between startled soldiers who hadn’t even gotten a chance to fight, and weren’t entirely sure what had happened.

When he reached Billy, the dragon was entirely soft and human, grayish-green against the snow, and Steve whipped his cape off and wrapped him, then tried to move him. It was like lifting a larger-than-life marble statue, if that statue was also an unwieldy corpse. After yanking on Billy's arm until he was completely winded, he looked around, and saw an apple cart pressed into service as an artillery wagon. He grabbed a few of the more hale-looking soldiers—yelling and waving his signet ring as needed—and they helped him slowly shift the dead-to-the-world dragon into the cart, which rode even lower than it had filled with iron cannonballs. Steve rubbed his face, and started pushing. After a few feet, the smaller dragon landed next to him again.

“What are you doing?”

“He’s made of lead,” Steve wheezed, the frozen earth crumpling under his skidding feet as he threw his whole weight into moving the cart.

“...humans,” she muttered, and shifted into a smallish red-haired, red-scaled girl, who pushed the wagon quite handily, while Steve cleared a path, and eventually, yelled until someone opened the castle gates. The cart smashed at the top of the second stairway, its wheels rolling away as wood splinters flew in a truly melodramatic way, but between the two of them they drug Billy into Steve’s room, and heaved him into the bed. It emitted a loud creak Steve wouldn’t have expected of the royal furniture, hewn from whole hickory trees.

It creaked again, hours later.

“What’s the deal,” Billy asked, from the bed. It sounded like his throat was raw, and Steve bit his lips, pacing. He’d locked the door, but it wouldn’t take long before someone noticed he’d smuggled a dragon into his room in an exploded apple cart. His muscles shook from hauling the cart up three staircases. They’d been lucky—he grimaced with guilt at the thought—that everyone was still outside, dealing with the wounded.

“Your highness,” Billy hissed.

“What?” He frowned over at Billy’s sweaty face, white under his freckles. He looked strange with no scales at all.

“The arrangement,” Billy said, shoving himself up on his elbow, and closed his eyes with a pained grunt.

“Lie down—Billy—” he shouted, running over to stand like an idiot, watching Billy writhe. “Billy, not tonight, you need to—try to rest, at least.” Steve crouched, tucking a sweaty curl behind Billy’s ear. He’d never felt the dragon’s skin so cold. “Do you need more blankets? Should I build up the fire?”

“What’s it gonna be, your highness,” Billy whispered, grinning up toothily. “I bet you’d like people to listen to you. How’re you going to use me—how’s this—” he asked, waved his hand, and made a soft noise in his throat, curling a little on his side, “—h-how’s this gonna work. You have a collar, or are you—you want me to shift, right, you can’t—you can’t weld anything on—keep me from sh—from shifting—you want to be able to tell me to shift—scare people—”

“What are you talking about.” Steve pushed more pillows around him, feeling useless. “I don’t—I think you’re delirious. Are you thirsty? You want something to drink?” He tried to take Billy’s hand, and warm it up, but Billy snatched it back. Steve kept rambling. “Your sister’s gone for Nancy—and Elle—maybe they can—fix this—” He eyed the blankets where they covered up the sealing sigil that had transformed Billy in midair, and nearly killed them both.

“...make it darker,” Billy whispered, and tried to blow out the torches, blowing with his human lungs. Steve smacked his hand over a laugh, and took the torch he’d grabbed from the hallway back outside, and blew out the candelabras.

“Does it make your eyes hurt?” he asked, sitting back on the bed, and Billy stared at him, his eyes catching the firelight in a weirdly human way.

“Just—tell me what you want. I—I’ve lived through worse, just—just tell me what’s—wh-why’d you save me, Your Highness,” Billy laughed, and winced, shivering, and Steve stopped trying to touch him, and went to add more wood to the fire.

When he was done, Billy was still clammy to the touch, shuddering with cold, and Steve helped him out of the huge bed—somewhat—and pushed chairs over for him to steady himself. Between them, they got the dragon lowered onto furs in front of the fire, where he rolled half on top of Steve.

“Why’d you save me. You keep saving me,” Billy whispered against his neck.

“You gotta pay your taxes,” Steve whispered back, kissing his forehead, and Billy laughed. A little high, and shaky, Steve thought, but a laugh. “You’re sitting on piles of gold out there,” he pressed kisses along Billy’s cheek, “—you think I’m gonna let you die? Let me tell you about hoard insurance.”

Billy shook with laughter against him, snuggled down in blankets and still shivering, but stopped trying to pull away. “...die to get out of paperwork.”

“No,” Steve squeezed him, “—don’t you dare, not after I had to struggle through that much monstrous handwriting.”

“Rawr,” Billy snickered, shivering.

“—yeah, I’m the only one who can read it. I’ll be holding petitions in the great hall and in comes a messenger—my dragon sent in his paperwork, and nobody can read it—”

“Your dragon.” Billy buried his face in Steve’s neck. “My prince.”

Steve held him tightly, wrapping more handfuls of blanket around him, and thought about his father sending him to get the only fire dragon in the kingdom, whatever it took—and then someone shooting he and Billy out of the air. He squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to sleep.

Part One!

Art by @neonlaynes! Requested by @neonlaynes for Harringrove For Australia!

#harringrove #harringrove for Australia #stranger things #platypan #platypan fic #Billy is a dragon #Who doesn't do his paperwork #Steve is a treasure #With a terrible father #Lookit the dragon fingers!#And a little bit of smoke #Because Billy's hot for Steve

