#also chat should I do CIPHER among us

[sakiyaki-sashimi]

SOMEONE PLZZZZZ HOP ON CIPHER 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

[bills-blog-now]

Guys, I just had the most craziest dream involving Ford and Bill. I wish I could remember every detail. 

I’ll just start from the middle, since I don’t recall any further than that.

Ford was in a bar on Earth, using some weird alien technology to disguise himself as a woman who looks nothing like him. He was watching a television built into the wall. On the screen was Bill (who was taking control of a brunette human woman) and he was talking about some sort of thing which involved some sort of social movement (I wish I could recall the specifics).

Stanford was seething, knowing full well that the movement was a disguise for Bill’s plan to get to his Earth.

The oblivious bartender was chatting it up with Ford and being all flirty. Ford ordered a gin and tonic, and the bartender noticed that Ford was watching the TV. As the bartender served the drink, he spoke of how the social movement was an incredible thing and how they should toast to it.

Bitter as Ford is, he agreed to the toast and downed the drink. He then moved to leave to the confusion of the bartender (he had payed for the drink beforehand, don’t worry). The bartender called out, and Ford replied with a vicious smirk and a sarcastic remark, about the social movement and the bartender all in one sentence. He swiftly left, not caring for the bartender’s reaction.

It was night outside, though there was a big event caused by the social movement going on so people littered the streets. Ford went behind a sign that would sufficiently cover him and dropped his disguise. He was an old man, but the hatred for Bill burned bright in his heart, and of course, on his face as well.

There were 4 big bags being guarded by 3 men, and Ford walked over to them. He asked if the supplies were still in good condition. The men nodded. Ford nods back, and each of them pick up a bag. The head off to the center of the big movement, looking as inconspicuous as 4 men in cloaks with huge rucksacks can be. They moved with confidence, so nobody questioned them.

They make it to the gathering of well over 5,000 people, history in the making as Bill Cipher (in the same human disguise, of course), leader of the social movement is meeting with the president of America to enact new laws which would do... something. I think it had to do with encouraging women to become scientists? Some sort of beneficial thing with helping women be equal with men. And also become scientists.

So the 4 men just casually stroll up to the podium and Ford lowers the head of his cloak and pushes the president out of the way and just takes starts prattling his own speech. About how the whole social movement is a sham and everybody is being fooled. His speech gets slurred as the alcoholic drink he had earlier takes its effect, and as Stanford has never drank alcohol before, is an incredible lightweight.

Bill knowing exactly what is happening sneaks into the shadows and books it out of there.

The 3 other men had meanwhile opened up their bags and pulled out advanced guns, ones capable of shooting out hundreds of rounds without needing to be reloaded. They aim the guns at the guards and anybody else who tried to get in Stanford’s way.

Ford pulls out his own gun as the president tries to take their mike back from the drunk crazy person. Ford aims it at the presidents head and then at anybody else as a method of making them back up.

Ford talks near endlessly, sounding like a drunken misogynistic conspiracy nut, what with the woman in charge of the movement is really being controlled by an male alien hellbent on taking over not just the world, but the entire 3rd dimension.

The 3 men are starting to worry about Ford and how drunk he sounds. The president decides that Ford’s gun ain’t even real cause just look at that doohickey, it looks like a painted Nerf gun. So he aggressively tries to take back the podium from the drunk and Ford frickin’ shoots him in the guts. With several rounds. That man dies.

Everybody starts to panic, and in his brilliant drunk mind, to prove he’s dead serious Ford shoots into the crowd of innocent people?? And more people die.

The 3 men start panicking as well, because this was NOT part of the plan. So they charge Ford at the podium and drag him off the stage. He’s dragged into a nearby getaway car, and they drive, the tires screech like a bat out of hell.

The 3 men are still panicking, and Ford doesn’t see anything wrong with what he just did. He tries to explain, about how the alcohol made him do it and just keeps trying to convince them but it’s not working out. The repression of the past 30 years just keeps pouring out of him, about how he summoned Bill into the body of a female body and Bill tricked him and the had a romantic relationship that resulted in a child and the 3 men are like yes we know, shut the fuck up. But he keeps trying to convince them and nobody says anything anymore. He doesn’t catch any hint the men are throwing at him and all he feels is deep tired resentment starting to pour into his chest from the 3 men who just aren’t listening.

Everybody is really stressed out and angry at the fact that their faces are now attributed to this crazy man who was once their friend, and now they can’t have peaceful public lives anymore without the law breathing down their backs about the murders. They figured they would become heroes, ones who saved the world along with the great Stanford Pines, but now they all wish they could go back in time.

The car stops, pulled aside into an empty lot by the driver, and all of the 3 men come to push Ford out of the car. The 3 men discuss among themselves what they should do about the issue while Ford tries to interject, but to no luck. 2 of the men ask the third his final opinion, as he’s Stanford’s son. He agrees without much hesitation and they all line up to kill Stanford, as he’s a liability and who knows what the fuck he’ll do next just to get back at Bill Cipher.

Stanford, knowing what’s about to happen, activates an insidious trump card. Before they can shoot his body dead, he activates some sort of advanced technology and his soul projects itself outside of his body and into his son’s. He steals the body of his son and he stumbles a bit, but the damage of it all is already done. Ford’s old body is dead while his much stronger soul takes the place as head soul of his son’s body, leaving his son to become a bystander in his own body.

Ford’s still insane cause he tries to tell the others that they must complete the plan otherwise Bill will take over the world. But before he can get more than a few words out, a bright shining light appears overhead and the 2 other men are killed.

Turns out there’s an alien spaceship over the head of the planet that can disguise itself as not being there and it’s controlled by Bill. Bill was following their movements and murdered the 2 men, and he started beaming up his son.

He was there in his female human body, all hugs and reassurances that all the pain he’s felt is over now.

Of course, this wasn’t his son, it was Ford.

So Ford takes his son’s gun and shoots at Bill’s throat. Turns out whatever he shot was nonlethal however, and seeing that Ford’s “son” attacked Bill, the guards on the ship tried to get to him and hold him back. Ford switches the gun back to lethal and kills the guards.

Once Bill gets over his shock, wonders what the hell’s happening and then I woke up.

I really wanted to see the end of that dream, but my alarm got me up.

Want to know the really funny part about this dream though? It was pretty clear that most of this was from Ford’s point of view, and it wasn’t clear at all if it was actually Bill’s intention to take over the 3rd dimension or even the world.

[anistarrose]

Summary: Stan finds a recording from a fateful puppet show, a few disjointed memories fall into place, and the Pines family has some tense conversations.

Relationships: Ford Pines & Stan Pines, Dipper Pines & Ford Pines & Mabel Pines & Stan Pines

Characters: Stan Pines, Ford Pines, Dipper Pines, Mabel Pines, Bill Cipher (posthumously)

Set in early September, probably a little less than a week after Dipper and Mabel went home.

(It felt good to write some Stangst again! Title is from Monster Town by Go! Child because when I can't think of titles on my own, I go to my GF playlist for inspo, and that song jumped out at me today)

***

“We should probably bring a backup camera on the boat,” Ford mused, in a tone that made it impossible to tell whether he was talking to Stan or just to himself. “Maybe even multiple backup cameras. There’s no telling what the Arctic climate could do to their circuitry, and people hardly take cryptid reports seriously even with photographic evidence, never mind with just an eyewitness account and an excuse about a broken camera —”

“Easy, Sixer.” Stan set down his fully-packed suitcase at Ford’s feet, satisfied with its contents. “I’ve got a camcorder up in my room, or maybe in — actually, I can’t remember where I decided to keep it, but it’s probably still in the house somewhere. If I can find it, you can add it to your camera horde.”

