#am i causing the country to fall into this horrible spiral? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

suca-loca · 3 years ago

Text

it’s been a long year since we last spoke (how’s your halo?)

Read on Ao3

Words: 11.5k

Tags: Hurt No comfort, Angst, No Happy Ending, No beta we die like Wilbur

Warnings: Body horror, Blood, Death, Suicidal Implications/Thoughts, Mentions Of Torture, Beating/Fighting

Author's Note: I tentatively present you all this fic as my ticket to board the Dream SMP Fandom. I took some creative liberties with this, such as hints of Niki and Wilbur being childhood friends, as well as Niki living near Techno's cabin, and making Niki respawning to restock her hunger bar during her spiraling/villain arc one of her canon deaths. Also, despite Niki wearing a new skin she has stated that her character still wears Wilbur's coat. Just adding that in here so people don't comment that I got her outfit wrong during a certain scene. And finally, even though I feel this is obvious, this is about the characters and not the streamers themselves. With that out of the way, enjoy the fic!

Summary:

"Time down here is like stars, Niki. We're dead, dead for thousands of years, but to them," he points up, "we still shine. It'll take light years for them to realize they are staring at just a memory."

She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted where she stands. "Wilbur," she weeps. "How long have you been down here?"

He laughs.

(There was a time it made Niki's heart stop. It still does, but for different reasons now)

"Eleven years."

Niki covers her mouth to stifle a broken cry.

or; Niki tries, unwillingly may she add, the whole being dead thing. Oh, and Wilbur is there to "help"

The worst part about it is that Niki's whole life doesn't flash before her eyes. It doesn't happen in slow motion and neither is there some comforting, bright light for her to walk towards. It's simply this: one second she's at Church Prime and the next she's falling into pitch blackness.

Then again, she should have known better than to expect any of that dumb cliche stuff 'cause it's not like she died or anything. Not really. Her communicator may say she did, but she knows the truth. She was teleported.

So why does this feel like dying?

foolish girl breaking at the seams from using the same stitching of a burning flag to put yourself back together again. you think the afterlife cares how you arrive? the entry fee is the same for all

She comes in screaming and doesn't stop even when that's all she is anymore. Her body is unrecognizable to her, turned inside out, muscles stretching and bending and snapping in an attempt to mimic the shape she once was.

(She wishes her muscles luck in regressing back into a memory because oh primes, oh dear primes did she try, try again to be the girl wore a white and blue uniform with pride, but that girl only exists now in dreams and sometimes nightmares)

But they can't, for her organs and bones and flesh do not know what it means to not be confined (but they should know, they really should, because she still finds it hard to breath in small spaces ever since Schlatt caged her between iron bars and dirt and Sapnap left her in a hole in the ground over a fish) and so they shake. Convulsing and spasming until she is just sound, just an echo of shrieks that are happening in the past or the present or the future depending on how fast it travels down this tight, narrowed cave she lands in.

Wait, lands in?

She finds herself laying flat on the ground. She blinks. Then does it again for good measure to make sure she's not imaging having eyelids.

She touches her face. Feels the crook of her nose, the curve of her chin, and her soft round ears.

It's all skin. No muscle, no tissue, just her.

Still her.

(For now)

Her body is back. Not whole though - never whole - for she will always be a walking empty space within a solid object, but for now, her body is right. Her body is here. She closes her eyes in relief.

Someone is staring down at her when she opens them again.

"Hello Niki," Wilbur says. "It's been a while."

(It's Doomsday. His name shows up on your communicator and so you become a lit match. The fire eats you away just like the bark of a tree, like the walls of a bakery, two things you once loved most, and you're watching them both burn with his coat over your shoulders, which doesn't help you ignore who you must look like, who you're acting like, whose footsteps you're following in; and doesn't it hurt to know that what's before you isn't just a friend but a reflection?)

She's already scrambling back before she's even fully sat up.

She doesn't get very far, not with the way her wrists twist and bend before finally buckling under the pressure, and she can't find the strength to stand up and run. So all that's left to do is hyperventilate at the way his eyes land on her face, roaming, analyzing, absorbing, trying to read her like a book, unaware she's ripped out the pages long ago. At the way his shadow covers her and maybe once it felt like a blanket, but that time has passed, now all it is is heavy, suffocating, pinning her down. At the way he wears his Pogtopia outfit, pressed and cleaned when the last she saw of it it was covered in ash and black feathers and red, so much red.

But it never comes. In fact, her lungs don't move at all. Almost as if she doesn't need to breathe. As if she hasn't been breathing since she's been down here.

Is that why it was so easy to keep screaming?

"You're not here," she whispers. "Not really."

Wilbur tilts his head to the left.

(Does it in a way a predator would while observing its prey from afar, waiting for the right moment to strike)

"Oh? Where am I then, Niki?"

"My head," Niki responds, practically blurting it out. "Yeah - yeah, that's right. This is just my head playing tricks on me again. A horrible horrible trick, but that's all it is. I - I know it."

Wilbur hums. He sits down as if this will take a while. As if she won't blink and he'll be gone. "Well, that's a damn shame. I was hoping it'd be a beach. Mexican Dream has been talking a lot about La Jolla lately. Sounds like a nice place."

He smiles, suddenly.

(No, not smiles, more like baring his teeth. His very normal teeth that give off the impression that they should be very sharp and very large and very deep in her throat right now)

"Let's hope I don't blow it up."

(Niki is shouting for Wilbur over the chaos when her communicator pings in her pocket. It gets hard to breathe as she reads what it says, and it isn't because every inhale of smoke and pulverized concrete from the tumbling buildings poison her lungs. There's a ringing in her ears, and it isn't because of the TNT that just detonated in front of her. She feels broken, and it isn't because the force of the explosion knocks her back and she skitters across the field, hitting rocks and choking on dirt until she stops on her stomach, limbs bent at weird angles. Her communicator lands right beside her, the screen shattered and static flashing, but she can still catch glimpses of what is on the screen, as clear as day, like a taunt: WilburSoot was slain by Ph1lza)

Niki scrambles to her feet, presses herself as much as she can against the walls, and maybe, just maybe, she'll glitch and go through it and suffocate in a block.

She immediately throws herself away from it when she realizes what she just thought.

Wilbur stands with her. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding," he says. "I thought it would lighten up the mood. So, how are you?"

"How am I?" Niki echoes. "I'm imagining my dead best friend even though I thought I was getting better and I could have sworn I was, I was I swear I was, and this place, this place, I don't know where this is but it, it just feels - I don't even know why - so familiar and so - "

She pauses.

She looks around.

She was so busy panicking from Wilbur's presence that she never took in her surroundings. She stares at the smooth stone walls, the occasional hanging vines, the little aquarium in the corner right next to the entrance, and, finally, the stand. The stand with two signs on the front that read -

No. It can't be. It just can't.

She won't believe it until she's seen the whole thing.

She walks further in, each step hesitant.

And she notices the way everything around her seems so devoid of life. Almost colorless. Close to numb. She thinks it's her body shutting down, the stress finally getting to her, but no. This is worse. Something's going on. She doesn't know what it is exactly, but she knows it isn't her that's wrong here.

(This time)

Wilbur follows closely behind and, as if to prove her point, his footsteps sound muffled, distant, apart from him, like in the way you hear something underwater.

Maybe she is underwater because everything is getting blurry and her face feels wet.

(Or maybe the better comparison is like hearing something behind glass. She's been tapping against the window of a caravan for months as men in suits discuss a country she bled for just as much as them, if not more, without her. The tapping turns to banging, but it is not the glass that shatters. Not the glass that breaks)

She stills as she catches sight of the small wheat farm in the back room, dried and frail and unkempt.

(Like a flower shop)

It really is her bakery.

"No," she mumbles. Then, more stern, as if it'll blow this place away, as Wilbur should have done the first time. "No no no no this can't… this can't be true. I, I shouldn't be here I - it doesn't make any sense, how how how - "

She whirls on Wilbur, the tears coming in waves now. "What are you doing to me?"

(It's his fault she's back here. It has to be, he's the reason you wanted to burn the memories why this is all gone why this should be gone why isn't this gone gone gone gone)

foolish girl who has become like the nation she despises, you are a crater, there is a hole inside of you where a soul once was and it was caused by your own hands because the only destruction you're good at is your own. you couldn't even kill a child with a nuke, so what makes you think you can end a small room on the side of some hill?

"What do you see?" Wilbur says, and the voice in her head disappears. She can't remember what it said. She shakes her head as if the words will fall out her ears.

Suddenly she can't remember why she's shaking her head.

Her next words come out frail.

"My… my bakery. But how? This shouldn't be possible I, I destroyed it - I - "

"Limbo is different for everybody," Wilbur interjects. "For me, it's a train station."

"Limbo? What are you talking about? What is going on? I was nowhere near L'manburg I was - " Niki's mind blanks.

(Smooth quartz all around her and she feels safe there, that she remembers because there is no killing here, the one place bloodshed does not haunt her, and then crushing disappointment that turns into actual crushing as her body gets shredded, mangled, undone like a ribbon except it does not look pretty)

Wilbur gives her a slicing smile. It cuts her down. "This is the afterlife, Niki."

She blinks. She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted to the spot. "What?"

"The afterlife," he continues, eyes sparkling. "Hell. The void. Eternal darkness. Whatever you wanna call it. I call it home."

"Home?" She repeats, shakily.

foolish girl with no place, no one to call home because she's an expert at finding comfort in things that don't stay, of course he sees this place as home. Although if he really wanted to surround himself in emptiness so bad then he just needed to wait a few months for you to become just that

"I'm not dead," she mutters. She attempts to laugh, because if she laughs then this will sound like a joke. Wilbur would joke about such a thing. After all, he poked fun at exploding L'manburg just a while ago. So of course this is a joke. It has to be. It is, and she will not allow her breakdown to be the punchline.

At Wilbur's unflinching smile she says it again, with more conviction. "I'm not!"

"How else do you think you're talking to me? How your bakery is still in one piece? Sorry to be your grim reaper Niki, but you're dead. And now you're here, in the afterlife, with me!" He leans in close, close enough that she should feel his breath on her.

There is nothing. He is nothing.

(And maybe, so is she)

"Isn't that great? We're together again! You and me, just like the old days. And look," His eyes glance at what she wears. It's the coat. Specifically, Wilbur's coat, wrapped around her shoulders.

"We're even matching," he coos.

She thinks she might scream.

She throws herself away from him, almost throws the coat too, but into the furnace next to her.

('I gotta burn the memories I need to destroy it I need to destroy it I need to destroy it,' she once screamed to no one but herself. History repeats itself)

How she ever found comfort in this ratty, old coat she'll never know. And she'll never care to find out. Not when Wilbur is acting like this, like before, like a loose city wire, all dangerous and unpredictable, each word an electric spark, and Niki is trying not to get stung. She remembers how that story ended.

But her's will not end. Not yet.

"I can't be dead," she argues. "I don't remember that I would remember something like that so I - I can't be dead, and I have two lives left so, no, no I can't be I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive and I'm in bed I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive and you're not real, just a nightmare. I'm alive I'm alive I'm - "

"It's really me, Niki," Wilbur says, and the fire from the furnace roars in response as if his words fan the flames. It's the first time something in this wicked place has felt alive. "In the flesh. Or, rather, a close imitation of it. I think my corpse must have liquified by now, swelling up for months before bursting open, leaving nothing but a skeleton behind. What about you? What did you leave for them to find?"

She covers her ears. "Stop! Stop it stop it stop it!"

"Remember it. Remember your last moments."

"Wilbur, please - "

"Feel your wrist," he says. No, orders. And she does. Because she, at her core, is still his soldier.

(She says that she is loyal to him and he responds by saying he wants her to be loyal to L'manburg. She remembers being confused, for she saw them both as the same. Wilbur is L'manburg and L'manburg is Wilbur, one cannot coexist without the other. A few months later, amongst the wreckage of her nation and a father's anguished screams, she'll realize too little too late how true her statement holds)

She doesn't find her heartbeat.

For a second she thinks she made a mistake. That she has her fingers in the wrong place, but no. A soldier knows where to look for life so that they may snuff it out. She can't be making a mistake.

Still, she presses her fingers down, harder this time, nails first, that blood draws, and sobs as she's still met with nothing.

She has no heartbeat.

She is dead.

She chokes. She clutches her chest, not because it hurts to know what she lacks in her chest, but because she remembers. Remembers it so intently, remembers it happening in the snap of a finger, literally, from a smiling God (and maybe it is quite a fitting end, for she goes out the same way she lived, giving second chances to men who don't deserve it) and how the world tilted as the ground slipped away.

But what's worse is the realization that comes after.

"I didn't leave anyone anything to find," she says.

Wilbur raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"I didn't leave anyone anything to find because I didn't die," she says again, but weaker. More horrified. "I was teleported. I was on the holy lands when - "

"Teleported?' Wilbur interrupts. His features, just a second ago, eccentric and mad, turn curious. "Wait wait wait, hold on a second, are you telling me you were sent to Hell, Hell, on the fucking Holy Lands? "

Niki weakly nods.

It goes silent.

Suddenly, a snort. A snort that does not sound like it once did, back before the war for independence, before the election, before banishment, before it all, when all there was was a caravan and the worst of their worries was getting Sapnap a vegan hotdog. It's meaner, more shrill, and laced with a madness that seems to roll off his tongue so easily nowadays.

If she weren't watching how hard Wilbur's shoulders shake she'd have never guessed such a sound would come from him.

But there's something else about this snort that chills her to the core. Although she never could have imagined it coming from Wilbur doesn't mean she hasn't heard this kind of laugh before.

It's almost breathless, almost like something left on a stove, steaming, almost like the sound of -

(Dream and Wilbur worked together, both wanted L'manburg gone, both almost killed a kid, both cut off attachments, both lost trust in others, all things Niki has done too, and if Niki is like Wilbur and Wilbur is like Dream then that means - )

(No. Please, no)

"That is -," Wilbur wheezes, wiping away a tear. "That is horribly ironic."

"DreamXD!" She shouts, head tilted up. "Take me back! Take me back right now!"

Wilbur shakes his head. "Oh, no need to try that. I've been there. The whole shouting for help thing? Yeah, will do you no good. No one can hear you down here."

"DreamXD! I'm here!"

"Scream all you want, prime knows you don't need to breathe down here so nothing's stopping you from doing it for forever, but when your screams are all you hear for eternity… well, it'll drive any person mad."

"DreamXD," she shrieks. And her lungs don't shake, don't even give a small quiver, she knows it. Nothing in her does, for the gears don't need to be turning to keep this machine of a body that's been on autopilot since an explosion knocked her off her feet alive anymore. "Please!"

"You stop talking after a few years of just endless screaming for your voice becomes a reminder of your entrapment. But then the silence itself, after a few years, is unbearable. Yet you don't dare speak or make any noise, so it's just madness of a new kind."

She pushes her way past him and makes her way to the exit of her bakery. "I - I liked the magic trick, DreamXD! I really did! You - you can teleport me back now!"

"Too scared to make a noise, but too scared to keep quiet. So you stand still. Your body deteriorates, muscles numb from lack of use, and all you do is use your nails to scratch marks onto the walls to mark how many years have passed since… since absolutely nothing."

She stills. She slowly turns around.

(L'manburg is surrounded by a wall. A wall so mighty and tall she never thought she'd see the day it'd be torn down, much less by its own inhabitants. But this wall right here, the one between her and this old friend, this is a wall that will never meet the same end as its predecessor)

"Wilbur," she whispers. "What do you mean by years?"

Silence.

Wilbur has a far-away look in his eye.

(That look was born in a dirt hole on the side of a small hill and Niki doesn't learn that lesson for she builds her bakery in a similar place. Two places, so small, so cramped, started with hope, have become their worst downfalls, their unfinished symphonies. She parallels him in all the wrong ways)

She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted where she stands. "Wilbur," she weeps. "How long have you been down here?"

He laughs.

(There was a time it made Niki's heart stop. It still does, but for different reasons now)

"Eleven years."

Niki covers her mouth to stifle a broken cry. She was paralyzed before but now, with fear pumping through her veins, she runs. Fear is a more dependent motivator than strength or bravery could ever be, for fear, unlike any other heroic emotion, can't be beaten out of you. Can't be threatened out of you by a friend on your birthday as you try to stop him from pressing a button. Fear only grows, like a weed, you can try to get rid of it all you want, but it multiplies the more you struggle.

She finally gets to the exit, nearly throwing herself at it, only to find a stone wall staring back at her. It's been cemented shut.

She's trapped.

(She is in a cage, a zoo animal for Manburg citizens to point and laugh at. It is cramped, it is humiliating, and it is her home, her everything in wake of becoming nothing to people she once considered friends, Schlatt tells her. Until Quackity frees her. But there is no one to free her now. Except herself)

She pulls up her sleeves and begins mining with her bare hands.

She's been torn apart before, but at least it was quick. This, the way her flesh slowly peels off at each scratch is its own kind of torture. Not because it's painful, but the torture in knowing what you're willing to do to yourself just to see the sky again.

She keeps going.

(She does not throw up at the sight of chunks of flesh dangling where nail once was because she is a soldier and she has seen worse. Seen a child trapped in a box screaming for help and she's unfortunate enough to have a seat in the splash zone. Helped patch up Ponk's wound where his arm should be, afraid she might lose him to blood loss because whoever chopped his arm off didn't cut across the joint to avoid the bone and therefore had to hack again and again and again to get through the bone. Sewed Fundy's head back together from when Schlatt beat him over the scalp with a beer bottle before dying in the caravan; it took a couple of hours to finish because his fur made it hard to spot the bits of glass sticking out his skin. This is not the first or last time she will wash blood off her clothes, she just has to hope it will continue to be someone else's and not her own)

Wilbur comes up beside her. He doesn't even try to stop her, much less flinch at all the red on the wall. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it. Tommy did."

