#Wrote this very early in the morning after remembering lead pipes are a thing

[theconceptofkidney]

The sand pest and asbestos are the same. It's like, it's about danger that lays dormant, danger that is right under our feet. It's not dangerous if it's not disturbed, but if it is...

Did you know there is asbestos in the subterranean? This is known. There we're strikes about it. Workers striking for the asbestos to be removed.

We often use the subte. It's our favourite transport means. Did you know there's asbestos in the subte?

Sand pest and lead poisoning are alike. Danger in our stuctures. Danger waiting. Danger in our walls, under our feet. Danger in our pipes. Lurking.

Sand pest reminds us of cholera outbreaks in London. Disease appearing from seemingly nowhere, burning out before popping up someplace else. Danger in the water, in rivers and pumps and wells. Wells... Wells and cesspits and ground water. Danger underground.

Sand pest reminds us of varicela-zóster. Illness waiting in deposits in our body. We've already had chickenpox. One day it may come back, and it'll be worse. It's a possibility. Did you know chickenpox typically lasts two weeks? Herpes-zóster is also called "fuego de San Antonio" in Spain. It's known for it's blisters, which we've heard are very painful.

Sand pest is, we think, every malaise that lurks unseen in our infrastructure, that appears suddenly and unexpectedly, that runs painfully, that kills because the authorities haven't shut down that godsdamned pump.

[palimpsessed]

Writerly Ephemera

I was tagged by @amywaterwings @mostlymaudlin @tea-brigade @effing-numpties @captain-aralias @bloodiedpixie . This is so cool, so thanks for sharing yours! ❤️

Per Amy: We add little bits of ourselves to our writing, scattering memories and places and phrases and things into our stories. The game is to find five examples of this, of YOU, in your writing and show everyone.

I don’t really feel like I put much of my own experiences into my fic, probably because I don’t feel like I have a lot of experiences to pull from. (That’s not me being self-deprecating; that’s me never going anywhere or doing anything.) So, let’s see what we come up with!

Going to tag here. I feel like I’ve gotten to this late so I’m not sure who has been tagged. Anyway. No pressure, loves. Just saying hi. 🥰 @theflyingpeach @bazzybelle @otherworldsivelivedin @unseelieseelie @wetheformidables @caitybug @nightimedreamersworld @foolofabookwyrm @stillmadaboutpetra

1. I have put the most of myself into A Man of Letters. I have my degree in English Lit and when I was in college, I was at the height of my Jane Austen obsession. So I sort of built my degree around the development of the English novel. My senior thesis was on a book called Evelina by Frances Burney, who was one of Austen’s greatest literary influences. Evelina is an epistolary novel—told entirely in letters. I love the epistolary form, for the same reason I love dialogue and texting fics. It’s such a fun narrative technique and can reveal so much about individual characters. It’s actually a bit like the way Rainbow Rowell uses multi POV in her books. Anyway, my love of the epistle was on full display in this fic, which is ofc told in letters. —Do I share a passage? That’s like...the whole fic 😅 So, idk. Here’s Simon being a disaster as he meditates on letter writing:

Dear Penny,

As I start this letter, I already know I'm not going to post it. I know I won't be able to bring myself to do it, because of what I have to say to you. I do feel bad. It's not that I don't want to tell you. And you know I'm so much better at writing things down than saying them out loud. It's only that I feel like this would all sound better coming from me in person. I just don't think I'll be able to make you understand in a letter. I'm still trying to understand myself. And writing all of this down helps me with that. Even if I'm only pretending to write to you, it makes me feel better, to think of you on the other end. I promise I really will tell you everything as soon as we're together again.

2. Also for A Man of Letters, my fascination with Regency fashions, in particular the dandy, was a major factor. I did an art book about this, comparing how fashion has changed over time, especially in regard to gender. (I also did an art book based on Evelina, since I’m on the subject. I minored in book art. 😁) I always fancied the look of a Regency dandy, so that was my gift to Baz.

Whoever has been working their magic on Salisbury should in fact be the person to whom I offer my eternal devotion. Alas, I am left to flounder under the burden of lusting after a man who is incapable of dressing himself.

The utter and unmitigated shame.

Salisbury wore a forest green wool frock coat that set off the golden highlights in his brown locks. This was accented with a green and aubergine striped silk waistcoat that was trimmed in white piping and felt much too daring a pattern for the man. (I don't care if he was a soldier; it takes a hardier man than him by half to choose a stripe like that.) His charcoal trousers were enticingly snug, but not so much to prove lethal. His cravat and points left much to be desired, though that likely reflected poorly on his ability to keep himself in order, rather than the ability of his valet. (Good God, maybe the man doesn't even have a valet!)

3. When it came to my countdown fic, To the Manor Borne, I had Shep make a reference to Cluedo, because Pitch Manor would be perfect for a real life game. Behind that, is the fact that my family played a lot of Clue and I watched the movie a whole bunch growing up, to the point where my sister and I used to quote it to each other. This was a way to pay homage to that. He also talks about playing the game Murder in the Dark, which was one I played at Halloween as a kid. One of my cousins was dressed as a ghoul with glow in the dark face paint and we were in my grandma’s creepy upstairs. Perfect vibes.

I’ve seen the kitchen and the dining room and the library and the study and the parlor. Walking through this house is like playing Clue. (They call it Cluedo on this side of the pond, because they like to be difficult.) (That was a whole thing. Do not get me started.)

I keep thinking Colonel Mustard’s going to pop up out of nowhere and brain me with a lead pipe.

And:

What kind of games do you play with magickal friends who don't have magic? Twister? Not with the wings and tail. Cards? Baz and Penny would cheat. Or accuse everyone else of cheating if they didn't win. Murder in the dark? With these people, in this house, I knew it would turn literal fast, and also it was like ten in the morning. Hide and seek? Simon and I would hide and everyone else would ditch. Snowball fight? World War III.

4. I’ve referenced Mozart in my fics a couple of times because when I was first getting into classical music, I was listening to a lot of Mozart. My sister had a CD of some of his early symphonies, and my local classical station does “Mozart in the Mornings” which happened to fit in the exact time slot between two morning classes I had my first year in college. I’d go sit in my car with a cup of tea, and just vibe with Mozart as my soundtrack. I’ve name dropped him in both A Man of Letters and To the Manor Borne. Also, Mozart wrote 12 variations on the melody shared by Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, which is a lovely tie in. (I also had the gang sing/cast The Holly and the Ivy, which is one of my favorite Christmas carols, and by strange coincidence was playing on the radio at the same time I wrote that scene. 🥰)

"It's a songbook," I tell him, like he can't figure that out for himself. "Did you know that Mozart wrote twelve different versions of the same song?"

He's laughing. "Mozart did not write Twinkle, twinkle, little star, Simon."

"You know what I mean."

"He composed twelve variations for solo piano on the French folk melody Ah! Vous dirai-je, maman."

"Sure. Anyway, this is for the violin. For you to play."

He's still laughing, and I'm trying to figure out what's so funny, but then he kisses me again, on the lips this time, so I figure maybe I'm still doing okay.

Only one more to go! What will it be? 👀

5. Therapy! Eheheh...😅 Look, it’s no secret the gang needs it. And tbh, so do I. Haven’t actually managed to get myself to go yet, and I think that’s where a lot of my “send them to therapy” happy endings come from. I did it in Use Your Words and To the Manor Borne. I started Chamber by Chamber with SnowBaz already in therapy, and then structured the whole thing around therapy that they give to each other and to themselves. It didn’t really fit in A Man of Letters, but if it had, I absolutely would have done it. I’ve only shared from two fics so far, and since it could kind of spoil the ending to Use Your Words (tho saying this may be spoiler anyway...), here are two snippets from It’s a Kind of Magic, Part I of Chamber by Chamber.

I've been working on articulating my needs. We both have. Ordinarily, I'd be afraid of pushing him away by making demands when he's on the verge of a spiral, but my therapist insists that I can't go on treating Simon with kid gloves. If I never ask him for anything, he'll think he doesn't have anything to give.

And

When I told that to my therapist, she said that I needed to talk it out of me and she'd help me find ways to work through it all. She said I needed to talk it out with Baz, too, so that he'd know how to help me when things got bad again—that was something else she said, that things would get bad again, and that I'd need to be prepared for that. That I couldn't expect things to be easy, and just go away.

6. BONUS! I think the biggest way I include bits of myself is in the AUs I’ve chosen to write. I have three I’m planning that say a lot about me, so I’m going to talk a bit about them here. There is ofc my Scooby Doo AU, inspired in large part by the fact that I watched it all the time growing up and also, my sister continues to be obsessed with it. When we were young, my parents were doing a lot of work on their house and we’d take family trips to the hardware store. My sister and I hated it, so we’d wait in the car with my mom and she would entertain us with “Scooby Doo stories”. Other AUs I’m planning? Troop Beverly Hills—please tell me someone else out there loved this movie the way I did when I was 5. It was very influential to baby me and I remember wishing for nothing more than being able to dress like Shelley Long. So, I’m going to let Baz do it, because I think he deserves it. 🥰 Lastly, tho it will probably be the first I write, is my Cupid and Psyche AU, from when I was heavy into mythology and religion. Since these are all forthcoming projects, I don’t really have a snippet. Instead, here’s Baz comparing Simon to Eros, which is what started my brain on that particular AU.

I am lost. I barely know anything about Salisbury, but I can't help being drawn in. At one time, I could have comforted myself that I was only so smitten with him because he looks like he was sculpted by Praxiteles. That excuse grows weaker with every encounter. He's the furthest thing from a lifeless tribute to beauty in marble as one can be. There is something deep and dark and feral inside of him and I want to claw it out. I want to see it, to let it free. To taste his wildness and his pain.

[finnishcrimestory]

The lake Bodom murders

On 4th of June 1960 vocational school students Maila Irmeli Björklund (15) and her friend Anja Tuulikki Mäki (15) accompanied their mutual friends Nils Wilhelm Gustafsson (18) and Seppo Antero Boisman (18) and went camping to the shore of the lake Bodom, located in Högnäs Espoo. It wasn't a long time after the murders that happened in the Tulilahti camping site (only one year) so the parents of the girls weren't exactly happy to let their daughters going to the trip, but they let them go on the last minute. They went with the boys’ motorcyckles and set their camp and tent near a local beach. They hung out and went to sleep around 12 am. After only couple hours of sleep however they woke up and at that time the two guys went fishing. After that they all went back to sleep.

Little is known what happened next, but on 5th of June early in the morning someone attacked the youngsters hitting them in the head with something heavy and blunt. Boisman and Björklund were also stabbed, Björklund over 10 times. The murderer stabbed them through the tent fabric. The primary cause of death for Boisman, Björklund and Mäki was skull fracture. Nils Gustafsson was able to flee from inside the tent, but the killer hit him on the head possibly with a rock. He was the only one to survive the attack but he had multiple fractures on his skull as well. Gustafsson was found laying on top of the collapsed tent and he spent weeks in a hospital and made full recovery.

The victims were found on the next morning after people started to arrive at the beach. Gustafsson was alive like previously stated, but he was barely conscious. The police was quickly on the scene and during the same day they were able to conduct multiple stop checks and the biggest ever terrain exploration around the area. During this exploration the police were able to find 88 wanted people but were unable to find the killer.

The victims were missing their belongings, including their wallets and some of their clothing. Some of the clothing and shoes belonging to Gustafsson were found about a half a kilometers away from the scene, hidden away behind a rock. Other belongings and a jacket belonging to Boisman were never found during the investigation.

The murder weapon was never found. Gustafsson told the investigators that after they went to sleep he doesn't remember anything. There were eye witnesses, but what they were able to see were just some movement on the shore. 14 year old Olavi Kivilahti saw a blond man wearing a light colored shirt walking past the camp about 50 meters away, but Olavi was nearsighted and he wasn't wearing any glasses so his sighting is questionable. The police received over 50 notices of the blond man to the end of July but none of those resulted in an arrest.

After some time had passed and the police still had no idea who had murdered the youngsters, they decided to hypnotize Gustafsson. It was conducted on 2nd to 5th of July 1960. The 14 year old boy Olavi was also hypnotized couple times. During the hypnosis both of them described the suspect and drawings were done based on the descriptions, but it didn't lead to anything. Gustafsson described a man who cut a hole on the tent and hit them with a knife and with a metal pipe.