Ford zipped open Stan’s suitcase, revealing hand-knitted sweaters and Hawaiian shirts in approximately equal numbers, and sighed. “Some brave wardrobe choices you’re making here. Or have you forgotten that the first beach we’re stopping at is in Alaska?”

“Well, someone’s gotta lead the fashion revolution in the Arctic Circle, and it sure ain’t gonna be you,” Stan called as he headed upstairs, provoking a resigned “hrmph” from Ford.

Stan decided to look for the camcorder in his bedroom first — because while his memory still had some scattered gaps, his gut instincts rarely lead him astray, and checking his room had been his first impulse. Sure enough, he found it sitting on a shelf and covered in slightly less dust than the adjacent stack of magazines, just as he ever-so-vaguely remembered it.

“Better make sure this thing works, before Ford declares it too unreliable for yeti hunts or whatever,” he muttered to himself, leaning back onto his bed and fumbling for the power button. The camcorder blinked to life, presenting an interface that was probably hopelessly outdated — but Stan didn’t care, while Ford would have no way of knowing what modern Earth technology looked like.

What’d I even record on this thing anyway? He selected a random video from June, was greeted with his own voice singing the first line of the Stan Wrong Song, and immediately deleted the recording. With a sigh and silent vow to never let Ford learn of the song’s existence, he moved on to a video from July.

Once again, it was Mabel’s handiwork — heh, no wonder I couldn’t remember what I used this thing for, since the kids were always borrowing it from me — but this time, Stan himself wasn’t in frame, though the craft supplies strewn about the living room were enough to stir dormant memories.

“Dipper! Puppet Dipper! Smile for the camera!”

Dipper yawned, then somewhat half-heartedly mimicked the motion using the sock puppet on his hand. “Puppet Dipper’s not really feeling up to it this morning.”

“Did Puppet Dipper stay up too late trying to solve a mystery? Bwap!” The footage blurred as Mabel nudged Dipper with a sock puppet of her own. “Do I need to make him a little puppet-sized pillow?”

“How about… some puppet-sized sunglasses, for a puppet detective?” Dipper suggested.

“Good idea!” Mabel agreed. “Then no one will notice when Puppet Dipper falls asleep standing up!”

Stan shook his head and smiled.

Man, I wish I’d found this back when my memories were still a mess — Mabel kinda skimmed over the whole puppet saga in her scrapbook. Wonder what else got recorded from that week…

He selected the next video chronologically, noticing that it was also the final recording on the device, and the smile vanished from his face.

“You can’t stop me!” It was Dipper’s voice, yet not Dipper’s voice — all fury and arrogance, and the camcorder’s cheap speaker crackled with static, like the voice was too much, too wrong, too alien to properly record and then replicate. “I’m a being of pure energy with NO weaknesses!”

Without a doubt, Dipper’s body was onscreen, but he was staggering towards Mabel with arms twisted at impossible angles. He lunged for the journal in her hands, eyes glinting the same gold color as the emblem of the six-fingered hand —

Stan hit the power button, rolled over on the bed, and buried his face in his pillow as the wave of memories crashed into him.

Brushing off Dipper’s sorry state as sleep deprivation, until the kid collapsed on the way out of the theater. Seeing the cuts and bruises all over Dipper’s hands as Stan helped him to his feet, and grilling the kids on what happened the whole drive to the hospital. Not getting an answer beyond “sleep deprivation.”

Not being able to give the doctor an answer beyond “sleep deprivation.”

Telling the twins’ parents it was just “sleep deprivation.”

A tense phone call, assuring Mr. and Mrs. Pines that Dipper’s recovery would be swift and tha Gravity Falls was still safe for their children. Stan’s hands shaking as he holds the phone, having no idea if that’s the truth, if he’s doing the right thing.

Mabel crying over a crumpled-up scrap of paper — a note? — she’d found in the car, and refusing to show it to Stan. Half-overheard secrets, whispered between the younger twins when they think Stan isn’t paying attention — apologies, worries, and murmurs too soft to be in any way decipherable.

Dipper, still with bags under his eyes, spending the next few days doing almost nothing but looking over his shoulder and burying his head in the journal. Stan pretending not to notice, but secretly finding it far too familiar for comfort.

Later memories, too — memories of demons, and handshakes, and feeling his body go numb. Memories of a voice, a furiously shrieking voice — both terrified and terrifying, but more than anything, alien.

Now, far too late, Stan recognized it.

***

“We’re calling the kids,” Stan barked, barging back downstairs, and Ford jumped.

“What’s wrong? Are your memories —”

“Better than they’ve ever been, actually.” Stan stormed directly to the living room table, flipping open the laptop on loan from Soos and clicking the video chat app. “Good enough to figure out something that apparently no one thought it might be important to tell me!”

“Are you sure?” Ford put a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “We can still call them, but let’s talk this through first, make sure you’re not missing any gaps —”

Stan paused, cursor an inch away from the call button beneath Dipper and Mabel’s profile picture. “Did Dipper tell you about the time Bill possessed him?”

Ford started to say something, stopped, and tried again. “I… I assumed you knew. I’m sorry.”

“Did you know I ended up taking him to the goddamn hospital afterwards?”

“No,” Ford whispered, and Stan felt Ford’s fingers dig into his shoulder. “Call the kids, Stan.”

Mabel must’ve been online, because she picked up almost immediately. The video opened with her sitting in her kitchen in Piedmont, Waddles in her lap. “Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford! Guess what I —”

The joy drained out of her smile when she noticed her grunkles’ grave expressions. “What’s going on?”

“Mabel, pumpkin,” Stan murmured, trying to tune out the sound of his heart thumping in his chest, “could you go get your brother?”

“I’m here, I’m here!” Dipper slid into view, almost falling off his chair, and Mabel scooted out of the way so they could both comfortably face the laptop. “Is something wrong?”

“Not anymore,” Ford explained, “but Stan and I wanted to talk about… communication, among other things — Stan? Are you sure you’re alright?”

Stan wiped the sweat from his forehead and shuddered, forcing himself to take a deep breath as he stared at the computer.

Dipper’s back home. Dipper’s safe. They’re both safe, and they’ll never have to worry about Bill again.

“Stanley?” Ford echoed, increasingly distressed. “Please, if —”

“I’ll be alright,” Stan managed, because even he wasn’t a good enough liar to convince anyone he was alright at this exact moment. “Promise. But kids, why didn’t you tell me when Bill hijacked your puppet show?”

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a guilty look.

“Was it because you thought I’d take away the journal?” Stan regretted his ‘only self-defense’ stipulation for the third journal more than almost anything else he’d said that summer, because he’d always known deep down that it wouldn’t stop the kids — and in hindsight, he would’ve much rather known what trouble the kids were getting into, not have them hide it from him with their late nights out in the woods and nonspecific excuses.