She snaps her head to him, her clawing ceasing. "Tommy was here?"

He nods. "Arrived a few years ago. I have to admit, when a space opened up here I thought it would be him again, not you. Not that I'm complaining. Don't get me wrong he's a good kid but, well, you know how Tommy gets."

(Everyone you've ever hated, everyone you've ever sworn to end; Schlatt, Tommy, and although you do not hate Wilbur or Jack you're relationship with them is complicated because they remind you of when you spiraled, you lot are all connected now, bound together from sharing the similar experience of death. She can never separate herself from them. Will be rever grouped in with the people she can't stand most)

"How long was Tommy here for?" She asks softly.

Wilbur clicks his tongue. "Two months I think."

She closes her eyes.

(She wanted to look deep into the crater Tubbo's nuke made and confuse Tommy's charcoal, burnt body for obsidian. She wanted to catch Tommy's choked last breaths in a bottle and get drunk on it every night. She wanted to leave spruce wood on his grave as a sort of flag marking her latest conquest. She wanted to stop thinking that if Wilbur was wrong for believing in Tommy then that means he might have been wrong for believing in her)

She doesn't want Tommy dead anymore and although they're still not friends even she wouldn't wish this on him.

"Two months," she says, and it sinks in.

Is that how long she'll have to wait until someone comes looking for her?

That is if someone even cares to look.

(Puffy doesn't respond to any of her messages after their first date. She turns Jack away when he tries to pull her back into the obsession of caving Tommy's head in. Everyone grieving L'manburg remembers her setting L'mantree aflame. Anyone in the Eggpire is too far gone to even care about themselves. She doesn't have a Tubbo. Isn't anyone's disk. She's just Niki, forgotten, ignored Niki, the first ghost of the server before Ghostbur. Why spare a glance at someone transparent? Someone, not all there?)

No one will come for her.

Wilbur cracks his fingers, and Niki winces, for her bones are still on flesh display and slowly repairing. "Well, now that we've played twenty questions let's move on to a new game. You up for some solitaire?"

She rises to her feet and numbly nods. She might as well have something to do to, to try and prevent the inevitable insanity with a card game.

Might as well accept her fate.

Wilbur reaches into his pocket and pulls out the cards. He sits down on the ground. "Sorry," he says. "I'd offer we play on a table but there are no tables in a train station and I doubt your bakery has one either." He hands her half of the deck. "Help me set it up."

But Niki doesn't take them, for she's focused on the word table because -

(There's a table, a weird table, made up of this block she's never seen before. It's sponge-like, with a hole on top decorated by a blueish-green frame, and she's about to ask where they found it when Phil suddenly apologizes for exploding her bakery. At her shocked expression, he explains he'd like to air out all possible tensions before starting their first-ever official Syndicate meeting so that no past grievances keep them from working as an effective team. Techno merely snorts, saying it's not their fault her bakery was on government land, and Phil responds by shooting him a glare fit for his title as Angel of Death. She'd have laughed, she'd have cried because such a look was once how Phil got Wil to eat his vegetables if it weren't for the fact she tells them they have nothing to apologize for. Tells them she left the oven on the day before the attack and by next sunrise, it was already burnt to the ground. Ranboo doesn't blink once from where he sits across from her as she talks. She sees in his eyes that day, how her laughs and her wails blend in with the chaos around her, as if it belongs there, as if she is one with it. And maybe she is, for the fire that consumes her bakery grows and grows and grows but Niki just gets smaller and smaller and smaller as if she has to sacrifice bits of herself to keep the fire going. Perhaps she is, for every monster requires an offering, and her bakery is that. A representative of the old her burning alive to make room for the new, merciless, unhinged her. Good. She looks down at the flint and steel in her hand and in the reflection of the metal she sees a boy with mismatched eyes standing behind her, staring. And then he takes out his book and writes. It feels like Ranboo has placed a noose around her neck. The memory fades and she holds her breath. She waits for him to say something, to call out her lie. This time, Ranboo undoes the knot. He looks away)

Because she needs to tell Ranboo she appreciated his silence that day. Needs to joke about how all this snow reminds her of an ice cream shop and watch Ranboo nervously laugh as she lightheartedly punches him on the shoulder.

Because she needs to know how that story Phil was telling her about his adventures with Techno on another server, something about an Antarctic Empire, ends. Needs to feed the crows with him to make sure he doesn't stare at their wings for too long.

Because she needs to braid Techno's hair one last time while they talk about how pink is clearly the superior hair color. Needs to thank Techno for giving her these becauses, for they wouldn't exist in the first place had he not offered her a place in the Syndicate.

Ironically enough, she always knew she'd die before she could give back all that she owed them. But only because what she owed them was too long a list, too difficult to be expressed in any way that captured what they deserved.

(Somewhere, in a snow biome, there is a family. They're different from each other, too different at times, and yet Ranboo and Techno could wear each other crowns, each fitting perfectly on their heads and no one would know of the switch, except for Phil of course. Right now they're probably looking at their comms around the dinner table, confused by the last message. 'Nihachu fell from a high place.' They aren't worried. Not yet. But in a couple of days, months for her, they'll start to pace. Phil will stand at the edge of the roof, ready to step off, only to remember he doesn't have wings, can't look for her high up in the sky like he used to when she was a kid. Ranboo will force himself through experiments, lose sleep, break himself in, trying to learn how to teleport so as to cover ground faster in the search, to do more than just let his powers go to waste when they could be what brings her home. Techno will grab her rainbow sweater and put it to Steve's snout, but the trail will go cold every time until eventually all of Niki's clothes don't smell like her anymore. They'll do this every day. Nothing will change but their hope, dwindling away each day. So will they just stare at that last message, her unintentional goodbye, looking for some sort of explanation? For some secret message? Some coordinates until they go mad? They won't think she's dead until they've found a body. Won't stop looking, won't leave a corner of the server untouched. Won't stop till they have something to bury)

She can't do that to them.

She slaps the cards out of Wilbur's hands.

"No," she growls, trying to sound tough and less like a kid throwing a tantrum. Perhaps slapping the cards away was not the best start. "I am not going to waste my time playing Solitaire when I could be spending it finding a way back home. And I will if it's the last thing I do."

Wilbur frowns. Niki has the inkling suspicion it has more to do with the cards being all scattered about than from her declaration. "There is no 'last thing I do anymore.' You dying was the last thing you'll ever do. All you have now is this. This is your forever. Our forever."

She turns away from him, just for a second. Away from the sight of his furrowed brows and the crinkles in the space between them where her index finger would go to poke as she teased him. Away from the scrunch of his nose she would joke made him and Techno finally look like twins. Because despite everything, despite all the months that have settled into their bones since the last they saw each other and the wars they've fought on land and in their minds, it's still Wilbur's face. But only in the physical sense. After that, he stops being her Wilbur.

This would be so much easier if his face had physically morphed into a stranger, to prove to her how much he's changed, what he's become over the months, is not all in her head.

Somehow, she finds a way to start.

"You know, not too long ago I'd have stayed with you here. I wouldn't have even put up a fight. I'd have just laid down, closed my eyes, and let the vines on these walls grow over my body until I was just moss. I was… I was so tired, Wilbur. A part of me always will be. I understood. I finally got why you acted the way you did. There was a time I was on half a heart and instead of eating I would - "

Her body begins to shake so hard she almost expects to look down and she cracks in the ground from an incoming earthquake. The only cracks see she's are her own.

She can't say it. Not like that. Not yet.

" - I would respawn to restock the hunger bar," Niki chokes out instead.

(She respawns with dried blood on the back of her head and bones still rattling from the fall. Along her jutting spine, in an almost perfectly straight line that could be confused for an unkempt path lost to weeds and drought, are bruises. She doesn't feel them. All she feels is the urge to do it again)

She blinks and her hand is in her hair, looking for the bump. She pulls her hand away as if it's a hot furnace. "But I can't stay. Things have changed. I've changed. This is not the first time something dark has tried to consume me, but I can't let it win this time. I can't let this place turn me numb and unhinged, or worse, content. Not when I have people to go home to. Not when - "

She looks down at her hand, the one that traced her scalp, and sees it has clenched into a fist.

(At the count of three, Niki throws rock. She groans as she notices all the other hands make paper. Ranboo and Techno exhale as if the losing sentence wasn't shoveling the front lawn, but death. Or worse, going shopping with Phil for a refrigerator to put in the Syndicate meeting room. Ranboo lost that one. Niki points at Techno's hooves and says it's cheating since they can't ever tell which shape he chooses. She demands a rematch with the same tone one uses to declare war. A few minutes later, they're shouting, going over the rules of rock, paper, scissors, and they only stop when Phil comes home and pulls out the dad voice. They begrudgingly agree to do a rematch another time, once they've cooled down. That was yesterday)

She holds her fist close to her heart. The hand was never her rock, it was always three men in a snowy cabin, handing her a mug of hot cocoa. "Not when I have a lawn to shovel."

Silence.

Then, Wilbur sighs. "You know," he says. He places his arms behind him and leans back to get a better look at her. Somehow, even on the ground, he looks to hold all the power. "Years ago your determination would have been a sight for sore eyes, but here's a reality check. I've been here for almost a dozen years. Eleven years of letting the passing train rip right through me in the hopes it would send me to another layer of hell or maybe propel, heck, even drag my body to the next station. But every time I'd wake up back in the train station as if nothing had happened. Like my body breaking under the wheels was nothing."

He is an avalanche, growing and picking up speed with each word, and Niki realizes, too little too late, she's about to be buried alive. She tries to step back, but Wilbur is up quick and approaching. "There is no escape. The limbo is our stage and we have our lines, our cues, but we do not have a curtain call. We just keep going and going, an endless loop. You can't not play your part. It won't let you."

"I have to at least try," she says.

"Why? What's the point? They'll never know you tried."

Her fear turns to disgust. "Is that why you think I'll try? For the sole reason that one day they'll know what I've done for them? That's far from the truth."

(People built statues of Tommy, for all he's done, for all the influence he had on this server. Niki knows they will not give her the same treatment. But that's fine, more than fine. All she needs is a grave in the snow, beside a little cabin)

She didn't want to look at Wilbur's face before, but now, glaring at him straight on, all she sees staring back is Phil.

The day they found out Wilbur didn't inherit Phil's immortality was the day Phil looked like he should, centuries-old instead of thirty-three, the age when angels stop physically aging. Niki will never forget how deep the lines on Phil's face ran. They might as well have been cracks. And maybe it was, for Phil was breaking as he held his dying son - not dying now, but for an immortal, every second a mortal breathes is just inevitable death - in his arms.

But what still haunts Niki the most after all these years are his eyes. They carried the weight of the world in them. She could feel it, even now, pressing down on her shoulders. All the wars, the fall of cities, the birth of them, children with big smiles and even bigger graves.

Niki was not a soldier yet. She was just a nine-year-old girl who wanted to sleep over at her best friend's house.

She threw up in their sink and they mistook it as her reaction to the news. She didn't correct them.

The only reason she slept easy that night was from the knowledge she would never see those eyes on Wilbur's face. And yet, lo and behold, here it is, like a punch to the gut.

Except now, Niki has had time to numb herself to it. It's hard to get surprised by such a dead look when it's on the face of your roommate.

(Phil's screech - no, not a screech, a caw, high pitched and grief-stricken - is like an alarm clock. Except, instead of Niki waking up to the rising sun outside her window, it's to moonlight and blinking stars. This is the fifth time this month she's met Ranboo and Techno outside Phil's cabin, armed to the teeth, ready for war. The door creaks open, loudly, but they don't wince, for they know it won't wake him. Nothing really does when he's in this state, except for one thing. Techno holds him down and it's weird, will always be weird, to see Techno use such force, such retaliation, on Phil of all people, and then Phil nearly throws Techno through the wall with just a brush of his fingers, and she remembers it's necessary. This isn't Phil they're dealing with, it's the Angel of Death. It takes a while until Techno can get all of the Angel's limbs down, but even then they know it won't last long, and that's when Niki throws a slowness potion on him. Ranboo, meanwhile, turns around all the photos of Wilbur in the room, a safe distance away. They told him it's best he handles that since he's built like a stick, putting him anywhere near a powerful avian would be an accident waiting to happen. It definitely has nothing to do with them freezing up whenever they see Wilbur's smiling face, all happy, and so very alive. Phil's movements turn sluggish as the potion kicks in and Niki holds his face, murmurs soft words, and Techno gives his own weird, but comforting, comments. Something about how Phil can't afford to lose sleeping beauty to these night terrors, what with his old age. Niki snorts. Phil's eyes open immediately. Phil sucks in a sharp breath, like he's forgotten how to breathe, his fist clenching and unclenching. The eyes are back. Based on Techno's face Niki knows then she's not the only person that has seen them. They look at each other, nod, and hold him as he cries. They don't need to ask. There's only one person that could cause such a look. They force Ranboo, who is awkwardly standing to the side, to join. Eventually, they break apart, and Techno coughs. He says he hates them for making this all emotional and bans such an awkward event from ever happening again. And yet, when Phil keeps waking up with eyes too dark around the corners, Techno is there. And so is she and Ranboo)

She will not be the reason Phil's eyes age another year.

"It's about Phil, Techno, and Ranboo deserving someone who will never stop trying to find their way back to them," she says, with conviction. "I'm sorry you're too twisted to see not all actions stem from reward or acknowledgment."

She expects a laugh, a glimpse at his forked tongue spewing words so sweet she could use them as sugar in her desserts, only to take a bite and realize it was salt all along. But what she gets is silence. The type of silence before a storm.

"Phil?" Wilbur whispers.

Niki closes her eyes.

She should have never said their names.

She also should have never opened her eyes again, because Wilbur is looking more like Phil each second. Not because of the eyes. No, worse. Because she sees a boy, a boy with his arms spread open wide and flapping about in an attempt at mimicking his father's wings, and they're both running around in circles in the backyard as he tells her how she'll never have to walk anywhere ever again. He'll carry her when she's tired, when she's not tired, whenever she wants wherever she wants. They stop running around in circles flapping their arms when too much time has passed and his wings still haven't grown in, but the acceptance that it never would did.

She blinks and the memory is gone. Slipping through her fingers like sand.

"How is he?" Wilbur says. His voice wavers a bit. He hides it quickly with a cough, but Niki catches it. Niki thought she always would.

(But then a button was pressed and she realized just how untrue that was)

Niki hesitates. She thinks about the night terrors again. She almost mentions them but falters as she remembers Ranboo telling her how it was Phil who gave him a place to stay after L'manburg was blown up for the last time. How as Technoblade hibernates there's a blanket over his shoulders that wasn't there before and a stick missing from the fireplace. How he always places Niki's plate of breakfast down before the others, as if he knows of her first canon death.

He is a kind man, but that is not why he does these things.

"He misses being a father," she settles on.

Wilbur's shoulders slump. Somewhere, in a different life, Niki's hand is there, squeezing comfortingly. "Is he… is he mad at me?"

"No." She answers quickly. "He's just tired, Wilbur. We all are."

Wilbur laughs. It sounds defeated. Mournful. "Understatement of the fucking year."

He slumps against the wall and Niki is sure it's the only thing keeping Wilbur on his feet. His head hits the smooth stone when he suddenly throws his head back and laughs. Niki doesn't know if she winces from the loud crack the impact makes or from the shrill, unhinged laugh.

"I told him to kill me," Wilbur chuckles. His eyes are blinking rapidly. "I told him to fucking kill me."

(The diamond sword has collected dust. Sometimes, everyone jokes, Phil looks like he has to. Playful teasing about how he's a walking antique that should be displayed in a museum. Phil always laughs them off. But it's moments when he stands too still, alone in his thoughts for too long, that Niki wants to put him behind glass with signs that say 'do not touch,' because all it takes is one gust of wind for an artifact to shatter. But that is no way to live and Phil is not so easily breakable. Worn down a bit, rusted from the loss throughout the eons, yes - who hasn't on this forsaken server? - but not breakable)

Niki thinks she might throw up. "I know."

Wilbur looks at her. His eyes are red, but there are no tears. "You said you understood me. You get why I had to ask him to do it."

"Wilbur - "

" - And so you also understand why you have to stay here."

"What?"

"We've changed Niki," Wilbur starts. "For the worse. Don't you feel it? How that server has destroyed every cell in our body? A slow painful death eating us from the inside out until we've just withered away into someone new, someone unrecognizable?"

(Niki feels she's in a never-ending house of mirrors. Constantly encircled by reflections that are her and not her staring back, each representing different points in her life. Some are unrecognizable, stretched, or squished beyond identification, like a fuzzy memory of a girl carrying a backpack, skipping down a path she was told by a best friend would lead to a nation with yellow and black walls. Some are too terrifying, demonizing her features, giving her slits for eyes and claws for nails holding flint and steel over TNT. All of them she wants to smash)

Wilbur either ignores the horrified expression on her face or doesn't see it. "We killed our old selves as a sacrifice, an offering, to the monster we saw lurking in the edges of our mind. And once you let the monster in there's no going back. All we know from then on is to destroy, to rip apart all we once held dear with no remorse until there's just ash and dust. We thrive, no, revel in it."

(Nemesis, she names herself. Goddess of divine retribution and revenge. Maybe that's who Niki sacrifices herself to. Why she felt such an attachment to the name. A remorseless Goddess said to have led Narcissus to a pool, knowing full well he'd be too captivated to leave his reflection for food or warmth. He died there. It's no coincidence a few weeks before she lived the story herself, leading Tommy to his death in the form of a hot blast of air at the speed of light and seeing it as justice)

"I'm not having this conversation with you," she says, voice shaking. She whirls around, nearly tripping over her feet, fully willing to ignore him as she looks for an exit.