The description for the killer was: aged around 20 to 30 years old, not young nor old, height about 173-174 cm (5'8), normal body type (heavier than Gustafsson though), round face, red cheeks, long blond hair combed back, normal ears with round earlobes, high wrinkled forehead, big eyes (color unknown), straight nose (not long nor short), normal light eyebrows, bold lips, strong jaw, short neck, white teeth (unknown if some are missing), big and thick fingers; special characteristics: pimples on forehead and cheeks. Clothing: plaid shirt with black buttons (buttoned up all the way), shirt contains many colors, at least black and green.

Suspects

Pauli Luoma

At first the police were searching a man that had been spotted in the area carrying a bag belonging to the victims. He had black beard and he was walking with a bicycle. He had also been spotted coming out from the forest wearing a bloody shirt. He was Pauli Kustaa Luoma, a runaway from a labor camp who had an alibi for the night. He had been in Otaniemi, Espoo during the murders. Otaniemi is 19 kilometers (11 miles) away from the lake Bodom which is about 23 minute trip.

Pentti Soininen (b. around 1945, d. 1969)

At the end of 1960, 24 year old Pentti Soininen confessed while in Kuopio prison that he murdered the youngsters. During the murders he was 15 years old and it was true that he had been near the lake during the murders, because he had run away from approved school. The police interrogated him but they did not give much weight to his confession. Soininen was described as a psychopath who could act in a very peculiar ways especially under the influence of drugs and alcohol. Soininen had a long list of crimes under his name: thefts, assaults and robberies. Soininen committed suicide by hanging in Toijala train station while he was being transferred to a prison in 1969.

Valdemar Gyllström (b. 1909, d. 1969)

Karl Valdemar Gyllström was a suspect for a long time. He was known to hate campers and he often acted aggressively. His nickname was "Kiosk-man" because he apparently had a kiosk. He drowned himself to the lake Bodom in 1969 and people said he confessed murdering the youngsters before this. His neighbor told that he had said: "It was me who killed them". Gyllström had apparently filled and closed his well on his yard couple days after the murders and that led to his house and yard being carefully searched. However nothing was found, though it is possible all the stolen belongings had been discarded. Gyllström's son-in-law has been told to be certain that the murder weapon lies at the bottom of the closed and filled well. According to the police, Gyllström had an alibi for the night, an alibi that had been confirmed by Gyllström's wife. His wife had told that she had been up all night and according to her, Gyllström hadn't left the house. However, shortly before the wife died she told that Gyllström had threatened to kill her if she told the truth. What truth? Who knows.

Hans Assman (b. 1923, d. 1998)

One of the most known suspect was German-born Hans Assman, who has also been suspected to being a KGB spy. On 6th of June 1960 Assman was brought to Helsinki surgical hospital where he acted in a very weird way. People in the hospital also noticed how unkempt Assman was: his fingernails were very dirty and his clothes were full of red stains. Assman lied to the hospital staff the reason for his condition but he told the truth about his way of living (he lived about 5 km (3 miles) away from the lake). He also pretended to being unconscious and he was aggressive and nervous. Assman's description reminded a lot of the description of the suspect. When the news informed the characteristics of the suspect, Assman cut his hair short.

Jorma Palo who at the time worked in the hospital as an amanuensis was very certain Assman was the killer. Many people from the hospital's staff also agreed with Palo. The police met with Assman very briefly and they did not want to discuss with the hospital staff. They also did not take Assman's stained clothes for inspection. Palo later wrote three books about the murders and about Assman. Former detective inspector Matti Paloaro connected Assman to five other murders as well, among them the murder of Kyllikki Saari and even the death of minister Penna Tervo. Assman was a perfect match for the description given by Gustafsson and Olavi. However according to the police Assman had a perfect alibi. It wasn't revealed for the public that time though, because it had a sensitive nature. 

The documents about Assman became public in 2005. According to them Assman had been with his girlfriend during the night. She lived as a subtenant and her landlord and -lady saw Assman sitting eating breakfast in the morning. The documents verify that then 36 year old Assman did spent the night in the apartment (located in Helsinki) during the murders. Assman had had this affair going on for years (he had a wife). Assman slept in the same bed with his 33 year old girlfriend. The bedroom door had been open for the entire night and no one noticed Assman leaving at any point during the night (apparently if he would’ve left, it would have been noticed). Assman woke up at 9 am and at that time the murders had already been committed and the first passerby's had noticed the collapsed tent. According to the police the red stains on Assman's clothing were paint that he had used while at work. Jorma Palo was the one who suspected Assman being a KGB agent and that he was being protected. The police has been saying that Palo's books were pure fiction.

Two people fishing

The two young men who were fishing on the lake during the murders were never identified. They never came forward to the police even though it was asked multiple times. What was weird is that the two men left the fish they caught behind. Nothing is known of them.

Nils Gustafsson

44 years after the murders in 2004 the lone survivor Nils Gustafsson was suddenly arrested as a suspect. The blood samples gathered from the tent supported Gustafsson being the perpetrator. The police also informed that DNA technology revealed things that couldn't be found back in the 60s. However during the trial nothing significant was uncovered from the samples.

Gustafsson has been saying he doesn't remember anything about the murders since the day one and that hasn't changed. He thinks he got brain damage from the attack and that resulted to amnesia. During the trial an important point was to find out whether the blows to his head were strong enough to result to amnesia. The prosecutors tried strongly to belittle the injuries Gustafsson suffered and they claimed he exaggerated them.

According to the prosecutors Gustafsson and Seppo Boisman had been drinking on the night of the murders and then started to have an argument. The prosecutors also claimed that Maila Björklund had turned down Gustafsson's sexual advances and this would've led to Gustafsson losing his temper. The claim is supported by the stabbing wounds on Björklund's body: according to the coroner she was stabbed 15 times.

The district court excluded all the charges on 7th of October 2005. According to it nothing proved that Gustafsson murdered his friends. They disqualified the jealousy claims also. They excluded everything because the eye witness sightings were pointing to an outsider perpetrator.

The investigation and trial got a lot of attention but Gustafsson was freed in 2005. The prosecutors did not complain about the verdict to the court of appeals.

Gustafsson gave one very rare press conference. During it journalists were very aggressive with their approach and pointed out the illogical things in the things he had said: it was weird he claimed he didn't remember anything but at the same time he remembered that he for sure wasn't the one who murdered his friends. Gustafsson didn't explain himself further though, he stated: "I am innocent and that's that."

The National Bureau of Investigation had an investigator who testified something very interesting. He claimed that after Gustafsson had been arrested he had said: "What is done is done, I got fifteen years", which was seen to be a confession. This testify wasn’t told immediately though, it was only told during the trial. Gustafsson himself said he doesn't remember saying anything like that and if he did, it was simply a joke. The district court stated that it wasn't investigated properly. They also said: "The fact that the saying did not lead to any action points to the fact that even if Gustafsson would've said it, it wasn't a confession and even the investigator who heard it in the first place did not think that way either during the time."

To this day the murders are still unsolved and it is believed by many Finns that they will never be solved.

[dhwty-writes]

A Health Hazard

This took a lot longer to write than it had any right to. The first 1.5k words were written in under 2 hours, the rest in thrice that time. I'm done with today and this prompt. Written for day 3: Reading by the fire/cuddling by the fire of @witcher-and-his-bard‘s winter prompts Have fun!

Summary: Geralt of Rivia is bored. This hasn't happened in forever. Literally. He learns to understand Jaskier's whining a lot better. 

Warnings: none, besides the fact that this is unedited

Read on AO3

All things considered, it had taken a surprisingly short time for the impossible to happen. Apparently, all that it took was three weeks. Three weeks cooped up in Jaskier's generously-sized lodgings in Oxenfurt with nothing to do and lo and behold, Geralt of Rivia was bored. Bored! Could you imagine that?

It hadn't been so bad in the beginning. After five days he finally hadn't felt the need to rise with the sun and had let Jaskier kiss him goodbye, running late for a lecture, while he turned over and slept in. He couldn't remember when he had last done that. Truth be told, he couldn't remember if he'd ever done that.

Certainly not since he'd gotten to Kaer Morhen; there was no slacking in the witchers' keep. He briefly wondered if passing out after a fight and waking up days later could count as sleeping in. Probably not.

No, sleeping in was something for the safe and comfortable, and for the first time since he could think Geralt could count himself among them. All thanks to Jaskier, of course, who did his best to spoil his lover rotten. All on the cost of the Oxenfurt Academy, naturally.

The Academy spared no cost or effort to ensure the comfort of their lecturers—and Jaskier wasn't just any lecturer, he was probably the most popular bard on the continent. Geralt had first realised that Jaskier was rich when he had seen his personal study, stocked with books right up to the ceiling. Most of them were beautiful leather-bound tomes, written by hand with detailed pictures. He had felt a bit faint when discovering that some of them were in the second row.

No matter what Jaskier said about gifts from colleagues and magical innovations called a printing spell, books were immeasurable luxuries. And the bard owned close to a hundred of them. Personally.

Still, Geralt had been hesitant, at first, to make use of the private bath that came with the four-room apartment, or to call upon a servant to fetch him things. That was until Jaskier had told him outright how much they paid him for a single lecture, let alone several of them each day for months. If they were willing to pour that much money down the drain, he couldn't really feel bad about it.

So, the following days and weeks Geralt allowed Jaskier to teach him how to enjoy himself. He learned how to sleep in, indulged in almost daily baths, spent his days reading novels and poems out of Jaskier's personal collection. He didn't protest when the bard ordered too much food. Didn't comment on the overabundance of sweets—he even admitted he liked it. And when Jaskier asked for too exotic spices he only raised his eyebrows.

Once he had even ventured into the extensive Academy library—Geralt had never seen so many books in one place in his entire life—to find a collection of chivalrous legends Jaskier had told him about. He had been welcomed by an overly polite librarian, who had gone ahead to recommend him a dozen other books with the same topic, complete with annotations noting upon all the different possible interpretations. And if that hadn't been enough, he had been offered to take them with him. All of them. At once. As long as he liked. With no credentials but the name "Pankratz". He couldn't fathom how the library hadn't been robbed empty yet. When he had told Jaskier so, he had only laughed and kissed him gently, calling him a silly witcher.

It all had culminated when later that day, after Jaskier had ordered their dinner to be brought up to their rooms, it had been Geralt to stop the servant by the arm and ask for a bottle of wine.

"Right away, sir," the servant had answered. "Do you have any preferences?"

"Umm-" After a quick glance back to Jaskier, who had smiled encouragingly, he had added: "Est Est?"

He had half expected to be reprimanded, but the servant had only looked at him as if that had been obvious. "The year, sir. Do you have any preferences for the year?"

"I hear 1260 was especially good," Jaskier had piped up and that had been the end of that. They had had a very nice evening and an even nicer night, albeit neither of them had gotten a lot of sleep.

The problem was that since then over a week had passed. Geralt had read through all the books he had borrowed and leafed through a number of volumes of Jaskier's personal collection. He wasn't feeling like reading anymore. He had visited several taverns to play Gwent, but that too was interesting only for so long.

He had taken Jaskier up on his offer and accompanied him to a few lectures, but that had grown boring, too. Of course, he could talk about his adventure and the content of the poems, but that wasn't what Jaskier and his students were talking about. Instead, they lead very heated discussions about rhymes and metaphors and what Jaskier called a meter ("It's like a rhythm, Geralt."). But in the end, he didn't care if the rhyme was a pair or not, or if the rhythm was an asbestos or a dromedary or something.

He flopped down on the couch with an uncharacteristically dramatic sigh. Jaskier had returned from his last lecture an hour ago and was now holed up in his study doing... something. As if him being away all day wasn't bad enough, he had to continue working afterwards!

Geralt sat up with a start. Shit, was that how Jaskier felt all year round on the Path? It was a horrifying thought; no wonder the bard was so whiny all the time. Well, Geralt was different. He certainly wouldn't stoop so low. No, he definitely wouldn't whine.

 ~*~

 "Jaskier," Geralt whined from his place on the extra armchair they had acquired the previous day. "Are you done yet?"

The poet mouthed some words along while he frantically scribbled them down on yet another snippet of parchment. "Almost, darling, give me a minute," he muttered absentmindedly just like he had half an hour ago.

Geralt threw his head back and groaned loudly. He was going mad; he was sure of it. It was not normal for people to go such a long time without someone charging at them with swords or claws or dirty underwear. It could not be healthy. "D'you think I should talk to Shani?"

"Yeah, yeah," Jaskier mumbled under his breath, flipping through the hundreds of pages of notes he was keeping.

"Hmm." So Jaskier agreed that boredom was a serious health hazard. He drummed his fingers on the armrest. Maybe he should go do it right away?