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kisnet · 4 years ago

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Memories of a lifetime I have many memories throughout my life, some happy and some sad. During the 1970's growing up I remember we used to look after a beautiful female foxterrier whom belonged to our next door neighbour, her name was Suzi. This was my first best friend and it felt like she was my dog as we used to take her in quite often when our neighbours went on holiday. One sunny day it was late in the afternoon and the neighbours facing our front door had a red brick wall next to their house and I was over by the neighbour playing with their kids outside in the garden. I decided I was gonna climb this wall cos being a young small boy I was always very curious and up for a challenge as to find out what certain things would be like after exploring them. So I climbed the wall and found out in no time that this wall was not sturdy (cement plastered) and gave way as soon as I climbed it. It collapsed in an instant and I had got such a fright but after sustaining some minor bruises on my leg. My ego was the biggest injury I sustained though, 😂 😂. At the age of 4 I had an accident after falling into hot tub and sustained a fair amount of burns to my body as described in 'my life story'. I also had a great fear of heights and at the age of 11 or 12, I went to a school friend's house and his dad was also in the military. They had a huge trampoline in the backyard and always enjoyed playing and jumping on it as a kid the few times I did visit them. They also had a big old tree in their backyard and they had a wooden platform fitted across some of the tree branches (tree house) high up in the tree. So I climbed up the tree and attempted to move across to another tree branch and my hand slipped of the tree branch and I fell to the ground flat onto my back approximately 3 to 4 metres down. I had some pain but it was more so the shock of that moment as I could not believed what had just happened. I swiftly got up and walked home crying. Whilst living in the southern suburbs and after getting my first BMX bicycle for Christmas in 1983 or 1984, I had my personal transport and couldn't wait exploring other areas outside of our home suburb. So I would choose a day during the school holidays and during the week and go out for the day on a trip with my BMX which was very adventurous to me. So I would plan the day in advance and get everything ready for my day trip out to areas like Kirstenbosch, Constantia, Newlands public swimming pool, Wynberg military base where we had lived previously and my mom would make me a bunch of sandwiches that I'd take with on my travels. I would also have a 2 litre Coca-Cola or Fanta orange and some sweets with a small amount of money to buy something in addition to my cold drink and picnic foods I already had. Some times I would take a friend with me to enjoy my travels in and around Cape Town's southern suburbs. Many times my mom and my brother and myself would take a trip to town taking the train into Cape Town which I was always very exciting to me because I loved the train rides as a kid. We would spend the day in Cape Town walking the streets up and down and end up doing shopping 🛒 in The Golden Acre and having lunch upstairs in the restaurant in the OK (now Shoprite). As a family we would sometimes travel to family either in the Eastern Cape and / or the Transvaal. I used to love the long trips although they were few and far between. Nevertheless it was a blast and we would stop along the way and my mom had made chicken and cooked potatoes along with some rice and other veggies. We would also have pudding which consisted of instant pudding and jellies all pre-packed into a picnic packed set of containers my dad purchased especially for the long trips during the holidays. As a small boy I was very close to my mom but later years things changed as I then got closer to my dad as I was rebellious as I grew older and had many clashes with my mom but would later years get better over the years as got used to it but never stopped loving my mom. There would be certain words exchanged which I would later regret as I still very naive and still had alot to learn still about life in general. My dad was a very strict straight forward person and did not stand for any nonsense whatsoever. If you didn't listen, he would merely lift his big hands and take a good hard swing at us and you know what you have done wrong and believe me, it did not tickle. It hurt like hell. Those were the good ole days and I never regret my upbringing ever. It taught me respect and improved my character as a person. One day my dad sent me down to the garage to collect some potatoes as it was kept in the garage. I would always get in my dad's car and play with the car switches until one day snapped the cable that unlocked the bonnet. My dad was very enraged and he gave me good beating as a result. He had to spend money to have it repaired. As a ruling because of similar events that resulted in things breaking, I stopped fiddling with other people's property as I was always curious what a button on a radio or some or other piece of equipment would do had I pressed it. It would always end up breaking something or something falling and breaking, so I eventually learned my lesson as a kid and stopped messing with stuff that either didn't belong to me or did not apply to me. Memories with my Dad (Adolf) As a kid I didn't spend much time with my dad as he wasn't always the emotional type but loved him to bits always. The times we did get to spend together, was always very special to me. When I was still very small, my mom used to buy a magazine on a weekly basis which had a kids magazine inside and one afternoon on the weekend my dad had me lying next to him on his bed and he read some of the stories out of the kids magazine to me. In 1989 I had written my exams after studying part time at Cape College 3x a week. Me and my dad came from town for some or other reason. I was over something but my dad comforted me as we approached the military base to return to work as I was busy with my military service at the age of 18. Well he turned around right there and then as I had mentioned to him that I didn't find out what my results were after writing exams and wasn't sure whether I had failed or passed. We arrived back in town at the college and I went upstairs to get my results. I came back downstairs and got in back into the car and told my dad I passed. My dad was in tears instantly as he heard that I passed. We drove back to work and that was one of the very special times together with my dad. It's these memories that makes thoughts and happy moments like this make remember my dad as my hero. He was hard on the exterior but very much a softy on the inside. In 1988 it was my last year at school and I had finished school although I failed, I was with school as I wanted to get on with my life. I think my dad was off that day and we went somewhere as it was a weekday and school was done. We went for a drive down to Fish Hoek and Simonstown and my dad showed me and told me alot of his past during when he was stationed in Simonstown. He went to show me where the house stood where he lived many years ago with his first wife and where he also had lived prior to Simonstown in Fish Hoek in a flat. That building still stands today. I went back to that building when I was still mourning my dad's death during the nineties just like I remembered the day he showed me the building, where he lived many years prior to that day, as I was reliving that time in my mind and was trying to picture myself back in the time frame my was living there. This was one of the ways I dealt with father's passing. The drive we took in December 1988 I will always remember as one of the highlights in my life. My dad and I spent alot of time together at home when he would repair something like the stove, washing machine door locks and general maintenance around the house and I had learnt alot from those times. I would often fix the vaccuum cleaner when needed some minor repairs with knowledge I was taught by my dad. In 1993 after my dad had fallen ill, I went away on holiday for about two weeks and when I arrived back home my dad was in tears to see me and so I hugged him and told him "don't worry I'm home now" I miss my dad like mad and wish he was still here on earth with me. Memories with my Mom (Christine) I was a mommy's boy when I was a small kid as I was the youngest and probably got away with alot. But those were my favourite years as well cos I used to get alot of attention from my mom. I spent most of my time with my mom as my dad was at work all day. So my mom would walk me to school and then I would get so lonely because I saw my mom walk away going home after dropping me off at school and felt very vulnerable and would burst into tears 😭 but over time it got better and I got used to school. My mom left to attend her brother's kmy uncle) funeral in Pretoria and I would be alone with my dad but missed my mom so much. Then when she got home after about a week I was overwhelmed with excitement and could not wait to see her after I got home from school that day. I always felt my protected me when I was still very small. My mom was my everything at that point in my life. My mom and I used to play alot of games and jokes over the years even until shortly before she passed away we had our little games and jokes we used to play ▶. My mom told me quite alot about her mother (my grandmother) and I wished I had known her. Memories with friends During my lifetime I met and have had some great friends. I would like to name two of them. Their names are Damian and Chris. I met Damian and Chris in 1991 and we formed a bond as friends and used to spend alot of good times together like having parties, braai and go drive around or go watch stock cars at the old Goodwood show grounds. As a small boy I didn't have many friends as I was very shy and didn't like strangers. It was almost like I used protect myself in that regard. It was only after I was working my first job and had my first car that I started wondering farther then just work and home. I got introduced to alcohol and over the years drinking got worse when I would visit friends or attend a party etc. After a very bad experience with alcohol in February 2009, I decided that this was the last time I would ever touch alcohol and stopped smoking, drinking as well as drinking sodas. That was a wake up call for me and a turning point in my life. Everything changed for me that time. The two friends that always stood by me through thick and thin has been Chris and Damian. Chris was there for me for emotional support when my dad passed away in April 1995. Damian has been there for me as well many times since my mom passed away and helped me with lots of different things in life over the years even before my mom's passing. These are two friends I regard very highly as my own family.

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withcaretree · 2 years ago

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#tree care service #tree shaping #tree shaping services #tree shaping capetown #cape town #south africa

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treefellingexpert · 4 years ago

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Hire the Most Efficient Palm Tree & Stump Removal Services in Cape Town

It is often taken for granted that palm tree removal and felling are the same process. They are in fact very different. Know about them in brief below.

· Felling is the method of cutting down a tree. You still have the roots sitting in the ground. You are no longer in danger of having the tree fall on your home or growing over your wall or fouling the power lines, but it has a chance of regrowing since the roots are still there.

· Removal encompasses the felling of the tree and the removal of all its connected parts. It is much more in depth and requires a lot more time and skill. It is also a lot messier than tree felling since the roots have to be removed. It depends on what kind of problem you have. If the tree is just crushing a wall and not causing damage with its roots, the simply chopping the tree down is enough. If the tree is digging up your swimming pool or growing into the foundation of the house, then you need to think about removal.

Is There Really a Requirement for Palm Tree Removal?

This is the initial issue that you ought to address. If palm care is not possible as it is diseased or is posing a threat to your building, then it is ideal to have it removed. Palm whose branches are interfering with electricity lines may also cause damage to your property. Yet, if you are getting rid of it only for ornamental purposes, then think before you act. You can trim it so as to present a more defined look. If it is really urgent to get rid of it, then seek the services of a professional Palm Tree Removal in Cape Town service rather than trying to do handle the job on your own.

About Stump Removal:

After a tree is removed from an area, an unsightly eyesore known as a tree stump is left as a haunting reminder of the terrible deed. A natural technique of plant part removal could be a nice option to appease the tree spirits in distinction to ancient stump grinding or manual removal. Nature's method of recycling is known as decomposition. Decomposition, also known as rotting or decaying, is easy, simple (for humans), and healthy for the environment.

How Stump Removal Works?

Whether you are felling a tree and need to get rid of the stump afterwards otherwise you have a stump that has been there for years, the method of getting cut it is the same. Many tree service professionals utilize Stump Removal in Cape Town methods, using a machine to grind the wood down until it's even with the earth around it. While the roots remain underground, you can plant grass over top of where the stump used to be and enjoy a smooth, flat lawn. Those underground roots, meanwhile, will decay naturally over time.

#Stump Removal in Cape Town #Palm Tree Removal in Cape Town

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tomerasange · 6 years ago

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Chapter 5: Hungering in Battle

I was once told in the time of the arena that the greatest weapon in battle is not the sword and shield, nor the bow, nor the spell. In times of desperation and domination, anyone can truly use the art of fear to strike at the hearts of the enemy. To see a violent adversary fall without so much as a swing of the blade is the only true way to save them, my teachers would wax. It has come to my attention I may have inherited more of this teaching than I initially bargained.

As we struck out back toward Phandalin, I could feel whatever injuries I had sustained begin their healing process. We returned to Lionshield Coster, confirmed our findings, and over the course of a day transported the goods back to Lineen. I should clarify that, in transporting these goods, I elected to take very small parcels. Forbid the thought that I injure or aggravate my frame in menial tasks rather than the heat of battle.

I looked over at my two companions, Aurora deftly handling smaller boxes with light materials with her agile fingers and Urnig shouldering crates of heavy produce, and felt a glow not held for some time. Certainly, I had friends in Silverymoon, but this was unlike anything I could encounter in the streets of the North. This was a shot in the arm, an invigorating adventure.

And so, we were paid for our services, seeking to return to the Stonehill Inn on a job well done, when a crowd began forming around the town square. I stared off into the distance to try and determine the source of attention. Unable to see above some of the villager’s shoulders, I weaved through the river of churning bodies to try and get a better view of scene. Only too late did I realize the reason for their gathering was horrific.

As I neared the front of the crowd, I took in a scene so vile and heartless, it made my skin run cold and eyes well in concern. The body of the woodcarver Thel Dendrar had been strung up in a tree, his face bloodied and throat cut in disrespect. No amount of retribution could justify the state of the corpse. I could determine no amount of anger or malice did this; this was sheer indifference through the sieve of mob rule.

Suddenly, a projectile was thrown at the body. A heap of dirt chucked into the air hit the body square, and the whole of the town gasped in agony. To see their friend, their neighbor treated in such a manner was too much for some to bear. I was very nearly sick at the sight. Some took to fleeing back to the safety of their. In a fit of anger, I grabbed the nearest townspeople. “Why hasn’t the guard been sent for? SEND FOR THE GUARD!”