But his next words make her go still.

"Phil didn't know what I'd become. That's why he had to be the one to do it."

She winces. "Don't."

"He didn't even pull out the sword, his arms were too busy holding me, holding me, as if the shape of me still fit against his chest even though I felt so hollow, so much thinner - "

"Wilbur - "

" - he stroked my hair too. Even though it was dirty and unkempt and a mess like everything else about me and I'm pretty sure his fingers got stuck a few times he just wouldn't stop untangling each knot with such care and precision that I remembered my last thought being - "

"Wilbur - "

" - could he have brushed away all the knots and twists in my soul like this? Cleaned me up on the inside like he's doing on the outside? I thought I went crying, Niki. Maybe I did. I'll never know because all I felt was his tears ricocheting on my face - "

"Stop - "

" - he tries to wipe them off. He's cursing at himself, apologizing profusely through hiccuping sobs and, and I don't understand why he's so sorry when it feels like, like when he'd lick his fingers and scrub the grimes of our faces after we played outside too long. Do you remember that Niki - "

"I don't wanna - "

" - because I do. We'd screech so loud, saying it was disgusting and unsanitary as we slapped his hand away and ran, but he'd always catch us a second later because of his wings. I don't wanna run away this time. I'm relishing it, craving every stroke because I'm starting to go cold - "

"Please - "

" - and I wish you weren't teleported here. I wish you had died instead - "

"Wil - "

" - so you would know, so we could relate to what it feels like for the limbo to claim you. To mark you. It's like, it's like being mutilated over and over again. A mallet to your bones, a hole in your brain, everything from your skin to your tendons unraveling before you - "

"Wil listen - "

" - spilling out and about like confetti, and you, you are confetti! You're shredded pieces, everywhere and nowhere all at once, and just as the mangling begins it stops, replaced by the limbo trying to put you, no, force you back together again. It's the same sensation, but in reverse, almost a loop, a tunnel with no light at the end, and all you can do is scream - "

"WILBUR SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME!"

Something shatters

Wilbur falls silent.

Niki looks down. There is a puddle, slowly growing at her feet. She looks to her left. Her hand has punched through the aquarium. Blood trickles down her hand, some get over the glass. She doesn't pull her hand away.

"You never listen," she mumbles, but it seems so loud to her ears. "No one does. No one wants to. I talk and I talk and I talk and yet no response. Not even from the wind. I am a voice box stuck on rewind, repeating myself as life moves on without me."

Niki can hear her voice ring down the bakery, bouncing around with nowhere to settle. Until it does, in Niki's chest, rattling, crackling like a fuse has been lit, and perhaps it has, for her anger feels sizzling. "You used to always say how words were powerful. How they could stop wars, how they could build nations." She lets out a laugh. It burns her throat. "But what would I know?! You and everyone else never gave me a chance to use my voice! Always talking over me whatever chance you could. Even before Pogtopia you walked all over me! Even when I was screaming at top of my lungs you'd - "

She gasps. The glass presses deeper into her skin as her hand trembles. She does not feel it. "Oh primes, oh primes Wil, didn't you hear my screams? I came here screaming, Wil. I, I do know what it feels like for the void to take you. I still feel it, even now, why, why do I still feel it - "

Wilbur staggers to his feet, so quick he promptly falls. He catches himself halfway on Niki's wrist.

His hand scratches on the glass. He doesn't even flinch. Their blood mixes.

(They are one)

He doesn't even grip too tight, and yet it hurts. Stings. "You do understand," he grins. Wide, too wide for his face, that she almost expects his nose and eyes to sink into his skin to make more room. "You do, you do oh thank primes. I'm not alone in this. I've been alone for so long but now, now you're here and you understand! Oh, Niki, I'm so happy you're here."

"You're… happy, I'm here?" She mutters. "You're happy I'm dead?"

He nods frantically. "It's more than that Niki," he says. "DreamXD, whoever that man is, he's my hero for sending you here."

(Parallels between Wilbur and Dream and her and now Wilbur and Dream and DreamXD no no no she can't be them she can't she can't she won't she won't - )

"You don't mean it," she cries. "You don't mean that Wil. Say you don't mean it."

The grin, somehow, becomes wider. She realizes then his eyes don't have to disappear. They're already gone. Replaced by a black hole, too dark in the corners and its gravitational pull making it hard to look away even though she knows staring at it too long will get her sucked into an endless void.

He leans in close like he's sharing a secret. "I only wish he had sent you here sooner."

(Wilbur's life, Niki is realizing, is like a house of mirrors too. Except Wilbur has smashed every mirror. No, actually, not true. Niki sees, if she squints, that Wilbur has abandoned the sledgehammer and is observing a still intact mirror. He didn't keep the mirror depicting a little boy sitting on the steps of a home, their home, trying to play a song and failing because the guitar is too big for his body, but he refuses to buy a smaller one because "this is my Dad's guitar Niki! So, therefore, it's by default the best guitar in the world". Or the one of a father panting heavily on a couch, cursing his human legs while Niki is doubled over laughing because there is a baby fox is running on all fours around the house at 45 miles per hour who doesn't want to be put to bed. Nor the one of a leader, handing out purpose and meaning in the form of a blue and white uniform with a soft smile. No, it's the one of a man who's just pressed a button. Who long before L'manburg's destruction, always felt like he was breathing in smoke, but now kept warm by the ash and dust of his nation flying up to the red sky, it feels - for the first time in a long time - easier to breathe. Niki can't believe he didn't destroy it. He's… preserving it. Why is he preserving this version of himself of all things?)

foolish girl with dreams for a better nation, better server, better future, too much better somethings, you've ruined reality for no one but yourself. think for once about what is and not what was or could have been. he is different. changed for the worse. he's preserving it because he doesn't care about you. can't you see how happy he is over your death? how there's light in his eyes for the first time over yours being snuffed out? how he shows no sympathy in your entrapment here, forever away from Techno, Phil, and Ranboo because it benefits him. so give in and fight fight fight fight

She sees red.

Her fist collides with Wilbur's nose.

She doesn't even wait to hear the crack before she's already reeling back her arm for the next hit.

This time she aims for the jaw. She feels something split. It could be Wilbur's lip or bone. Maybe her mind. She doesn't know and she doesn't care.

What she does know is how familiar this is, having something break under her knuckles. It's easy, familiar even, throwing punch after punch, like some sort of autopilot response. Perhaps it is, for every punch is instinctive, out of body almost. No longer is there a before in the blows, only an after.

Except, that's not true. Not entirely. Because Niki is realizing why there is no before. Because before each blow there is always a struggle from your opponent. Flailing limbs trying to make contact with something, choked wheezes, an attempt to curl into a ball, and, sometimes, begging.

Wilbur does none of that. He's silent the whole time.

It's almost like he takes it willingly.

clever girl with hands too bruised, too scarred, too violent to ever be held so gently. a finger trained to pull the trigger is not meant to bear a promise ring. who's fault do you think that is? you've held back for so long, don't stop now. so give in and get revenge revenge revenge revenge

A swing at his eye. A swift kick to the ribs. A fistful of his hair so tight she could yank his scalp off if she twisted her wrist just so.

It's all a flurry of movements really, too fast for even her own eyes to catch. Half of the time she's lost on where the hits land, totally dependent on wherever the blood leaks the most and the bruises that weren't there a second ago to tell her. Eventually, the damage starts to blur, too much of his face has swelled up to spot any new marks and too many limbs bend at weird angles to differentiate what is and isn't broken, so she stops trying to guess.

Which is why she doesn't know which strike finally gets Wilbur to fall, all she knows is that he does. He doesn't even sway. One second he's on his feet and the next he's on his back.

It's kinda pathetic really, that this was her general.

For a second he's still, too still, and then he spits out a tooth. He licks his gums with a grimace, looking for the gap before finally speaking.

"I see Technoblade's been training you. Do you feel better now?"

clever girl who's seen her fair share of men with livewire tongues, spitting rogue sparks at your skin in the form of harsh words to quiet you down. do not be silenced once more. you let him speak before and it cost you a nation. this time silence him, and I will secure you a limbo without him. so give in and maim maim maim maim

She screams. She thinks she does. It's hard to tell over the deep reverberated banging of Wilbur's head against the stone floor.

The first slam simply causes blood to trickle down his forehead.

The second one caves in the front of his scalp.

The third one he's unrecognizable.

The fourth one there's nothing left to bash.

She keeps going anyway.

"Shut up," she pants between each crack and occasional splat. "Shut up shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP."

Wilbur tries to say something. All that comes out is a gurgle, wet and sharp and loud. So very loud. And it keeps going, stringing along and along and along longer than the large chunks of skin and brain on the pavement. It shouldn't be possible, his mouth, along with everything else, is practically gone. Nothing but a small pit inside a bigger pit.

Yet it continues, getting increasingly louder in pitch.

And then she gets it.

He's scared.

clever girl of never-ending war zones, jumping from one horror to the next. this is the last one. and I know that's been said before but you can trust me. just end it and you can finally rest. wouldn't that be nice? so give in and kill kill kill kill kill

She smiles. It hurts her face.

She picks his head up from the ground one last time. She's humming, like a lullaby. Maybe it is. She's putting the baby to sleep. She knows he can't die again, but wherever he goes after this, if the limbo keeps its promise, it can't be pretty.

"I said," she laughs. "Shut up."

She brings his head down.

She blinks.

Her empty hand meets black stone slabs.

"Niki?"

She looks up and immediately regrets it. Everything is too bright, scorching, a burning gaze on every inch of her skin, but what really hurts are her eyes. She thinks they're sizzling, like actually sizzling, because her sclera feels as if it's bubbling and her iris is definitely melting into her brain and there are so many spots dancing behind her eyelids.

And then the voice, soft and familiar, speak's again.

"Do you have your stuff?"

It takes a while, and a lot of blinking, but her eyes eventually readjust.

She gasps.

The first thing she processes isn't that George and DreamXD stand just a few feet away or that it was George speaking. No, it was how absurdly colorful, everything was.

Here there was life. Life. It was like she poked her head through a kaleidoscope, what with how the specks of a rainbow illuminated itself in the clear blue water of the fountain and the sight of shimmering white quartz glistening under the sunbeams that poured through the purple-tinted windows. No longer was everything dulled around the corners and drained at the center like anything in her dreadful, cramped space of a bakery she shared with -

Oh primes.

Her bakery.

This isn't her bakery. This is Church Prime.

"She's back," DreamXD exclaims. He turns to George, bouncing on his heels excitedly as if expecting some sort of reward, but George pays him no mind/ He's too busy looking at Niki, or, more so, through her.

"What happened?" He asks.

She opens her mouth, then slams it shut.

She's alive. Dear primes, she's alive and she's back and she should be happy, cheering, jumping up and down to feel the livelihood ache in her bones but…

She looks back down at the floor. The floor should be covered in blood. Wilbur's blood, and his bits of flesh and tissue and muscle and -

Oh primes. What has she done?

Or better yet, what didn't she do?

"George," she whimpers. "I don't know what's going on. I, I don't know what's going on here."

She hopes it was her imagination. It had to have been. Otherwise, she hosted Wilbur's head up by the splits of his hair, pushed down as hard as she could and -

She wouldn't. She couldn't, not anymore at least. She left that side of herself in a gate full of slaughtered chickens as Jack demanded they try and kill Tommy again. That side of her is as dead as those chickens.

Right?

She prays so, for this is a church after all, and that means prayers have to be answered here. They have to come true. They have to.

There's a smile in DreamXD's voice when he speaks again as if he knows how much this torments her. "I sent her to hell and then I brought her back."

No.

She sobs. She looks down at her hands. Their bear and yet they feel so heavy. As if the ghost of Wilbur's blood and gore is still there, a new thick-coated layer of skin.

She tortured him. Broke him brick by brick again and again and again even as he tried to beg. Her best friend, her general, her family, begging at her feet, and she kept going, would have kept going too, with an ear-splitting grin, like it was some sort of game.

And it had felt so good to finally get a checkmate.

Wilbur is not a demon. He's just seen too much in too little time. Too much pressure on too little shoulders. Too tired to be all there. It's not an excuse for all the pain he's caused, far from it, but it shows his actions didn't come from a place of malice, but rather a cry for help. Niki knows this, she gets it, and she'll say it time and time again. But all she could think about at that moment, before the final strike, was how happy Wilbur was about her death. He deserved a piece of her mind, but not like that. Never like that.

What is wrong with her?

No, no it wasn't her. It was that place, that voice. It was a parasite, burrowing deep within her brain and planting itself in the center, telling her what to do and what to say. Telling her to slaughter left and right. It was so loud, rattling around in her head and echoing like war drums. She couldn't just ignore it, it was too much. So, no, she is free of guilt, free of responsibility, hands all clean.

But she knows that at the end of the day the host still needs to be somewhat conscious for the parasite to thrive.

Oh primes. Is this what Techno deals with every day?

Then, she jumps to her feet.

Techno, Phil, and Ranboo.

It's coming back now, that memory of fury in her eyes, that fire in her voice as she told Wil she had people to go back to. How she was willing to claw her fingers down to bone to make an exit. But that voice, that stupid stupid voice, it told her she could rest, could get revenge, and against her better judgment she listened. It caught her at a moment of weakness, Wilbur's words of memory lane, of Phil, of everything that came before and after his death, she was at a low point. And like a moth to a flame, she was there one moment and gone the next. Back to the old her.

She thought she had left that version of herself behind when she joined the Syndicate. She was so sure she was getting better with Techno, Phil, and Ranboo around.

But all it took was one voice to ruin all her progress.

Her chest constricts and her head feels heavy.

She needs to find them. She needs to tell them what she saw. She needs to tell Phil. She needs… she needs…

She just needs them.

"What did you see?" George says, snapping her out of her thoughts.

This time, her mouth has no problem moving. "George," she starts, voice trembling. "I have seen things. I... I... I have seen things. I don't know what's going on here but I don't know if I should - "

Niki gulps. It's getting so hard to breathe. She should feel thankful that she can breathe in the first place, but every inhale stings as her lungs try to remember to do a motion so foreign to her.

How long has she been down there?

She doesn't want to know.

She just wants to go home.

She walks away, backward, from the two, eyes fixated tightly on them and barely blinking. She remembers the last time she let her guard down around DreamXD. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry George. Good luck with him but I - "

She doesn't finish, because she's already out the door. She wants to run, but she's so sure her lungs would explode at the first push forward of her heel. So she walks.

And walks.

The world walks with her, with each rotation. As if they’re friends taking a stroll. As if it hadn’t cracked open and swallowed her whole, chewed up everything good in her and spat her out when she turned bitter. Returned her back to a world that didn’t change one bit while she was gone, despite her herself changing so much.

It’s like what happened to her didn’t happen at all.

And then she realizes a horrible thing.

Everyone on this server is going to see today as a normal day.

Is it bad that a part of Niki wishes something like the Green Festival could happen right now, so that they could all feel the monstrosity of today?

She stands still. Stationary, like this Earth wants her to be. She thinks she could do it, stay like this forever. She feels numb enough.

Somewhere above, a crow caws.

She burst into tears.

#dream smp #fanfic #fic #niki nihachu #wilbur soot #technoblade #philza #ranboo #the syndicate #the syndicate are found family because I said so #dsmp #niki #niki fic #niki nihachu fanfic #niki fanfic #dream smp fanfiction #dream smp fanfic #dsmp fanfic

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years ago

Text

Survey #436

from a couple days ago again; still don’t feel like rewriting any answers.