He got to his feet and was almost at the door when he halted. No, it was late already, sundown a few hours past. He walked back to the armchair. But maybe-

"Geralt," Jaskier said with a heavy sight and put down his pen. "Love. You're pacing." 

"Really?" The witcher grit out. "Wouldn't have noticed."

"Can you just-" He rubbed at his temples. He looked incredibly tired. "I'm sorry, five more minutes, alright? Then we can do whatever you want, what d'you think of that."

"Hm." Geralt thought that was bullshit and that Jaskier should take a break.

But the poet was too engrossed in his own mind to even hear it.

'Alright then,' he thought and sat back down, arms crossed. 'Five more minutes.' He could manage five minutes of meditation. Easily.

He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, waiting for the calm to settle over him. What followed were probably the longest five fucking minutes of Geralt's life.

No sooner were they over that his eyes snapped open and he rushed over to his bard, holding him close from behind and nuzzling against his neck.

Jaskier chuckled softly. "Hello there. Five minutes over already?"

"Yes," Geralt said resolutely. "What're you writing anyways?" he asked, trying to peer over his bard's shoulder.

Still scribbling, Jaskier answered: "A novel, dear."

"A novel?" he replied and pulled back a little. "Since when?" Jaskier never wrote novels. Songs and poems, yes, and on one memorable occasion a play, too, but they had both agreed that it was horrid and that he should stick to shorter stuff.

He shrugged and slammed the piece of paper onto one of the piles. Apparently, there was an order to the chaos. "The day before yesterday, I think? Didn't really pay attention."

Geralt snorted. That went without saying. "Please tell me you didn't write all that in-"

Jaskier gasped softly and pulled up another sheet of paper. "Shh, give me a minute, love, else I'll forget this sentence. Oh fuck, this is so good-"

He bared his teeth. "You said-"

"Please, Geralt," Jaskier begged. 'Fuck.' The cursed bardlet knew damn well that he couldn't resist him; not with the pure desperation in his voice.

So, Geralt contented himself with grumbling displeased and pressing his nose against Jaskier's neck, while he waited for the scratching of the quill on paper to finally subside.

Thankfully, it didn't take too long for Jaskier to slam the quill down and forcefully push the paper away. "Done," he declared, exhaustion plain in his voice. "I'm done for today."

He raised his eyebrows. "You sure?"

"Y-yeah. I'm sure." The tiny pause was enough for Geralt to know that, no, Jaskier wasn't done in the slightest. If not for him the poet would probably stay up until the early hours of morning, crafting one masterful line after the other. Until he'd inevitably collapse from the exhaustion, smudging the ink of his uppermost sheet of paper all over his face.

He couldn't fathom how much self-control it cost Jaskier to turn around and ask: "So, what is bothering you so terribly, my beloved witcher?"

Geralt glared at him defiantly. It took him all of three seconds to cave. "I'm bored," he complained and frowned.

The effect was instantaneous and his expression grew soft. "Oh, my dear, I'm terribly sorry."

There was something about Jaskier's voice, something about his touch, about the way he brought Geralt close for a gentle kiss. Something that made him go from wanting to believe his words so badly to actually believing them.

The smile on his bard's face was nothing short of adorable when he asked: "Anything I can do about it?"

"Hm." Well, he could think of quite a few things to bide their time.

Before he could voice any of them, though, Jaskier continued: "Yeah, that's what I thought." He stood up and took his hand. "Come on, Geralt, I'm dead on my feet. Let's get somewhere more comfortable, then we can figure that out."

He gladly let himself be led. As long as it meant spending time with Jaskier, he was hardly about to object. The poet flitted around their apartment, collecting pillows and blankets, while he sent Geralt off to heat the kettle and get them some tea, all the while humming with excess energy.

Not fifteen minutes later Geralt found himself on the floor in front of the fireplace with a lapful of bard who was cursing quietly whenever he sipped his too-hot tea and inevitably burnt his tongue. Geralt couldn't help but smile as he cradled his Jaskier closer to his chest.

"What's your novel about?" he whispered into his ear.

"Oh, it's a romance!" he replied cheerfully.

Geralt pulled back, a horrible thought dawning on him. "Jaskier...," he growled. "Please tell me you're not writing a romance novel about us."

"Well," the poet drawled and Geralt groaned. So that was a yes. "I am not writing about Geralt of Rivia, the witcher, and Jaskier the bard."

"But?"

"But it might be that the two protagonists are a chivalrous monsterslayer and his loyal painter companion."

"Jaskier...," he pleaded even though he knew it was useless.

"What? In my defence, it was you who dragged in the knightly ballads!"

"Hm." That was a shit defence and they both knew it. Unwilling to start an argument, though, he just pulled Jaskier closer against his chest and leaned his forehead against his shoulder. "Tell me more."

And tell him more he did. Thank the gods it was so easy to get Jaskier rambling. He told him about the two protagonists, Eric and Dandelion, who had met shortly after the artist had abandoned the court; he had been living at, to find real inspiration out in the world. He was, apparently, entirely insufferable and a notorious womanizer-

"What?" Geralt interrupted him with a quiet chuckle. "Next you tell me he set out into the world to draw nude portraits of all his lovers."

"Oh no!" He felt Jaskier tense up before even the lament had left his mouth. "Oh, fuck, Geralt, that's brilliant, I-" His mouth snapped shut. His eyes flitted around nervously as he was obviously contemplating what the worse fate was: abandoning his lover or risking the loss of an idea.

Geralt quickly made the decision for him as he opened his arms. "Go on, bard," he said with a soft smile. "Write it down before it's gone again." He had lived with Jaskier long enough to become well acquainted with all of his sorrows.

The smile he got in return was almost worth it. "You're the best, I love you, I'm so sorry," he blabbered, scrambling to his feet. He pecked him on the mouth with a quick: "Be right back."

'No, you won't,' Geralt thought adoringly as he watched him bolt to his desk. "Just bring something to write with when you do!" he called after him and leaned back against the couch. He couldn't quite bring himself to wipe the lopsided grin off his face.

It was going to be a long winter. But he wouldn't have it any other way.

[anonwriterthethird]

The Ring of Mages

Chapter One - Siv of Olcar

Words - 3,129

Warnings - Death, slight mention of blood, bad writing

_____

The village was still, all that was moving was the swaying grass and trees from the light breeze. Everything was illuminated by the moonlight, completely captivating Siv. The girl sat on top of a hill in the grass, leaning back on her palms while staring out at the land before her. There were rolling hills littered with buildings and surrounded by walls that looked beautiful in the night, but she was more focused on what was above.

The sky was filled with colorful swirls shaded of blues and purples, all of them spotted with bright shiny dots that reflected brightly off of her golden eyes. This was the only time of day that Judith could find peace, late at night when staring at the painted sky. Of course she had to leave to bed at some point though, training was set for very early in the morning.

Siv reluctantly stood from her spot, not wanting to leave such a pretty sight. But she had to leave eventually so she made her way down the hill and towards her little cottage. She slowly creaked open the main door and tried to be quiet as to not wake her parents. Siv had gotten to her room making sure not to make a single noise and lit up a lantern placed on her desk. She opened up the top drawer and took out a worn leather journal along with a quill and inkwell. Judith wrote of what she saw that night, of every swirl and color in the night sky. Then right next to it she attempted a drawing, making it as detailed as her memory allowed.

Before Siv was able to finish her drawing there was an enormous explosion, startling the girl into spilling the inkwell all over the pages. After a few moments there was yet another explosion followed by the panicked shouts of guards and screams of citizens. Siv stumbled her way towards her window and all that was seen was chaos. The Northern wall was broken down, laying scattered in pieces. Soldiers with spears and axes ran through the broken down wall on foot, a few rode on horses wielding bows armed with flamed tip arrows. The people on foot burst into every home and slaughtered all those inside while taking anything of value. People ran outside screaming trying to get away only to be ruthlessly killed. The cavalry shot their arrows through the air, catching both people and building on fire to suffer a slow and painful death. When watching all of this horror unfold, the bedroom door had slammed open, jumping Siv out of her shocked daze.

“Siv! There you are, we must hurry. Grab your cloak,” It was her father who spoke low and rushed, “C’mon, we must go before they reach us!” He quickly went to the main door, dragging along the stumbling young girl. Siv’s mother met them there from the kitchen holding a small black cloak and a pack filled with food. She kneeled down towards the trembling girl, wrapping her with the cloak and handed her the food. Then she leaned in a bit closer, placing her forehead onto her daughters with her hands holding the other’s head.

She whispered,“If anything is to happen, anything, just keep running. Do not look back,” She peeled away, tears brimming her eyes, and placed a soft kiss on top of her daughter’s forehead.

“Promise me.”

All the girl could do was nod her head. Siv let out a few stray tears, not knowing what to expect to happen in the next few moments.

Her mother gave a shaky sigh and a weak smile, “Thank you…”

The girl’s father cracked open the door just enough to pop his head out. He looked left and right, looking for an opening to run to safety. Once he deemed it safe he opened the door further and led them all down the path. He looked back at his wife and daughter and talked to them in a hushed but urgent voice, “We go to the stables, there we can grab two horses. Siv, you ride with me,”

They both nodded in response, ready to follow. He continues to make his way to the stables, using the back paths and hiding in the shadows while making sure his family was close behind. They get closer and closer with each step they took, being careful to stay hidden and quiet. The mother kept her arm around Siv’s shoulder as they walked not wanting to let go of her daughter, not wanting to lose her. Although she would not lose Siv, Siv would lose her. A roar was made from a soldier behind them as a spear was thrown through the air. It had gone straight through the mother’s chest. Her dress gradually stained red as she had fallen to the ground.

Siv fell to her knees at her mother’s side as she balled out raging waterfalls of tears, “No, no, not like this, mother…”

The only response she could get was a cough of blood and one muttered word said so quietly that she could barely hear, “Run…”

“No… no!” Siv began screaming, giving away their location to even more soldiers. The one who killed her mother had begun to make his way towards them so her father had to roughly grab Siv and drag her away from her now lifeless mother. She screamed and clawed at her father as he picked her up and started sprinting towards the stables which were now right in front of them.

“I know, I know. But we can no longer stay, we must run,” He tried to talk Siv down as he placed her on top of the horse’s saddle, which was thankfully already set up beforehand. He untied the horse and got on back behind Siv. He reached around to grab the reins and swiftly turned the horse while making it go into a sprint. Some of the cavalry took notice of their attempt to escape and chased after. They started to aim their arrows, although these ones were not set aflamed. They launched the arrows making them soar through the air but most of them miss. Until one makes its way through the father’s throat, then his back, then another in his back, and another. They just kept coming, but they fortunately only his him and not the daughter he had sworn to protect since birth.

Just a few seconds after Siv’s father was hit with arrows, an arrow had landed on the horses leg making them crash into the ground. The girl was about to get up and try to run away but realized how foolish that would be after taking a saddening look back at her dead father who still had arrows sticking out his back. Instead she opted to stay laying down, unmoving to make them think that she was killed as well. Some cavalry had trotted up to the fallen horse to inspect if the job was done. A hooded figure had jumped off the horse to look more closely. Siv made the mistake of moving her gaze up to him. If they noticed, which they surely did, then they either didn't care or for some reason took pity because they didn’t kill her or order her to be killed.

The person stood up straight and hopped back onto their horse, “It seems we have cleared this area, let’s start moving to the Eastern side of the village,” with that they were off, making their horses sprint in the opposite direction.

Once everyone was completely gone Siv had begun to slowly stand. Her face was red and blotchy while still being covered in stray tears that couldn’t be held back. When all the way up she had looked around herself once more and then started to run as fast as her feet could take her away from the village, away from her home. She ran and ran, not knowing where to go or what to do. Her lungs burn, her legs and feet begin to ache, but she refuses to stop. She does not stop until she is deep into the forest that surrounded the walls of her home. After Siv has stopped she lays against the tree, breathing heavily to catch her breath. After the short break she begins to walk. Where to, Gods only know.

After walking for what felt like hours Siv had stumbled upon something amazing. A secluded hut. She found it right as the sun had begun to show, meaning she has been up all night and was in much need of rest along with food and water. She makes her way up to the door, wrapping herself further into her cloak as she knocks.

After hearing some shuffling and footsteps the door swings open. Standing before her was a tall woman in a light blue dress. “Oh my, you poor thing you look exhausted! Come in, come in,” The woman ushers Siv into her home, “You look just dreadful, is that blood on you?”

Siv shakily nods her head, letting some more tears slip by when remembering whose blood it was. Although, she did not know whether it was her mother’s, father’s, or both. Probably both.