“At first,” Dipper replied. “But we ended up worrying a whole lot more about you sending us home early —”

“Your parents almost made that decision for me,” Stan admitted. “They were ready to drive up here and come get you when they heard what happened. I dunno how I convinced them to let you stay —”

He sighed. “And maybe knowing the truth wouldn’t have actually helped me that time — but it would’ve been nice to know how big a lie I was telling when I told them this town was safe for you kids, y’know?”

He regretted voicing that thought immediately, but regretted it even moreso when Dipper looked away from the camera, mumbling: “I’m sorry, Grunkle Stan.”

“Stan’s not trying to guilt you,” Ford spoke up, “but we want you to know you can talk about these things honestly with us — and that goes for both of you, Dipper and Mabel. We’d never want to punish you for something that was obviously… someone else’s fault.”

Thank god one of us has finally learned to think through what we say before we say it, Stan figured.

“I’m sorry too, kids,” he added out loud. “For getting angry at you a minute ago — ‘cause I’m not angry at you, I’m angry at Bill for what he got away with right behind my back, and I… I just…”

He brushed a finger across their digital faces, a gesture that no doubt failed to translate to the video feed Dipper and Mabel were viewing, and smiled. “Thanks for picking up so fast, ‘cause I really needed a reminder that the two of you are safe and sound and all.”

The kids smiled back, visible for just a second before Mabel leaned forward to hug her laptop and the screen went dark.

“Anytime, Grunkle Stan.”

***

“Coffee?” asked Ford, ever the early riser, as Stan trudged into the kitchen the next morning. “You look like you need it.”

“Gee, thanks, Sixer,” Stan groaned, slumping into the seat across from Ford at the kitchen table. “I’ve heard of backhand compliments, but now I’ve gotta live with your backhanded coffee offers too?”

“Sorry. I’m sympathizing, not mocking — I promise, when I woke up today, my eyes were just as bloodshot as yours are now,” Ford replied, sliding Stan a mug of steaming coffee. “How are your memories?”

It was a routine question as of late, but Stan still managed to botch it completely.

“Too good,” he muttered under his breath, and earned a quizzical look from Ford.

“Pardon?”

“…Good enough that I can remember all kinda things to feel shitty about,” Stan reluctantly admitted. “Like not even noticing when Dipper was possessed, for one thing. I spent the whole summer worrying about him, except for when he was actually in danger —”

“Oh, Stanley,” Ford sighed, “that’s not your fault. You know Bill was an expert liar; he scammed too many people to count —”

“Yeah, but I shoulda seen through it!” Stan brought his fist down on the table, and the contents of his mug sloshed precariously close to the top. “Of all people, I should’ve known better —”

“Right.” Ford grimaced. “Right. Because no one else who should’ve known better was ever tricked by a dream demon for a whole lot longer than a few hours —”

“Shit. Ford, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it like —”

With a controlled glowering expression and deliberate motions, Ford stood, marching across the kitchen with all the fury and hesitation of a slow-moving thunderstorm.

“I didn’t mean it was your fault! I’d never — ”

“…I know.” Ford came to a halt at the door, bracing one hand against the frame. “But if you can say as much about me, then… then why can’t you just say that about yourself?”

“What?!”

“You would’ve caught on soon enough, if Mabel hadn’t defeated Bill when she did — I wasn’t there, but I’m sure of that because I know you, and I know how well you know Dipper.” Ford shook his head. “I didn’t catch on to Bill’s lies for years. I gave him free reign to hurt people for so much longer than one evening —”

He crossed his arms, and his imposing silhouette in the doorway seemed to shrink.

“So if you’re not blaming me for anything to happen this summer, then you’d better not blame yourself, you — you knucklehead.”

“Are you kidding me?” Stan leapt out of his seat. “It’s no wonder you didn’t see through Bill’s lies, when your whole life, you had me watching your back — and then I wasn’t there for you, when you needed me more than ever —”

“Because I pushed you away!” Ford shouted, whirling back around to face him. “Do you know what I realized while I was trying to fall asleep last night? That if I’d just stood up to Dad when he kicked you out, if I’d just done the right thing for once in my formative years, then the end of the world as we knew it would’ve been averted altogether! No falling for Bill’s flattery, no arguing over the zodiac, no Weirdmageddon! We could’ve had it all, but we just couldn’t live in that better world, all because I convinced myself you were suffocating me —”

“But it sounds like maybe I still am, huh?” Stan growled. “If all I do is just make you furious like this —”

“No,” Ford gasped, all the hostility in his voice and his glare immediately melting away. “No, no, absolutely not! I’m not furious at you, Stan, I’m…”

“Furious at yourself,” Stan accused, “for being even worse than me?!”

“No! Don’t even say that!”

Before Stan could process what was happening, much less protest it, Ford was hugging him, burying his face in Stan’s shoulder.

“Maybe — maybe I am angry at you, after all,” Ford admitted, “but you’re my hero, Stanley. My inspiration. If am angry with you, it’s — it’s just because you’re too damn stubborn to forgive yourself…”

Stan gingerly placed a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “…Yeah, and you’re one to talk.”

“I won’t deny that,” Ford mumbled. He went quiet for a few seconds, and when he spoke up again, his voice was quieter, yet slightly more composed. “Maybe we need to just… call a truce. Find something positive to agree on. We’re both too stubborn for this argument to end with either of us admitting we were wrong —”

“At least for give-or-take the next forty years,” Stan interrupted, punctuating his words with a bitter laugh.

Ford barked out a laugh of his own, loud and cathartic, and withdrew from the hug, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. “If Dipper and Mabel were here, they would have told us to stop being stubborn old men a while ago. I wish they were here.”

“They’d probably also tell us it’s more Bill’s fault than either of ours,” Stan added. “And… I guess they’d have a point.”

“I can see the logic in that.” Ford smiled faintly. “I’m sorry for making this about me, by the way. You opened up to talk about your own issues, and I —”

“Hey, I made it about you just as much as you did, Brainiac,” Stan reminded him. “…But damn. You think we’ll ever be able to talk about our feelings without shouting our lungs out at each other?”

“We’re still no good at thinking through anything before we say it,” Ford replied, “though I guess we must be getting a little better, since we didn’t even stop speaking to each other this time.”

“Thank god. I’m tired of not talking to you.”

The two of them settled back into their seats at the table, and Stan reached for the morning paper, but Ford spoke up once more.

“I know forgiveness, especially self-forgiveness, can be… complicated,” he told Stan in a low voice, “so maybe I’m biased, speaking as someone who’d rather not grapple with my own personal guilt — but even more important than whether you forgive or blame yourself, I think, is acknowledging that you made mistakes, yet still deserve good things from the universe. And that goes for you and me both.”

Stan took a sip from his mug, pleased to find its contents were still warm. “Good things like coffee, and adventures sailing around the world?”

Ford chuckled. “My priorities exactly.”

[themeowsticvigilante]

Episode 7 : Towards Canalave City

It’s common knowledge to most ‘mons that the only transportation that's available to travel to Canalave is by taking the cruise ship in the pier. That is unless you can fly of course.

The cruise ship, named the S.S. Byron is in fact, the only ship in the pier.

"Cipher, we're here."

As I was musing these thoughts Elaina called out to me and turned my head to where she was pointing

There, I saw a large cruise ship overlooking the pier where quite a number of 'mons were entering and exiting, and some mons’ lifting some crates here and there. Such crowded areas are naturally a common place to pass business.