Do you own many pairs of shorts? I don't own any. Have you ever taken a close up shot of a flower? A hell of a lot; I love doing that. Have you ever wanted to get drunk and get your mind off everything? Yup. But I don't like hard alcohol and only really drink light fruity stuff, and I'm apparently no lightweight, so I got to the point I just really didn't want to drink anymore. Anything you might be giving up on soon? I have felt very, very hopeless with photography lately that sometimes I'm tempted. I don't think I will, but... it's hard. When was the last time you changed your picture on Facebook? It's been months. Have you ever painted a piece of furniture? Yes, actually. I helped Jason paint his shelf black. Do you have a favorite quote? No. Have you ever made a business card for yourself? No, but I have thought about it. I just really don't have nearly enough popularity among the local photographers to feel like I really need to design one. Did you love playing hide and seek as a kid? YES. I loved it. Are there any recipes you have memorized? No. Do you know your multiplication times tables? ... no lmao Have you ever been severely burned? Not severely, no. Did you ever dream that you had a baby? I actually have more than once. What was the weirdest thing you ever saw cross the road? I think a turkey? Are you good at coming up with jokes? God no. Where do you prefer to sit when you catch the bus? When I used to ride home with Jason from school, we always sat way in the back. Do you ever listen to music to fall asleep to? No. I did when I was younger, though. I went through a loooong phase of sleeping with my iPod. If your parents... or anybody else... found your cell phone, would they be horrified at any of the messages in your inbox/outbox? No. Do you get offended if someone repeatedly checks their mobile phone when you’re out for lunch or dinner? That's very rude. What is the stupidest thing you’ve heard somebody say recently? Anti-vaccination bullshit from my stepmother. :^) Think about the last person you kissed - was it the very first time that you kissed them? No. When you drink alcohol with friends, do you play drinking games? We never did. Do you believe that there are certain circumstances where cheating is okay? Nope. Who was the last person to call you? My psychiatrist. What food disgusts you the most? Things like sashimi and caviar. I also think rare meat like steak, especially when it's still bloody, is absolutely disgusting. I could go on and on about this, 'cuz I think a lot of food is really gross. One place you would never want to get lost in in the dark? The jungle. Yikes. So many dangerous creatures, so claustrophobic, and with the canopy, I'd assume it'd be EXTREMELY dark. And it rains so much in the jungle, so it'd be hard to hear danger approaching. One thing that always creeps you out? Perhaps #1 is seeing an unborn baby move from outside their mother's stomach. I will fucking scream and want to puke. If you could be roommates with anyone of your choice, who would you pick? SARA!!!!!!!!! Omfg I'd LOVE to have her as my roommate. We've actually talked about the possibility, but that's nowhere near set in stone. What is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard? In light of recent events, a high contender is shit like "vaccines cause autism." Would you rather be buried or cremated when you die? I'd strongly prefer to be cremated. What is your favorite food around the holidays? Spiral honey ham, for one. I love Christmas treats like chocolate-covered peanuts, fudge, cookies, etc. etc... Tell me about the greatest prank you’ve ever pulled? I don't pull pranks. If you could have the power to cast any kind of spell, what kind of spell would you cast? Maybe enchanting the human population to not be such violent and hateful fucks??? Have you ever gotten a flu vaccination? Only for Covid. Double dates: a do or don’t? They are SO fun, but I do feel like it's good to have individual ones, too. Do you know any guitarists? Yes. My old friend Tommy actually plays the electric guitar in a band, and Juan was really good at it, too. How do you feel about full-length beards? They look good on some people. It varies with everyone. Do you have any relatives that have shunned you, or vice versa? Not currently. My half-sister stopped talking to me many years ago when I was a homophobic fuck, and I don't blame her. We're perfectly cool now! Has anyone ever posted a HORRIBLE picture of you for everyone to see? omg no Does/did your high school have pop machines? Yes. Have you ever gambled? Nah. If you could work at any retail store, which one would it be? I am NEVER working retail again. I can't handle it. What’s the name of the last cat you pet? Roman. :') Have you ever stringed green beans before? Yes, actually, with Colleen's in-laws. They had a big garden that I helped tend to sometimes. I absolutely hated it with how sweaty I got even then, it was WAY too hot, and my body was also weak back then to where bending down was extremely painful. I just never wanted to say no. Have you ever had any painful dental work done? If so, what? No. What’s your favorite thing to do when you’re bored? It really depends on what I feel like doing, but I think playing World of Warcraft tempts me most often when I'm unbearably bored. What did you watch today? I've just been rewatching Mortem3r play Monster Hunter World. That game looks soooo fun, I wanna try it. ;-; True or False: Yoshi is the cutest dinosaur ever? No. I adore dinosaurs and dinosaur media, so I could name a lot if I thought long enough. Who is the last person you spent money on? My niece. I still feel awful I didn't buy Ryder a gift by myself; I just could NOT decide what to get him. I'm very thankful that Mom let me use one she got him as "mine." They were bright, light-up golf balls, and he loooooved them. What is your relationship like with various members of your family? I have a biiig extended family, man, so I'll try to keep this as brief as possible. I am EXTREMELY close to my mom, like there is no way I'd be alive without her, and her support for me seems endless somehow. I love my dad very much too, but I don't see him nearly as much as I wish I did. He tries to support me however he's capable, and he always lets me know that he's there if I need him for anything. I love, am very proud of, and look up to my two sisters, but I'm also very envious of them and how they are successful adults with direction and big accomplishments. We are very different, so we have difficulty with really bonding and talking about things regularly, and it really makes me feel like a terrible sister. My nieces and nephew are absolute diamonds to me, and I'm especially close to Ash's oldest daughter Aubree. She and I are very similar in a lot of areas, so I really relate to her, even in her young age. Ryder really seems to like me, and I love that little rascal, too. :') My youngest niece Emerson is still only a baby, so she can't really communicate in words yet, but she is still a beautiful darling that I'd protect with my life in not even a blink. That covers who I consider my "immediate" family, really, at least that I see regularly. What’s something you disagree with about the way you were raised? I am very firmly against spanking, but my parents did it. I think since Ash's kids were born though, Mom's opinion changed on it. It was around that time, I know. She won't lay a hand on them. Who was the last person to add you as a friend on Facebook? I have no clue, actually. Who was the last person that asked if you were okay? *shrug* The last time you were in a car, who was driving? My mom. Did you ever get into a bar and drink before you were 21? Never tried. What countries have you been to? I've never left the U.S. Honestly, is that car insured? I don't have my own car. What do you think about gay marriage? I vigorously support it. Do you like Carrie Underwood? I actually do. She has a beautiful voice. How far away do you live from your parents? I live with my mom. Idk how far I am from Dad, really... but not THAT far. How do you like your steak cooked? Medium well. Have you ever been to Mount Rushmore? No, and I don't want to. It is absolute vandalism. Where is your favorite place (that you have actually been to)? Chicago blew me away, but I think it's just because it was SO foreign to me. I actually don't like cities very much, but for a brief visit, I thought it was very cool. Do you believe places can really be haunted? Yes. Do you take anti-depressants? Sleeping pills? No. I took anti-depressants for I think most of my life, and they did nothing for me. Come to learn from the doctor who actually set my meds straight that anti-depressants for people with bipolarity do nothing but aggravate the symptoms of bipolarity, and I was living evidence. I take mood stabilizers for said disorder instead. I don't take sleeping pills; none seem to work for me. What’s your favourite brand of peanut butter? Maybe Skippy? Idk, I'm not very picky with pb. What’s your favourite Lunchables meal? The nachos one. How many languages can you recite the alphabet in? Two. Do you like Bob Marley? NOOOOOOOOOOOOO. I can't stand his voice. Have you ever eaten at Golden Corral? Yeah, but I'm not a fan. Buffets gross me out. Do you sit and eat dinner at the same table with your family? We very rarely sit at the table. Have you been working hard to achieve something lately? If not, what was the last thing you worked hard to achieve? Losing weight, yes. I am honestly trying so hard at the gym, like to the point I've almost fallen many times as well as been overtaken by incredible nausea a lot. I don't feel like I'm over-working, necessarily, just working my ass off. Do you use ice cubes in your fountain drinks? No, because it waters the drink down and I hate it. Would you ever want your very own library, or do you not read enough for it to be worth it? No. I don't read nearly enough, and besides, can you imagine all the dust? What site did you originally start doing surveys on? I actually don't know... Have you ever used something other than water to make ice cubes? What did you do with them? I've actually never thought to do that. Would you ever willingly experience life temporarily without sight, hearing, or any of your other senses, simply to know what it is like? Fuck no. I would go insane. In what ways are you very judgmental? I'll judge the fuck out of rapists, child molesters, pedophiles, people like that with no goddamn shame. But your average person, I try not to judge very much. What is your main problem in life right now? It's hard to determine my main problem, honestly. There are a lot of issues going on in my life that've just piled up into one big tangled mess. Do your “favourites” change often? Definitely not. I've had the same favorites in so many topics for forever. Have you ever read a biography on someone? I've read Ozzy's autobiography, and I also read the Some Kind of Monster Metallica book, which was written by I want to say St. Anger's musical director? This was a very long time ago, and honestly, I thought it was pretty boring, so my memory is faint. You learned quite a bit about the band in his time with them, but damn, I don't care about the musical director al;skdfal;we. Do you know anyone who has ever been in a movie? Who and what movie were they in? What was their part? Not to my knowledge. I have an acquaintance who's had minor acting roles, but I don't believe she's ever been in a film. When was the last time you brought a pet to the vet? What was wrong with it? I want to say around two years ago (probably less) when we got my cat neutered. Have you ever made your way through a corn maze? No.

#survey #surveys #random questions

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 5 years ago

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Chapter 14

Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart by George deValier

"Feli! Mio Dio, Feli… cosa faccio… non so cosa fare!"

"Schwarz Leader, another one coming down on your tail, six o'clock high, over."

"Listen to me, Lovino. I can't understand you. You have to stop panicking. He is still breathing."

"I'm on it." Ludwig manoeuvred his plane into a hard dive descent, turned abruptly, and fired. The Mustang had no chance. It exploded into a dazzling inferno against the clear blue sky. Ludwig flew over the falling wreckage and went immediately, determinedly, for the next enemy aircraft.

"You have to keep him warm during the drive, and keep this pressure on the wound. Do not stop the pressure, Lovino, understand?"

"Schwarz Leader, you are flying too erratically. I am having trouble keeping on your wing..."

"I am so sorry, sir, I did not realise... i-it was j-just… just a mistake... I swear, sir, if I had known…"

Ludwig practically snarled into his mask. "You will keep up, Schwarz Two. You will do your damn duty and you will push them back!" Another Mustang fell, spiralling towards the ground in trails of flaming smoke. Ludwig felt only the slightest rush of satisfaction before scanning the sky swiftly for his next target.

"I can't... We can't go with them! Ma è una pazzia! What if they..."

"There are too many, Schwarz Leader! Lieutenant, you're flying directly into - Beilschmidt, what the hell are you doing?"

"Lovino, they will take Feliciano to the nearest doctor, then leave immediately. They are just soldiers, not SS. They do not know you are Resistenza."

Ludwig couldn't stop. Enemy planes surrounded him, outnumbered his squad. But he could not stop; he could not make himself stop. This familiar, comforting chaos was the only thing that almost drowned out his memories, almost drowned out his fears. Almost. Ludwig shouted into his mask. "I am the commander of this squad, so you will follow my orders, Schwarz Two. Engage enemy aircraft!"

"They just shot him! How can we trust them? Why should I trust you?"

Turn, fire, dive, climb. Get one down, move on to the next. Keep his squad together. Focus, breathe. "This is Schwarz Leader to Schwarz squadron. We will not pull back from this. Force them into retreat. That is an order."

"Because you have no choice. I would die for him, Lovino, if I could. But this is all I can do. Now go!"

Only when the skies around him were clear did Ludwig finally feel his heart beat in his chest, his lungs fill with air. Only when there were no enemy fighters left to engage did he stop to think. An angry voice crackled through his speakers and drowned out the blood roaring in his ears. "Ground Control to Schwarz Leader. You will bring your squad back to base immediately!"

Once safely landed at the base, Ludwig leapt from his plane, his blood pounding, his head hazy with fury. He threw his headgear angrily to the ground and charged immediately to where his wingman climbed from his own plane. The man's feet had barely hit the ground before Ludwig grabbed him by the collar and slammed the shocked pilot against the side of the machine. "You will never question me in the middle of battle, understand? NEVER!"

The wingman looked like he was about to respond angrily, but Ludwig felt his eyes flare and the man just dropped his gaze and looked away. "Yes, sir."

Ludwig shoved him away forcefully before turning and marching across the airfield, feeling the eyes of his squad on him as he went. He headed directly for the command tent to explain himself yet again.

When Ludwig first arrived back, the military had not asked too many questions. For that, he was grateful. They accepted his made-up story of how he had escaped, sent him on to the next base, and almost before he knew it Ludwig was back to flying, back to doing what he knew best. Back to the same daily schedule, the same day in, day out, the same old black and white. And yet, something was different now. It used to be so easy. When he flew for duty, and his country was all that mattered. When he was a rising young hero of the Luftwaffe who knew nothing of true love or real fear or wide, amber eyes that glittered in early sunshine and afternoon firelight. Now, when Ludwig flew, all he wanted was the fire and the fury of it. The heat and the anger and the blood firing through his veins. Now, all he wanted was to take his mind somewhere else, and he was never quite sure if he wanted to remember or forget.

But now every memory of Feliciano was tainted. Every image of him smiling in the sunlight cut through with the image of him falling and bleeding and turning white. The look of joy and innocence on his face replaced by an expression of wrenching terror and wordless agony. The sound of his clear laughter and singing drowned out by his desperate gasping for breath. This constant turning in Ludwig's mind, this recurring, inescapable replay of events, this endless onslaught of bitter, inescapable memory. The sound of that shot, the twisted look of pain on Feliciano's beautiful face, the way he tried so hard to fight it and keep his eyes open, the way he looked up at Ludwig as though silently begging him for help.

And Ludwig could do nothing. Nothing but cling to Feliciano with desperate hands, order him, plead with him. Nothing as Ludwig's world fell apart before him, as a cold, sick terror unlike anything he had ever known engulfed his mind and body. Nothing as he yelled, confounded, at the German patrol soldiers, as they apologised for their stupid, pointless, world-ending mistake. As Lovino panicked beside him, as Ludwig forced him to take Feliciano and go with the soldiers to a hospital. As Ludwig watched Feliciano go, beyond any fear he had ever imagined, beyond any pain he had thought possible, beyond any hope he dared bring himself to believe.

Every time the circle of memory replayed, Ludwig's mind told him the same thing. No one could survive that. He knew no one could survive that. So why did he refuse to believe it? Maybe because some part of him knew that if he did, he would have nothing left. And he could not live with that. As it was, Ludwig lived for one thing - to know if Feliciano was alive. Yet he had no way to know, and no possible way to find out. And it was killing him. So every day, Ludwig did the only thing he could do. He went up, he did his job, and he tried to remember; tried to forget.

Ludwig walked slowly up the cement road: command buildings and the large, steel hangar on one side, the wide, open airfield on the other. This new base Ludwig had been assigned to was much further north than Feliciano's village, closer to the Austrian border. The Germans had lost too much ground in Italy, lost far too many bases in the northern area. With nowhere left to accommodate them, a small section of the airbase was serving as a temporary base for a small group of SS officers, and even occasionally members of the Gestapo. The very idea of it caused Ludwig's skin to crawl in disgust, uneasy at the proximity of such people. None of the pilots liked the arrangement; but then, as Ludwig was quickly coming to realise, their thoughts had never mattered anyway. Ludwig used to believe they were making a difference. Now he knew that all they were was puppets.

Ludwig pulled on his gloves forcefully, ignoring the occasional glances and whispers he received from other pilots and personnel as he passed. He was used to everyone here staring and speaking about him. He was the brilliant young lieutenant who had not only survived being shot down by the Americans, but had managed to escape them as well. He was the once strict, reliable, straight-laced flight leader who now ordered his squad into dangerous, impossible situations and yet still managed to come out successful. He was feared, respected, misunderstood – and Ludwig could not give a damn for any of it.

Ludwig continued to prepare mentally for the flight ahead, to get himself into the right space, to crave the white noise and red fury of combat. To try not to think, or to think of nothing; still with that photograph in his jacket and that flower in his pocket. He nearly did not notice as he almost walked into a group of pilots standing at an intersection of the road. They all stood silently, watching where a car sat at a short distance, several grey-uniformed SS members milling around it. Ludwig halted immediately. "What's going on here?" he barked at the assembled pilots. "Do you men have nothing better to do than stand around spying on the Secret Police?"

The pilots looked at him guiltily, but one, another lieutenant, spoke up. "They've brought a prisoner in. A pilot."

Ludwig narrowed his eyes. "A pilot? But why…" He trailed off when the door of the car opened and a man in an American air combat uniform was hauled from the back seat. He was barely able to walk, supported under each arm by an SS officer. The front of his jacket was burned black, his hair looked matted with blood. He had no strength to resist the violent grip on his arms. Ludwig remembered the almost courteous way he had been brought into the American base, and nearly choked on a wave of anger and disgust. The lieutenant's voice beside Ludwig broke him from his angry haze.

"That's the Magician they're bringing in." The small group of pilots stared silently in dismay and awed respect. "Looks like he couldn't disappear this time."

The American pilot raised his head slightly and Ludwig bit back a gasp of shock. The man beside him was correct – this was the Magician. The American pilot who had shot Ludwig down, the one who had chatted to him cheerfully; who had treated him with a strange, arrogant sort of civility, who had placed the photograph of Feliciano in Ludwig's pocket. Lieutenant Alfred Jones. He looked almost dead. Ludwig shook his head at the bitter irony, at this horrible twist of fate. "When was he brought down?" asked Ludwig. "Why did we not know about it?"

"Squadron up north apparently, right on the border. SS says he took down seven of them."

Ludwig glanced at the man in stunned disbelief. He couldn't have heard that correctly. It was impossible... "Seven?"

The lieutenant nodded. "That's why we haven't heard about it, I imagine. The SS have been interrogating him. Haven't gotten anywhere. So now the Gestapo are going to have a go."

Ludwig felt sick and confused. "For God's sake why, he is just an American pilot… we shoot them down every day!"

"Didn't you hear? They say he's been collaborating with the Italian resistance." The lieutenant shook his head and spat on the ground. "Who knows how these bastards get their information."

Ludwig felt his blood and muscles freeze in shock. His mind flashed briefly back to those words of Feliciano's… Someone gave me information, but it doesn't matter… In the frantic rush of that late night getaway, in the incredible, breathtaking bliss of just being again with Feliciano, in the panic and terror of those excruciating moments on the road, Ludwig had barely had the time to properly wonder just how Feliciano had managed to find out where he was. But now, Ludwig knew. It was Jones. It had to be him. Ludwig clenched his fists at the sight of the American lieutenant burnt, bleeding and broken. His nails dug into his flesh. "It's not right."

"Not for us to decide, is it?"

The officers dragged Jones off the road and into one of the long, grey buildings which had been designated for SS use. As they passed, Ludwig's gaze met Jones' briefly, but he wondered if those desperate eyes saw anything. This was the man who had told Feliciano where Ludwig was. This man was the reason Ludwig was free and standing here, watching him being dragged to interrogation and torture. Anger and grief and utter hopelessness all fell on Ludwig, pushing him down, turning everything he ever thought he knew of honour and duty and loyalty to ruin.

"Come on," said the Lieutenant beside him, the pilots slowly starting to drift away, their eyes cast downward. "We have a mission briefing."

Ludwig reluctantly walked away.