“Come sit, tell what has happened,” She leads Siv over to the kitchen table where a young boy sat. “Sindri, go fetch a pot of tea,”

“Yes mother,”

While the tea brew Siv had begun her story from when the village was first attacked to when she ran through the forest and stumbled upon their doorstep. Sindri set down the tea just as Siv was choking up on tears when getting to each of her parents death. She then had left out the part where she was spared by the cloaked figure, she didn’t know what to think of that part and thought it best to be excluded.

“My dear you have been through so much, you may stay here as long as you wish,”

“Thank you… “Siv trailed off waiting to learn the woman’s name.

“Nadia,”

“Thank you, Nadia,”

Before they could carry on their conversation the door was kicked open by a large man with a dead deer in his arms. “I’ve brought dinner,” The burly man dropped the deer down onto the table where they sat, causing it to rattle.

“Alvis! Don’t be so rude, we have a guest,” Nadia had given the man, Alvis, a look of judgment and anger.

“My apologies, love,” He turned his attention away from presumably his wife towards the stranger sitting at his table.

“Siv, from the village of Olcar,”

Nadia had piped in after Siv’s introduction, “Her village was attacked just last night,”

Alvis scoffed at the news, “Why am I not surprised? It was likely a group of Vikings, our foolish King Frey has been refusing to pay the Danegeld.” He picked up the deer from the table while talking and started making his way towards the back door to get it out of the way.

Siv looked up to Alvis in confusion, “Danegeld?”

“It’s a tribute the kings pay to keep Vikings from attacking, although paying just one group does not protect the kingdom from all Vikings,” Alvis tried to explain it the best he could for her to understand, for there are multiple groups of vikings where none of which are united. “King Frey really ought to know better by now…” he muttered while walking out the door to get dinner prepared for cooking.

Nadia looked back over to Siv, “Well since Olcar has been ravaged, as I said before, you are welcome to stay here,” she stood up, taking her cup over to the other dirtied dishes, “You’re too young to be on your own, you may stay in the spare bedroom,”

Siv smiled up at her and responded with a quiet, “Thank you,”

“It is no trouble at all. Now, you must be so exhausted after fleeing all night. Sindri my dear, would you be kind enough to show her to her room?”

Sindri who has just been quietly listening perked up at his name being called, “Of course, this way,” Sindri motioned for her to follow him. It was a small room filled with just a bed, desk, and a single small window. “Once you awake I will give you a tour of the rest of the house,” He closed the curtains to block out the sun then moved out the door, leaving her to rest.

Siv had fallen asleep as soon as her head had touched the pillow. Instead of a dreamless sleep, memories of the night before kept playing through her head. She saw her mother telling her to run and then getting killed by a spear. Riding the horse with her father, getting so close to escaping with at least one of her parents, only for him to be shot over and over again by arrows. Then the dream had moved on to a cloaked figure staring at her, it felt as if their eyes were boring straight into her soul.

Siv woke with a start, panting heavily and covered in sweat. Reliving those moments was the very last thing she wanted. She tore off the covers and shakily stood up, making her way over to the window. She drew open the curtains to see that it was still day. Siv walked to the door and stepped out, going towards the kitchen.

“Oh, you’re awake. Whenever you’re ready I can give that tour,” Sindri had offered the girl. She stayed silent but nodded her head. Sindri looked at her a bit weirdly, “Are you alright? You seem a little shaken up…”

“Yes, I am quite alright. No worries,”

Sindri didn’t believe her at all but still said, “Ok if you say so…”

“Well I do say so, but how about we get on with that tour now,” These words came out sounding ruder than she meant it to be, but she did not want to talk about her dream.

Sindri raised his hands in mock surrender, “Ok, ok, let’s go then,” He lead her around almost every room when they had made their way outside. Sindri led Siv down a short dirt path that weaved around the trees.

Siv has no idea where Sindri could be taking her, she got more and more confused the deeper they went. She hardly knows him and is starting to question if it was safe to stay here, safe to follow him into the forest. “Where might you be taking me, Sindri?”

“I’ll be showing you the sparring ring, it’s just a little further,”

Siv was still very confused, only now about why they have a sparring ring, “Why do you have one of those?”

Sindri sighed and looked down at his feet while they walked, “Well you may not know but King Frey is planning on building an arena, one similar to the old colosseum down in Rome,”

Siv gave Sindri a perplexed look while cutting him off, “Wait are you going to fight in a new colosseum…?”

“Yes I am, the king has been recruiting men at random to take part and become something like gladiators,” he started to give a saddened look, “Unfortunately I am one of the recruitments…”

“Oh…,” Siv turned her head away, an awkward silence starting to settle. At least until they had come upon a clearing in the forest. The sparring ring was just a simple dirt circle surrounded by huge oak trees.

Sindri had stopped right at the edge of the ring, “Well this is it, the sparring arena. I figured you might have wanted to see it just in case you’d like to try training at some point,”

Siv gave a small smile, “Maybe I could train along with you! That could be fun, right?”

Sindri gave a slight scoff in response, “I don’t recommend training with me. My training is to prepare me to fight in a ring to the death while people chant and yell, excited to see my blood spill,”

“Exactly, I should prepare to face the worst,”

Sindri had sighed yet again, “Yes, I guess you should, just in case…” He then looked over to her and sternly told her, “Just know that training with me does not mean you can just run into battles or join me in the arena. Only a fool would want such things,”

Siv scoffed at this, “I am no fool,”

In response she had gotten a small smirk, “If you say so…” Sindri got a good smack on the back of his head for that remark. “Ok, ok, you are not a fool!”

Six smiled triumphantly, crossing her arms and tilting her head up. “That's what I thought. Now let's head back, I'm starving,”

Chuckling, Sindri looked down and shook his head, “Very well, let's go,” He turned his back to the ring and marched down the path once again with Siv trailing behind. “Siv, I must ask you something. The people who attacked your village, did they by any chance attack from the waters?”

Siv furrowed her eyebrows together in thought, “I am not entirely sure, Olcar is a huge village and I lived far from the waters so I did not see. Why do you ask?”

“I am trying to figure out who exactly attacked, if it were the vikings then they most likely would have attacked from the waters. Did they have much cavaly?”

“Yes they did, quite a bit actually…”

This puzzled Sindri, cavalry was not exactly the Vikings strong suit. They were more fitted for off-land battles with their longships. “That is very odd, but I suppose if it were a group of Vikings then they might have wanted to perfect yet another craft,”

Siv hummed in agreement, it was strange for vikings to use mainly cavalry. Especially when they were masters when it came to off-land warfare with their longships. But like Sindri had stated, it is not impossible for this group of Vikings to learn yet another fighting skill. “When do you think I could start training?” Siv had asked, just not wanting to think of her old home anymore.

Sindri glanced over to her once again, “Well if you rest up tonight then I suppose, if you want, we can start tomorrow,”

Siv smiled over to him, “Sounds great! But for now, our mission is food so…” She started to sprint ahead of him and looked over her shoulder to yell, “Hurry your ass up!”

Sindri shook his head again and laughed while beginning to run forward, “Alright, alright, I can already tell you’re gonna be a lot of fun to have around,”

“Of course I will be, I'm a delight to have around!”

[residentanchor]

A Lesson in Practicality 8

<<Chapter 7

Chapter 8 Summary:  A look back at how Logan tried pulling this all together. Word Count: 4596

In his spare time, the random quiet cafe tucked away in the corners of the city were his favorite. Logan usually went with a book, one he read previously and didn't mind getting distracted from. His life had stagnated a bit but the pattern was one he was comfortable with. A quiet corner and a small snack provided by the cafe gave him an hour or so in peace. He could duck away and hide his face when needed but still observe the area around him. Some people had the same hobby, watching people go about their lives and just quietly observing, he just had a peek into what was hidden just underneath.

Anytime someone came in and piqued his interest in any way, Logan would observe and think of what had gotten them to this very spot at the same time. After years of quietly observing and quickly checking to see if he was right had left the hobby more than dull. Most people thought about the same things, it would get stale and boring from time to time. However, there were moments when someone would stand out and give him a bit of a shock. It rarely happened anymore but it was always interesting nonetheless. Being able to read mannerisms was never Logan's strong point. Someone would carry themselves with confidence then be fighting a battle in their head, he could never quite get it right.

The bell over the door jingled and Logan waited for the person to walk into the cafe before looking up. He quickly looked back down in uninterest, glancing over the words in his book. People could be so easy to read sometimes at a single look was enough.

Laughter caused his eyes to flicker back up over his book. The newest patron had a grin on his face as the cashier let out a laugh. He couldn't quite hear what was being said, but he decided a second look wouldn't hurt.

The man carried himself well, not quite with confidence but seemed to dance in his spot whenever he got a smile or laugh from the cashier. They could be about the same age and they even wore similar glasses, but nothing truly remarkable stuck out. The ones who smiled the most usually carried the most pain or something along those lines from his experience. Though, as time carried on and the man continued to smile, Logan couldn't help but begin to wonder. Was he having a good day or could someone truly be that happy? It had been a boring visit and they were the most interesting person he had seen all day. Logan checked around and held up his book, glancing at the pages more. He reached up and rubbed his eyes, covering his face. Just a quick scan would only take a few moments. He nearly dropped his book.

Logan hunched in on himself a bit more and tried not looking up. Had he seen that right? The man split himself into two people that morning. Logan hadn't even bothered to take the second to check why or how the thought never occurred to him. He sat up straight and looked over once more, the smile still on the man's face who was completely unaware. Years of this silly habit and somehow Logan had possibly crossed paths with someone just like him in the same city.

He covered his eyes again and did another check. Patton. Seemed to live alone in a small studio apartment and could indeed make multiple copies of himself. He had to know more, or at least dig deeper. Logan's powers never worked on himself, it didn't make logical sense, but he had always wondered if his brain just worked differently then everyone else. An autopsy on his own brain was physically impossible so this was the first chance he got to test his theory.

It took a bit but he did seem to find something but he wasn't sure what. Something metaphorically made this 'Patton' stick out like a red dot on a thermal scan. He blinked away and looked up after hearing a noise, seeing the other leaving the cafe with a small bag and drink in his hand. Logan pretended to be reading as the other left, their eyes never meeting.

He wondered if he could scan the whole city bit by bit now that he knew what he was looking for. Logan closed his book and casually gathered his things before walking out, he had research to do.

It hadn't taken long as he scribbled in a small notepad that fit into his pocket. After knowing what he was looking for, he tried broadening his range and got on a bus that stretched the city. After a few rides, he had scribbled down some notes about the people he could point out. Across the span of two weeks, Logan was certain he had found at least those in the city who could be similar to him, it just took figuring out how to bring it up to them. One stood out from the rest if only slightly, so after deliberation, Logan decided to 'accidentally' run into them and start talking. Maybe some things could be pieced together.

The next thing he knew, he was standing in the middle of a sidewalk, apologizing for bumping into a passerby and walking away confused. He remembered going somewhere to see someone, but couldn't remember who or what. He reached for the notepad in his back pocket and found it missing. He had been writing in it for two weeks and without it, he wasn't sure he'd be able to remember absolutely everything he wrote. The other people, their names, and abilities he at least was able to see where jotted down in that. Logan could only hope someone took it as notes for a novel or story someone could be writing. Most things could be re-written with a little hard work and wasn't worth the stress. The four other people in the city... Three other people. Four? He couldn't quite remember, he thought it was...

Logan decided to rethink his entire plan with a bit more caution.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come in and help, sweetie?"

Patton pulled the last bag out of the truck and turned to the driver. "No thanks, mom. I'll let you know when I'm settled in."

"Take your time, dear. Call me tonight." Patton grinned and closed the door, waving as the truck pulled away. He looked down at his few small boxes and frowned. The trip could be over in a few minutes if he hadn't absolutely promised he would just do it himself and he was far too stubborn to ever break a promise. He picked up a box and a bag and made his way inside.

He was on his third trip when he saw his mother drive by and wave. After she was out of view, Patton shook his head. His parents never did trust him sometimes. He made his way up the stairs and paused at the very top. Third floor and no help, he knew this was going to take a while.

He walked out of the stairway and to the only door at the top leading to the apartment. Shuffling the box onto the floor, he checked where the spare key would have been hidden under the fake plant and found it missing. It was early, he wasn't the first here? He turned and knocked on the door, waiting for any noise. It took only a few seconds before it swung open and he was met with his first roommate.

"Hi, I'm Patton. You my new roommate?" Patton smiled as the man stared back at him inquisitively. "Oh! We have the same glasses!" He pointed happily.

"It appears so. Salutations, I am Logan." He extended his hand and Patton took it happily. "I've already moved into the room in the very back. Do you require assistance with your belongings?"