The group arrived in a few moments, just enough time before the ship departs the pier. In a few minutes, a horn was heard from the pier.

"All aboard!"

The captain's voice echoed from the ship, signalling the passengers to get in immediately.

As soon as we stepped into the boat leading to Canalave, I was beside myself with excitement even though I've been there a few times already.

I positioned myself just on the ship's front deck, just enough for me to view all of the journey while standing.

Elaina, on the other hand, just sat on one of the benches insisting she would see the view on a later time.

A light fog enveloped the sea as we passed through the currents. It made some of the large rock formations we passed through a little difficult to see.

The winds that accompanied the fog were chilly, slightly colder than the morning breeze from earlier.

I inhaled some fresh sea breeze.

"Feels good to be on a ship again. I can almost feel the waves from here." I said to myself.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

After what about two hours, the ship stopped moving. I heard a giant creak and a voice emanated from above the ship.

"We have arrived at Canalave City! Please fall in line in order to exit the boat safely."

I looked out to see the ship had already docked and behind it I can see the drawbridge that provided a way for the ship to pass. I craned my neck while searching the crowd of passengers for the others.

I was a bit startled when I felt a hand on my shoulder. As I turned around, I saw that it was Elaina.

"Hey Cipher, I was wondering where you have gone. The group is just nearby." She said smiling as she pointed towards the others.

"Well let's go then, we wouldn't want to keep them waiting." I snickered before turning to their direction.

As we approached the others, we immediately left the boat and continued towards the city.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Canalave City, Sinnoh Region

Canalave is a lot smaller compared to Jubilife but I still enjoy going there every now and then. It also helps that the city almost always has its pleasant sea breeze laying around.

The city was exactly what it looked like the last time I went there.

There aren’t much ‘mons here at this hour. They are probably either asleep or just resting inside their homes to escape the chilly weather.

I can still see that most of the pokemon present are water-types. Which is not really surprising for a small city near the sea.

The library is still there, its structure still looming on the city proper. Its not surprising that it got its reputation as the largest building in Canalave.

Aside from the library, there's also a few houses and some shops present. I can say that I am familiar with most of the residents here.

There's also the city hall located right in front of the library. This structure supposedly houses the ruler of the city.

Just I was in front of the building, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Convinced that it was Elaina alerting me again, I turn around and was pleasantly surprised by who I saw.

"I see we have a visitor in this lands."

It was a Dusk Lycanroc, his charisma beaming from each word he was saying. As he finished his sentence, he narrowed his eyes as if he was probing me.

"Wait just a moment ... you're  Cipher Devinson from Jubilife City, correct?"

"Uhh... I certainly am. Why do you ask?" I said, clearly taken aback by him knowing my name.

"Well, the previous leader told us everything about you. I was pleasantly surprised by your arrival here." He said, extending his arm to initiate a handshake.

I reluctantly shook his hand and smiled akwardly. He spoke again which again took me by surprise.

"I am Castor Rigel, one of the leaders of Canalave City. Pleased to be off acquaintance." He said, confident with his introduction.

I also the noticed the Lycanroc wearing some sort of cape, it had a symbol of Solrock and had the colors of sunrise.

"Pleased to meet you, sir."

"Oh please, just call me Castor. You are among friends here. Speaking of which, where is your Braixen friend?"

"That would be me." Elaina said as if on cue. The group was also there behind her.

"Ohh, Elaina ... where have you been?"

"I was looking for you. You seemed to have strayed from us because of too much excitement."

"Sorry about that... I guess I got carried away." I said while smiling nervously, realizing I walked off from the group.

"It’s alright, I know you can't resist going places." She chuckled then turned towards Castor. "Sorry for the interruption ... but I am indeed his friend."

"It’s fine by me, I wouldn't intervene with your conversation. Hello ... you're Elaina Xenus, correct?"

She had the same reaction as I am upon hearing her name being mentioned. "Yes ... you are correct."

"Same as for Devinson over here, the previous leader also mentioned you to us."

Right after he said that, he stood up on his hind legs. "Pleased to meet you, I'm Castor Rigel and as I've mentioned earlier, I am one of the city leaders." He says, offering Elaina a handshake.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Rigel." She says, shaking his hand.

"You can just refer to me as Castor. No formal addresses needed."

Just as Castor was busy chatting with us, the doors of the city hall opened. A soft-spoken yet a little dignified voice was heard.

"Brother, you seemed a little talkative than usual. Can you tone down the volume? I don't want my reading disrupted."

The voice came from a Midnight Lycanroc, he was wearing horn-rimmed glasses and was holding a book.

"Apologies, brother. I was just chatting with our new acquaintances." Castor said in response turning towards us to prove his point.

The Lycanroc also turned in the same direction and smiled. He went outside from the city hall to greet us.

"Well, if it isn't the vigilante duo, pleased to meet the both of you. I welcome you and your companions to Canalave City."  

His cape is now in full view, it had a Lunatone symbol and its designs looked like the starry night sky.

"I seem to have misplaced my etiquette ..." The Lycanroc said, his voice indicating he seemed to have forgotten something. "My name's Pollux Rigel, Castor's twin sibling. Really pleased to meet all of you."

"I think you should all come inside the hall. Its quite a long journey and you all need some rest." Castor said enthusiastically, motioning us to come inside.

"Yes, that would be a swell idea." Pollux said in response.

"I think we should go inside, all of this walking is getting tiring."

Elaina announced.

"That's never a bad idea." I exclaimed as I walked towards the doors.

With that, we all immediately entered the city hall.

[the-innocent-papyrus]

ENTRY NUMBER 4.4

((Lazy and Orion sit down to translate some of G’s old notes, and get briefly sidetracked by a displaced king complaining about his temporary accommodations.))

((Muses involved:

Orion, from here

Lazy, @sans-nyan))

lazy

[knockknock......  he's Here.]

Orion

*come on in, z.

lazy

[in he slides... he's brought a Pencil. and many papers from his own gaster. actually, he has a lot of pencils.] hey, 'rion. i wasn't sure what all to bring, so... i figured it was better to be safe than sorry. i'm a little rusty on this, so...

Orion

*it's cool.

[Orion is sitting on his bed, surrounded by a pile of papers. There doesn't seem to be a rhyme or reason to the arrangement at first glance. Upon closer inspection... yeah there really isn't much of an organizational system apart from maybe original notes on this side, translations on that side.]

lazy

[HE UNDERSTANDS. he approaches, studying the papers that are all about for a few seconds before he climbs up onto the bed, sitting on the edge of it.]

what've you got so far? i've mostly brought my own notes as some comparison stuff, just, y'know.  make sure they write sort of similarly.

Orion

*well, mostly it's been stuff about the core so far. i mean, makes sense. was kinda his life's work and whatnot.

lazy

yeah, that's fair. hm.

[he interlaces his fingers together.]

didn't ever think to look at those papers. i just figured since it was finished and all... well...

[in he leans to try to read it anyway.]

Orion

*yeah, i'm just sort of. going through everything, since i don't know what's like... important and what's not.

[The notes that have been translated are, indeed, various things about the Core. Theories, plans, random ramblings. There's a couple of random notes about silly things Roan has apparently done.]

lazy

yeah... that's fair.