Another flight, another chance to forget. But there were no enemy aircraft today, and no aerial battle to lose himself in. With no way to release any of his anger and frustration, Ludwig lay staring at the dark ceiling in his tiny room at the base, unable to sleep. There were too many dark emotions thrumming under his skin, too many twisting thoughts racing through his brain. Ludwig never used to think like this, to feel like this. But factions seemed so blurred since he'd met Feliciano, and nothing was the way it was supposed to be anymore. Along with the ever-present thoughts and fears and images of Feliciano, now Ludwig also could not stop thinking of Lieutenant Jones. Of his wide, panicked, unseeing eyes, of his battered body hauled into an interrogation building. Ludwig did not like to think of it, but he knew what happened in that building. He knew the Gestapo did not represent the true soul of his country; he also knew what they did in the name of it. And Alfred Jones was a good man. He did not deserve what was happening to him. Ludwig tossed in his narrow bed, uncomfortable with the thoughts crowding his mind, and tried to tell himself – there were millions of good men who did not deserve what was happening to them every day in this war. That was what war was. Ludwig tried to justify it, but he couldn't. Because this was one situation he could do something about. And if Feliciano could be that brave for him – then Ludwig could do something brave and right as well. All traces of fatigue and sleep fell from him, and Ludwig pushed himself from the bed, awake and thrumming and determined. And he came to a decision.

These buildings were not designed for Gestapo use. There were no impossible collection of locks on the doors, no hidden rooms behind innocent walls. There was simply a long, brightly lit corridor, doors leading to windowed rooms, indifferent staff whose eyes glossed over the tall, large blond in the grey police jacket who marched through the nearly empty hall. Ludwig kept his eyes forward, his shoulders straight. If there was one thing he had learnt from years in the military, it was that if you looked like you belonged somewhere, few people asked questions. His pulse beat steadily, his focus sharp and unwavering. He felt like he did in the middle of a flight – ready, determined, and prepared. Fear did not enter the equation.

Ludwig took a sharp turn into another corridor, and his stomach immediately jumped. The lights ended halfway down the hall, leaving the far end covered in shadow. It was entirely empty, entirely silent. Ludwig took a deep, steadying breath and marched briskly down the hall. His mind could barely acknowledge what he was doing. Pilots were not allowed in this section of the base. He had no idea how he would explain himself if he was caught. He had no idea how to even explain it to himself. Just what was he doing, trying to find this American pilot? Just what did he think he could do in the end? And why did it suddenly matter so damn much?

Ludwig reached the last door on the right, the only one with a folder attached to the front and a small, makeshift lock above the door handle. Ludwig turned and looked again down the hall, his eyes sweeping through every shadow and his ears tuned for the smallest echo. There was nothing. He raised an eyebrow, finding himself strangely put out by his military's lack of security. Yes, it was the early hours of the morning, but it should not be this easy to make his way to an important prisoner's room unimpeded. Ludwig turned back and studied the door closely in the dim light that filtered down the hall. Since these rooms were never designed to be prisons, proper locks had not been fitted. And this bolt on the door looked far too flimsy to be effective. Ludwig simply grasped the handle, pulled to steady it, then slammed his arm down on the lock. It ripped from the door, and Ludwig dropped it disdainfully to the ground before entering the room.

It felt colder in the small, white room. A cold, sterilised smell pervaded the air, mixed with a hint of blood. Only one high window lent a small amount of light to the place, showing it empty but for a table in the centre and an iron bed against the far wall. And there, unnervingly still and white in the moonlight, lay Lieutenant Alfred Jones. Ludwig hurried over to his side with a mixture of relief and horror in his gut. Jones' eyes were closed, his breathing low and shallow. Ludwig could not tell if he was asleep.

"Lieutenant Jones."

Jones did not open his eyes. He answered in a slow, broken monotone. "Name, Alfred Jones. Rank, Lieutenant. Serial number, 501/7." His voice was low and hoarse.

Of course… the only three things required to be said in military law. Ludwig had employed the same tactic when he had been captured. The Americans had tried to get more from him, had kept him awake for hours asking questions. But they had never tried anything like this. "Jones, I need you to tell me something."

Jones' breath came faster and his hands clenched. "Name, Alfred Jones. Rank, Lieutenant. Serial number, 501/7." He obviously thought he was still being interrogated.

"No, listen, I…"

Jones' voice rose louder. "Name, Alfred Jones. Rank…"

"Damn it, listen to me, I am not an interrogator. My name is Lieutenant Beilschmidt." Jones did not answer. "Ludwig," Ludwig explained. "Ludwig Beilschmidt."

Jones' eyes shot open. They were a sickening shade of red and darted frantically before settling on Ludwig's. "Ludwig… the German pilot… Feliciano…"

Ludwig nodded in relief. So it was as he had thought. Jones had spoken with Feliciano. "Yes."

"What are you doing here? You escaped? How?" Jones spoke slowly, his words slurred.

"I was hoping you could tell me. Are you the one who told Feliciano where I was being held? Because if you did, I am here because of you."

Jones made a croaky gasp which might have been a laugh. "I see. Forgive me if I don't celebrate your release." It seemed to be increasingly difficult for Jones to form the words. "My regard for German servicemen has been somewhat damaged lately." He suddenly gasped and clutched at his shoulder, his face twisted in pain. He was in terrible shape, yet as bad as it looked, it seemed the Gestapo had not yet got to him. If they had, he would be far worse than this. Jones' entire manner was slow and groggy. Ludwig had heard of the drugs the SS used to extract confessions from prisoners, and wondered just how much of this conversation Jones would remember.

"I am sorry," said Ludwig softly, honestly. "I just want you to know that… that…"

"Yeah?"

To know what? What could Ludwig do now? At the sight of Alfred Jones lying in drugged agony from the hands of Ludwig's own military, he knew immediately. He could not leave this man here much longer. "I am going to repay the debt I owe you."

Jones glared at him with blood-red eyes. "We'll see… about that." He dissolved into a coughing fit and turned away. Ludwig nodded and walked out the door, passing a lower ranked SS member on his way down the corridor. He snapped at the man loudly.

"The last door on the right. Fix the damn lock."

Once the decision was made, it became surprisingly easy to follow through. For the first time in his life, Ludwig was doing something because he thought it was right, not because it was what he was told. For the first time, he was ignoring his duty, and breaking the rules. Damn the rules. Damn it all. His superiors, his leaders… what did he owe any of them? Which of them had ever done more for him than this unknown American? Ludwig was reminded of the words Feliciano had asked him so simply, so innocently, on that long ago winter afternoon they had walked together to the village market. Is that why you do it? Because it is your duty? When Ludwig had been so sure it was not his place to question his country's reasons; when Feliciano had told him so easily that it was.

Ludwig sat at the outdoor café in the little border village, waiting for the contact he had been assigned. Whether this was to betray his country or redeem himself, he did not know. It had taken him two days and endless broken, suspicious conversations with villagers to track down someone who knew something of the Resistenza, and a further day to convince them to allow Ludwig to meet with one of them. Ludwig was unarmed and dressed in civilian clothes. To the busy throng of Italians who passed by on the sunny street, he could have been anyone. Watching them pass, Ludwig again could not stop the memories of Feliciano flooding his heart and mind. How charmingly innocent he had looked sitting at a street table just like this as an SS execution squad approached the town square; how afraid and horrified he had looked as he realised what was happening. How desperate Ludwig had been to get him away from that, to protect him from having to see something like that. How his lovely face had lit up as Ludwig brought up their language lesson, trying to take his mind off the ugly events that had just occurred. Ludwig put his head in his hands briefly, overcome by this familiar, desperate, unbearable ache for Feliciano. Feliciano, who was too innocent, too pure, too sweet and honest and beautiful for any of this. Feliciano never deserved any of this.

Rubbing his face with his hands, Ludwig looked up to see a broad, dark haired man push through the busy café crowd, his eyes fixed on Ludwig. Ludwig's entire body jolted to a rigid halt. His eyes froze, wide and unblinking; his very lungs seemed to steal the breath from him and turn it cold. He could not remove his hands from his face, could not make himself stand, could do nothing but watch as the man marched through the parting crowd to stand directly over him. The man stared down with hard, dark eyes, with a disapproving, hostile expression. For the first time in weeks, Ludwig felt a flash of fear. He knew immediately who this was. The same hair, the same eyes. A bigger, older, sterner version of Feliciano. This was Feliciano's grandfather. Ludwig finally swallowed heavily and forced himself to his feet, completely numb to the sensation of it. When he eventually managed to speak, he stumbled over the words. "Signor Vargas."

"Lieutenant Beilschmidt."

They just stared at each other, silently, neither making a move to back down or look away. In the heavy silence, Ludwig realised – this man knew who he was. Knew what he was to Feliciano. This man knew everything. Finally Vargas broke the silence, speaking in English. "You are taking a very big risk coming here, German."

"So are you."

Vargas did not respond to that. "I have been informed you have information for..."

"Please," interrupted Ludwig, unable to wait anymore, unable to stand it. This was more than he had dared to hope. This was the chance he had prayed for, begged for. This was finally his opportunity, after weeks of ignorance and hell, to know the only thing he had ever really needed to know. "Feliciano. Please tell me he is alive."

Vargas raised an eyebrow dangerously. "If that is all I am here for, German, if you have lied about having something of vital importance for us only to be able to ask…"

"I have not lied." Ludwig barely noticed or cared that he was interrupting. He had never needed anything in his life like he needed to know, right now, if he had anything left to live for. "I swear, I have your information. I am simply asking to know one small thing in return. I need..." Ludwig broke off shakily and ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm his ragged nerves. "Please, signore, I need to know."

Vargas took a deep breath, pondering the request. "Perhaps we should take a seat to discuss this, Lieutenant."

Ludwig nodded, sitting so fast he nearly knocked the chair over. He gritted his teeth and told himself to get it together. Vargas sat carefully in the seat opposite him, not tearing his eyes from Ludwig's the entire time.

"You have been asking questions in town, Lieutenant. Questions that an officer of the Luftwaffe should not be asking. You are very, very lucky that information of this came to me, and not to others who might be dangerously suspicious of what a German officer is doing asking after the Italian resistance." Vargas sounded like Feliciano, but deeper; his eyes were Feliciano's, but slightly darker. And he knew. He knew if Feliciano was alive. But this was a man of battle, and he was going to make Ludwig fight for the information. Ludwig drew himself up in his chair, squared his shoulders and raised his chin. He would show this Italian how he could fight.

"And you are giving your name, showing your face to a German officer in close contact with the Secret Police. I believe we could both be in a dangerous situation here, signore." Ludwig glared evenly.

Vargas' eyes flashed, but the corner of his mouth actually rose slightly. "Well said, German. Although I doubt very much you went to all this trouble just to put an old man in the hands of the SS."

"Not just any old man. From what I have heard of you, Roma Vargas, you are an enemy to be feared." Ludwig knew immediately this was the right thing to say. Vargas looked quite pleased.

"All right, German. Give me this information of yours, and we will see where we go from there."

Ludwig nodded and leant forward slightly. "There is an American pilot at our base. He is being interrogated."

Vargas furrowed his brows. "Interrogated at an air base?"

"Due to certain circumstances, we are being forced to share our base with those we would prefer to distance ourselves from. When I say I am in close contact with the Secret Police, signore, I mean it quite literally."

Vargas' features twisted in disgust. "I see. So the SS interrogates shot down American pilots now?"

"This one is different. They believe he has information about the Resistenza."

Vargas again looked confused. "How could he possibly..."

Ludwig interrupted quickly. "His name is Lieutenant Alfred Jones."

Vargas broke off and sat back silently. He shifted nervously, rubbing a hand across his chin. He appeared to be thinking, then just shook his head, his expression puzzled. "Lieutenant Jones… yes, I remember. But no, there was nothing we said… no, this is ridiculous, we simply drank with him. What can they possibly think he knows?"

"Is it not enough that he knows where to find your faction of the resistance?"

Ludwig could see Vargas understand. The man almost turned white, but then shook his head again stubbornly. "But our village is no longer occupied by the Germans. There is no way they can reach us there."

"Signore, it is now the primary focus of both the SS and the Gestapo to root out factions of the Resistenza in this country. To think they can not reach you because your village is close to an American base is nothing but willful ignorance."

Vargas ran his hand over his forehead, looked away then down, breathed out heavily. "He is an honourable man. He will not..."

"Talk? Signore, honourable or not, after several days with the Gestapo, he will be screaming every single thing they ask and more. The SS have had him for days now, and I believe he has said nothing. But he is badly injured from the crash. Once the Gestapo get to him…" Ludwig broke off. "I have seen him. It will not be long before he breaks. I know what the Resistenza does. I know you can get allied combatants out of this country. You can get him to London, to a hospital."

Vargas leant back in his chair and gazed across at Ludwig intently. Ludwig started to feel uncomfortable, the silence between them filled with the noisy and oblivious chatter of the crowd around them. "I know you want to know about my grandson, German," said Vargas finally, the words shooting through Ludwig's nerves and veins. "But that's not all this is, is it? After all, you had no way of knowing it would be I who would meet you today. So, tell me. Why are you telling me this? Why are you going to such lengths to try and hand this American over to us?"

Ludwig returned Vargas' intense stare. It was as though the Italian was trying to break Ludwig down with his eyes. It would not work. "I believe in repaying my debts," said Ludwig evenly. "I owe this man."

"What can you possibly owe an American pilot?" As soon as the words left his mouth, Vargas' eyes flashed and his lips twisted. A sudden rush of understanding lit his face. "He is the one who told Feliciano where you were being held." Ludwig just nodded. "Yes. The afternoon he came to the cantina, he spoke to Feliciano… he must have known, somehow…"

"He shot me down," Ludwig explained. There was no point hiding any part of this strange, incredible story now. "Lieutenant Jones shot me down, captured me, and saw a photograph I had of Feliciano. That is how he knew we were…" Ludwig stopped and wondered how to phrase this. "…how he knew Feliciano and I knew each other. And how he knew where I was being held."

"So he is responsible for what happened too." Ludwig could see Vargas growing angry. "So why would I..."

"Signore, you must understand. He knows who you are. He knows your names. You, Lovino. Feliciano." Ludwig shrugged and spread his hands. "He knows where you live. And I do not know what else you spoke of with him, but…"

Vargas closed his eyes, his forehead furrowing painfully. "He can not stay in the hands of the Gestapo."

Ludwig almost sighed in relief. "No."

Vargas opened his eyes and fixed Ludwig with a piercing stare. He spoke simply and steadily. "I detest traitors." Ludwig's stomach churned at the word. If there was one thing he could always rely on, one thing he would live and die for, it was his loyalty to his country. To be considered a traitor was worse than death. And yet –

"I used to see everything in black and white as well." Ludwig felt the smallest smile on his lips, unable to stop it. "Then I met Feliciano."

Vargas placed his hands on the table. The sound of the world outside them faded, the sunny light seemed to darken, and Vargas tilted his head just slightly as those dark eyes so like Feliciano's bore into Ludwig's soul. "You love my grandson, don't you, German."

Ludwig responded with every ounce of certainty in his possession. "Signore. I used to live and breathe for my country. Now, I do it for him."

Vargas stared for a moment more before standing. Ludwig followed, a little surprised at this sudden termination. Vargas reached into his jacket then handed Ludwig an envelope. "We will meet you at these coordinates, tomorrow night, at exactly 0200 hours. Bring this American pilot. And pray he has not been made to talk." Vargas turned to leave. He was leaving; leaving, and Ludwig had not been told; leaving, and Ludwig still did not know…

"Wait, no!" Ludwig cried out before he even thought of saying the words. "Signore, please."

Vargas stopped, his hands clenched, his shoulders rigid. He did not turn. "He is alive." The world turned briefly black as Ludwig's blood rushed through his head. He felt his knees weaken and had to grasp onto the back of a chair to stay standing. "He was unconscious for days. He called your name the entire time. But he is alive, and doing well, and should make a complete recovery."

Ludwig's chest lightened, soared, and he actually laughed briefly, almost unable to bear the exhaling sensation of relief. Feliciano was alive. Life had meaning again; the world had purpose. Now everything would be all right. Ludwig put a hand to his mouth, had to restrain himself from crying out or falling down or breaking into ridiculous hysterics. He just breathed calmly and nodded, his eyes focused firmly on the ground to control the rising tears of release. "Thank you."

"Ludwig." Ludwig blinked in surprise at the use of his name, then looked up to see that Vargas was staring back at him, his expression stern, yet his eyes somehow sad. "Even when this war ends, you do realise. There is no way for you and Feliciano to be together."

Ludwig dropped his hand and clenched his fingers around the envelope, then drew himself to his full height and turned away. He refused to even acknowledge Vargas' words. "Tomorrow night, Signor Vargas."

This time, Ludwig brought two stolen SS jackets with him. He marched again down the central corridor of the SS building, turned into the side hall, and made his way to the same room he had broken into a few nights earlier. He did not stop, did not think. The building was again almost empty in the silence of midnight. When he reached the door, Ludwig slammed the new lock, again breaking it easily, and threw open the door. The smell of blood struck him violently. "Jones." Ludwig rushed over to the bed, and immediately recoiled in sickening dismay.

Jones was not good – not good at all. The pale moonlight through the window illuminated the red stained sheets, Jones' face paper white but for the deep, black bruises beneath his eyes and the drops of blood that beaded his hairline. His bare chest was covered in fresh scars, the skin red and raised and bloody where it had obviously been recently gouged. It barely rose with his shallow, irregular breaths.

"Jones," whispered Ludwig again, softly, trying to keep his voice steady. There was no response. "Lieutenant. Alfred."

"I told you," Jones replied finally, whispering the words under his breath. "I don't… told you… don't know what you want…" Ludwig closed his eyes briefly and sighed. He had not been fast enough. Jones must have finally been interrogated by the Gestapo. The hand that lay on his stomach was missing two fingers and covered in a bloody bandage. Ludwig's stomach churned. He had heard stories that the Gestapo kept fingers as trophies. He had never wanted to believe it. Ludwig reached out and hesitantly touched Jones' shoulder.