“Sir, I don’t know what you’re saying. We don’t have a guard.” We don’t have a guard.

I felt that members in the crowd had eyes trained on me, no doubt these Redbrands. I released the denizen and marched off towards the townmaster’s hall. This charade had gone on long enough for my liking, and I was going to see justice be done.

Aurora and Urnig followed after me, tailing behind as I came to the front door of a large stone building in the middle of town. Nailed to the door was a paper detailing the orc problems but no appeared to be home. I pounded on the door, in hopes a footman or maid were in the foyer to, at the very, very least, invite me into the building in anticipation for an audience with the head of the town. Yet no one came to the door.

In a very uncharacteristic move, I burst the door down and took in the scene. Across the room of marbled tiles and high side windows, two Redbrands stood above a figure, only turning to me because of the sudden commotion I had caused. I could see the figure was a short Human of roughly middle-age, held hostage on the floor. One of the Redbrands said, “Move along. This doesn’t concern you.”

I drew my sword and pointed it with purpose. “I’ve already given you a chance by ignoring your actions in the marketplace. You will not get a second warning,” and I charged blindly into the fight.

Aurora and Urnig were no doubt blindsided by this turn of events but still managed to summon their magic. Aurora charged with a strike of dissonant strings and Urnig welled up his lightning. At least this is what they told me occurred. In the heat of battle, I felt no others in the room but these two men and my anger.

I cut into one of the men who attempted to return a blow from his sword. My buckler held true. “You won’t leave here alive, you know that?” He tried to fluster me, but my mixed emotions of anger and pleasure derived from combat arrived on my lips as a taunt. “Try me, bitch.”

I felt a cool wind as Urnig attempted to summon up, from what he later told me, a contraption of metal evisceration, but to no avail. Instead, he brought himself into the air, aloft on wings of golden fury, and dove at the other Redbrand. Surely, I hoped he knew he could do that before today.

Having a distraction readily available in the form of a flying Urnig, I grabbed at the Redbrand’s shield and made a stab with my rapier. In a desperate act of self-preservation, he dove his head out of the way, and I attempted another swing of the blade to cleave at his neck. This time, he swung his shield in protest, knocking my blade away. He grinned directly in my face.

In that moment, I could feel the words of my past.

Fear is your greatest weapon.

I curled my fingers into a monstrous form and held the rapier like a madman, a man possessed to my emotions. My eyes no longer deep and jeweled, now vicious and icy. I stared this man back, and choked, “My...blade...hungers.”

The Redbrand suddenly saw his doom, along with his other conspirator who in the melee looked on while dueling Urnig. They both drew fear in their eyes, and the man I dueled with fled my person entirely. I took another wild swing, but it completely missed, as my strokes took on a trance. The middle-age man later confided I resembled a wild fae, whose only interaction I have seen was through artworks, in which the hero staring upon that which lies beyond the veil knows he is mortal.

Urnig chained his fellow in lightning and his face disintegrated in an instant. Aurora, who had held back throughout this fight, took a swing of her rapier towards the fleeing bastard. He ran head first in her attack. In a moment of clarity, I subsided my act of chaos to draw my bow. In times of battle, I have often found myself in a moment of remorse, a small prayer to their soul. I felt nothing as the arrow flew, striking the Redbrand in the back, killing him instantly. As he fell, Aurora whipped her rapier through the air, slicing the cape off of the man’s shoulders, catching it with a flourish and stowing it in her pack.

The middle-age man shook with fear, having just survived a quite traumatizing event, no doubt. I came down from my possessed seance, deeply breathing inward so as to refresh my body’s composition, and turned to face my companions, only to see Urnig, having very well topped his moment with the face of the wolf. He had drawn a knife and began to chop at the limbs of the Redbrands, quartering their limbs and gutting their intestines. I later found out from Aurora he was planning on feeding the meat of the soldiers to Thel’s family, as a token of equivalence. I remark in this moment that I do not, nor will ever, support the actions taken by Urnig when it comes to violence.

The man stared on, aghast. “What are you doing?! You’re draining blood everywhere! It’s inhuman!”

I took him aside as Aurora pleaded with Urnig not to force a widow and her child into cannibalism. “Our sincerest apologies for the scene, my good man. He get excitable. Before we start, I must introduce myself. Tomera Sange of Silverymoon. Perhaps you’ve heard of my family’s work? Now that we have time enough, I must ask what has been happening in this town?” He composed himself. “Well, young man, my name is Harbin Wester, and I’m the town master around these parts. To be perfectly honest, all this started about a few weeks on. Rumors say it’s that blasted Glasstaff. He came to this town without warning and somehow convinced the town guard to lay their weapons down! Now, these once fine men are calling themselves Redbrands and causing odd chaos in the streets!”

So, the town guard are now the Redbrands. “Where do these types like to roost?” “Well, they congregate at the Sleeping Giant, a taproom down the main road to the east, but they also hold up in Tresendar Manor. It’s the well-off structure just beyond the town proper. Old place hasn’t had any tenants for years until they took it. It would be of great help if you were to aid us, seeing how you stopped those two from what they had in mind.” “Of course, sir. I do have one question, before I take my leave. Why haven’t you sent for a militia, or a battalion from Neverwinter? If you are in such a great distress, why haven’t you asked for helped?” Harbin thought about it for a moment, and continued with a sense of dignity. “To be perfectly honest, we’re a small town. We’ve gotten by on our own before, and we're not about to give up now. Even if we sent for help, who’s to say our call would be heard?” I admired his honesty. “You are a brave man, no doubt.” I pressed on. “However, bravery in this case will get you killed.”

We took our leave, allowing Harbin to ruminate on his situation. Aurora convinced Urnig to spread the body parts he had thus collected into the woods for the forest animals to feast on, and we pressed on back to the Stonehill Inn, not a soul left on the streets.

The tavern had a somber yet jittery atmosphere, as our arrival spooked some of the patrons. We took our place at the bar to relax after the day we were forced to partake. For years, I do not recall a day as stressful nor as taxing as today. Certainly, I have had hard days, but not since I was a younger lad, not even so a man.

As I looked at the barmaid, I could see her rearranging the spirits. One bottle in particular caught my eye. A red, oh, a sweet full-bodied red as deep as the carpeting of a king’s court. I called for the barmaid and laid down three gold for a drink. As the glass came into vision, I clasped it gently, swirled it, sniffed it. This will do.

I downed it immediately and slammed another three gold to drain the bottle. Handing the glass back, I stood up and bid my companions a good night before my inhibition ruined my reputation. This amount of wine in the system would doubtless be enough to send me off to sleep.

As I walked up the steps to my room in a state of drifting, legs befuddled, Sildar came into view. He seemed ready to partake in a wash, given he wore only his light underclothes and held a rag in hand. “Ah, Tomera, my dear boy. So sorry I was occupied today. Held an audience with Townmaster Wester, and, well... the matter with Thel and the town. It took all I had to escort these people safely to their homes. Anyway, I was hoping before to set out tomorrow I could discuss something with you. You seem tired, so I’ll leave it at that. Have a good night,” and he walked past.

As he walked off, I followed his form, only slightly, noticing how the years of travel and battle etched his body like a sculpture. I really did have a bit too much to drink.

I lay my head down upon my bed, having somehow shed my gear from my person in a state of looniness, and fell into a troubling sleep which gave way to an absence of dreaming.

#dnd #air genasi #tomera #fighter #story #story log #dnd log #chapter 5 #dungeons and dragons #lost mine of phandelver #cw: gore #cw: cannibalism #spoilers #cw: alcohol

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royal-writer · 6 years ago

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Memories 12- The Drow Part 5

Not really happy with this piece but I want to try getting through the final sections of Essie’s more important memories/encounters in the next couple months. I’ve been such a lazy procrastinator lately hufff

The heavy drops of rain had turned into a fine mist, coating everything in a fine dew. Water clung to her scales and beaded on her skin as Essätha shivered beneath her sopping wet cape. The flap of the hood had to be pushed up to prevent covering her eyes as she turned to look back, bouncing in her seat with legs dangling off the side of the carriage. The world didn’t smell refreshed, but sodden in mucky soil and drenched animals.

Each of the pair of bulls tugging the wagon along lumbered through the slop without much trouble. Their heads down, antlers swaying with the broad movement of their shoulders. The lanky looking farmer at the helm was hunched over with his hat collapsed against his ears and hanging limp. He sighed heavily, giving a flick of the reigns to urge the beasts on with his coarse-looking dark hands. Laying in the emptied cart just behind the man, his watchdog lifted their head at her staring, and cocked it curiously in her direction. Resisting the urge to reach up and scratch the damp, wiry gray coat of the shaggy beast was hard. His beard and mustache drooped from the rain, and he unfurled his large body to stretch; showing his teeth and tongue before curling back up in his spot.