Patton waved a hand and reached down for his box. "No need, bucko. I'll take care of it!" He perked up and walked in. "Oh, it really is all furnished! Wonderful!" Patton spun around. "So, anyone else here? Kinda thought I was going to be the first."

"You are the first to arrive beside me, feel free to take any room you see fit." Patton walked to the nearest doorway and peeked in. "I'll just take this one then! Thanks a Pat-ton!" He walked in and placed his first box down. "I'll be back with my other belongings!"

It took half an hour of running up and down stairs but Patton had all his belongings in his room before he sat down on the couch for a rest. "It seems you have finally finished moving in. Would you like a beverage? There is only water as I have not had the chance to shop for groceries as of yet."

"You talk funny, I like it!" Patton smiled up. "A water would be great, thanks, Logan!" Logan nodded and entered the room with a glass, handing it to Patton. "Thank you! So, sit! Tell me about you, I want to know more about my new roomies!" Patton took a big gulp of water and sighed in relief.

"Oh, well. I am currently employed at a bookstore and maintain a healthy yet quiet lifestyle I suppose. What about you, Patton?"

Patton put the glass down on a coaster and perked up. "Well, that's not enough! Here, I'll start. I'm Patton! I work at the library as an assistant, it's a lot of organizing and computer work! I'm an only child, and I love cats and dogs! I'm allergic to cats though, it breaks my heart when I see one and I can't pet it! Oh! I also love to cook so I'd love to help out when I can!"

"That is certainly interesting, you said you work at a library? Do you enjoy reading?"

"Ohh, yes! I like to read to the kids that come in all the time! Oh, there was this one book I read about someone's job as a dog catcher, it was so cute and sad!"

"Somehow I'm not surprised." Logan sat up. "I'm sure you have some unpacking to do, so I shall leave you to it."

It was a few short hours of just the two of them, most of the noise being Patton's rummaging and humming as he set up his room. There was a loud thumping and both people had come to investigate.

Logan had just entered the room when the door swung open.

"I've been dreaming of a true love's kiss~." The man sang and barged into the room. He froze and noticed he wasn't alone, placing down the boxes he had been carrying. "Well, hello there! I see I am not quite early enough."

"Nice to meet ya, my names Patton!" Patton walked up and they shook hands. "You've got one nice set of pipes there, kiddo!"

"Ah, yes! Thank you for noticing. I must admit, it is a bit early and still before noon. I thought I would be the first one to arrive." He looked around at the living area. "My name is Roman, am I the last here?"

Logan approached and reached out his hand. "Greetings, I'm Logan. We should still be expecting one more person."

"I see! Well, which rooms are available? I've got quite a few trips ahead of me."

Discovering one of the bigger rooms was still up for grabs, Roman immediately started moving his belongings with the help from Patton. Logan had announced he would go out and grab essentials so that they at least had some things in the fridge.

Roman didn't sing much after his entrance but did continue to hum to himself. Patton reassured him that at least while it is the two of them, he was okay with singing and started to join in.

The day was overall quiet. Patton helped out and sorted his things while Roman unpacked as much as he could before the day was over. Logan, who had unpacked completely before Patton had even arrived kept to his room as much as possible. Despite buying groceries, Roman announced that moving in day was reserved for take-out and ordered pizza with few complaints.

Everyone had tucked away into their rooms for the night when the last person snuck in. The door hardly made a sound as he shuffled in with a duffle bag and little else. He snuck around quietly before Patton had surprised him.

"Oh! You must be the last roommate!" He was practically dancing in his spot. "We all got here this morning! I'm Patton, did you need help carrying anything? I can show you to your room if you want!"

"Uh, yeah. This is all I have, just point me in the right direction." Patton walked up and waved him down the hall just passed the kitchen.

"This is the last room left so it's all yours!" Patton opened the door and flicked on the light, moving out of the way. "Just let me know if you need anything, kiddo! The bathroom is the next door down."

"Right, thanks." He hugged the duffle bag closer as Patton walked out, eagerly waving.

He dropped the duffle bag to the ground and sat on the bed, humming with content as it bounced back comfortably. He immediately shut off the light and tried to sleep before just scrolling through his phone for the night.

The next morning was a new beginning in Patton's eyes. He ran down to the store bright and early only to arrive back and everyone was still asleep. He started on a big breakfast to celebrate his new roommates. He gave them space yesterday, besides the quiet one who ducked in last night, but he was determined to break them out of their shells.

Patton giggled to himself as he cracked open an egg, laughing at his own joke.

It didn't take long for the smell of breakfast to awaken the others. Logan was first, walking in still quite tired but dressed completely for the day. He blinked at Patton and the array of food spread on the table. "It was nice of you to cook, Patton, but it's highly illogical to cook so much for the three of us."

Patton spun around with a smile. "Nope! The last little guy snuck in last night, I saw him! Figured a good breakfast was a great way to start our new friendships!"

Logan headed for the coffee pot and grabbed a mug, freezing and staring into the closet. "Would you happen to know which one of us brought in that mug?"

Patton walked over and peered inside. A big mug with 'You've cat to be kitten me right meow' was scrawled across it. "Oh, that one is mine, isn't it purrfect?"

Logan lifted a hand up to rub his eyes, fearful a headache would start forming. "I assume it fits your humor quite well then?" He focused back on the pot and muttered to himself. "I'm going to regret all of this by the end of the week."

"What are you talking about over there?"

"How much I'm going to regret all the coffee I will no doubt drink by weeks end." Logan never took his eyes off of the coffee pot.

"Aww, come on! I'm sure we'll get along great!"

"That is still to be seen. We have hardly just met and objectively it has been shown that throwing random strangers into a living space can hold negative effects. There are too many variables to be able to tell so soon."

"I just think it's too early to start doubting us. Besides, it's never a bad time to make friends!" Patton looked over as Roman entered, still in his pajamas as he stretched. "Roman! I made pancakes!"

Roman smiled at the sight. "Ahh, you are too kind, Patton was it? Thank you."

"Thank you! See, Logan? We can be civil."

Patton finished adding the last pancake onto the stack and glanced down the hall. "I'm just gonna check on him, he got in late last night but breakfast is important!"

"Oh, so he did arrive then?" Roman questioned. "Alright, bring him out so I can see if I got stuck with three nerds."

"What constitutes a 'nerd' then? How would you identify one?"

Roman just looked up at Logan and stifled a laugh. "You, for one, are a prime example if I've ever seen one."

Patton trotted down the hall and knocked on the bedroom door. "Hey, you awake?" He waited for a response before knocking once more. After a moment of silence, he bit his lip and debated with himself. Caving, he grabbed the doorknob and quietly pushed it open. "It's getting late, you still asleep?"

Curled up on the bed with his back facing the door, Patton heard a groan cry out from the lump of blankets. "Go away, dad." He pulled the blankets closer to himself. "If it's not noon then leave me alone."

Patton chuckled and started to close the door. "Whatever you say, kiddo."

The door clicked shut and he shot up in bed, looking around. "This isn't my room." He blinked and remembered. He just moved in. "...I called my new roommate dad." he covered his face and ran his hands across it in frustration. "Fantastic, great job, Virgil. Gold star on that one." He grabbed a pillow and buried his face in it.

It wasn't too much longer before he convinced himself to get out of bed and make his way into the kitchen. Patton was humming to himself and cleaning while the few remains of his breakfast were sitting on the table. "You're awake! I left you some breakfast, you just have to heat it up!"

"Uh, thanks." He tugged the sleeves of his shirt down. "Pat, right?"

"Name's Patton, but you can call me dad!" Patton smiled and laughed seeing his new roommate's face flush and glow red. "What's your name? Or do you prefer kiddo?"

"Oh, sorry. It's Virgil." He cleared his throat and looked away. "Sorry again about the whole 'dad' comment thing." He mumbled softly.

Patton waved a hand and shrugged it off. "No need to worry, we can just wash our hands of the situation!"

Virgil looked up at Patton who smiled too brightly as he dried his hands. "Dad jokes, of course, you do." Despite his words, Virgil hid his smirk behind his hand.

Virgil retreated to his room after finishing his breakfast and washing his plate. He decided to face the music, quite literally as it was coming from the living room, and meet his other roommates.

Logan had been absorbed into an old worn book and Roman and Patton were talking over the music that was playing. Roman noticed him enter and jumped in surprise. "Well, it looks like the walking personification of emo from the last decade is our newest roomie." He leaned back on the couch. "So you still post all your angsty poems on Myspace or what?"

"Aww, it's always nice to meet a fan." He walked in and leaned against the wall, keeping his distance. "What are you, a failed Disney prince reject?"

"Excuse you!" Roman stood up and fixed his hair, posing dramatically. "I am an actual prince, thank you very much!"

"Whatever you say, Prince Hans."

Roman scoffed and crossed his arms with a smirk. "Who knew mister tries-to-be-edgy likes the purity and goodness of Disney?"

"We must not be watching the same movies because pure and good are not what I would call them."

"You dare speak badly about my beloved Disney? Have you no shame, man?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I upsetting you?"

Logan slammed his book closed and stood up. "That will be enough out of the two of you. Hardly five minutes and at each other's throats, childish."

Patton stood up and walked over. "Well, it's good to see you both are so passionate about the same thing!"

"I hardly call immediately breaking out into a verbal disagreement talking passionately, Patton." Logan turned to walk out of the room. "Please do not bother me, and keep the noise down."

The sound of music coming from Roman's phone was the only noise in the room before he turned and shut it off, retreating into his own. Patton looked in dismay as they dispersed, eyes meeting Virgil's. "It's okay, Roman and Logan will come around, you'll see!"

The apartment kept quiet that afternoon and the tension could still be felt in the air. Patton walked into the kitchen for a snack to find Logan placing something on the door of the fridge. "Ah, Patton, perfect timing." Logan took a step back. "I have made a 'chore chart' if you will to try and keep things organized and civil around here. I didn't think it necessary but apparently I made the wrong assumption."

"That's fine, Logan! I'm sure we're all just tired and getting used to things. We'll warm up to one another!"

Logan looked at Patton and pulled off his glasses. "How you remain so optimistic is a mystery to me. Not one I am entirely unthankful for, however." He pulled a cloth from his pocket and started wiping the lens.

"Aww, thanks, buddy! See? We're getting along just fine!"

Logan placed his glasses back on and turned to the hall to his room. "I would disagree, we seem to have varying differences but in comparison to the others, yes. We are 'getting along' better than the other two."

Patton frowned as Logan walked out and looked around the kitchen. Having three other roommates still left him feeling all too alone in the new apartment.

The first week was anything but ideal. Patton tried keeping the peace, but Logan refused to leave his room for more than the bare essentials. Virgil was seen even less, only coming out to complain about the noise Roman was making down the hall. Roman would snark back and they would argue before Patton separated them. However, Patton was an optimist and refused to give up too soon.

"Family night?" Roman scoffed and turned away. "We aren't a family."

"I figured we could watch movies or do karaoke, doesn't that sound fun?"

"Appeasing to my nature is a smart move, but you'll never get Jekyll and Hyde to agree to it."

"If I can, would you join us?"

Patton stood determined and stared down the other. Roman sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "Fine. If you can convince them then we can give it a shot. I have to agree to the movie, though. I doubt they'll want to sing, I mean. They've heard me, my voice is intimidating."

Patton jumped up and hugged Roman, bouncing with energy. "Oh this is perfect, thank you!" He ran off and Roman couldn't help but smirk back. Patton just had that energy about him.

Patton headed for Virgil's room next. He was quiet but they've managed to be civil the whole week. Any time Patton talked to Logan, he was shot down immediately, and Roman would shrug him off from time to time. He didn't hesitate to knock and crack open the door. "Hey, Virgil. Mind if I come in?"

"Sure." Virgil was on his bed with a bag and a pile of colored paper. "What's up?"

"I'm planning a night for us to hang out, I was thinking maybe watching a movie?" Virgil ripped a piece of paper off and shoved it into the bag. "I think we just need to sit down and enjoy each other's company. We can't keep hiding from one another living like this."

Virgil finally glanced up and ripped the paper once more. "You already pick out a movie?"

"No, but I'm sure there's something we can all enjoy! Roman said he would join us, but he just has to agree on the choice."

Virgil snorted out a laugh and shook his head. "So anything Disney, then? It's most of what he listens to, I swear he blasts it just to annoy me."

"You don't like Disney?"

"I do, but constantly having to hear it can get annoying, even if it's something you like." Virgil looked up timidly. "You talk to Logan yet?"