"Jones…" He was interrupted as Jones suddenly thrashed and screamed.

"I DON'T KNOW!" Ludwig jolted, then grasped Jones' shoulders to restrain him, but that just brought another scream from Jones' lips. Ludwig immediately snatched his hands back. Of course, where Jones' jacket had been burnt through… he must have been burned in the crash. The skin was completely burnt away, bloody across his shoulder and down across his chest. Ludwig wondered how he had survived so long with such a wound and no proper treatment.

"I am sorry, but please, you must be quiet. You are coming with me."

Jones' eyes were wild and blood red as they darted frantically. He could obviously barely see anything. "Name, Alfred Jones. Rank… I mean… name, Alfred…"

Ludwig looked anxiously towards the door, worried that Jones' harsh shouting would be easily heard down the hall. "No, ssh, Alfred, it's me. Lieutenant Beil - Ludwig. Feliciano's friend. I am getting you out of here."

Jones started to calm, his breath still fast and frenzied. Sweat mixed with the blood in his hair and ran in red rivulets down his pale face. "Ludwig?" He sounded half insensible.

"Yes," said Ludwig. He grasped Jones' arm and pulled him upright on the bed. "Listen. I know you are in pain. But you have to stay quiet. I'm going to put this jacket on you. I am sorry, it is going to hurt." Ludwig threw the SS jacket over Jones' shoulders, and Jones winced and bit back a shaky hiss. Ludwig did not pause, just pulled Jones to his feet and dragged him insistently towards the door. Jones slumped immediately in his arms. "I am sorry," said Ludwig again, forcing Jones to stand. "Once we are out of the base I will carry you. But you must force yourself to walk out of this building." Jones nodded, and Ludwig could see that he was bewildered. But they had no time for explanations, no time to talk through this. They just had to get out. Ludwig knew the SS jackets would probably do nothing if they were seen, and he knew he had no plan for what he was doing. Standing in the door to the corridor, Ludwig took a deep breath and felt himself fall into the determined and accepting headspace he knew so well from hours of aerial combat. "Are you a religious man, Jones?" he asked impulsively.

"Don't know anymore," Jones mumbled in reply. Ludwig nodded.

"Well, I'm going to go ahead and pray for both of us. Keep moving."

Ludwig had no reason to believe they would not be caught. But all he could do was trust to chance, let go of his control, and half carry, half drag Jones out of the SS building. They passed no one on their way through the corridors. Ludwig kicked open the locked back door and dragged Jones insistently from the building, through the dark, silent shadows of the sleeping base, past empty trucks and poorly manned fences. Jones' breathed heavily as he leant against Ludwig, occasionally gasping or hissing in pain. Ludwig tried to hold him as upright as possible. He avoided the main entrance, instead leading Jones to the east side of the base, cutting through another unarmed fence and out onto the wide, country road.

Once outside the base, Ludwig lifted Jones onto his back, taking care to put the pressure on his unburnt side, and set off immediately down the long road. "Good work, Jones," he said breathlessly, wiping the sweat from his brow, feeling his blood thrum vibrantly beneath his skin, shoot tingling down his spine.

"German bases… terrible security… no wonder we're winning the war."

Ludwig could not be sure he had understood that correctly, though he felt massively reassured to hear it. "I could say the same about yours, you know." Ludwig did not bother to marvel at how they had made it out unhindered. Right now, he was at the stage of just taking everything as it came, and there was no need to fear, and no need to worry, because the only thing he could control was how far he could walk with this man on his back. There was perhaps a two hour walk ahead, depending how fast Ludwig could keep his speed up. Jones' head rested on Ludwig's shoulder, his arms clasped in Ludwig's hands. Ludwig took care not to apply too much pressure so close to the open wounds of Jones' mutilated fingers. "Nearly there, Jones. I'm taking you to the Italian resistance. They'll get you out of here. You're going home."

"Home," said Jones quietly. "Arthur…" He sighed softly, sounded like he was drifting. Ludwig knew he had to keep the American awake until he got to proper medical care. If he passed out with those injuries, there was too great a chance he would not wake up again.

"Who is Arthur?"

"Arthur is everything."

Ludwig raised an eyebrow. Well, who'd have thought. He had something in common with this American after all. "Tell me about Arthur."

"He can't play baseball. And he swears too much. And drinks too much. But he's perfect… and he doesn't know it…" Jones again started to drift, his words coming slower and softer.

"And?" Ludwig prompted. "Jones? What does Arthur look like?"

Jones coughed faintly. He was shaking, and his skin was so hot to Ludwig's touch. "His eyes are green. Like… like something green."

"Like fresh grass," Ludwig supplied. "Or wide fields in winter. Or the leaves of an oak tree."

"Or sapphires."

"Sapphires are blue."

"Oh."

"Emeralds are green, though. As green as emeralds."

"Yes," said Jones faintly, his voice fading again. "Emeralds with bloody big eyebrows."

Ludwig shook him slightly. "And what else?"

Jones sighed again. "And I love him."

"So just stay awake, Jones, and soon you will see him." The night was warm around them, the weather quickly warming up to summer. The bright moon overhead shone soft light onto the close trees on either side of the deserted road, and Ludwig felt strangely calm and peaceful walking down this tranquil Italian country road with an enemy on his back.

"Ludwig."

"Yes?"

"You are a good man."

"So are you, Alfred." Silence. "Alfred, stay awake. Tell me…" Ludwig felt at a bit of a loss suddenly. How was one supposed to speak to an American? "Tell me about something you like."

"I like Arthur."

"Yes, I gathered that. Anything else?"

"I like frogs."

Ludwig paused a moment. Of all things… "Frogs. Really?" Jones was probably still half delirious.

"Yes."

"Hmm." Very well, frogs, Ludwig could talk about frogs if he damn well had to. "Do you know that there is a species of frog in Africa that grows to over thirty centimetres long and weighs over four kilograms?"

"How the hell big is that?

Ludwig snorted. Americans and their outdated measuring systems. "Fifteen inches, nine pounds." There was another silence and Ludwig started to worry Jones had lost consciousness. "Alfred?"

"That is one big fucking frog.'

Ludwig almost laughed. "And do you know, there is a small frog, in South America I believe, whose skin is covered in enough poison to kill two thousand people, can you imagine…" Ludwig stopped abruptly. Oh Lord, he was starting to talk like Feliciano.

"Huh. Hey, instead of bombs, we could fill our B-17s with those frogs and drop them over Berlin." Jones let out a small snort. "Shit, sorry."

All right, time to change the subject. What else did Americans speak about… sport, probably. "So, Arthur can not play baseball. Are you a fan of baseball?"

"More sense than cricket. You ever played cricket?"

"No. I always preferred soccer."

"Soccer, huh. Soccer's just baseball without the bat."

This time Ludwig actually did laugh, to his deep surprise. "I don't think so, somehow."

Ludwig continued to try and keep Jones awake. There were short periods of silence, but then Ludwig would fear Jones had fallen asleep and he would again start prodding him with questions. Ludwig had not spoken so much since Feliciano. Jones was obviously in incredible pain, with a high fever, yet Ludwig was impressed at his composure and coherence in such a situation. He found himself wondering vaguely whether or not they might have been friends in other, kinder circumstances. The hours passed peacefully, and just when they were nearing the contact point, Ludwig could not stop himself from asking.

"Jones." Silence. "Alfred."

"Hmm?"

"You spoke with Feliciano."

"Yeah."

The dark sky was bright with a thousand stars, the little country road silent in the still, early hours – just like that last night with Feliciano. But now Ludwig knew Feliciano was alive. Whatever happened to Ludwig himself, he could accept it, because Feliciano was all right. "And… and what did you speak of? With Feliciano?"

Alfred laughed shortly, weakly, just a slight exhalation of breath. "So happy, so friendly. He gave me an apple." Alfred was drifting again, Ludwig could hear it. "Funny boy, really. Only not a boy. He's my age. I was surprised…"

"It seems like that, at first. But he's so much smarter than you think. He is just honest, and simple, which is not the same as stupid. He does not get caught in all these stupid ideas, in the politics of a world where hate controls so many lives..." Ludwig broke off, tried to think of a way to describe Feliciano's beautiful outlook on life. Then he remembered and laughed suddenly, an unstoppable burst of light in the darkness. "Alfred, wouldn't it be wonderful if instead of all this fighting we could just play soccer?"

"Yeah," agreed Alfred weakly. "Or baseball. Just…"

"…Just not cricket," Ludwig finished.

A pool of light appeared in the short distance and Ludwig sped up towards it, sweat falling from his brow, his back and legs starting to feel the effects of carrying a full grown man on his back for hours. The light came from a dark truck, and as Ludwig drew closer he could make out men standing beside it. "We're nearly there, Alfred," he said firmly. "Nearly there."

Lovino shot Ludwig a dark glare as they approached, but then nodded slightly and helped take Alfred from Ludwig's back. He helped the half conscious American into the back of the truck as Signor Vargas stood before Ludwig with an expression both surprised and impressed. "Thank you, Lieutenant. You have done a good thing tonight."

Ludwig nodded, breathless, the entire mad evening finally falling into place around him. He was not quite sure what he had done, or what the consequences would be. But he could only think of one thing to ask. "Feliciano. Tell me, please. How is Feliciano?"

As soon as he said the words, as soon as Vargas opened his mouth to answer, the deep, rumbling roar of a car engine came from the road behind them. Vargas' face turned white in the truck headlights, and sudden, impulsive response shot like a bullet through Ludwig's veins. "Go!" he shouted, backing away as Vargas' eyes shot between him and the distant, approaching headlights. "For God's sake, go!"

Vargas looked at Ludwig for a second more, his eyes narrow, almost appraising him, his chin raised in a strange, approving sort of gesture. But then Lovino's voice shouted from the truck - "Nonno!" - and Vargas was shaken from his split second reverie. He raced for the driver's seat, shouting as he went.

"Feliciano is doing well, German. You'd better survive for him. Or I will kill you."

Ludwig did not have time to ponder the strange words, just watching as the truck took off down the road, as the shiny, black car approached from behind. It screeched to a stop beside him, grey suited officers jumping immediately from the back seat, handcuffs already in hand. And then it hit him – just what he had done. Ludwig had betrayed his country. He felt the world turn slow and cloudy around him, watched the SS officers glide towards him in slow motion, watched his eyelashes move as he blinked. There was no fear, because fear had long ago given way to more painful emotions. There was no anger, because his limited anger had drained away. There was only acceptance, because right now there was nothing he could do, and he had no way to control this. Cold metal encircled his wrists and Ludwig heard his breath flow in his ears, watched his slow eyelashes blink before him. He tilted back his head and gazed at the clear, endless stars in the black sky overhead. He only ever wanted to do his duty. Only wanted to fight for his country. How had it come to this? And how could he not bring himself to regret it?

"Lieutenant Ludwig Beilschmidt. You are under arrest for treason."

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

#Auf Wiedersehen Sweetheart chapter 14

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yjsangjun-blog · 5 years ago

Text

𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖉𝖚𝖈𝖎𝖓𝖌 — 𝖇𝖆𝖊𝖐 ‘𝖘𝖆𝖒’ 𝖘𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖏𝖚𝖓.

hi hello. i’m cait, i’m 25, i go by she/her pronouns and i live in cst! i am a hot mess who loves causing her characters pain & angst…. i also love ruining their lives on a daily basis.

this is my babe sangjun who’s a lil bit messy ( much like most of my characters ) and you can find basic stats / bullet point bio / basic personality info / basic plot ideas & stuff like that for him under the cut! if you want more in depth info message me bc honestly this intro post is … oof !!! it’s also kinda long so lemme apologize for that as well !!!

but i am super excited to be here and i can’t wait to plot with ya’ll & love your babies !!!! if you’d like to plot, please feel free to IM me on here, ask for my discord or like this post & i’ll come to you !!!

tw: mentions of alcohol / alcoholism, drugs / drug abuse, bullying & violence.

BASIC INFO ( PT 1. )

FACECLAIM: min yoongi + suga + rapper. CHARACTER NAME: baek 'sam' sangjun. PRONOUNS: he/him. GENDER: cismale. AGE/BIRTHDAY: twenty-six. + june eleventh. ZODIAC SIGN: gemini. ROOM: haean + 2e.

OTHER INFO

POSITIVE TRAITS: determined, hard-working, charismatic & adventurous. NEGATIVE TRAITS: hedonistic, short-tempered, impulsive & blunt. OCCUPATION: bouncer at club arena / underground fighter. ( future ceo ) SONG THAT DESCRIBES THEM: i'm not sorry - dean. HOW LONG HAVE THEY LIVED AT THE YUJAEN?: six years. FOUR MUSE AESTHETICS: leather jackets, bruised knuckles, blurry evenings, late night snack runs.

BASIC INFO ( PT 2. )

full name: baek sangjun. nickname(s): sam, san, jun. hometown: seoul, south korea current location: yongsa, south korea. ethnicity: korean. nationality: korean. gender: cismale. pronouns: he/him/his. orientation: pansexual. occupation: bouncer / underground fighter. language(s) spoken: korean, english, japanese, spanish, french, chinese.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.

face claim: min yoongi. ( suga ) of bts. hair color: frequently changes, currently platinum blonde. eye color: brown with a small hazel ring. height: 5'10". weight: 169. build: athletic. tattoos: he’s got a few stick-n-poke tattoos scattered across his body, though most aren’t visible when he’s wearing clothing. piercings: these, double helix in left ear & tongue.

HEALTH.

physical ailments: alcoholism, allergies, drug abuse, lactose intolerance. neurological conditions: back pain / muscle spasms, carpal tunnel. allergies: shellfish, pollen, mold. sleeping habits: all over the place, usually tosses & turns for a while before falling asleep. rarely gets more than 4-5 hours of sleep a night. eating habits: horrible, relies on fast-food & take-out most of the time. loves 'comfort foods’. exercise habits: goes to the gym at least three times a week, less if he’s been in back-to-back fights. body temperature: hotnatured. addictions: alcohol, tobacco, cannabis, gambling, sex. drug use: frequent. alcohol use: frequent.

PERSONALITY. ( PT 1. )

label: the cataclysmic. positive traits: determined, hard-working, charismatic & adventurous. negative traits: hedonistic, short-tempered, impulsive & blunt. fears: heights, flying, confined spaces, drowning, commitment. hobbies: arcade games, astronomy, billiards, board games, boxing, card games, comic books, cooking, motorcycles, poker, reading, video games, weight training, yoga. habits / quirks: believes in demonic possession, believes in ghosts & spirits, believes in karma, carries a 'lucky’ item with him everywhere, fights for animal rights, fights for gender equality, fights for human rights, fights for the legalization of cannabis, fights for marriage equality, meditates, always has change in his pockets, owns an outrageous amount of shoes, counts stairs, experiences episodes of depression, boxes, collects packs of playing cards, doodles on everything, gardens, loves board games, paints, plays with fire, plays poker, plays video games, randomly wanders around when bored, sings well.

FAVORITES.

season: fall. color(s): army green, black, red, gray. music: all genres, doesn’t care for country. movies: action, comedy, horror, suspense. sport(s): hockey, basketball, baseball. beverage(s): whiskey, soda. food: comfort foods. animal: dogs.

FAMILY.

father: baek jaejin, sixty, ceo. mother: baek chansook, fifty-four, ceo. sibling(s): younger sibling, nineteen. children: n/a. pet(s): a siamese cat named ramen ( back at home with his parents ), a bengal cat named shiva ( back at home with his parents ) & a seven month old austrailan sheppard puppy named indy ( lives with his sibling. ) family’s financial status: upper class.

EXTRAS.

mbti: entp-a. ( the debater ) enneagram: type 8. ( the challenger ) temperament: choleric. hogwarts house: slytherin. moral alignment: chaotic neutral. primary vice: wrath. primary virtue: diligence. element: fire.

BIOGRAPHY.

born in seoul, south korea.

parents were very well known ceos, both running very successful corporations.

and of course, they wanted sangjun to follow in their footsteps.

parents were pretty strict and didn’t really allow him to do well.. anything.

however, they did buy him whatever he wanted and spoiled him in that way.

and due to both of those things combined, he started to rebel at a really young age. ( i’m talking like 10 )

so he’d sneak out, graffiti people’s houses and break things and the likes.

never got caught for it, though, knowing that if he did his parents would have kicked him out and probably disowned him for his behavior.

but one of the reasons he never got caught being a rebel was the fact he was bringing straight a’s in school, was always the very top of his class and from his parent’s perspective? he was a model child.

however, he hated that, hated having to live under his parent’s shadows and be this cookie-cutter version of himself they wanted him so desperately to be.

but he played it off, juggling the 'angel’ side of him with the rebellious tendencies that continued to grow worse and worse with each passing year.

god, high school was so different, though. he’d rebel more and more every single day, pushing the limits of getting caught.

however, word got out pretty quickly about just how wealthy his family was and kids started to bully sangjun for it, causing his anger to get the better of him until he lashed out so bad it landed one of those bullies in the hospital for copious amounts of injuries.

of course, his parents were pissed. grounded him for a solid month and in that time, he learned each and every way he could sneak out of his house at night, wandering the streets of seoul at all hours.

one of those nights he happened to run into a group of people who also went to his school, but instead of them bullying him for whatever reason, they commended him on standing up for himself like he had & told him there was a way to let out the pent up aggression that ended up sending a kid to the hospital.

his curiosity was lit up that night, eager to figure out what the hell they were talking about and a few days later, he was introduced to a scene that’d become far more intoxicating that anything he’d ever experienced before.

underground fighting. no rules, no shadows he had to live under, tons of money for each win under his belt? it was the life he never knew he wanted, but the second he got a taste of it, he wanted more.

so those late night strolls turned into him sneaking out of the house only to meet up with his new group of friends, all of which were clad in full black outfits .. traveling to some random person’s basement ( or abandoned buildings of numerous kinds ) only for sangjun to be able to release every single bit of pent up aggression he carried out on some stranger who’d never remember his name.

his parents? they were just as clueless as before, though, sam continuing to excel in school as well as his fights so much so that he found the perfect balance.. learned how to hide the scrapes and bruises from his mother & father all while continuing to be the top of his class.

not to mention he was juggling all of that and his acting career all at once, trying to hide certain things from his parents and the rest of the world because he knew it’d ruin his reputation.

however, due to the amount of stress that sat upon sam’s shoulders on a daily basis, he let himself slip up on his 21st birthday, parents stumbling into his apartment only to catch him drunk & high with a bunch of strangers surrounding him.

it was a moment he’d been scared of his whole life, worried his parents would just disown him right then and there...

but in all honesty? it was the most freeing night of sam’s life.

he didn’t have to pretend to be someone he wasn’t anymore, didn’t have to pretend to be a pure and innocent little thing who never did anything wrong. didn’t have to live up to the high expectations he’d set for himself so many years ago and god, he was hooked.

his parents not disowning him and continuing to pay for everything he wanted only fueling him to continue the downward spiral, living his life to the fullest, doing whatever the hell he wanted to... whenever the hell he wanted to.