“How much longer until we reach town?” Essätha dared to pipe up. Her bottom ached from sitting on the rickety ride so long. She looked forward to getting off, trying to stretch out her aches, and get something to eat.

“Just behind that bending treeline over yonder,” the man expressed loudly. He released the reigns to emphasis, gesturing off to the east where the road wound past a flank of trees on the right, and open fields on the left. She could just make out a few short structures as they exited the path lined with trees to stare into the distance.

A hot meal and a warm bed, that’s all she asked. That’s all she wanted.

Her eyes closed with a sigh, thinking of mister Tibiius’ shop and the hard bed upstairs. Given a different mattress, it would be suitable. Cozy even; with home-cooked meals and a supportive smile that wrinkled up the old man’s face and lit up his eerie scarlet eyes.

She brushed the images away of the small sitting room, the quaint kitchen, the tiny stairwell and crooked floorboards in the shop. Washing away the door in the corner that lead to the alley, and the additional stovetop where they’d made brews of tea to try. Some bitter, others sweet, just like their conversations.

It was no more home to her than Miamoorgyte had been. But the company made her wish it could have been.

They continued on the remainder of the road in silence. A pair of gleaming eyes watched inquisitively from the deeper undergrowth off to the right. The figure crouched low, and prowled the edges of the brush to vanish without a trace, unseen and unheard save for a twitch of the lazy canine’s ear.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After a night at the inn, Essie wandered the town with the small handful of coin she had on hand. There was enough to cover a week’s worth of a cheap room at the lodge and meals; what she couldn’t catch herself out in the outskirts undetected. Not nearly enough to splurge in the small shops. She did manage to swipe a few sweets from the general store discretely. They tasted heavily of molasses. Not the best snatch.

There was nothing of significant here to pick up, otherwise. It seemed the kind of place easy to get lost in. Off the beaten road; not a traveler’s destination when there was a similar path further south that lead to a larger town as a better rest point. But even the most unsocial of creatures sometimes craved conversation. Even ones who isolated themselves due to their own precarious nature.

Catching a few vermin in and out of the town as replenishment (and loathing the way the creatures felt sliding down her throat like she was some kind of animal herself), the sun rose and dipped in the sky as she explored the buildings of the aging place she would call her residence for the next few days. Smelling of musk; stone covered in lichen and moss, plenty of tired faces and wary eyes. People were mostly polite, but kept to themselves.

Best of all, no one seemed off-put or seemed to suspect a single thing about her.

As the first uneventful day disappeared beneath a sky just beginning to break free of heavy clouds, Essätha returned to the tavern for a night’s rest. A few key phrases there, a purr of sultry words there, and she had found herself warm company for the night in one of the barmaidens; a full-figured woman who for all her shyness in public, was certainly no such thing in the sheets.

Her side of the bed was empty far before the sun rose the next day. Which was fine, the young lady likely had work the next day or hell, maybe someone to get home to. Essie didn’t care at all. She huddled herself up into a ball, trying to trap as much warmth as she could in her frigid lonely bones, and lulled herself back into a fidgety, lonesome slumber.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Money was running low. She had a sneaking suspicion that the barmaid might have taken some of her currency the second night’s stay in this quiet isolated town, but there was no proof. They could have easily vanished paying for her meals or in the sole drunken night she sat at the bar far too long, loathing her existence with a bottle of whiskey for company. A purse left unattended for even a sluggish blink in her mind-numbed state would have been ample opportunity for someone to steal from an unwitting crook like herself.

It was time to get moving, and hope to pick up some odd job along the way for a bit more cash. Clean a few stables, see if any shops wanted help stocking wares, whatever might help pay off for more travels and expenses. Even the most creaky old uncomfortable bed proved better than a dirty sleeping bag every night; not including foul weather.

Placing what few things she had removed from her old knapsack (another item to replace before it fell apart), Essätha left it in her room to scout the town, starting with the tavern owner.

“You wouldn’t happen to need a temporary hand around here, would you?” she hummed, propping an elbow up on the counter while peering over the pudgy old man.

He looked up, his eyes fractured in discoloration with cataracts. “What for?” they asked suspiciously. “Ya paid your weekly due. Unless yer plannin’ on stayin’ longer, but haven’t the money, and wantin’ to service yer stay?”

Smiling sweetly, she shook her head. “The opposite actually: I’m planning on leaving town soon. So a bit of ext-”

“I won’t be needin’ no extra hand, then,” he muttered fiercely. “Between payin’ the staff with low customer income, I can’t spare it. Sorry lassy, ya’ll have to look elsewhere.”

So she did. Trekking to one, and then the other town general store across the way, she came up with the fruitless same answer.

“My kids and I stock, miss. I won’t be needin’ the help. Good luck though!”

“Don’t need the extra hands. Never did. S’not personal, just don’t trust folks. Ya have a good day there, ma’am.”

Maybe she’d have to walk to the next village along the route and hope for better luck elsewhere. Determined not to give up immediately, Essie lurked along the small plots of farmer. A few raised hogs and hens, and she even managed across the man once more who drove her into town; the sole individual to own cows and steers close to town.

Their answers were resounding declines. Though the most pitying was the rancher who drove her into town,;he set her up with a basket filled with milk, eggs, tough jerky, and some sharp-smelling cheeses that made her mouth water. It was at least another week’s worth of rations; longer if she measured her portions and continued hunting down small game and rodents to fill in gaps of hunger.

Drifting through, she nibbled on the tough dried meat (which felt nearly inedible on, making her question how old it might be) heading back to the inn. Tonight and tomorrow night, and she would have to leave the straw-stuffed pallet. Essätha cringed to consider swiping a few coins from the townsfolk tomorrow. It seemed harder than ever to take with Tibiius words still ringing in her head; warning her it would catch up with her, telling her she could do better. It would probably be easy, but where she might gain, it might force another’s suffering. And how long could she outrun the wrath of someone wrongly scorned? Their money a heavy weight on her conscious as well as in her hand.

Perfectly on cue, a shadow moved from behind the saloon as she approached it. Pale eyes and a tick-infested raggedy mane of a wolf stepped around the bend, their gaze fixated upon her. The dead-end street otherwise, empty of all other occupants.

Essätha stiffened. She raised a hand as the animal moved closer, raising her voice in warning: “Back!”

The beast snarled, baring its teeth. As it stepped closer, it’s forepaws began to shift. The toes expanded; the fur retracted. It’s muzzle began to sink into its face and color of its fur began to shift from muted gray to white. Essie watched in stunned silence as it rose; hindquarters bending silently as it grew vertical.

Within moments, in place of where the intimidating canis lupus stood a woman in tattered traveler’s clothes and a torn cloak. Her hands; ashen grey skin freckled with specks of black, reached up to wrap a leather strap along the milky color of her thick hair that fell nearly to her rear.

They smirked. “Good to see you, Es-”

Uttering a choked hiss of ancient Draconic, Essätha blasted a bubbled sphere of acid at the Drow.

Backpedaling, the Dark Elf snarled in pain as the fizzling acid burned into her flesh and soaked her shirt. She placed a hand against her wet clothing, casing a series of Mending spells upon the rips and frayed areas where the Acid Splash had began to devour the material.

“That was entirely unnecessary.”

The Yuan-Ti woman stared, baffled and furious.

“You kidnapped me! You tried to kill me! It was completely necessary!”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Essätha, you’ve been in worse situations, have you not?” the Drow expressed, exasperated as they continued trying to fix their soiled disintegrating apparel.

She hesitated, squinting upon the figure of the woman. She was shorter in build, but otherwise about the same thinness as herself. Easy enough to take on. Wreathed in her hair was something she hadn’t seen before though: a crown made of leaves and twigs, her neck ringed with ivy plants. She looked more feral and wild than she had even back at that decaying old house. Not intimidating or lethal in appearances, but still mysterious.

“How would you know that?” Caution. Curiosity. She kept her hands ready, prepared for any unexpected attack the Drow might seize upon her.

They scoffed, rolling their lilac eyes. “Re-stealing an amulet of the house of Teken’rae? Please: that wasn’t your first time stealing something. No one’s that successfully sneaky on their first try.”

A grimace settled on her face. “What do you want?”

They expressed a toothy grin, dropping their hand from their shirt. It was now covered with light burns like their chest from touching the drying acid on their clothes. “To thank you.”

“Thank me?” Essie mumbled, uncertainty knitting her eyebrows close.

“Yes! Thanks to you incapacitating Jayfier, I’m now free of that wretched bastard,” they stated eagerly. “He was assigned to me you see; a real brute, not too smart but plenty cruel. With him gone now, I’m finally free to do as I see, and be myself again. No more fights, no more arguments, no more being strangled-”

“Why didn’t you just leave him before?” she blurted out, relaxing her shoulders a fraction. “Or throw him out?” The realization began to dawn on her. Slow at first; then all at once.

He was gone now. But she hadn’t disposed of him. She couldn’t. Looking down at him; helpless, unconscious. He was right there. A man who tried to murder her; who purred like syrupy honey that he wanted to watch her squirm and torture her before he was through, and she’d let him live. And if she hadn’t stolen his last breath, then…

This stranger had been okay with him, killing her. She’d taken part in her abduction.