[oh... his heart. he glances down at his phone, making a nervous face, before tucking it away again, pulling out his substitution code translation. that'd always made everything easier once he'd got it figured out. it was just always working out what had actually been written sometimes. he passes over his translated cipher.]

i don't know if this will help or not, but...?

Orion

*i mean, i've got it more or less memorized but. once the headache really sets in it'll probably be helpful.

[He clears away some of the papers to make room for Lazy.]

lazy

[little sympathetic 'mmmm'. he curls up a little on the bed, propping himself up by the elbows, one hand on his cheek and the other holding a pencil. he reaches for one paper, pulling an average sized notebook out of his inventory. he's ready to translate.]

...are you doing okay? i just, i dunno. figure i should ask.

Orion

[Orion sighs and rubs his head.]

*about as ok as i can be, considering. there's some large version of the kid hanging out downstairs, bro's off hanging with his boyfriend, and i've decided now's a great time to be giving myself a headache.

lazy

...

[little worried look. he leans in to give a gentle headbunt.]

i'll stay with you tonight, like. you know like, even after. this sounds weird. just uh.

[HE CLEARS HIS THROAT!!!]

i'm, sorry. i'm, doing a, bad job at, translating.

[HE'S GONNA. WORK ON THAT...]

Orion

[Orion leans into the headbutt a little.]

*thanks, bro. sorry if i'm a little. scatterbrained.

[He grabs a piece of paper for himself.]

[The one Lazy has is apparently the first thing that's not (solely) about the Core. There's a few token notes on the Core, along the lines of "wouldn't it be cool if there were this type of puzzle room in it". Most of this page seems focused on musings about the nature of souls, and the various "traits" that make them up.]

lazy

no, it's okay.

[he ignores his phone buzz for a little bit as he reads through the notes with some interest; mostly about the traits.]

i've done some writing and have some of gaster's notes on this....

[he's quickly scribbling down a translation for the page in his notebook, before pulling out his phone.]

...crazed cannibals?

Orion

[Orion glances up from his page and gives Lazy a weird look.]

*crazed... what? what is going on?

lazy

uhhh, zax is talking in my group chat, and says that he's in a house with two crazed cannibals.

Orion

*what

lazy

LOOK!!

[HE SHOWS ORION THE CHAT.]

Orion

*...those aren't the bones of the deceased, bucko. we summoned those things.

lazy

i-i think he's calling roan's cooking shit...

Orion

*well. he's not wrong, technically...

lazy

yeah but he's saying that we put in the remains of the deceased in the food... [HES KIND OF LAUGHING IN DISBELIEF???]

Orion

*the day my bro starts cooking with dust is the day i... i'm not sure where i was going with that sentence, actually.

lazy

also dust?

Orion

*yeah, probably.

lazy

except i think i'd dust if i actually ate the pasta.

i'm joking.

i don't mean any offense. but.(edited)

Orion

*bro's cooking sucks.

*or at least his pasta sucks.

lazy

okay. at least we agree.

i can't believe we're crazed cannibals.

Orion

*seriously.

*i mean, it's news to me.

lazy

...well, guess he knocked out.

Orion

*guess that's good, at least.

lazy

[...little sigh.]

...guess it's back to this. i kinda have some info similar to what's on this page... i don't know if i had much that was detailed. like this, i mean.

Orion

*well, it's worth a shot.

lazy

this is soul aspects and stuff. i think... i never got many details, but i know my gaster did a lot of experiments before i was even born. i might have to go digging for the papers again.

[...little nervous look.]

sorry for rambling. i'm just a little, chatty, i guess.

Orion

*no, it's fine. i'm just... probably not much of a conversationalist right now.

[He flops down, raising himself on his elbows and clearing a little space for himself.]

*show me what you've got.

lazy

it's okay.

[he slides over the translated version...]

there's some stuff about the CORE, but it's a lot more stuff about souls. we've got about like, seven confirmed soul aspects. i always kind of assumed there's more, like... this probably can't cover all the types. but seven's a nice number. a real good power number.

Orion

*yeah, seven seems to be a really popular one, heh heh.

[He glances over the notes.]

lazy

and it's not covered on the notes, but i know if you take extracts from the souls-- and, i mean, this might be different from timeline to timeline, but...

[he's jotting stuff down on another paper.]

you can extract the primary personality components of a soul and inject it? and it'll affect people. i think i told-- yeah, i told you about dt. an example, uh... like, my boyfriend, bones... i'm still mad about this, but. he got injected with the aspect of kindness, and-- it wasn't a permanent change, thank the gods, but. it made him care more about others than himself. i mean, he already had that problem anway.

[little laugh.]

i know my soul aspect as a human ended up being determination, but i'm honestly kind of suspecting there's some self-destructive crap in there.

Orion

[Orion listens. He lets out a thoughtful hum and starts going through the papers next to him. He pulls out one page of notes and glances over it.]

*...i think... that's one of the things my bro was toying with. i mean. here, look at this.

[The page is untranslated, and very disorganized. It's like the writer was just jotting down notes on any available corner of the paper as the ideas occurred to him. But the general jist is just as Orion said: G was apparently musing about the possibility of being able to inject or "transfer" traits from one person to another. Of course, the only problem according to this page of notes is extracting them in the first place...]

lazy

[zoinks scoob.]

yeah... 'cause, the whole, you could accidentally absorb the soul. my gast made containers to put them in, and you'd extract it remotely. we also used the soul of the first child to keep... a lot of things in the underground powered. kind of related to the CORE, i think. if you don't absorb the soul or destroy it, it can... sort of regenerate itself, i think.

Orion

*huh... you guys still had access to the first child's soul? i'm not sure what happened to ours.

lazy

yeah, i think, or if it isn't theirs, it's... from the war, maybe. i don't know for sure.

[he doesn't have the heart to explain what happened to the first child, or to asriel.]

Orion

[Orion shall just have to remain in blissful ignorance. He has some idea since he's heard the stories, but...]

*right, yeah. though... the idea of keeping a soul around to use as a power source seems a little... morbid, to be honest?

lazy

[little weird grimace...]

yeah. it... yeah. i just... try to not think about it too hard.

Orion

[Orion nods with a grimace of his own.]

*can't say i blame you.

lazy

we don't really know how to... dispose of the souls without absorbing them. and we still don't really want the humans topside to know what uh... happened.

Orion

*oh. that's. yeah, i can't imagine that would go over well.

*...man. if we ever make it to the surface, i. don't think anyone's gonna be too keen to explain how we got there.

lazy

nnnnope. i'm dreading when it comes to light. i mean... the humans are going to find out about it sooner or later.

it probably won't even matter that we've been underground for... literally over a thousand years.

Orion

*haha, yeah...

[Orion slumps forward a little, glancing down at the papers around him. He lets out a sigh.]

*...i remember having an argument with g at one point. g wanted to come up with a way to break the barrier. i asked him what the point would even be.

*we've been stuck here for so long that the people actively working on the problem now... well, at the time we hadn't seen real sunlight.

lazy

...

[...he goes to lean against orion.]

...yeah. ...i'm sorry.

Orion

[Orion leans against Lazy in turn. He rubs his head.]

*thanks. it's. yeah.

*...i miss my brother.

lazy

...i don't blame you. [little nuzzle... he doesn't know what to say but he knows that feel!!!]