Patton frowned and shook his head. "I may have some trouble convincing him, we don't really get along. That's why I want us to try, at least once! We'll never know otherwise!" Patton watched Virgil rip the paper into a few more pieces. "What are you doing exactly?"

"I brought home some stuff and I'm making a confetti glitter bomb for the next time Roman gets on my nerves." He looked up with a smirk of pure mischief. "Don't worry, I won't use it tonight. I'll save it for after."

"If that's the best I'll get, then okay. Now, just have to convince Logan!"

"No." Patton was met with the closing of a door and froze in his spot. He stood there silently for a moment before knocking on the door once more and was greeted with Logan's face. "Patton, I am not joining you all on some frivolous attempt to get along. Is there anything else you need?"

"But why not?" Patton put a hand on the door as Logan made an attempt to close it once more. "Just tell me why. Everyone else is willing to attempt to get along, why won't you?"

"Patton, there are an infinitesimal amount of things I'd rather be doing than watching a movie with you three."

Patton looked completely baffled and raised an eyebrow. "So that's a yes? You'll join us?"

"What? No, that is not what I said."

"But..." Patton pointed at Logan. "Infinitesimal means really small. So you said there wasn't really anything else you'd rather do."

Logan jerked back in surprise and pulled out his phone. He quickly typed away and paled after a moment. "I see, it seems I have misused that word. How on Earth did you know what it meant?"

Patton smiled and puffed his chest out proudly. "I know big words too! You'd know more about me if you came out of your room and gave us all a chance..."

Logan scoffed and rolled his eyes, looking back towards his desk. He peered back at Patton and his shoulders fell in surrender. "Fine. I will join you all on this silly quest to 'get along' if that's what it takes to get some peace and quiet around here."

"Yay! You won't regret it, Logan!"

"Perhaps." Logan shut his door closed and smirked to himself. "Perhaps I won't completely regret this. We shall see."

Chapter 9>> Tag list: @cyberpunkjinx @phlying-squirrel  @equipodeleo  

[seuzz]

Story: “A House of Many Windows”

Beware of what might be looking in.

To William Wiggins Esq.,

Sir,

Enclosed is the MS of which I told you. While it sheds no light that I can see upon the final incident at the Hall, it may give some insight into your friend's state of mind during his last month. At only one later time did he allude to the figure. His exact words to me were, "It has found its way inside." His mood was quite gloomy.

Regarding the hill, I am told nothing remains on its crown but three stones set in a triangle—the foundation stones of the gallows, I suppose.

Yrs etc.

Alfred Horsley

It was in my dreams that I first saw it: a tall, slender silhouette, as of a gowned figure standing with arms clapped to its sides, standing in a road where it crested a hill. It was always dark in the dream—a moonless night—yet somehow I could see that darker figure brooding against the black sky. Neither face nor form were visible, yet I knew it bent its thought upon me even as I regarded it speculatively back.

That was all. Yet for all the lack of incident, never would I fail to remember the dream come morning.

It was last spring that I occupied Sibley Hall, which had been left vacant by the death of a distant cousin of mine. It had passed thence to a kind of great-aunt whose daughter wrote me to say that, as I would in all likelihood inherit the Hall myself in time, for a rent which she named (and which I found agreeable) I could take up immediate residence.

The Hall occupied a fair park carved from primeval wood, with a carriage drive that looped a small lake. The Hall itself glowed brightly in the April sun the day I drove out to examine it. If you have seen it, you know that it is a Queen Anne whose box-like regularity is relieved by a central pediment and four chimneys. Seventeen tall, bright windows smile out in symmetrical order from its facade. I liked it immediately on seeing it, and arranged with Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, the married couple who supervised what little staff it required, to stay on. Then, as the Hall was already furnished, I returned to Portsmouth to collect my personal belongings.

It was a good spring of gentle rain that year, and the summer sun warmed the grass without searing it. I learned the pleasure of long walks on country lanes, lifting my hat to farmers in their wagons, and inquiring of them which were the best inns. There too was a hill a mile or so off from the Hall—a place where the earth rose in a gentle hump—and on more that one summer evening I climbed to a place where there remained the timbers of a long-fallen fence, and against these I would lean and dream and smoke a pipe as I watched the golden sun fall into the fields and pastures on the other side of the valley.

It was on one such evening that I passed an old man, bent and leading a cow along by a rope. We fell to a brief talk, and when I mentioned the Hall he observed, "Aye, the Sibleys hath long had their run o' the place."

After a moment of puzzled silence, I told him that I was the new resident of the Hall. The Sibleys, I gave as my understanding, had been extinct for some two centuries.

"Aye," he said, and he fixed me with a hard stare, "since the days of Mary Sibley, who as they tell fixed the Hall in her eye, and hath it fixed there still, as it may be." When I asked what he meant, he asked if I made it a custom to climb the hill whose flanks we stood upon. I allowed that I did.

"I know not, but I wouldn' like to peep behind as I walked home from its crown," he said. When I asked why not, he said, "For fear of what I might see following behind." With that he wished me a good evening and limped on.

I remember asking Jenkins that evening if there remained in the country some tradition of those Sibleys for whom the Hall is named, and if the library contained still their papers. To the former he allowed that there might yet be; to the latter, he was more certain, for it was a library of some antiquity. But, he cautioned me, it had never been properly cataloged, and was quite disordered.

Far from being dismayed, I was delighted at this report, for it commended a project to me, and the next morning I tackled the library with a sense of anticipation—not only of what I might learn therein, but for the reward of work itself.

I will not take up space relating the hours spent in going through—and through again—crumbling volumes and ribbon-wrapped MSS as I invented and adapted a cataloging system of my own. Suffice it to say that many days and weeks passed, during which I learned disquieting things about the Sibleys. There were accusations of witchcraft at the Hall on at least three occasions. The first, lodged against a nurse, ended in acquittal, when it was proved that the accuser was a plain conjuror who only pretended to cough up needles and pieces of straw. But the second, against the master of the Hall, James Sibley, ended in conviction in abstentia when the defendant abruptly vanished. To America, it was concluded, though another tradition had it he was dragged down to Hell by the Fiends he had invoked and threatened to forswear to escape hanging.

But it was the third Sibley who gave me greatest pause: Lady Mary Sibley, the last of the line, who was taken from the Hall by her own tenants and hanged for a witch. Though the location was not decisively stated, it was easy to deduce that the gallows were erected upon the same hill where it was my wont to stand gazing down at the Hall.

It was about this time that I began to have the dreams.

I was also surprised by two puzzling incidents.

The first occurred in early autumn. I had not curtailed my semi-regular ascents of the hill. If anything, my interest was whetted by what I had learned, and I searched vainly for any sign of the gallows upon which Mary Sibley had been hanged. But on one evening as I returned, I chanced to glance behind and saw what I took to be a fence post standing in isolation in a field. I thought nothing of it, until some distance later I again looked behind me, and again glimpsed a solitary fence post where I could not remember seeing one before. This time I tramped back to inspect it, and found what I supposed it was: a tall post, of a man's height, coated in fresh black paint. I guessed it had been lately erected by a farmer. And yet on subsequent walks, when I remembered to search for it, I could not find it.

The second occurred some weeks later. I had returned from Portsmouth and was glancing through some old mail that had collected there when I looked up and saw what I thought was a black-cloaked figure standing at the front door. In a distracted state I shoved my parcels into a pocket, but when I looked up again I saw that the figure was in fact only a shadow cast upon the wall. I was, however, at a loss to comprehend how the illusion of a figure draped in black had worked.

I might not have brooded on these incidents—and brood on them I confess I did—save for two other coincidences that shortly occurred. The first was a conversation I chanced to overhear between Jenkins and his wife, to the effect that the figure of a woman in black had been seen, by themselves and by other members of the staff, standing on the grounds. I might have dismissed it from my mind—the Hall drew its share of sightseers, not all of whom announced themselves at the door—but for Jenkins's remark that, "I pray she is not one as will take to peeping in through the windows." Something in his tone of voice—a cold fear—suggested to me that he was not speaking of any ordinary tourist.

The second, which I might have entirely overlooked save for what I had overheard from Jenkins, was in a scrap of doggerel I found in the library, embedded in an eighteenth-century sermon preserved in a sheaf of papers—presumably salvaged by one of the Humphreys who had by then acquired the Hall. In a passage denouncing the evils of spying and eavesdropping, the writer had quoted "the wisdom of the countryside" as preserved in a bit of rhyme:

In Sibley Hall

Where shadows fall

Through windows bare

The witch doth glare.

There was nothing to explain why this sermon and this rhyme had been preserved, though in view of what came later, I cannot but speculate that I was not the first—that I was only one of several—who had shared the same experience.

You may notice that I have procrastinated in describing any actual incident. The fact is that it is winter now as I write. The days are dark and they end early, and I am abjectly aware that this is a house with many windows. In the summer they admit great washes of sunlight, but now I prefer to close the drapes, even in the daytime.

I will describe only the second incident in detail—the first I passed off as fancy, and the subsequent were much as the second. It was early evening and I stood in the library at the table, sorting the day's books, when I glimpsed a shadow at one of the windows. I took it at first for the gardener, but when it stood staring in at me (or so it seemed) I raised my head to give it a very direct look.

The sun was behind it so that I only saw its silhouette. It was tall and thin. Dreadfully thin, as thin (it seemed to me) as the reflections cast by certain mirrors in a funhouse. Not only was it black against the setting sun, but I was certain it was itself clad in black, in a severe gown that fell in neither drape nor curve to the ground. Its arms were clapped close to its sides.

This attitude of the thing gave me a start and a shiver when I thought that the figure in my recurring dream might have a similar appearance were it to draw close. And now, to have the thing standing on the other side of a piece of glass, I could only think how dreadful it would be to have it close on me—that I would put anything between me and it, or hurl myself from any aperture in order to escape its close company.

Nevertheless, my curiosity was excited sufficiently that I crept across the floor to peer more directly at it. Don't ask me how, but I was quite certain it was glaring balefully back as I drew near to it.

Yet I fled the room before I had approached it by more than a few strides, for that was enough for me to make out two loathsome details of it.

The first was that its face was entirely obscured by a matted sheet of black hair that hung straight down, from forehead to waist, covering tis features completely, save for one. That single detail was a long tooth—like unto a wolf's—that poked from between the strands.

The last time I saw it—by which time I understood at last that it was seeking a way inside—was when I saw it peeping in at me through my bedroom curtains.

My bedroom—need I remark?—is on the second floor.

Prompt: A crone standing at the end of the road.

[probableelf]

2/10/18 Detroit recap

I’m just going to state for the record that the show was awesome :D  I doubt if I can remember the order of all the songs but I will describe what I can remember under the cut.  Here’s a blurry picture to start things off!  (We got a little better later on, haha)

Ok, so we (my sister and I) had to drive a couple hours to get there, through roads that were predicted to be very snowy, so we tried to give ourselves a lot of time to get there… of course, life being the crazy thing it is, we ended up leaving later than we planned, so we were happy the roads turned out fine and we got there exactly at 7.  We queued for about 45 minutes before they let us into the venue.  It was cold but everyone was in good spirits!

We got inside, checked the winter gear, and hit the venue floor.  We were hoping to get a good position (it was standing room only and a sold out show) so we were pretty thrilled to stake out a spot about 4 people-rows from the front.  My sister had been to St. Andrews Hall for an Amanda Palmer concert, so she knew the room was tiny but the stage a bit tall, so this was actually more ideal than the front row.  Here we are in our DIY concert shirts waiting for the show to start!

We had about an hour to wait, and despite the piped-in music on the PA the audience got restless and started making shadow hand-puppets on the front screen.  There was a pretty funny melee between various shadow animals made by people in different rows, and some dude across the room threw up a Trekkie hand-sign so of course I joined him on that!

The band came out about 5 minutes after 9 and immediately started in on a high-energy couple of songs.  New York City followed by I Left My Body, which was, as you’d expect, rocking!

At the first major talking break, Flansburgh asked Linnell what he’d done that day.  Linnell said he’d gotten a chance to walk around a bit.  He said it was Mars Field or something but wasn’t sure where.  He and Flans settled on calling it the surface of Mars, and claimed it was littered with the corpses of aliens.

They pulled out Ana Ng fairly early in the first set, which I was thrilled for (that being in my top two favorite songs).  Linnell’s keyboard playing was fantastic, and Marty did a top notch job too.  Linnell sang the “I don’t want the world” lyric in our general direction and I couldn’t wipe the silly grin off my face!  This was about when I figured out that other people were singing along, so I did too but super quietly so I wouldn’t bother the people around me.  My sister didn’t let that worry her and ended up pretty much losing her voice, haha!  The energy was really good and I was glad I’d stretched this morning because everything was super-danceable.