She took the man’s life.

Before the Drow could reply, Essätha composed her stance once more. “I find it hard to believe you came here to just thank me,” she remarked with icy venom. “If you’re smart, you’ll leave now. We’ll never have to see each other again. Stop tracking me-”

“Ohh poor little ssa j’nesst,” the woman sang smugly. “You think you’re special? You think you matter? You think I or anyone else cares about your existence enough to trail you to the ends of the Earth? Oh poor creature, no.”

“I did follow you for more than a simple thank you, though,” they admitted. Their slender ears gave a twitch behind them for a moment as they paused. Before the Yuan-Ti woman could evaluate what she was listening for, they continued: “You see because of you, I’m out of work. I’ve nothing, now. I’ve had plenty of opportunities to dispatch of you alone these long roads, but in good faith and interest, I have not. Instead I thought to offer my aid, as I’m sure you’re well aware very unhappy people are interested in what becomes of you.”

“The people you work for?”

“Worked for, poppet. We’re no longer associated. But as the saying goes, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

Essätha gave a snort of disbelief. “You must think I’m a fool if I’d accept such an offer.”

“What other options do you have?” they offered a bit sharply, removing some of the ivy from their person to drop to the ground. As the plant hit the ground, a few yellow-ish green buds upon the plant erupted; sprouting flowers. With her eyes fixated on the plant as it began to entangle roots into the earth; something surreal for something that should be non-sentient, the gray woman went on, “I have knowledge on the people after you that you don’t. You have an advantage with me around. We could make an alliance, temporarily. They will lose interest after all. It’s just petty redemption right now. You stand in the way of nothing important.”

It’s magic, Essie realized, only half listening. It was an old, wild kind of magic rooted in nature. She hadn’t the studying or knowledge of what kind it was, or what it could manifest, but she knew the look of magic when she saw it. It spooled not around the Drow like it did her, but from the plant in a shimmering evergreen color around it. And after witnessing the woman’s unusual polymorphic shift, there was something she knew, or something in her blood, that could call to such ancient magic.

“Or a disadvantage,” the Yuan-Ti mumbled. “You could draw them right to me; on purpose or on accident. By moving together we’d become a more obvious target, if one were to believe your story. I’ll take my chances.”

Their thin lips grew thinner at her answer. The ivy, having stabilized in growth, seemed to have found itself a new home creeping up the corner of the tavern building. Turning her lilac eyes from it back to her, the Drow tisked unpleasantly.

“I see.” She stated stiffly. “Should you ever need me, I’m sure you’ll be able to find me.”

A dark snicker escaped Essie. “Why would I ever need anyone? And how would I even find someone I don’t know?”

The cryptic woman laughed. It wasn’t anymore appealing than the rest of her.

“Everyone needs someone, poppet,” they chimed. There was an eerie look of knowing in her expression that sank into the pit of Essätha’s stomach uncomfortably. She smirked before continuing: “It’s Miz’ri Abravylhell. The trees whisper my name, my pet. They will hear you, and I will come.”

Misery? What a name. It was as unsettling as the look the Drow pinned to her. Whatever subtle signals she’d given off or things they’d somehow found out about her through their spying, it left her troubled. There was no understanding in Miz’ri’s gaze; no gentleness, not even remorse or apathy. It was calculated and meant to alarm and disarm. And she felt that way. Uncomfortably bare, unaware of what else they might know or realized, or what she’d seen since following her all the way back from that village hidden amongst the wood.

She hadn’t needed anyone since leaving her birthplace. She was a grown woman. What connections she might need in companionship, she grew briefly, and cut fast. It was all she required to survive; to get what she wanted, to live. It was enough.

Intuition told her not to trust. It warned her this would not be the last time she saw of the woman covered with nature, her tongue coated in poison. She didn’t care much for the feeling.

Raising her chin, she jerked her head defiantly to the side. “I won’t be needing the summons. We’re done here.”

Miz’ri raised her thin fuzzy white eyebrows, smirking. “Are we ever really done, with people who leave an imprint on our lives?”

It was an unnerving question. Left hypothetical, the woman’s body began to shift once more. The woman seemed to mock her; her appendages disappearing as she grew smaller and smaller, with scales forming over her skin until it was gone completely. It took mere seconds for her to wild shift from a humanoid being, into a harmless garter snake. It was gone swiftly; even as Essätha stepped forward to examine her, the Druid Drow slithered into a crack beneath the inn and disappeared out of sight.

It would have been a lot easier to just kill her. It would have been a lot easier, if she’d never taken the damn coin pouch in the first place, and wound up with that crest. Or if she’d simply handed it off, and fled before finding out what it was and what it was tangled up in.

Sighing uncomfortably, Essie wrapped her arms self-consciously around herself in a short hug, before dropping them to her side and heading for the door, shoulders slumping.

She’d better start packing. Tonight would be the last night here, regardless of lost profit missing out on tomorrow night’s pre-paid stay.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was dark out. The sun hadn’t risen yet. The only people who seemed to be awake and beginning to move around were the farming houses she passed, where candlelight spilled out faintly from windows.

Essätha didn’t pause to stop and stare. She didn’t stop to beg for coin or work. She walked, her boots caked with dry dirt quiet on the roads stomped flat. The silent predators of night owls flew overhead virtually undetected. She could make out their hooting calls from time to time, and the sound of rustling in the brush.

Everything around her felt like a potential enemy. More than usual. She tensed, expecting the scurrying mouse that fled past her ahead on the trail or the eyes shining in the dark; their green meeting her crimson reflection, to launch at her. They did not. Nothing seemed malice; nothing seemed any more interested in her than any other wandering walk yet she couldn’t shake the sight of the woman changing not once, but twice before her.

She could be literally anywhere. Everywhere. And she wouldn’t know it, until it was too late.

What did Miz’ri want?

Twigs cracked underfoot. The lane began to thin of housing the further out of town she went. Along the route, a man already outside of his house was busy replacing broken fencing bordering his farm. The rapping of his hammer punctured the lulling sound of quiet as it pounded nails into wood. He lifted a hand in greeting to her as she approached, grunting.

“A bit early to be takin’ a walk, lass.”

Essie smile wearily. “A morning stroll is good to enjoy the peaceful scenery,” she replied truthfully. “What happened here?”

“Damn horse big as could be came barreling through last night,” he sighed. “Never seen a beast so bold and clumsy to hit a fence. But I wanted to get it fixed, before letting out the cattle to graze. You mind holding that there board for me? Pay you a couple copper shillings for the help.”

A couple coins for holding a board in place? It seemed hardly worth being paid for, but the good act would at least make her feel useful. Better than nothing, especially considering all the mindless pleading she’d had to do yesterday in hopes of some pay. Pocket change would have to do. Maybe it’d end up enough to get a poor-man’s meal the next town over; some bread, or some fruit to break up what she’d been gifted.

She stepped forward to take hold of the new sturdy point, offering a slight smile. “I’d be happy to.”

The man smiled. He adjusted the wood, indicating where he’d like for her to hold it calmly. His hands were surprisingly soft for a work-hand.

Steadying the hammer, he tapped a new nail into place a few times. His arm recoiled, bracing for a firmer strike.

The leather satchel at his side moved against his hip. A heavy bound book’s binding glinted; a scroll of words written in a foreign tongue embellished in gold glaring up at her.

The hammer came down with a gargled mess of curses from the man.

Essätha wasn’t fast enough to retract. The blunt object smashed into her arm, and she cried out. There was a painful crack of bone; bruising immediately seizing into the skin. Strikes of lightning sprang off of the man’s arms; rippling static energy into the air. They coursed their way up her arm and left distinctive lightning burns creeping up her limb.

She yanked her arm back, howling with agony. The wooden board swung back, hitting the individual in the knee so they yelped with pain.

“Fuck! Come here ya little-”

Recoiling, Essie barely missed being struck again by the mallet; swinging in the air with a sizzling crackle of electricity arcing off it. She stepped back quickly, lifting her hand in a sign of peace.

“W-Wait-”

The hammer swung again, but this time the remnants of the fence were her savior. The man fell over the wood not properly nailed into place, and sprawled half over the posts with a groan. He pulled his arm back, ready to chuck the small hand-weapon in her direction.

A flash in the grass, and a lengthy weasel sprang forth. Their form almost seemed to explode; fur disappearing or flying off as they expanded and reformed in shape and size. A woman replaced the sight of the beast, and landed on the man’s lower half, dragging him back over on the farmer’s lot of land.

“Get off of me!” the wizard spat, furiously twisting. “You! You wretched woman! By the name of the Keepers, I will end you!”

Miz’ri snarled down at the man, ramming her scimitar blade through their chest. He violently convulsed as blood foamed in the spittle on his lips, raising his hand in the air. Clipped words of a spell begin to froth from his chest, and a semi-transparent hand flashed into existence to grab at his captor’s throat. The mage hand missed however as the Drow woman dived, driving a fist into his back and winding him.