Orion

[Orion returns the nuzzle.]

*thanks. ...but, hey. we've. got work to do, heh.

[Starts flipping through papers, trying to distract himself. Among the pages he flips through is a page with a very familiar image. It looks a lot like a preliminary sketch for the DT Extractor...]

[internetdetectives]

11/26/18 - Chat with Nocta and Moonman

((Moonman says that it's time to clear some things up))

Dense 1:44 PM: Yeet the fuck

nocta 1:44 PM: what are you doing?

Jos 1:45 PM: okay

Jos 1:45 PM: lets me search the meaning of that term first

Dense 1:45 PM: Oh

Jos 1:46 PM: oh, i see, yup, i'm against no one

((Moonman claims that no one in this chat is enemies with one another))

nocta 1:46 PM: Idiot

((Moonman asks if Nocta can just let it go))

nocta 1:46 PM: No.

Jos 1:47 PM: sorry my lenguage is not english i think i fucked up a little up there, i am agaisnt no one, all friendly and nice

((Moonman says that Nocta was calling him an idiot, not Jos))

Jos 1:47 PM: i see

Jos 1:47 PM: Nocta, I think we need to clarify stuff, lets sit down, and lets talk cool

nocta 1:48 PM: Ha. 

nocta 1:48 PM: I will see you all around.

Jos 1:49 PM:  Are you sure this is the correct route?

Jos 1:49 PM: I hope so

Jos 1:49 PM: He is like

Jos 1:49 PM: "you are the bad guys oooo so lets talk about it nocta and he is like no0o0o0"

((Moonman claims that is not how the situation actually is))

((Moonman believes his life might actually be in danger at this point))

moonman31 1:51 PM: but

moonman31 1:51 PM: I can reveal some things that I could not before

moonman31 1:51 PM: The more you discover

moonman31 1:51 PM: The more I can reveal

moonman31 1:51 PM: It seems.

Jos 1:52 PM: So, you know about this "he is trapped?"

Jos 1:52 PM: Could mean tyler, could mean Samuel who hasnt posted a single time

((Moonman claims he knows nothing about that phrase))

Jos 1:52 PM: aw

Jos 1:52 PM: so, what is the new stuff you can reveal?

((Moonman says he needs to know who all is in the chat))

Jos 1:52 PM: ok

Jos 1:52 PM: so, we have Wolfcat, me, Circle Hunter, Dense, Glad Mans, Bianca, and Raven

Jos 1:52 PM: no one else

Jos 1:52 PM: x

Jos 1:52 PM: lets see if others are here

Jos 1:52 PM: post x

Wolfcat 1:55 PM: I think it's just you, me, jos, and raven

((Moonman says he believes there is a spy among our ranks))

Jos 1:57 PM: I trust you, I have a theory but I don't want to reveal just to mantain stuff secure

Jos 1:57 PM: anyway, i will find the spy soon or later

Jos 1:57 PM: and i have the perfect idea

Jos 1:57 PM: I see

((Moonman says "Well..."))

Jos 1:57 PM: Nothing else? well, We will be careful with what we say... thank you

Dense 2:03 PM: Oh nocta left

((Moonman says he was waiting for a response from us))

Jos 2:04 PM: oh, sorry, non english native so idk when something follows a reply lol

Wolfcat 2:04 PM: Dense is also here

((Moonman says "Obviously"))

Jos 2:04 PM: so, why are you at line?

((Moonman says we are right about some things and wrong about others))

Jos 2:04 PM: please, tell us the wrong part so we can see the both sides of the coin

((Moonman says we are right about "Greth"))

Jos 2:04 PM: Well, he is probably Nocta? The Johnisdead page points to to it, and have bunch of evidence, still, it could be wrong info.

Jos 2:04 PM: Nocta

((Moonman says that Greth is not Nocta, at least not as far as he knows))

((Moonman confirms that he is Greth, but he doesn't know us and Greth Vlogs is not familiar to him))

((Moonman says that he is not the person on the front page of Johnisdead, despite being Greth))

Jos 2:04 PM: Sorry, I have no words, im confused... Then, the guy from the front page must be another guy who looks really the same

Wolfcat 2:11 PM: It sounds to me like some stupid magic shit is going on

Wolfcat 2:11 PM: More time bullshit

Jos 2:11 PM: except if you cant remember

Jos 2:11 PM: because of the sp00ky stuff

Jos 2:11 PM: wait

Jos 2:11 PM: then

Wolfcat 2:13 PM: back when YSHDT.net was up, a lot of strange things were happening with various timelines converging into one another

Wolfcat 2:13 PM: maybe this is still happening somehow

Wolfcat 2:13 PM: as crazy as that sounds

Jos 2:15 PM: what if there are 3 , you, the greth from the vlogs, and the sp00ky one

Jos 2:15 PM: for some reason

Jos 2:15 PM: what if Patrem has been converted into a vessel for Kevin who is using the vlogs greth as vessel?

Jos 2:15 PM: idk,

moonman31 2:16 PM: Now you're losing me

Wolfcat 2:17 PM: I mean, that'd be a double vessel.

((Moonman says he doesn't know anything about that))

Wolfcat 2:17 PM: It seems like either way, Nocta is Kevin

Wolfcat 2:17 PM: That much we can be certain of

Wolfcat 2:17 PM: At least to some extent

((Moonman asks about Patrem))

Jos 2:17 PM: there is this entity called patrem, it needs a vessel to survive, a physical, weak body to assimilate,

Jos 2:17 PM: in the greth videos and the jid page, everything reffering this entity, is purple

Jos 2:17 PM: yet

Jos 2:17 PM: in the jid page, nocta has been referring as this purple sp00ky greth

Jos 2:17 PM: but nocta is kevin

((Moonman says he's not sure about that))

Wolfcat 2:19 PM: Maybe the "Wayward cretin" is just fucking with us some more

Wolfcat 2:19 PM: Tenebris, I mean

Jos 2:19 PM: What im saying "Kelbris" needs a body, maybe kevin did the same when patrem was weak, and took over patrem and then used patrem to vessel this sp00ky greth, so, kevin would be nocta at the same time of Greth vlogs

((Moonman says there are some very dark things happening on Astral Observatory))

((Moonman says he's frustrated because he believes it might be too late to stop it))

Jos 2:19 PM: i can use a proxy and access the truth part, if you are willing to help me...

Wolfcat 2:20 PM: Do you know if there's any possible way for us to access The Truth?

Wolfcat 2:20 PM: or is that still just completely out of reach

((Moonman says that the password has been changed and that he no longer knows it))

Jos 2:21 PM: shit, i should have asked earlier, but i didnt wanted look like impolite

CircleHunter 2:21 PM: I am here now

((Moonman says the old password was "pqbxhtlopa"))

Wolfcat 2:21 PM: oh fuck

Wolfcat 2:21 PM: shit

CircleHunter 2:21 PM: Whoa

Wolfcat 2:21 PM: the shit that was on jid.com

Jos 2:22 PM: FUCK

CircleHunter 2:22 PM: That means

CircleHunter 2:22 PM:Try the current title

Jos 2:22 PM: Now is when i want a tardis you know

Jos 2:22 PM: The timer wont reset tought

((Moonman asks what timer Jos is referring to))

Jos 2:22 PM: it was an old page in jid

Jos 2:22 PM: just a referrence tho

((Moonman says that it reminded him of something))

Jos 2:22 PM: what about?