They brought out Curt Ramm, I think first for Hey Mr. DJ, I Thought You Said We Had a Deal, which is great live with horns.  They also capitalized on his talents for Racist Friend, which the audience (including us) got really into. 

They pulled out a couple Pink Album favorites in the first set–Don’t Let’s Start, of course, and Nothing’s Gonna Change My Clothes.  Both of these were great! They also did Mesopotamians, with a little lead-in about how it was historical stuff… everyone pretty much seemed to guess where they were going with that one!

Clippy got pulled out in the first set with a joke from Flans about how it was “the instrument that never came out of its box in your high school band”.  They did I Like Fun, of course, and Flans did his cute “I’m going to take off now” pose while singing about parkour.  Linnell looked over at him while he sang the line about being 58 like “I’m the one who’s 58, here.”  They also did Cloisonné, and Flans switched the order around so that Linnell wouldn’t have to switch to accordion but he’d already put the accordion on so he had to switch back.  Oh well, Flans tried!  I love the duet between horn and clarinet in Cloisonné.  And I love how happy Marty looks in this picture!

They rounded out the set with Particle Man and the Chandelier breakdown (getting the accordion out), Letterbox (with an intro from Flans about how they were going to sing lyrics with a lot of words in them) and When Will You Die.  Linnell managed to fit Curt in super-fast, more or less in rhythm, as “I’m John and he is also John (and that’s Curt) and all of us are wondering…” 

For the intermission, we waited restlessly for a bit, then they cued up the Last Wave video.  I’m pretty sure it started with the original music to the Aerosmith/Run-DMC song and then seamlessly merged into a slightly chip-tuned version of Last Wave.  The “antlers” line absolutely kills me.  I managed to confuse my sister as to whether the music was the original or the TMBG song; I guess I forgot to show it for her before-hand.

When they returned, Flans introduced the Quiet Storm section, telling us it would be quiet but emotionally stormy.  Since they played Self Called Nowhere, I guess that fits!  They led off with Older, which was lovely on the contra-alto clari (like, how does Linnell switch between singing it and playing so easily?! Talk about breath support!) and then introduced the songs from, and about the 1840′s.  People started yelling “Polk” but of course Tippecanoe comes first.  The Quiet Storm was a nice break for our burned-out eardrums.

Bringing back the full band, plus Curt, they made everyone’s night with a beautiful rendition of Istanbul, with Curt managing to play both the trumpet and the trombone in the same song.  Flans initially told us Curt was playing two trumpets, and after the song apologized to the one person in the audience with a music background who knew the difference between a trumpet and a trombone.  I’m embarrassed to admit that wasn’t me… I was too busy enjoying the awesome solos that got added on to the ending.  (My sister says she noticed, though.  So I guess it was her!)

Linnell introduced the next song as “a song I wrote about a woman who lives underwater, which is titled Underwater Woman”.

They next did Spider, and Flans’ introduction made everyone think he was introducing Fingertips, so some people (including me) were confused for a second or two.  Spider is really cute as a live song, particularly the way they sing the “uhnhhh”s.  I think this was also the song they told us to clap in rhythm to, even if they begged us to stop.  That led, of course, into The Guitar, which also holds up well live.

  Then we got Number 3, which seemed to be an audience-favorite, as well as Whistling in the Dark, which is an us-favorite.  Lots of clapping and stomping to that one!  I was glad that I’d listened to the new album a bunch so I could follow the lyrics to When the Lights Come On, which is very loud and very good.  They followed that immediately with Twisting, so I did my best to twist to that (not that I’m any great shakes at dancing, haha!)  Continuing the sequence, they gave us Man It’s So Loud, which is also very danceable!

And with a drum count-in from Marty, we got my absolute favorite, No One Knows My Plan!  No conga line, maybe Flans thought that would break the flow since we were all moving a lot anyway!  Linnell got some serious air on that one (if I recall correctly)… how does he jump a foot and a half and keep his hands in the right place on the keyboard?!!

For encores, we started out with This Microphone.  Flans apologized beforehand, telling us they’d just learned it and only played it successfully twice.  “..in the future,” Linnell added.  But it came off without a hitch, except I think Flans started the last chorus with “Killing is carting…” which made me laugh.  Then they played Dr. Worm, followed by Birdhouse, and by that time everybody was singing, so it was basically an audience singalong.  They waved goodbye and left, but the front screen camera on the audience clued us in that if we kept clapping we’d get a second encore, which turned out to be Dead, a warm and fuzzy ending (if songs about dying can be warm and fuzzy!) to a lovely night.

People started leaving, but I’d heard about the giving away of concert ephemera, so we worked our way forward and got a setlist and stickers for our trouble.

On our way out, we stopped to check out the t-shirt sales (I’ve been looking to grab the Science is Real shirt for a while) but it turned out they weren’t selling the women’s cut shirts.  However, the merch guy liked our DIY shirts and asked for a picture, then gave us Marty Time buttons since we weren’t able to buy shirts.

Such a fun night!  We got back thoroughly happy, very tired, and definitely interested in seeing their show again in the future!

EDIT:

Ok, here’s things I’m pretty sure I remembered wrong or missed when I wrote this out on like no sleep haha:

1.) We clapped in rhythm for Particle Man. Linnell at one point counted aloud a 3-against-2 rhythm to see if he could mess everybody up!

2.) I think the song Linnell was basically levitating on was The Guitar, which makes more sense since he wasn’t actually singing it. Still, How. Does. He. Do. That.

3.) There was a Future of Sound bit in The Guitar. It was cute.

4.) At one point, during the Quiet Storm, Linnell asked if maybe there could be less pot smell right in front of him (it was wafting from somewhere in front of stage right, where they were grouped). Flans pointed out that it was basically legal most places now. Linnell gave him a super dirty look!

5.) I think I Like Fun was actually in set 2, the Quiet Storm, like the set list says, with the addition of Curt, because I remember Marty was on his electronic drum kit for that. That means All Time What was the song they pulled Clippy out for in set 1.

6.) Why Does the Sun Shine was somewhere in set 1 also. I couldn’t catch all of the spoken parts; the crowd was a bit too rowdy around me at that point. But Linnell claimed that the heat and light from the sun came from various elements “…and… Stuff!” and I got the impression his mind had blanked for a second. Flans teased him a bit about it afterward. Linnell claimed he was just reading the teleprompter where it said to fill in "stuff". Flans pointed out how helpful it was to have the venue name written out for them on the stage, because while it used to seem really silly, he now understands that when you're on tour eventually you no longer know your own names, let alone the venue's.

[salmonthestoryteller]

Never Wilting

An Hetalia Fanfic

People had called him The Fool, but feared him nonetheless. Japan had asked his wife once if she feared him. Ever enigmatic, her smile had always seemed the smile of someone who knew the answer to every secret. “His actions are ever the child, What is there to fear from a child?”

“And yet he is cruel. How is a child cruel?”

She’d laughed in response. “Who is crueler than a child?”

Russia sometimes reminded him of a child. His curiosity. His innocent smile. But there was another side to him. A darker side that threatened violence with a metal pipe and a chilling fascination.

He’d been an implement in an era of change. He’d killed more people single handedly than anyone other than the two of them knew. There was one, though, to whom he wasn’t a blood soaked vision of death. To her he’d once asked how she loved him knowing. Her expression was soft and open, a complete contrast to the smug secrets of his previous confidant.

“Because I love him.” She’d replied. “And when you love someone, you love all of them. From the parts that delight you to the parts that displease you. Their lightness and their darkness. You embrace it all with love.”

He’d though about her words as world meetings came and went. As the world grew and changed. And Russia seemed to remain sadly alone.

Japan remembered what it was like to be all alone. And while some days he was tempted to run and hide again, most days he was happy with how things were. But the more he saw him off to the side again and again, the less happy he felt. It took him a long time to find the nerve to go speak with him, though. It was after a meeting, which had gone about as well as expected - which was to say they’d accomplished absolutely nothing, that he’d followed him into the hallway.

“Russia-san.”

The European Nation tilted his head as he gazed at him - looking slightly surprised and slightly confused by this change of routine. And Japan couldn’t help but think that the expression was absolutely adorable. “Japan, did you need something from Russia?”

“No, I merely…” Japan hesitated, not sure what to say then. He’d wanted to speak to him, but it didn’t seem appropriate to ask outright if he was lonely or felt excluded. It might even anger the other nation to be called out on his solitude. “I wished to inquire if you are well.”

Russia stared at him, face completely perplexed. And the expression was again so sweet that Japan had the strongest urge to pull out his phone and take a picture. “I am neither sick nor injured. Did Japan have a reason to believe otherwise?”

“Ah…no…” He glanced down at the floor, wondering if he’d managed to ruin everything anyhow by asking the wrong question. “I was trying to…as America once put it “make small talk”.“

"Small talk is made to lead to big talk.” Russia responded. “Did Japan want to make big talk with me?”

He felt his face heat, and did his best to ignore the way the sentence made his insides twist. “No, merely small talk.”

A large hand rested on his head, ruffling his hair, he half expected downward pressure like he had seen the other exert on other nations. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving him feeling rather bereft. “I have no small talk for you, but I am happy you offered.”

When Japan dared to look up, the smile on Russia’s face was brighter than he’d ever witnessed. And he wondered how he could have ever been nervous around someone with such a sweet smile.

The next day he found a sunflower at his station, and while a few of his fellow nations fussed and shot Russia suspicious looks, Japan wasn’t bothered in the least. As the conference wore on, though, he pondered how to thank the other for his gift. Eventually pulling out some origami paper and folding it discreetly behind his folder. He almost expected to be caught and called upon for the distraction, but since the other nations tended to cause large distractions, he wasn’t surprised that he managed to finish without being caught.

Russia didn’t leave the room right away, and Japan had the feeling he was was waiting for him as he approached where he sat. “Thank-you for the flower, Russia-san.” He bowed to him. “It would be inappropriate of me to accept the gift without returning it though.”

The smile on the other nation’s face wavered, and he looked distant. “Japan wants to return my gift?”

“No! To return a gift would be the height of inappropriate behavior!” He exclaimed before he realized his own outburst. “Um…forgive me. I’m very sorry. I wish to keep the gift, that is, unless you wish it back. I would like to give you one of my own.” He offered the little paper flower he’d spend the conference crafting.

Russia’s eyes widened in delight and he’d taken the paper craft with the most delicate of care. “Japan is giving me a sunflower too?”

“Ah, it is only a poor paper imitation. I hope you do not dislike it.”

Russia’s response was the same brilliant, innocent smile of the previous day. “I like Japan’s sunflower very much.”

Japan wondered if it was possible to be addicted to a smile.

While he was preparing to leave the next day, a knock came on the door to his hotel room. He had a list in his head of possible visitors, but what he didn’t expect to find was a flustered delivery man with a pot of live sunflowers.

It was expensive to ship flowers oversees, but every morning when he watered the little pot of sunflowers on his porch he knew it was worth it. He was saddened to realize, though, that even potted sunflowers died. Months later he only had an empty pot to look at rather forlornly.

He saw it at a store in Kitakyushu. While he might have just as easily found it in any other location, it seemed more than appropriate to discover there. And when the next conference came he was beside himself with excitement over presenting it to Russia.

The morning of the conference he arrived early, his package wrapped under one arm. He waited anxiously as other nations drifted inside - each time the door opened he felt his heart leap and fall again. He wondered if that was healthy, but when Russia finally entered he really didn’t care. He made his way to his seat, bowing in greeting. “Good morning, Russia-san.”

“Japan wishes to make small talk again?” Russia asked, but found his eyes drifting to the package.

“No, I wished to thank-you for the sunflowers you sent. I took them to my home with me. I was sad when they wilted.”

“All things wilt in time.” Russia answered calmly. “Even the best sunflower does not last forever.”

“Oh, but I have one that will!” He offered the package to the other. Russia was giving him that perplexed, tilted head look again. And he really needed to get a picture of it. “Please accept this return gift in thanks to the one you gifted to me.” He remembered to say.

Russia’s look brightened and he sat down to open the package. When the little toy was unveiled, a sewn smile on it’s cheerful face, his eyes widened. “This is a sunflower too.”

“Yes, but it is very kawaii, and it will never wilt. And that is not all, please watch.” Reaching out a hand, he turned on the power. Music started to come tinnily from the speaker, and the sunflower bobbed and waved to it in some semblance of a dance. “It is a most kawaii sunflower, see?”