Nursing her arm with the throbbing, fractured bone within it Essätha dared to advance. “What the hell are you doing?”

The woman whipped backwards as she looked up. “What I have to,” she shrieked, pulling her weapon free to puncture it through the wizard’s backside once more. They let out a strangled noise while slumping forward, their struggles ceasing as they curled into a twitching ball of pain.

“Stop,” Essie gasped. “That’s enough! You’re killing him!”

“And what do you care?” Miz’ri retorted. “He tried to kill you!”

“Get off of him,” she insisted, trying to kick aside the fallen fencing. As she did so, the Drow woman rolled off of the heavily bleeding man. He cringed at her approach, realized who it was, and spat at her feet. Ignoring his wheezing sneers, the Yuan-Ti woman bent down, trying to look at the severity of his injuries.

“Sir?”

They offered a crooked grin at her, hands moving against their waistcoat. Essätha reeled back, wary of any possible weapon they might try throwing, but instead they pulled out a small vial from their pocket. It sloshed a dark purplish liquid inside, and as they pulled out the loose cork, its color darkened intensely. They made a gesture as if to toss it; causing her flinch, which ultimately wasn’t necessary. As she peered back at the man, having expected some source of pain, all she saw was the glass bottle in his parted lips, and the sunken discoloration of his eyes. His veins deteriorated rapidly into dark lines webbing across his features.

Miz’ri gave a throaty, nasally, harsh barking laughter. “The bastard poisoned himself!”

She couldn’t believe it. Vacantly looking at the corpse of the man, she shuddered. Was she still sleeping? People didn’t just up and attack you, only to commit suicide after they’d been wrestled down and stabbed.

“Don’t look so distressed, Essätha, the man did it to himself,” the Drow scoffed. Miz’ri was already filing through his pockets and satchel, tossing out items as she examined them. The coin purse was quickly deposited on her person, but most anything else was deemed worthless or not exciting enough to study past first glance. As she inspected the wizard’s spellbook, she stated: “He was a member of the Virtuous Reclaimers for Her Lady. He was probably ordered to kill you. I warned you you were in danger. You angered some people prone to bad tempers.”

“Virtuous what nonsense?” Essie expelled hoarsely. She licked her lips, racking her brain for information. “Is this- is that what this is about? Your Keepers?”

A jump appeared in Miz’ri’s throat. “They aren’t my Keepers,” she muttered. “I’m not associated with them anymore.”

The booklet. She’d left it with Tibiius, unable to read it, but it had spoken of the group these people were associated with. She wished she’d asked more questions and clarifications from the kind old gentleman before she left. The only knowledge that came back to her now was that awful night in the dusty old house, and the goddess they followed, Lolth.

“I told you you were going to need my help,” Miz’ri stated, stuffing the wizard’s log into her backpack as she shrugged it off. She dug around, producing a sizable clear bottle of red liquid. After a pause, Miz’ri offered it out with a nonplus expression. “Take this. It’s a healing potion. It should help your arm.”

Essätha reached for the vial, and paused. Her fingers twitched in the air, just shy of grasping the beaker. Her other arm still held at the same angle, throbbing. “How do I know this isn’t poison?”

Cursing in a clipped voice, Miz’ri yanked off the stopper at the top of the flask. She took a quick swig; swallowing, before offering it again. “If it was poison, do you think I’d drink it?”

Possibly, Essie wanted to respond. She didn’t have it in her though. Her mind was still processing the insanity of the morning, with the sun twinkling on the horizon and leaving long shafts of shadows stretched across the ground. So she took the bottle, sniffed, and drank it solemnly. Silent and watchful of the Drow woman as she finished going through the man’s things, the potion swiftly eliminating the ebbing pain in her arm.

“He was a Virtuous… Whatever?”

“A Reclaimer, yes,” Miz’ri replied, keeping her gaze down while Essie’s scored the skyline with a detached expression. “He’s no Drow though obviously; he’s human. I had a skirmish with him the other night, and broke down the fence. He doesn’t live here; the real farmer’s already out tending the land, I checked. As a human he knew his place among our faith. He knew his fate would one day lead to death. He made his choices. Taking the poison now or tomorrow or a year from now, he would have eventually died.”

She swallowed. Her eyes, though she told them not to, looked down at the man’s corpse. You could make out his veins beneath his transparent flesh. They were discolored and dark, with unseeing eyes staring forward. It seemed to be deteriorating his body faster than a normal death. Bruising was already taking over his swelling appendages.

“That’s…” Her voice trailed. Disturbing was too little a word. It was beyond appalling. Not only supporting a cause, but joining it knowing you would die. Willingly accepting yourself as collateral to others.

Miz’ri didn’t acknowledge her nauseous expression, and simply went on, “They won’t tag after you forever. You won’t be worth the trouble and resources. Sure you got in the way of one scheme, but that is one among many. They’ll have other chances. In the mean time, we should get out of town.”

“What did they want with that family heirloom? What is their goal?”

“You really know nothing about Drow, do you?” she scoffed.

Essätha gave a small shake of her head. “A… little. But I-”

“Of course, why would you bother learning about the Drow,” Miz’ri bitterly sneered. “Lolth, our Dark Mother, is the true God of the Drow. She protects women, and seeks our strength and rule in a world where men see themselves as the superior power. She wants the Drow to have honor once again; to be seen. Our brothers and sister who have lived on the surface level, they are given respect and admiration, where we are looked at as nothing more than filth. She is giving us the chance at a better society; where the intelligent, compassionate and understanding of a mother can lead, and from her ruling womb birth a prosperous world.”

“I do not agree with all of the Reclaimers methods. I never did. But I did want to be seen. Surely you’ve seen it before, up here on the surface. Men are given all the glory and power. They’re complimented for their strength, nobility; given titles and castles and riches, seen as the ruler of a household. Women are asked to be at the call of a man. Seen as submissive, weak, nurturers; nothing but the one who gives and raises the children, and cleans the house.”

“Do you not see the sort of change Lolth offers?” Miz’ri dreamily sighed. “I want the sort of rights and respect a man can get. I want a world where my people; my race, is seen. Respected. We live in the Underdark because that is where we were forced and punished to exist, eons ago, and now our entire name is seen as a bad omen based off location. But that can be fixed. Following the guidance of The Queen of Spiders, we can once again ascend and let our name be known and we shall be witnessed once more.”

A fearful sensation squirmed helplessly in the Yuan-Ti’s belly. It sounded like conquest. The ruling of women was of course plausible; hell, it existed. Etheron itself had a Queen. To proclaim that no women out there had that sort of control over territories, economy, towns; it was inaccurate. But then again, this was not the Underdark.

That didn’t make it any more right, however. Forcing a gender, a race; anyone beneath another, it was simply wrong. Her own people showed her that. Other societies and history itself proved that. A sense of humanity in the hearts of anyone with a shred of decency, they knew that sort of outlook was wrong. Some did not see each other as equals. Some never would. But a truly balanced scale would never fall short or tall, simply for placing two different souls upon it. You could not equate one life with another. There was no value, better or worse, to be placed. Living was living; existence was existence, people were people, and that was that. No begger was worth more or less than the aristocrats, and everyone deserved a place of comfort of joy.

Not every Drow followed this Lolth. The name was already lost to her, but she vaguely recalled how Tibiius had spoken of his clergy to another deity. Some other dark lady, or dark maiden he had said. But the way Miz’ri spoke, with such idol worship, she made it sound like the center of the universe itself settled on her goddess, and that was worrisome.

“So your old faction wanted peace through murder?” she hedged. Her foot moved over the broken up railing of the fencing, back towards the road. Slowly.

“They did. I did not,” the slate gray woman insisted while getting up from the ground. “I believe in Lolth’s rule, but I do not want to kill my people in the process. I don’t want to kill anyone. I just want to be recognized.”

A thin smile stretched across Essätha’s lips. “Well, I see you.”

She realized the cruelness of her own words a moment too late. It was not a time for teasing.

But strangely, the soft lavender color of the woman’s eyes rounded huge. Highlights of color seemed grow against her cheeks, although it was difficult to tell with such a monotone skin color. She offered a shaky version of a smile of her own in response.

“… Thank you, Essätha.”

They picked their way over the wooden boards after her. Essie wriggled her hands together, clasping and gripping at wriggling fingers to keep from reaching for a dagger. Miz’ri didn’t seem to notice the uneasy distrust still lingering in the air as she reached up to pull her mane of hair back into a ponytail.

“You’re just a Yuan-Ti, but maybe if you can make the effort, so can other people,” the Drow stated. It was impossible to tell if it was meant to be a jab, a joke, or just a terrible compliment. Nevertheless, with the leather band tied around her messy hair, she beamed proudly.

“We should continue-”

“You’re not coming with me.”

Miz’ri drew a frown across her face, knitting her eyebrows. “Why not?”

Essätha dropped her jaw. “As if I need to explain myself- again? I appreciate that you saved me- I do- but you’re still the reason I got abducted!”