Jos 2:22 PM: maybe its important

Jos 2:22 PM: i can provide old images of the page if that helps

Wolfcat 2:26 PM: Maybe "pqbxh" and "tlopa" on JiD was merely a hint towards The Truth, and not something about Nocta

CircleHunter 2:26 PM: Damn we were too late then

CircleHunter 2:26 PM: Has jid changed?

Wolfcat 2:27 PM: Not on my end

((Moonman says a post has been deleted since he lost access to The Truth))

Jos 2:27 PM: i will find that post

Jos 2:27 PM it must be the new password being hidden

Wolfcat 2:28 PM: I think it was the post in The Truth

Wolfcat 2:28 PM: There used to be two posts in there

((Moonman confirms he was talking about the post that was deleted in The Truth))

CircleHunter 2:28 PM: I want to test something

Jos 2:28 PM: aw

Wolfcat 2:28 PM: And the older post was deleted

Jos 2:28 PM: it was the old one right

Wolfcat 2:28 PM: But the newer one remained

CircleHunter 2:28 PM: Just to be absolutely sure here, you were around for jadusable and posted the new wave bossa nova, right?

CircleHunter 2:28 PM: Or was that this other greth?

((Moonman says he did in fact submit the NWBN during YSHDT.net))

CircleHunter 2:28 PM: Ok, hmm

((Moonman says that the timeline seems similar up to a point))

((Moonman begins acting strangely and posts "Kevin, Tyler, Tenebris))

((Moonman then deletes this post))

CircleHunter 2:28 PM: Please tell me someone was paying attention to that

CircleHunter 2:35 PM: Kevin, tyler, tenebris

((Moonman says "save please tyler"))

Raven 2:37 PM: He's deleting everything

Wolfcat 2:37 PM: We'll save Tyler.

((Moonman then says "no save please"))

Jos 2:41 PM: what is going on

moonman31 2:41 PM: tylers

moonman31 2:41 PM: STOP IT

moonman31 2:41 PM: EVERYTHING IS TYLER AND NOTHING IS TYLE

Wolfcat 2:42 PM: Who's doing this to you?

moonman31 2:43 PM: t\

moonman31 2:45 PM: he

moonman31 2:45 PM: is

moonman31 2:45 PM: Today at 14:16

((Users noticed that Moonman’s post from 2:16 now had an alien emote reaction))

((Wolfcat posted an image of the Bow and Arrow))

moonman31 2:47 PM: I feel ok

moonman31 2:47 PM:  for now

moonman31 2:48 PM: what did you do?

Wolfcat 2:49 PM: Can you tell us who he is? Do you know? The man with the alien mask?

Jos 2:49 PM: lets say

Jos 2:49 PM: its sp00ky stuff too

moonman31 2:49 PM: The what

Jos 2:49 PM: but we did it to save you

Jos 2:49 PM: wait, you cant remember? few seconds ago

moonman31 2:50 PM: The man with the alien mask?

Wolfcat 2:51 PM: Was he not the one who was just hurting you?

moonman31 2:52 PM: I don't know what does that

Jos 2:54 PM: lets see if this works ?

((Jos posts Epona's Song))

moonman31 2:55 PM: ???

moonman31 2:55 PM: Wait are you

moonman31 2:55 PM: god,im ((this was originally a cipher))

moonman31 2:55 PM: hold on

moonman31 2:55 PM: someone is at the door

Jos 2:55 PM: ok

Wolfcat 2:55 PM: wait no

Jos 2:55 PM: but dont open

Wolfcat 2:55 PM: don't pull this

Jos 2:55 PM: waito

Wolfcat 2:56 PM: dude you KNOW this never ends up well

Jos 2:56 PM: before he opens the door

((Jos posted an image of the Stone Mask))

((Moonman then posted the message "too late"))

[fadingcherryblossomjellyfis-blog]

Feeding Jump APK 1.40.

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[theupperberth-blog]