Russia was enthralled by the little toy, eyes wide with delight. Japan felt a proud smile come to his face at his accomplishment. The smile quickly disappeared when Russia leaned forward to press a kiss on what was approximately the sunflower’s forehead. And Japan realized that the dark gnawing feeling that replaced his previous delight was jealousy toward the little cheerful toy.

Later that evening, though, there was a knock on the door that sounded somewhat frantic. Japan had a list of possible visitors in mind, but the last thing he expected was for Russia to enter with the Sunflower toy, face completely despondent. “Your sunflower wilted.”

Japan blinked, closing the door behind him. “I’m sorry, Russia-san?”

“The happy sunflower wilted. It won’t dance anymore.” He sounded horribly depressed as he sat in the chair and set the sunflower on the coffee table.

Japan wandered over to the toy, inspecting it with care. He pressed the button, and though he heard a faint whirr. “Ah! I think I know the problem.” He went to his luggage, pulling out a set of batteries and came back to kneel by the table. He quickly replaced the batteries, and soon the tinny cheerful song was filling his hotel room. Russia’s smile was bright again, and Japan ignored the little dark side of him that was tempted to throw the toy across the room.

“Thank-you, Japan. I am glad you made small talk with me. And I am very glad for your gift.”

Suddenly Russia leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead, just as he had the toy flower’s at the conference. Japan quickly forgot his jealousy of the inanimate object as he smiled up at the larger nation. Because from then on, he was certain he would always love any sunflower.

Fini

So several years ago when the APH fluffathon was a thing, I claimed this prompt and wrote this. Talk about rarepairs.

Kitakyushu’s city flower is the Sunflower!

The referenced historical figures are Nobunaga and his wife. (Samurai Warriors fan? Who, me?)

[fixerupperchic]

It’s TIME!  I’ve been plotting & planning, dreaming & scheming, adding & subtracting….and now FINALLY it’s time to tear into this house & MAKE IT HAPPEN!

or…time to let the house reveal its dirty secrets…

  OK, so we KNEW the old ac was leaking….we KNEW the laundry room sub-floor was going to need to be replaced….

But it was still a bit of a shock to see just HOW rotten that floor was, as Jose peeled and scraped away the layers of time-worn flooring!  Obviously the old vinyl fashion statements  were all that was holding the laundry room floor  together!

Just some housekeeping notes (pun intended):  when I looked at the house, it was obvious the old HVAC unit housed just above that HOLE in the floor was leaking, though very slowly.  The top layer in the laundry room was carpet, and it was damp around the HVAC closet, just a tad….UNTIL the day the appraiser came, that is!  Most of you know that an appraiser visits the house about a week or so before the intended closing date…just to be sure it’s worth the sales price, right?  Well, on that particular day, for unknown reasons, the AC had really leaked, and there was water on the floor.  The appraiser wrote it up as a condition of sale that the AC be replaced to prevent further damage to the structure.  

If you’re thinking “that sounds reasonable“…..sure, but he meant it had to be replaced BEFORE closing.  BEFORE I owned the house.  If you’re thinking “yay, then the seller had to replace it!“….no, that was not reasonable.  Not only had they given me a ridiculously low price, but I had already planned to  replace the unit first thing after closing.  So….I was to replace the AC system in a house I didn’t own???  (shameless plug coming…)

This is when you need a good REALTOR on your side of the transaction!  Happily, I had myself (warned you!)  We were able to work out putting $$ into escrow with the lender, so that the AC could be replaced once I actually owned the  house; this required the appraiser to go back out after replacement to sign off that it HAD in fact been done, and done satisfactorily.  By the way, I now own a super duper efficient (and shiny and huge) new Carrier HVAC unit; the inside portion now resides in the attic…the outside unit will be ‘dressed up’ with the L-shaped iron gates I showed you earlier, hopefully covered with beautiful vines of some sort!

(yes, these are actually laying on the floor, and I rotated the pic to make them easier to see….so if you feel dizzy looking at the floor acting like a wall, just move on)

  ~~here’s a little tear-the-house-apart ditty for you~~

    A few demo stories for your enjoyment…

The big blue dumpster was supposed to be delivered & plunked down in the backyard…oh  so convenient for the whole sunroom being torn off….the guys were ready, with a section of fencing rolled up and the yard cleared…but the dumpster couldn’t back over the curb – ouch!  So when I pulled up later that day I saw the BIG BLUE DUMPSTER right in the middle of the front yard; they had to take down the mailbox to get it in!  Not only do we now  have deep ruts….it’s already been dumped once and so now they’re re-delivered and made NEW deep ruts….grrrr

Last  Saturday I had real estate appointments stacked up all day, but I finished some showings that happened to be in Kilgore a little early…so I decided to drive by my house before heading back to Longview.  I knew nobody was working that day, but something told me to go!  As I turned the corner onto my street, I was stopped, as a man was standing in the road (curious yet?!)

(first you should realize I had been knowing I needed to find tree trimmers, as there were huge branches hanging over the garage and part of the house on the other side; they’d have to be removed before we could replace the roof….it was nagging at me, but hadn’t risen to the top of the priority list yet!)

Now, back to the man in the road….my brain took in, all at once, the fact that there was a crew trimming trees across the street from my house, there was a long trailer already piled high with huge branches, there was a truck with a tree trimming sign on the front door….and there was the owner, inexplicably standing in the road as if I wouldn’t run over him!  

Feeling completely bemused that something I so needed was presenting itself so easily, I pulled over and asked the man (still in the road) if he was the owner.  “Yes”, he said.  “Will you come give me a price to trim my trees too?” I asked……well, within about 5 minutes I had a very good price quoted, and a promise to get it done the next day!  Margarito Ramirez and his crew did an excellent job; now the large oaks are canopied nicely all around the house, and it happened while my whole crew was off!  

Serendipity??

As it happens, right after I talked to Margarito, at a time I wasn’t supposed to be there,  my contractor Roger pulled up, quickly followed by Don, the plumber!  Don hadn’t looked at the job yet, so they just came by to go over things….at the absolute perfect time!  Having worked with Don a few times before, I was able to go over the particulars of where everything would be…..and he had some great ideas!  Since he’s already re-piping the whole system, we can add tankless water heating for just the difference in cost of the system and what the new tank would have cost.  YES!  This means NO water tank in the attic, and NO chance of running out of hot water ever!  I’ve had tankless in my last 2 houses (one a retrofit like this) and admittedly, I’ve become spoiled!  It bears noting, however, that a tankless system is more efficient, as you’re not paying to keep gallons of water hot until the moment you choose to use it, and it also cannot suddenly burst and flood your house!  

This is the former kitchen sink area; to me it just said NASTY!  To Don it said, “Let’s replace that galvanized pipe while we have the chance”.  OK, sure…that’s not my thing…..as I always say, I don’t have to KNOW everything….I only have to know who does!  Go Don the plumber!

So…I left to continue selling houses, excited about coming back on Sunday to test paint colors on the brick…I was determined to order the exterior paint during the Sherwin Williams Labor Day Paint Sale, you see!  I had left home EARLY that morning to go by SW for a few sample jugs.  The plan was to test Sunday…. and order paint Monday….

Mmmm hmmmm….yet another blue box greeted me as I pulled into the driveway on Sunday….planning to test paint, right?  This was my FIRST CLUE that Don had turned off the water after I left Saturday.  Always the optimist, I chose to  celebrate PROGRESS rather than bemoaning the fact that I had no water to clean brushes between tests….

Well, I did test the paint around almost noon on Sunday…it was a beautiful day!  Saturday when Margarito said they’d trim my trees the next day, I really wasn’t thinking about how much noise tree trimmers make!  As I painted bricks against the ear-shattering noise of chainsaws and the front-end loader they used to carry the branches, I  just hoped my soon-to-be neighbors would still be talking to me when I finally move in next month!

My last demo story of the day is really a design story….let’s call it the saga of the original wood floors not making the grade…and why:

From the beginning, I’ve known that a pier and beam house built in 1961 would have original wood floors under the plethora of flooring subsequent owners chose to “upgrade” it with.

If you wonder how I knew, just think about it; what else would they have used?  Though plywood had been widely used in furniture & some construction for 40-ish years, there was a huge shortage of it at the time (the shortage was of the wood used to make plywood).  Particle board had come along as an alternative, but wasn’t widely accepted as being stable, and really wasn’t, for a subfloor.  This was long before OSB became a standard subfloor material, and just before slab construction began to be common….thus the need for the basic flooring to be used in a pier and beam house.  Pine or oak planks were readily available and relatively inexpensive; if you’ve seen old-house wood floors, they were generally 2 3/4″ to maybe 3 1/4″ planks.  It’s always good to find a corner of carpet or lineoleum to    pull up and peek (and we did) but the chances of ‘original wood floors’ being underneath any other flooring in a 50’s-60’s era house are worth betting on.  

OK, back to my flooring saga…I knew there could be some damage to the living room and hall floor due to the leaking AC unit, so had to consider keeping the floors COULD prove to be a problem until all the carpet was removed.  Further, Jose had pried up bits of the kitchen vinyl earlier, and it appeared there was some type of plywood under it.  That left me with non-matching floors in the kitchen and living room, and I was tearing out that wall!  Ugh.  Of course I knew the laundry room floor would have to be something different since it was clearly going to have to be replaced all the way down to the sub-floor.

We had determined the bedrooms all had wood floors under the carpet, so I definitely planned to leave those intact….2 of the bedrooms, that is.  The 3rd was destined to become the master bath, so that floor would have to go.  THIS IS WHAT I THOUGHT I KNEW BEFORE DEMO TOOK PLACE!  Remember my subtitle at the beginning of this post?

or…time to let the house reveal its dirty secrets…

Yes, my sweet little house let me down all around on the wood floor issue!  I’ll be installing ALL new flooring

This is in the living room, obviously right in the walk path leading to the hallway….who’s ever seen an old floor grate for an old gas heater?!  Yep – at some point the old gas heater was upgraded to CHA – and at that point the old grate had to come out.  It’s not IMPOSSIBLE to replace the missing boards with ones from, say, the room that becomes a bathroom, but it would be very difficult to work them in right in this main walkpath!  Anyway, that was only problem #1

Though the hallway does have the original wood, it does have enough damage from the adjacent leaking AC to rule out it’s use….

We were surprised to find that under ALL the layers of flooring, the kitchen did in fact have the wood planks.  I had argued with Jose that it couldn’t be anything else!  But it was buried so deeply…to his credit he did not give up until every piece of every old floor in the house was scraped up and added to the dumpster!  But even IF we could patch the former grate in the living room, getting this yucky smucky stuff all the way down wouldn’t have been easy.

Strangely, this room is the one that disappointed me the most!  Known as “bedroom 2” it is going to be MY home office.  What you’re looking at is the remains of the walls which formed the world’s smallest master bath (remember the pic?  if not I’m reposting here)

Not only was this tiny bath useless, the loss of it caused us to NOT be able to use the original wood floor in this room either.  I was so bummed!  I had just been SURE this bath was added later, as I couldn’t imagine it being part of the original plan!  If it had been added later, they wouldn’t likely have dug out the planks for the footer, so either they had the most patient remodeler ever to exist, or they actually built this bath from the beginning.  No wood floor for Nancy’s office – pout!

Ditto for the closet in the soon-to-be-master bath…but that floor will be tiled anyway.  Ditto again for the hall bath, and ditto on the tile too.  There is exactly one bedroom where there is nothing at all wrong with the wood floors!  But alas, we can’t really go to all the trouble to refinish ONE bedroom floor….and worse yet, we can’t have new wood, tile, or any other new material come up next to that old wood floor…

So the consensus is….we are unable to use any of the original wood floors and I’m so bummed about it!

Tune in next time to find out what I’ve cooked up to make me feel all better about the floors…..I’ll start sharing colors and finishes with you next week – fun!  

Let’s also say goodbye to the old bathroom heater; I would love to hear from you in COMMENTS if you had one of these in your house growing up!  Wow, there was never any WARMER heat than what you got from a gas space heater!  These are actually illegal now, though.  Of course I wouldn’t use it again anyway, but they have to be removed with a permitted remodel.  Say goodbye….and tell me about your favorite childhood gas space heater!

(did you race your siblings to get to it first in the morning???)

  Once again, I thank you for keeping me company on my little cottage redo…I’ll be inviting you over to celebrate the finish before you  know it!

          Let the DEMO begin! It's TIME!  I've been plotting & planning, dreaming & scheming, adding & subtracting....and now FINALLY it's time to tear into this house & MAKE IT HAPPEN!