“I’m sorry, did I tell you to take that amulet off of me? We’d both be in different situations if not for your grabby fingers. Well, I would, anyway. You’d still be smuggling goods and moving restlessly from place to place hoping for change you’re never going to find to better your miserable life, and I’d be stuck with Jayfier still on a mission. All of this: it’s because of you. You stole, you took something that you had no right to, and it finally caught up and bit you in the ass.”

“Don’t get mad at me for your own lifestyle,” Miz’ri sneered. “It won’t work. I came with information. I saved you from becoming a sizzling smear on the road just now.”

“I never asked you to rescue me!” Essie fumed.

“This arrangement is for the benefit of us both. I’ll have your back, you’ll have mine. You don’t exactly look like you have any friends, ssa j’nesst, and I lost everything I had when I elected to leave my following,” they snarled. “You owe me.”

They stood tense. Eyes locked. Essätha grated her teeth together until her jaw was aching.

Finally, the Drow spoke: “It’s only temporary, until I’m sure they’ve lost interest. It probably won’t be more than a few months. I’ll split my funds, my rations, and whatever else I need to do to gain your trust. Deal?”

Exhaling roughly, the Yuan-Ti woman doubtfully examined the hand extended towards her.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

The woman paused. Her face, as empty as her face was; as empty of her voice, clarified the simple answer: “You don’t. But you will. I’m the insider. I’m your best bet. And you’re mine. I don’t want to go through this alone, any more than you do. I’ve all you got if you want to sleep soundly at night.”

Each chilling word sent another wave of unease through her. Narrowing her eyes, Essie turned away, her cape flapping behind her.

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

Her boots scuffled the dirt road as she began to walk once more. Her thoughts, unable to shake the vision of the dead man staring hauntingly up at her. Every sense was pinpointed not to the future; not before her, but to the silent figure behind her. Waiting. Expecting the attack that never followed; the desperation, something. Anything.

Instead, she could make out the exasperated groan of the woman, and her words floating after her: “You’re going to regret turning down my offer!”

I’m better off without it, Essätha thought viciously. She didn’t need friends. She didn’t need others to complete her; defend her, support her. She didn’t need pretty fibbing lies to sleep at night. She didn’t need anyone. The disappointments they brought, the hurt, the pain.

She had survived this long in life. She could go on longer. She would go on longer, without the help. For how long, who was to say, but she’d get by.

For now, at least.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The next town over had a bit more tourism than the last. It made it easier to swipe a few stray coins shopkeeps had yet to deposit. No inn was cheap enough to take her in or any willing to allow her to pay another way, but at least she had food and a musty bedroll to curl up in just outside a wooded villa. Stars twinkled above her. The light of the dying fire embers from her campfire a steady glow. It didn’t produce the blistering warmth she wanted. Even an inferno could not kill the frost that seemed to live in her bones.

Soft cracking of wood and the swish of leaves padded through the grass. Essätha reached for the dagger kept close to her sack, her teeth bared and magic blooming along her palms.

The tracker’s palms were held open and defenseless. Not entirely defenseless, she told herself; recalling the plant-growths that had ensnared the side of the tavern some days back.

“I knew you would sssshow up again,” Essätha hissed. “I am not your sitter, and you are not mine. I gave you my answer. Now-”

“I’m sorry,” Miz’ri blurted out.

A heavy silence filled the air, briefly.

“You don’t have to believe me, but I need you,” the Drow woman whispered, her voice breaking as tears welled up in her eyes. “I have no one else to turn to. I’m scared. I’m being hunted. I’m seen as a traitor by my own people. I need help, and right now, you’re my only hope. I have nothing else. I probably am going to bring more trouble than you need, you’re right about that. I know the Virtuous Reclaimers. I might be able to outwit them for a while, but not forever.”

“You’re already in danger. I just… I’d hoped you would see the benefits as much as I did. I know I’m pushing. I can’t stop myself. They won’t quit until I have been punished. You are forgettable, but I have brought shame upon my faith.”

“I’m not asking you to commit your life to mine,” she hiccuped. “I’m asking for a chance to make things right. If I get stronger; if I can make it in this world, maybe I’ll find my own place and I won’t need to be afraid for my life anymore. You don’t need to put your faith in me. I’m just asking for a little companionship, and some time to sort myself out.”

A savage no was right on the tip of her tongue. She owed this Drow nothing. They had endangered themselves for her, yes, but she had not asked for it. She could have defended herself from her assaliant days ago.

Essätha didn’t trust her. She didn’t believe many of her words, but there was a speck of pity in her heart. Her intuition told her that not everything Miz’ri said was fabrications to gain her mercy. The dreaded terror in her expression was real. The Drow woman truly believed that she was in danger. She honestly thought that if she had to go out, and face the dangers of the world alone, that she wasn’t going to make it.

Only the strong survive. Wasn’t that how the saying went?

It was a lie. Essie was proof of it.

Debating the teary-eyed woman, she finally gave a curt nod; her eyes still and frosty. “Fine. I can not seem to shake you off, so you’re welcome to join me. But I am not responsible for you, any more than you are of me. If we encounter these Reclaimers, that will be the only time cooperation is key. Otherwise, I am entitled to myself, only to myself, and you are to yourself. I do not want a copper piece out of you. You will not get one from me. We will not be sharing room and board, meals, or other expenses. Are we clear?”

“I am indebted to you nothing,” she verified.

Without hassle, the woman was quick to nod her head in agreement. Her tears had almost vanished completely as she shuffled closer, offering out her hand.

“Thank you-”

“Do not thank me,” Essie muttered, ignoring the outreached fingers. “Let me sleep, or I’ll change my mind. Already tired enough…”

“Sure.” Miz’ri agreed, stepping back. Her grin was massive as she went on, “I’ve never traveled with a Yuan-Ti before. Your magic is from Shadowfell, is it not?”

That caught her attention. Mutely, she nodded while settling back into her bedroll. “It is…”

Nodding, the Drow woman removed the small sack from her shoulder. It was a bedroll, and as she unrolled it, it contained what little she had on her. She placed the mismatched items aside without a backpack to place them in, and began to unroll it.

The question nagging at her mind finally jumped to the surface. “How are you able to change like that? I’ve only ever heard of Yuan-Ti, and cursed werewolves…”

Sliding into her bedding, Miz’ri grinned proudly. “Druidic magic,” she explained. “It is a connection with nature and its magic that allows me to wild shape into other creatures. It’s a thrill. Unfortunately not all beasts are very powerful, so if I were to change into, say, a fly… you don’t really want to be swatted.”

Making a soft noise in the back of her throat to show she’d heard, Essie rolled over on her opposite side. It was an indication the conversation was over, as she shut her eyes.

Sadly, Miz’ri didn’t seem to catch on.

“What’s it like for you? Changing into a-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh… okay. But-”

“I’m trying to rest,” she grumbled. “Goodnight, Miz’ri.”

“It’s not really fair I talk about my stuff,” the muttering voice of the Drow venomously spat, “and I get to learn nothing about you.”

Essie bit her lower lip to keep from shouting: Just because you are willing to give information out freely does not mean I have to.

She was grateful for the silence that finally came. But sleep never really did. Uneasy by the person beside her, who she waited to get up and stab her in the night. The sound of Miz’ri tossing and turning. The jumpy unease of every noise that scrambled across the leaf litter in the night.

All she hoped was that she’d be able to lose her new ball and chain, sooner rather than later.

#royal writes #Essie rw

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newstfionline · 4 years ago

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Thursday, August 19, 2021

Fueled by winds, largest wildfire moves near California city (AP) A wildfire raged through a small Northern California forest town Tuesday, burning dozens of homes as dangerously dry and windy weather also continued to fuel other massive blazes and prompted the nation’s largest utility to begin shutting off power to 51,000 customers. The Caldor fire in the northern Sierra Nevada had burned an estimated 50 homes in and around Grizzly Flats, a town of about 1,200 people, fire officials said at a community meeting. To the north the Dixie Fire—the largest of some 100 active wildfires in more than a dozen Western states—was advancing toward Susanville, population about 18,000. Meanwhile, Pacific Gas & Electric announced it had begun shutting off power to some 51,000 customers in small portions of 18 northern counties to prevent winds from knocking down or fouling power lines and sparking new blazes.

Wet and unwelcome, Fred spawns twisters and flooding in US (AP) Tropical Storm Fred weakened to a depression and spawned several apparent tornadoes in Georgia and North Carolina on Tuesday as it dumped heavy rains into the Appalachian mountains along a path that could cause flash floods as far north as upstate New York. Fewer than 30,000 customers were without power in Florida and Georgia after the storm crashed ashore late Monday afternoon near Cape San Blas in the Florida Panhandle. Emergency crews were repairing downed power lines and clearing toppled trees in Fred’s aftermath. Some schools and colleges in Florida, Alabama and Georgia canceled Tuesday’s in-person classes due to the storm.