PERSONALITY. ( PT 2. )

hides behind a wall of sarcasm, cockiness, anger and lust.

doesn’t really care to get to know people and had a tendency to push people away before they get too close to him. ( though it’s all a ruse. )

wears glasses to read and mess w computers, but hates them a lot and probably won’t wear them if people are around.

has two different wardrobes, one for when he’s around his parents. that consists of suits & dressy attire. and then one for when he isn’t that consists of ripped jeans, t-shirts, sweats & everything in between.

is …. stubborn as hell and refuses to ask for help with anything.

his motorcycle is literally his baby ??? like he ?? has a problem ??

fluent in a lot of languages, picked them up so that he didn’t need translators at his parents meetings and the likes.

lowkey worried that people will figure out that he’s actually v scared & stressed on the inside because that’ll cause him to start having to deal with his feelings, and he doesn’t wanna do that.

is the biggest flirt you will ever meet?? like if he’s speaking to you… its usually flirty as hell unless it has to do w business ( both his parents & his fights ) or he’s just known you for centuries ?

will try to get everyone to go to bars n parties with him because that’s his life in a nutshell ??

drinks..heavily.. like every night?? it’s a problem tbh.

nerd on the inside though like owns so many comic books, loves to play video games, read books, plays piano.. loves to sketch, paint & the likes.

he cares… god he cares so much about people and the world but he pretends to hate everything because it’s easier than letting people in.

full of horrible and cheesy pick up lines and jokes and frequently texts people said pick up lines and jokes.

owns a book that is full of nothing but blank pages and keeps it on his coffee table because he ‘relates’ to it.

is a highkey hoe but he tries to keep it on the dl ( he fails… miserably. )

super into fitness as it’s a way to keep him away from drinking every evening. ( that doesn’t work for him tho, oof.. )

also has bruised knuckles 24/7 & some other injuries he gets from his fights, plays it off like he’s just clumsy.

anger issues af. needs to get them in check.

actually super kind and caring once you’re able to see get past his wall?? which is really hard tbh but if you’re able to? he’s so loyal and caring it’s unreal.

has a bad habit of smoking whenever he’s stressed out, which is usually all of the time so he smokes…. more than he should ( though he won’t admit to being stressed out,,,,, ever in his life. )

highkey into cuddling and all the cute shit like that but would literally never tell a soul because then they’d see that he isn’t the ‘hardass’ he pretends to be on a daily basis.

is a burnt cupcake who has 'decent’ intentions but has extremely horrible execution skills.

PLOT IDEAS.

bad influence. ( on your muse. )

best friends.

childhood friend.

competition.

confidant.

cousin.

current hook up(s).

drinking buddies.

drunken hook up.

enemies that used to be friends.

enemies.

exes who ended on bad terms.

flirtationship.

frenemies.

friendly competition.

friends that used to be enemies.

friends with benefits.

good influence. ( on sangjun. )

hate sex.

one night stand(s). ( past & present. )

partner in crime.

party buddies.

past hook up(s).

ride or die.

social media friends.

trouble makers.

unlikely friends.

#yj:intro #✶ — › 𝔞 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪 𝔬𝔯 𝔞 𝔟𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔣𝔲𝔩 𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔢 — ⌜ out of character. ⌟#pls come lov the SINnamon roll

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raphpanda21 · 6 years ago

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Such a beautiful lie to believe in

Last time

Eros: I need like three mimosas stat after that.

Thanatos laughed but the sadness lingered in his eyes

Thanatos: Sure thing, I guess I owe you that much at least. I am just going to go take a shower and maybe by the time I am done the girls will have taken care of things.

Eros saw the sadness hanging over Thanatos like a cloak but knew nothing he could say would help at the time.

Eros: Alright, sounds good. I’ll call and get our names in the list.

Thanatos nodded and disappeared into his room shutting the door behind him. Slipping out of his lounge pants he strode nude into his bathroom. Turning on the shower he turned to face the mirror as he waited for the water to warm. Studying himself his fingers moved up to absently rub over a small scar located on his left side right where his shoulder and neck meet. As the mirror fogged over completely he moved back to the shower slipping inside to try and let the heat and force of the water wash away his sadness or at least hide his tears.

As the furies were taking out the trash none to gently in front of Thanatos’s abode Hestia was just pulling up to Artemis’s home to handle the mess that had become Persephone.

Walking to the front door she let herself in using the hideaway key when there was no answer. Entering the home it seemed eerily quite but it was already nearly 10 o’clock so Persephone should have been up and moving around. Growing concerned and a tad guilty given how hard she had been on the girl Hestia made her way back to Persephone’s room. Knocking on the door she called out .

Hestia: Persephone , are you awake?

Silence was her only answer. Imagined horribles began to grow in Hestia’s mind. Surely she had not done anything rash to harm herself. She had been upset but Hestia had left certain Persephone would see that Hestia’s harshness came from her concern. Things seemed to be spiraling downwards for the girl and Hestia was just trying to protect what last vestiges of honor she might have left. Her worries outweighing her manners Hestia opened the door slowly and peered inside the room finding nothing. The room had been picked bare of every personal item. Rushing inside she quickly checked the bathroom and the closet finding both empty. Sitting down on the edge of the bed in shock she absently chewed her thumbnail.

Could she have left already and gone to her mother’s? It was possible but better to investigate on her own than send Demeter a text. Hestia knew all to well how obsessive Demeter was over Persephone.

Mind made up she got up from the bed and left the room planning to drive straight to Demeter’s under the pretense of just dropping in for a visit. As she walked down the hall she noticed the sound of snoring coming from Artemis’s room. Perhaps she knew where Persephone had gone. It couldn’t hurt to ask at the very least. Knocking on the door loudly she heared the snores come to an abrupt stop before the sound of movements come from the room and heavy footfalls approach the door. Pulling it open Artemis yawns loudly looking at a Hestia with a mix of annoyance and confusion.

Artemis: Hestia? What are you doing here?

Hestia: Sorry to wake you from your beauty sleep. I was just wondering if you had seen Persephone.

Artemis glanced down the hall shrugging

Artemis: I would guess she is in her room but since you woke me I guess she isn’t.

Hestia: Yes that is the case. She appears to have already moved out actually.

Artemis’s sleep heavy eyes widen slightly at this development.

Artemis: She has? Wow, she must have moved out last night cause it was as quite as a crypt when I got home. I just figured she was still sleeping.

Hestia: Well no matter. I will just swing by her mothers to ensure she has gotten settled in. I will see you later.

Artemis scratched her head as she watched Hestia go. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep she moved to the kitchen to make a large pot of coffee to get her through the rest of the day.

Just as she was enjoying her second cup of coffee the doorbell rang. Moving to answer it she is surprised to find her brother on the otherside. Looking him over her eyes widened at his appearance. He was sporting a swollen shut black eye and a busted lip.

Artemis: You look like shit. What happened to you ?

Apollo sneered at her pushing in past her and heading into the living room where he collapsed on the couch

Apollo: Thanks sis I wasn’t aware. This

He motions vaguely at his face

Apollo: Is all thanks to Eros. I never would have guessed a queen like him could throw a punch so well.

Artemis was floored. None of what Apollo was saying made sense at all.

Artemis: Wait, Eros? Like the god of love ? He has never struck me as the violent type. Why did he attack you?

Apollo rolls his eyes as he kicks off his shoes propping his feet up on the couch

Apollo: I don’t know maybe because he is a little bitch that can’t handle his liquor. Whatever the reason he totally got in a sucker punch and I ended up waking up on the filthy floor of a bar all alone.

Artemis rolled her eyes as she finished her second cup .

Artemis: So why come here? Are you hoping to get my sympathies?

Apollo: I never would dare to hope to get sympathies from you dear sister.

Artemis snorted smirking at him.

Artemis: I’ll get you an ice pack and then perhaps a nap might see you right. You can use the spare room if you want .

Apollo: Spare room?

Artemis: Yeah Hestia kicked Persephone out from what I understand. All because of the tabloids scandal which I think personally has been blown way out of proportion.

Apollo: Oh, yeah well you never know with those innocent acting types. Sometimes they will surprise you. I think I will take you up on the bed though. Don’t worry about an ice pack. Damage has already set in at this point but some rest should help.

Getting up he made his way back towards Persephone’s old room his anger spiking with each step down the hall. Had she run away? Did she think she could escape him? That she should? A country bumpkin like her should be begging him to keep her yet she was trying to play games. Plus there was Thanatos. She had been a virgin so he at least had her first but his possessive side didn’t want any man to have a slice of her pie. He needed to find her and have a conversation. She needed to understand what he expected of her one way or another. He really felt she needed some sense knocked in to her. Quit school, do whatever silly goddess work she was required to and be at his beck and call. He would take care of her and when he got tired of her she could go on and pursue whatever silly dreams she had.

Walking into the room he fell back on the bed with a groan. Why did all these women have to make things so complicated? His sister was just as bad with her thoughts of equality and he wasn’t even going to get started on his thoughts with regards to virginal goddess. Perfectly good waste of the female body in his opinion. That was besides the point though. He just needed to find Persephone and set her straight. Yawning he turned over to his side deciding to worry about all of it later as he began to nod off.

Just as Apollo was nodding off Hestia was walking up to Demeter’s sprawling abode. Ringing the doorbell she is greeted by a servant who leads her out to a back patio where the mistress is tending to her succulents. As Demeter turned and saw her guest a warm smile light up her face. Hesitia smiled back mentally praying for a chance to slip away and look for Persephone. If she wasn’t there she would just have to play dumb because she had no desire to be anywhere near Demeter if she discovered her daughter was missing. Demeter’s fury was known to rival Zeus’s and Hestia did not wish to be the target of it.

Demeter: Why Hestia what a pleasant surprise. What brings you here?

Hestia: Oh nothing I was just in the neighborhood and thought I would drop in. It is about time for your yearly food conference right ? I figured you would be busy soon with all that so I decided to take the opportunity while I was near.

Demeter smiled and motioned to a nearby servant

Demeter: Bring out some refreshments and a fruit and cheese tray. We might as well treat ourselves while we converse right?

Hestia laughed trying to hide her nervousness as she settleled in a chair at the patio table. She just prayed Demeter wouldn’t pick up on her nervousness.

Hestia: Sounds lovely.

#greekgods #inspired #drabble #lore olympus #loreolympus #hestia #apollo #artemis #persephone

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christinky · 6 years ago

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Help| Part 5

Pairing: Dad!Tony x Stark!Reader x Peter

Warnings: Start of depression, loss, panic, fear?

Summary: You are Tony Starks daughter and Peter is one of your good friends. You don’t like to be helped until one day, when you aren’t able to refuse it. Even Tony might need to ask for it, a lot of it, to help save you.

A/N: I’m cutting Y/N out of this chapter and the next one or two to build the suspense. Plus she may or might not be conscious, still alive don’t worry I wont kill her. Please leave a comment/feedback it really means a lot. Please reblog if you like it! You have no idea how happy it makes me.

Tony is sitting on the couch watching a sitcom with Pepper. His arm is wrapped around her as she leans against him. That’s when F.R.I.D.A.Y interrupts them. She came over the speakers “Mr. Stark, (Y/N) is requesting help via the emergency key chain” Tony’s face went pale. Knowing that in the past 8 years you had the keychain you have never once thought of using it. You hate getting help, and for you to use it now. Well it meant it was serious. Glancing over to Pepper seeing the panic on her face. Her expression was pure horror, wide eyes, mouth hung open. Tony immediately jumps off the couch and runs to the landing pad. Tapping his arc reactor, he puts his suit on. Pepper is close behind him, she is freaking out. F.R.I.D.A.Y finishes speaking, “I sent you her location.”

“Tony, what should I do?” Pepper screams as he is about to fly off.

He didn’t even turn around to waste any time. “Just called Rhodey, tell him to be ready if I need him.” With that he was off. He went as fast as he could to get to you. Pepper stands there fumbling for her phone, her breathing is heavy and panic overwhelms her.

The worst-case scenario is running through Tony’s head on his way to you. “Come on sweetie, please be okay. You have to be okay.” He is close to tears thinking of what could have happened for you to call him for help. You always tell him you don’t need help and constantly turning it down saying, ‘I can take care of myself’. Finally, he is here.

His heart stops when he sees that you are not around. No one is. He notices your soccer bag thrown in an ally, thrown around it was your keys, jacket and purse. Whoever did this wanted to make sure you weren’t wearing a tracker or anything that could be used to find you. Walking towards your things Tony falls to his knees, picking up you jacket and keys. After a moment to realize what must have happened he jumps back to his feet and shoots up. He starts scanning the streets for cars, anything really. He flies to every nearby car, checking for his precious daughter. Scaring the drivers, most with families, he apologizes then goes to the next one. You aren’t in any of them.

Now he can’t seem to think straight. Panic and worry has taken over him. Thinking of how he could have let this happen. You were gone, he doesn’t know where you are. He needs help. “F.R.I.D.A.Y get me Peter and Rhodey. NOW”

“Hey Mr. Stark, what’s up?” Peter’s voice sounds cheery, thinking that he has a new awesome mission he gets to help with, he isn’t exactly wrong.

“What is going on? Pepper is flipping out” Rhodey has a worried tone, Pepper just told him you needed help which set a red flag to him as well.

Wasting no time Tony fills them in, “(Y/N) is missing, I can’t find her.” With that both of them spring into action, while Tony continues talking, “She used the emergency alarm I gave her, I’m at the location now and she’s gone. All that’s here is her stuff. I checked cars driving around and they are all clean.” His throat starts to swell up, voice is cracking now as he tries to hold himself together. You are everything to him and with you missing, he blames himself. A tear starts to roll down his cheek.

Rhodey can sense he is having a hard time and takes charge, “Peter you start stopping suspicious vehicles between Tony’s location and Queens, I’ll focus north of that. I’ll let Pepper call the cops and alert the media. We will have every cop available looking for her.” He paused waiting for a response. Nothing. He lets out a sigh, “Don’t worry Tony, we will find her.”

Tony wants to believe it, he does. Everything is rushing to his head; his heart is breaking. What they don’t notice is that Peter has been silent as well. Peter was out patrolling Queens, now he stands there frozen. Trying to find out how this could have happened, maybe if he was there to help you get home, you always got so mad at him for looking after you like that. He beats himself up for listening, thinking this wouldn’t have happened. He holds onto the thought of saving you, and with that he started his search.

Soon there are blockades and checkpoints thought the surrounding areas. No sign of you yet. The 3 boys are still searching every corner of the city, Pepper is putting your name and picture everywhere she can. With every passing movie sadness, fear and guilt take over. Cops and detectives have been questioning your team one by one, no one saw anything. Then the search expanded to surrounding states, eventually spreading nationally.

It’s almost morning now, Tony makes it back to the tower. His eyes are heavy and red, he has prominent bags under his eyes, he looks horrible. Almost like he hasn’t slept in days. “Any news?” He walks up to Pepper who has been monitoring the phones all night and sits down next to her.

She is quiet, “Nothing yet”. Looking up at him her eyes start to water, she tries to fight it the best she can to be brave for him. Tony’s face started to fade even more, it looks like he is about to lose it. Wrapping her arm around him, Pepper pulls him in for a hug. A good hug, holding him as tight as she can. “Don’t worry Tony, we will find her”.

Tears start to form and stream down his face. Tony pulls away, “I have to keep looking, I need to find her.” His expression changes, now he looks angry and determined but his voice is still shaky. Tony goes to stand up and walk back out. He is stopped by a pull on his hand. Looking back Pepper has his hand in hers.

“Honey, you have to rest.” She pleads for him to stay, “You can’t help her if you are fighting to stay awake, the entire country is looking for her. Lie down for a bit then go back out.” She looks up at him her eyes wide with worry. She needs to find you too but she knows if Tony doesn’t rest he will spiral. She is hurting as well, she needs someone here with her to help comfort her. Pepper loves you like her own, this is tearing her apart just as much as your dad. Tony sees the pain in her eyes and sits back to join her on the couch. Sitting back down, he leans his head on her shoulder and stares at the ceiling.

That’s when Spiderman walks in. Once he is inside he takes off his mask, showing his puffy and red eyes, it looks like he has been crying as well. “Mr. Stark…” Peter tries to compose himself the best he can, “I… I am so sorry. I looked everywhere but I mean, I’ll keep looking. She is somewhere, she has to be.” Tony doesn’t answer, he can’t. He focused all his energy to try and find you, he was wiped out. After a few moments he stood up, still silent, and went to his room to lie down. He knows he has to rest up so he can get back out there.