The Accursed House by Emile Gaboriau 1891

Download the Works of Emile Gaboriau for a limited time at http://tinyurl.com/EmileGaboriau See also True Crime + Mystery Fiction - 500 Books on 2 DVDroms Emile Gaboriau, best known for his remarkable detective stories, was born at Sanson in 1853, and died at Paris in 1873. He was for a time private secretary of Paul Feval, the novelist, and published a great variety of work. In 1866 appeared in the paper called "Le Pays" his first great detective story, "L'Affaire Lerouge," which the author dramatised in collaboration with Hostein in 1872. Like all of the great series, "L'Affaire Lerouge," "Monsieur Lecoq," "Les Esclaves de Paris," etc., are written in an easy flowing style, and are full of exciting moments. It is interesting to trace the ancestry of the modern detective story. The first seeds are said to be found in Voltaire's "Zadig"; they germinate in Poe's tales, take form in Gaboriau, and are in full bloom in Conan Doyle's "Sherlock Holmes." THE Vicomte de B______, an amiable and charming young man, was peacefully enjoying an income of 30,000 livres yearly, when, unfortunately for him, his uncle, a miser of the worst species, died, leaving him all his wealth, amounting to nearly two millions. In running through the documents of succession, the Vicomte de B______ learned that he was the proprietor of a house in the Rue de la Victoire. He learned, also, that the unfurnished building, bought in 1849 for 300,000 francs, now brought in, clear of taxes, rentals amounting to 82,000 francs a year. "Too much, too much, entirely," thought the generous vicomte, "my uncle was too hard; to rent at this price is usury, one can not deny it. When one bears a great name like mine, one should not lend himself to such plundering. I will begin to-morrow to lower my rents, and my tenants will bless me." With this excellent purpose in view, the Vicomte de B_____ sent immediately for the concierge of the building, who presented himself as promptly, with back bent like a bow. "Bernard, my friend," said the vicomte, "go at once from me and notify all your tenants that I lower their rents by one-third." That unheard-of word "lower" fell like a brick on Bernard's head. But he quickly recovered himself; he had heard badly; he had not understood. "Low—er the rents!" stammered he. "Monsieur le Vicomte deigns to jest. Lower! Monsieur, of course means to raise the rents." "I was never more serious in my life, my friend," the vicomte returned; "I said, and I repeat it, lower the rents." This time the concierge was surprised to the point of bewilderment — so thrown off his balance that he forgot himself and lost all restraint. "Monsieur has not reflected," persisted he. "Monsieur will regret this evening. Lower the tenants rents! Never was such a thing known, monsieur! If the lodgers should learn of it, what would they think of monsieur? What would people say in the neighborhood? Truly—-" "Monsieur Bernard, my friend," dryly interrupted the vicomte, "I prefer, when I give an order, to be obeyed without reply. You hear me—-go!" Staggering like a drunken man, Monsieur Bernard went out from the house of his proprietor. All his ideas were upset, overthrown, confounded. Was he, or was he not, the plaything of a dream, a ridiculous nightmare? Was he himself Pierre Bernard, or Bernard somebody else? "Lower his rents! lower his rents!" repeated he. "It is not to be believed! If indeed the lodgers had complained! But they have not complained; on the contrary, all are good payers. Ah! if his uncle could only know this, he would rise from the tomb! His nephew has gone mad, 'tis certain! Lower the rents! They should have up this young man before a family council; he will finish badly! Who knows—after this —what he will do next? He lunched too well, perhaps, this morning." And the worthy Bernard was so pale with emotion when he re-entered his lodge, so pale and spent, that on seeing him enter, his wife and daughter Amanda exclaimed as with one voice: "Goodness! what is it? What has happened to you now?" "Nothing," responded he, with altered voice, "absolutely nothing." "You are deceiving me," insisted Madame Bernard, "you are concealing something from me; do not spare me; speak, I am strong—what did the new proprietor tell you? Does he think of turning us off?" "If it were only that! But just think, he told me with his own lips, he told me to—ah! you will never believe me—-" "Oh, yes; only do go on." "You will have it, then!— Well, then, he told me, he ordered me to notify all the tenants that—he lowered their rents one-third! Did you hear what I said? —lowered the rents of the tenants—-" But neither Madame nor Mademoiselle Bernard heard him out — they were twisting and doubling with convulsive laughter. "Lower!" repeated they; "ah! what a good joke, what a droll man! Lower the tenants' rents." But Bernard, losing his temper and insisting that he must be taken seriously in his own lodge, his wife lost her temper too, and a quarrel followed! Madame Bernard declaring that Monsieur Bernard had, beyond a doubt, taken his fantastic order from the bottom of a litre of wine in the restaurant at the corner. But for Mademoiselle Amanda the couple would undoubtedly have come to blows, and finally Madame Bernard, who did not wish to be thought demented, threw a shawl over her head and ran to the proprietor's house. Bernard had spoken truly; with her own two ears, ornamented with big, gilded hoops, she heard the incredible word. Only, as she was a wise and prudent woman, she demanded "a bit of writing" to put, as she said, "her responsibility under cover." She, too, returned thunderstruck, and all the evening in the lodge, father, mother, and daughter deliberated. Should they obey? or should they warn some relative of this mad young man, whose common sense would oppose itself to such insanity? They decided to obey. Next morning, Bernard, buttoning himself into his best frock coat, made the rounds of the three-and-twenty lodges to announce his great news. Ten minutes afterward the house in the Rue de la Victoire was in a state of commotion impossible to describe. People who, for forty years had lived on the same floor, and never honored each other with so much as a tip of the hat, now clustered together and chatted eagerly. "Do you know, monsieur?" "It is very extraordinary." "Simply unheard of!" "The proprietor's lowered my rent!" "One-third, is it not? Mine also." "Astounding! It must be a mistake!" And despite the affirmations of the Bernard family, despite even the "bit of writing" "under cover," there were found among the tenants doubting Thomases, who doubted still in the face of everything. Three of them actually wrote to the proprietor to tell him what had passed, and to charitably warn him that his concierge had wholly lost his mind. The proprietor responded to these skeptics, confirming what Bernard had said. Doubt, thereafter, was out of the question. Then began reflections and commentaries. "Why had the proprietor lowered his rents?" "Yes, why?" "What motives," said they all, "actuate this strange man? For certainly he must have grave reasons for a step like this! An intelligent man, a man of good sense, would never deprive himself of good fat revenues, well secured, for the simple pleasure of depriving himself. One would not conduct himself thus without being forced, constrained by powerful or terrible circumstances." And each said to himself: "There is something under all this!" "But what?" And from the first floor to the sixth they sought and conjectured and delved in their brains. Every lodger had the preoccupied air of a man that strives with all his wits to solve an impossible cipher, and everywhere there began to be a vague disquiet, as it happens when one finds himself in the presence of a sinister mystery. Some one went so far as to hazard: "This man must have committed a great and still hidden crime; remorse pushes him to philanthropy." "It was not a pleasant idea, either, the thought of living thus side by side with a rascal; no, by no means; he might be repentant, and all that, but suppose he yielded to temptation once more!" "The house, perhaps, was badly built?" questioned another, anxiously. "Hum-m, so-so! no one could tell; but all knew one thing—it was very, very old!" "True! and it had been necessary to prop it when they dug the drain last year in the month of March." "Maybe it was the roof, then, and the house is top-heavy?" suggested a tenant on the fifth floor. "Or perhaps," said a lodger in the garret, "there is a press for coining counterfeit money in the cellar; I have often heard at night a sound like the dull, muffled thud of a coin-stamper." The opinion of another was that Russian, maybe Prussian, spies had gained a lodgment in the house, while the gentleman of the first story was inclined to believe that the proprietor purposed to set fire to his house and furniture with the sole object of drawing great sums from the insurance companies. Then began to happen, as they all declared, extraordinary and even frightful things. On the sixth and mansard floors it appeared that strange and absolutely inexplicable noises were heard. Then the nurse of the old lady on the fourth story, going one night to steal wine from the cellar, encountered the ghost of the defunct proprietor—he even held in his hand a receipt for rent—by which she knew him! And the refrain from loft to cellar was: "There is something under all this!" From disquietude it had come to fright; from fright it quickly passed to terror. So that the gentleman of the first floor, who had valuables in his rooms, made up his mind to go, and sent in notice by his clerk. Bernard went to inform the proprietor, who responded: "All right, let the fool go!" But next day the chiropodist of the second floor, though he had naught to fear for his valuables, imitated the gentleman beneath him. Then the bachelors and the little households of the fifth story quickly followed this example. From that moment it was a general rout. By the end of the week, everybody had given notice. Every one awaited some frightful catastrophe. They slept no more. They organized patrols. The terrified domestics swore that they too would quit the accursed house and remained temporarily only on tripled wages. Bernard was no more than the ghost of himself; the fever of fear had worn him to a shadow. "No," repeated his wife mournfully at each fresh notification, "no, it is not natural." Meanwhile three-and-twenty "For Rent" placards swung against the facade of the house, drawing an occasional applicant for lodgings. Bernard—never grumbling now—climbed the staircase and ushered the visitor from apartment to apartment. "You can have your choice," said he to the people that presented themselves, "the house is entirely vacant; all the tenants have given notice as one man. They do not know why, exactly, but things have happened, oh! yes, things! a mystery such as was never before known—the proprietor has lowered his rents!" And the would-be lodgers fled away affrighted. The term ended, three-and-twenty vans carried away the furniture of the three-and-twenty tenants. Everybody left. From top to bottom, from foundations to garret, the house lay empty of lodgers. The rats themselves, finding nothing to live on, abandoned it also. Only the concierge remained, gray green with fear in his lodge. Frightful visions haunted his sleep. He seemed to hear lugubrious howlings and sinister murmurs at night that made his teeth chatter with terror and his hair erect itself under his cotton nightcap. Madame Bernard no more closed an eye than he. And Amanda in her frenzy renounced all thought of the operatic stage and married—for nothing in the world but to quit the paternal lodge—a young barber and hair-dresser whom she had never before been able to abide. At last, one morning, after a more frightful nightmare than usual, Bernard, too, took a great resolution. He went to the proprietor, gave up his keys, and scampered away. ....................................... And now on the Rue de la Victoria stands the abandoned house, "The Accursed House," whose history I have told you. Dust thickens upon the closed slats, grass grows in the court. No tenant ever presents himself now; and in the quarter, where stands this Accursed House, so funereal is its reputation that even the neighboring houses on either side of it have also depreciated in value. Lower one's rents!! Who would think of such a thing!!!