Injured in Haiti’s quake continue to show up at hospitals (AP) The problems in Haiti may be summed up by the public hospital in L’Asile, deep in a remote stretch of countryside in the nation’s southwest area. Here, a full four days after a powerful earthquake hit this region the hardest, people are still showing up from isolated villages with broken arms and legs. Hospital director Sonel Fevry said five such patients showed up Tuesday, the same day officials raised the disaster’s death toll by more than 500. Grinding poverty, poor roads and faith in natural medicine all conspire to make the problems worse. “We do what we can, remove the necrotized tissue and give them antibiotics and try to get them a splint,” Fevry said, adding that road access to the facility in the department of Nippes is difficult and not everyone can make it. On Tuesday night, Haiti’s Civil Protection Agency put the number of deaths from Saturday’s earthquake at 1,941. It also said 9,900 were injured. Officials said the magnitude 7.2 earthquake destroyed more than 7,000 homes and damaged nearly 5,000, leaving about 30,000 families homeless. Hospitals, schools, offices and churches also were demolished or badly damaged.

Wildfire raging near French Riviera kills 2, injures 27 (AP) A wildfire near the French Riviera killed two people and was burning out of control Wednesday in the forests of the popular region, fueled by wind and drought. Over 1,100 firefighters were battling the flames and thousands of tourists and locals were evacuated to safer areas. The fire started Monday evening 40 kilometers (24 miles) inland from the coastal resort of Saint-Tropez. Whipped up by powerful seasonal winds coming off the Mediterranean Sea, the fire had burned 7,000 hectares (17,300 acres) of forest by Wednesday morning, local officials said.

China’s drills (Foreign Policy) China conducted assault drills with warships, fighter jets, and anti-submarine aircraft close to Taiwan on Tuesday in response to what Beijing has called “provocations” threatening China’s sovereignty. Taiwan’s Defense Ministry has responded coolly, saying it “has a full grasp and has made a full assessment of the situation in the Taiwan Strait region, as well as related developments at sea and in the air, and is prepared for various responses.” The drills came after Washington approved a weapons sale to Taiwan in a deal valued at up to $750 million two weeks ago, and as Beijing has ramped up military activity around the island in recent months. In June, China’s air force flew 28 fighter jets into Taiwan’s air defense identification zone, the largest daily incursion on record.

New Zealand’s first coronavirus case in six months sends country into lockdown (Washington Post) One coronavirus case. That’s all it took to send New Zealand into a three-day, nationwide lockdown late Tuesday as the country’s six-month streak without local transmission came to an end. Auckland, the largest city, where the new case was detected, is likely to be shut down for seven days. Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern said she was ordering the country’s harshest shutdown in more than a year given the strong likelihood that the case was the more infectious delta variant, with genomic test results expected overnight. She appealed to New Zealanders not to go out unnecessarily.

Why Afghan Forces So Quickly Laid Down Their Arms (Politico) In the winter of 1989, as a journalist for the Times of London, I accompanied a group of mujahedeen fighters in Afghanistan’s Ghazni province. At one point, a fortified military post became visible on the other side of a valley. As we got closer, the flag flying above it also became visible—the flag of the Afghan Communist state, which the mujahedeen were fighting to overthrow. “Isn’t that a government post?” I asked my interpreter. “Yes,” he replied. “Can’t they see us?” I asked. “Yes,” he replied. “Shouldn’t we hide?” I squeaked. “No, no, don’t worry,” he replied reassuringly. “We have an arrangement.” I remembered this episode three years later, when the Communist state eventually fell to the mujahedeen; six years later, as the Taliban swept across much of Afghanistan; and again this week, as the country collapses in the face of another Taliban assault. Such “arrangements”—in which opposing factions agree not to fight, or even to trade soldiers in exchange for safe passage—are critical to understanding why the Afghan army today has collapsed so quickly (and, for the most part, without violence). The same was true when the Communist state collapsed in 1992, and the practice persisted in many places as the Taliban advanced later in the 1990s. Over the past 20 years, U.S. military and intelligence services have generally either not understood or chosen to ignore this dynamic. That the U.S. government could not foresee—or, perhaps, refused to admit—that beleaguered Afghan forces would continue a long-standing practice of cutting deals with the Taliban illustrates precisely the same naivete with which America has prosecuted the Afghanistan war for years.

Russia says Afghan president fled with cars and helicopter full of cash (Reuters) Russia’s embassy in Kabul said on Monday that Afghan President Ashraf Ghani had fled the country with four cars and a helicopter full of cash and had to leave some money behind as it would not all fit in, the RIA news agency reported. Ghani, whose current whereabouts are unknown, said he left Afghanistan on Sunday as the Taliban entered Kabul virtually unopposed. He said he wanted to avoid bloodshed. “As for the collapse of the (outgoing) regime, it is most eloquently characterised by the way Ghani fled Afghanistan,” Nikita Ishchenko, a spokesman for the Russian embassy in Kabul, was quoted as saying by RIA. “Four cars were full of money, they tried to stuff another part of the money into a helicopter, but not all of it fit. And some of the money was left lying on the tarmac,” he was quoted as saying.

Gorbachev, leader who pulled Soviets from Afghanistan, says U.S. campaign was doomed from start (Reuters) Mikhail Gorbachev, the leader who oversaw the withdrawal of Soviet forces from Afghanistan in 1989 after Moscow’s failed decade-long campaign there, said on Tuesday that NATO’s own deployment to the country had been doomed from the start. Gorbachev was cited by Russia’s RIA news agency as saying that NATO and the Americans had no chance of success and had badly mishandled their own Afghan campaign. “They (NATO and the United States) should have admitted failure earlier. The important thing now is to draw the lessons from what happened and make sure that similar mistakes are not repeated,” Gorbachev told RIA. “Like many other similar projects at its heart lay the exaggeration of a threat and poorly defined geopolitical ideas. To that were added unrealistic attempts to democratize a society made up of many tribes.”

Regional Powers Assess a New Afghanistan (Foreign Policy) As the United States continues to mount an evacuation effort from Afghanistan, not all foreigners are headed for the exits, as regional powers begin to assess their positions as the country comes under a new regime. No immediate bonanza awaits Afghanistan’s prospective partners. It remains one of the poorest countries in the world. A country that relies on international aid for 80 percent of its budget is unlikely to have much to trade with, and dreams of unlocking Afghanistan’s rare-earth deposits will depend heavily on stabilizing the war-torn nation. China, Iran, and Russia, who have been engaged in public diplomacy with Taliban leaders for years, are staying put. With most of China’s investments elsewhere in Central and South Asia, concerns about security will likely remain front and center for Beijing. “Chinese investment there is likely to be short-term and easily pulled out in the likely event of further instability,” Azeem Ibrahim writes in Foreign Policy. Russia shares China’s concerns about instability. Just as China will not want the Taliban harboring ethnic Uyghur groups, any support for Islamist movements in its backyard would be unacceptable for Moscow. Iranian President Ebrahim Raisi welcomed the Taliban victory as an “opportunity to restore life, security and durable peace in Afghanistan.” Iran has promised to temporarily accommodate those fleeing Afghanistan, although with an estimated 2.8 million Afghans already there and with a crippled economy, it’s not clear how many more refugees Iran could support, or would want to support. Pakistan’s leaders have not disguised their glee at the Afghan government’s dissolution as Prime Minister Imran Khan praised the Afghan people for breaking “the shackles of slavery.” Still, like in Iran, one immediate effect of the Taliban’s ascent will likely be a refugee exodus, with Pakistan expected to remain the number one destination.

Withdrawal from Afghanistan forces allies and adversaries to reconsider America’s global role (Washington Post) President Biden’s decision to withdraw from Afghanistan has triggered a globe-spanning rethink of America’s role in the world, as European allies discuss their need to play a bigger part in security matters and Russia and China consider how to promote their interests in a Taliban-led Afghanistan. Biden’s defiant address to the nation on Monday, when he stood “squarely” behind his decision to pull out U.S. troops, also renewed one of the most hotly contested debates of the post-9/11 era: Would a withdrawal from Afghanistan convey weakness, provoke aggression and shatter America’s ability to lead on the international stage, or would it reflect a sound realignment of the national interest, put the country on better footing to deal with the new challenges of the 21st century, and clarify to allies and adversaries what the United States is and is not willing to expend resources on? In the European Union, which held an emergency session of foreign ministers on Afghanistan on Tuesday, officials offered rare criticism of Washington for risking a flood of refugees to their borders and the return of a platform for terrorism in Central Asia. In China, where the U.S. withdrawal is seen as creating both risks and opportunity, Foreign Minister Wang Yi told U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken in a phone call that the rapid departure of U.S. troops caused a ”severely adverse impact.” Russia, which has long-established ties to the Taliban but does not officially recognize it, praised the group on Monday. “The situation is peaceful and good and everything has calmed down in the city. The situation in Kabul now under the Taliban is better than it was under [President] Ashraf Ghani,” said Dmitry Zhirnov, the Russian ambassador to Afghanistan.

#headlines #news

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