Peter is still standing there, clenching his mask tight in his hands. Focusing all the pain onto the mask. His head is down looking at the floor, trying to hide the pain in his eyes. Pepper reads him like an open book, she stands and walks over to the boy. Without saying a word, she wraps her arms around him, which causes him to start crying. Peter wants to be strong but he is scared, he doesn’t know what to do. He is just a kid after all. “I’m so sorry” he mumbles into Pepper’s shoulder. He can feel her tears against his head, they both stand there comforting each other for a minute.

**************************

“Dad!” you scream seeing him burst through the door. Your voice is full of fear, you are tied up to a chair, unable to move. The sound of your voice sends a shock wave through Tony’s body, a sense of relief and a new burst of energy to save you. They surround you, keeping you from him, anger starts to overwhelm him. He tries to take them down one by one, they aren’t falling. They are too strong for him, you keep screaming for him. Your screams are full of panic, fear and pain. You start drifting further and further away. No matter how much he fights he can’t get to you in time. Suddenly you are out of sight, and it’s quiet. He can’t hear you anymore.

Tony shoots up, his breathing is heavy, his pulse is racing and he is covered in sweat. His hand brushes though his hair. It was just a dream. Looking around he tries to make sense of it all. Realization that you are still missing hits him again. Grabbing the blanket, he throws it off of him, swings his legs to the side and gets out of bed.

Walking back out to the common area, Pepper is on the couch watching the news and monitoring the internet for anything that could help. Peter is asleep on the other couch and Rhodey is sleeping in the recliner. Tony doesn’t stop, he keeps walking. “I’m going to find her.” It was all he said as he puts his armor on and flies off.

**********************************************

It has now been a week since you went missing. Still no trace of you, no new leads, no sightings, nothing. It’s like you vanished. Whoever took you knew what they were doing and had everything planned out. The disappearance was starting to get lost in the media, new cases started coming and with no leads they started to lose hope. All but your dad, Pepper, Tony and Rhodey. They all held onto the chance of finding you. Some people are saying you ran away or you were in on it, they knew it was a lie. You would never do such a thing. Your ‘fans’ held vigils for your safe return.

Tony is a mess, not being able to sleep and when he did finally fall asleep he had nightmares. His main focus is finding you, his hygiene has become questionable. Pepper tries to help and be supportive of him, her heart breaks seeing him like this on top of missing you. Peter has been missing school, he has basically moved in to help with the search. May brings him clothes and brings food for them, Tony doesn’t touch it. He hasn’t been eating, saying there will be time to eat when you are back with him.

Tony is lying on the couch, he wants to be out looking for you but he has looked almost everywhere not knowing where to go next. He has reached a dead end. He stares at a map, crossing out everywhere he has searched, trying to figure out where to go next. He knows you could be anywhere, out of the country even. He is motionless, internally screaming. He still blames himself, he is beating himself up about it. Why did it take him so long to get to you? Why did he let you go out? Why can’t he find you? Why can’t he save you? These questions are eating at him.

“Tony…” Pepper entered the room, he continues to focus on the map. Pepper looks worried, she knows Tony needs help. She can’t so anything, she is powerless. The only thing that can help him at this point is finding you. She lets out a sigh as she sits next to him. Placing a hand on his knee to try to comfort him and gain his attention, “You should really eat. You don’t look well”, her shoulders slouch in sadness. “Please Tony.”

“It’s all my fault”, that’s all he manages to say as he buries his face in his palms.

“No honey, no its not.” Pepper runs her hand along his back, “We will find her, don’t worry. She is a Stark. (Y/N) is smart, she is brave and she doesn’t give up. She is your daughter.” A smile forms on her face thinking about you. The memories of you, you working on projects in the workshop, playing soccer, your laugh, and the last time she saw you, she held onto those. They brought her joy when there isn’t any around.

“Everyone keeps saying that but we are no closer than we were.” He looks over to her, his eyes are fighting to stay open, not wanting to sleep because of the constant nightmares. That broke Pepper’s heart, she knew Tony needs something. She stands up and leaves the room.

Returning to the same spot on the couch, she grabs Tony’s attention. In her hand, she held your first finished working invention, a gummi bear cannon. You made it when you were 10 so the two of you could shoot gummi bears in each other’s mouths from across the room. The memory of the two of you trying to catch gummi bears in your mouths from across the entire room, you failing every time and when he caught his first one it turned into a war zone. Flipping couch cushions to build barricades as you shoot them at one another with no mercy. It made him smile, the first time in a week. “She made that. She made it at 6 years old. Remember how you became Iron Man? She is your daughter, if anyone can do it she can.” Pepper’s talk was actually working, “She can do almost anything she sets her mind to. I truly believe she is fighting and will be back with us soon.”

Knowing that she lifted his spirits she stands to leave him alone to think. Before she leaves, as she stands over him, reaching into her pocket she pulls something else out. Tony looks up, trying to see what else she has. She takes his hands, holding it between their hands. “It might help to have some back up though.”

With that Pepper leaves the room, in Tony’s hand was an old flip phone. The only contact being Steve Rogers. Tony knows what he has to do, it’s time to swallow his pride. (Y/N)’s best bet was having everyone helping. He needs them. Swallowing his pride, he holds his breathe as he presses “Call” on the contact.

It rings for what feels like forever, “Tony?” Steve’s voice sounds worried, it made Tony hesitate.

“Hey Steve…” He starts to say.

Steve cuts him off “I know why you are calling, don’t worry about explaining. We have been waiting for your call, how are you holding up?” Figures he already knows, it was the biggest story the past week.

“I don’t know, I don’t know what to do. Steve, I’m scared. I need your help.” It was hard for Tony to admit that he needs his help. He knew they would though.

“I understand, we have been looking into it. (Y/N) is our family too. We will do anything to find her, it’s our main focus. We have your back Tony, if anything comes up we will let you know immediately.” He pauses for a second, “I wish I could be there, but you know we aren’t exactly welcome there… we will search overseas and keep in touch.”

“Thank you Cap, I need all the help I can get now.” Hope is back, and it is stronger now. Tony ends the conversation before he hears the same ‘don’t give up’ speech everyone has been telling him. Knowing that they are helping is relieving, Tony knows they won’t give up. Steve spent years looking for his friend Bucky, he will definitely put the same effort towards finding you.

Please reblog if you liked it! It means a lot :)

Taglist: @m4shtyx @spiderlingsweb @mackvanstan

#tony stark #tony stark x reader #Dad!Tony #dad!tony fanfiction #dad!Tony x reader #Tony Stark Fan Fiction #peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #Iron man #spiderman #marvel #Spiderman x reader #Iron Man x reader

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pinksweatergettingbetter · 7 years ago

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warning, the following has mainly snarky (and possibly furious) opinions on Spirit of Justice. Reader discretion is advised.

ok guys. its the final ending for REALS this time.

Amara’s been shot after lying for approximately half a decade, boobs AND secrets were exposed, Dhurke was momentarily a good father and everything is exhausting.

now, for the actual final chapter of this ball-gripping tale.

“If she did shoot Amara, she’s not gonna get away with it!! Not on my watch!!” ok apollo do remember that youre still an unarmed foreign man with an occupation that makes you an outcast and also you’re 5′5″ up against a literally queen with followers proven to kill for her

a 50/50 chance of survival

so an Engarde/Vera/Hostages situation then

“...That Ga’ran! Justice will be served.”

ok APollo’s dialogue writers have officially opened the Stock Phrases barrel.

ok so Rayfa... maybe knows she’s Amara’s daughter? if so i love her like 10 times more. she actually put 2 and 2 together.

“...How are YOU, Horn Head?”

BLESS HER

Datz: :( Dhurke is dead guess the revolution is over

yeah i guess there’s nobody to defend you from pulling bullshit like throwing firecrackers at kids anymore, is there, Vore Machine? Cause I doubt Behleeb would stand for that shit.

yeesh. talk about weak ass resolve.

when Mia died Phoenix didn’t wallow in depression, he got his ass up and went to defend her sister.

Datz: Hey Apollo! Because I’m a lazy fuckwad, if you don’t prove Ga’ran guilty, the revolution is over and our country is doomed! Good luck!

god even when he’s actually taking things seriously he’s a shithead. like really? if the trial goes south, that’s it? no more revolution? despite how much the trial has /already/ done to rile up your supporters?? what kind of a revolutionary are you?!

Ready or not, here comes Justice!

god yes lets end this

hey where’s Sadmad

maybe he went with his mom to make sure they didn’t just kill her at the hospital.

ohhh. i see. they haven't announced it yet but thats actually pretty clever of her– Sadmad’s the final blockade to fall. Accuse him of the murder, carry off Amara to be ‘healed’, and then uh... do nothing about the rebels because apparently they’re not even interested in a revolution anymore.

yeeeeeep it’s sadm–

SEXY PAN UP SHOT FOR NAHYUTA

hey Perceive you should be kicking it about now.

well that IS leading the witness, apollo.

y’know, considering Ga’ran is a monarch, she could pardon Nahyuta for his crime. I mean, he’s still useful to her.

“The law, Nahyuta? Or the queen?”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

“problematic testimony”

s top... using that word... pls

“The holy mother does not condone killing in her name” but her sister’s name??? fuck yes murder that shit up

just say Lady Kee’ra told you to do it and you’re off the hook sadmad

ok... so Dhurke rescued Amara when Nahyuta was ten, (15 years ago) and he met her at that point. Apollo got shipped off to America when he was nine... And since Nahyuta is a year older than Apollo, that would make that the very same year. Ah– and confirmed by Apollo himself. Guess he just missed her.

“Sorry Apollo– I’m getting my wife back and we need your bed... See you in 15 years!”

“Mr. Justice. Know that Dhurke sent you away so that you would not be caught up in the life we led.” oK??? but why didn’t he send Nahyuta away too? it’s literally been stated that Nahyuta was totally outcasted, and even worse, now we find out he had to live constantly on the run. A ten year old.

Why not send Nahyuta off to America with his brother, and bring them back when everything was safe?

Apollo: But Dhurke said that pic was from 23 years ago!!

tbh i have no idea why theyre still trying to cover up Rayfa’s true parentage. cause i dont think the shame of her being related to a rebel really matters at this point.

my brain is pea soup

“If Rayfa comes out as the daughter of Dhurke, everyone will hate her like they hated me!”

...except we just got done basically freeing him of all wrongdoing and that was the end goal of the revolution, thus making this utterly meaningless.

...wait. this isn’t the only thing Garan was threatening to do to Rayfa, was it???

holy fuck. thats it. no threats of murder or assault; just “ill tell everyone that her dad’s Dhurke”

despite the fact that even IF she got kicked out of the royal family, she would still be the next queen since the queen Must be a spirit medium, and Rayfa is the only other medium in the country??

but whatever, i ... fuck it, whatever.

this is just a straight up rehash of Simon and Athena anyway, preceded by a rehash of Trials and Tribulations.

“You are an innocent party in this”

damn right she is

“I just gave up overthrowing the queen because she said she’d tell everyone your dad was a bad man”

good fucking lord, no wonder the revolution didnt get anywhere. NOBODY believed in it, even from the fucking start.

god the longer this goes on, the less afraid I am of Ga’ran. hell, considering the police’s skill level, i could probably just deck her in the face and then sprint out the door and id get away with it.

Apollo: The Edgeworht I knew–– fuck, the Simon I knew–– shit, fuck, damnit–– The NAHYUTA I knew would NEVER let himself be turned into this!!

“This hope in your heart is what binds me, Dhurke and you as a family”

yeah whatever

boy everyone really WAS depending on Dhurke. No Dhurke, can’t do shit.

thats just... depressing.

“I have to protect her from being outed as the child of Dhurke!!” he yells in the middle of court surrounded by witnesses who can probably figure this shit out for themselves

“..............Really? Nothing at all? Could an exceptional lawyer like Dhurke try that long and really uncover nothing at all? He had over two decades, Apollo.”

IM WHEEZING

I KNOW THIS ISN’T WHAT HE’S SAYING BUT IT FUCKING SOUNDS LIKE HE’S SAYIGN “uhhh i fuckin did it in SEVEN years"

oh my god!! oh shit!!

thank god real-life physics dont apply to fire-smoke in the AA universe or else lil baby apollo would be dead in like 2 seconds

OH MY GOD OH NO

APOLLO JUST STRAIGHT UP FLIPPED OUT OF HIS ARMS

I HOPE HIS SWADDLING IS REALLY PADDED

JESUS CHRIST

noooo god. now I'm genuinely distressed

why'd Rayfa bring up the lighter evidence?? thats not something to do with Jove’s last thoughts

“Someone attempted to assassinate Queen Amara by settling her residence ablaze”

me: who's the motherfucker in the shiny thing

hrhrhhghg looking at baby apollo is hurting the horrible gremlin mother inside me pls let me just find the contradiction soon

ᶫᵒᵒᵏ ᵃᵗ ʰᶦˢ ᶜᵘᵗᵉ ᶫᶦᵗᵗᶫᵉ ᶠᵃᶜᵉ ʷᶦᵗʰ ʰᶦˢ ᵗᶦᶰʸ ᶠᵘᶜᵏᶦᶰ ᶫᶦᵗᵗᶫᵉ ʰᵃᶦʳ

OH ITS A HAND

OHHHHHHHH

>ENHANCE<

“Peasants”

whoa go back to old timey tumblr your malevolence

“It shall still be I who shall decide Rayfa’s fate.”

uh pretty sure you won’t cause your guilt just got proven in front of tonnes of witnesses and the rebels can legitimately just whisk Rayfa to safety right now, right? like. you’re not queen anymore. you lost. Rayfa is already queen at this second if Amara doesn’t make it.

“The child lives only by my good graces”

ok at least we know murder was on the table. but also Ga’ran you’re literally dead on the spot you can’t do this anymore

does she uh. maybe know anything about Russian history, perhaps..? if i was her id be sneaking out the back way real fuckin quick

well Sadmad its a little less impressive that youve finally decided to defy her when there’s literally nothing left to defy but... meh.

“I believed protecting your secrets was in the best interest of his kingdom...”

WHY

WHAT

WHY??

“In all this time, not once did I reflect on my own conduct -- for I had believed all was fate”

did he just admit he happily acted like a fuckhead under the excuse “oh well, fate’s fate! better be an enormous shithead!!”

yeah, Sadmad?? doesn’t fucking fly.

the DD’s salute looks like they’re catching a kiss

( Now, if we could just prove Ga’ran’s guilt... )

YOU JUST DID. YOU HAD A FUCKING WITNESS

“For the cuffs could have been stolen and used without my knowledge”

you have actual octopus hair

you’ve visibly threatened the life of your own daughter

everything about you is evil and your shit system convicts people on a dime

id say witnessing those cuffs is enough evidence.

oh i just realized Sadmad and Amara do the same head-down hand-symbol pose. cute

“we gotta find the clothes– if we can, then–”

oh god. oh god. i dont like where this is going

siblings unite to piss off auntie

oh god

OH GOD

CORPSE CLOTHES

SHE STRIPPED AND REDRESSED A CORPSE

I DIDN’T WANT THIS

“Because even Monarchs aren’t above the law.”

hell yeah

"Haha. If you convict me, Nahyuta will die for using fake testimony to protect me!”

a) it was under duress, i’d say thats exempt from the law

b) when you go, you’re no longer the queen. you have no power to enforce a law YOU wrote. Amara/Rayfa will abolish the law and pardon Nahyuta

you really are grasping at moron straws aren't you??

“I hate it too but its the law of the land. And as you said, nobody is above the law.”

you people have the brains of protozoa

“She wants us to let her off scot-free? And yet, I don’t see any other choice...”

phoenix, ho-humming about how he had basically the same dilemma in JFA and he convicted engarde anyway

babe,,, you cant make laws anymore,,, you lost. just give up jesus christ. er, holy mother.

oh this is where the SEX! SEX! SEX! gif is from heheh

garan if you kill them you’ll have a courtroom full of witnesses and even the most brainwashed of your subjects won’t stand for a straight up massacre

and if you dont want witnesses you’ll have to kill them all

covering that up’ll be pretty hard. along with the fact that this will only piss off the resistance more

you’re really spiralling here your malevolence

oh my god we didnt need that to be voice acted

HSHDGDJ

Phoenix: shut UP apollo!!! w-we’re gonna die!!!

“I cannot lose you to the twilight realm too!”

aren’t you heading there together? ...that is kinda sweet tho.

alright, enough griping– lets just treat this like a nice big finish.

this music is weird though i gotta say

Apollo: time to face death and laugh!

Phoenix: heheh, yeah, heheh– [signalling to the gallery] TAKE CARE OF TRUCY FOR ME

“Two auspicious creatures dwell within you– a fierce dragon and a virtuous Phoenix.”

im gonna assume the japanese version of the line was “boy ya got double the dragon power up in you”

your playbook huh phoenix

heheh

oh shit

logic

i forgot about that

wow. i love that “the queen literally committed several murders, fraud and basically ruined out country” doesn’t mean anything, but “our queen doesn’t have magic powers” is enough to kick her out on the fucking spot

as much as this ending is kinda stupid, i do appreciate the sheer amusement value of backing Garan into an impossible corner

sjkhdhjshj

and in front of her creepy guards

ur diarrhoea garan indeed!!

“I want a lawyer!”

[bart voice] the ironing is delicious

o man... I'm laugh

the collective emotion here is ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

hes goNNA THROW DOWN

oh no she’s gone try

“HRRRRGGH”

it usually doesn't involve shitting yourself but youre trying

garan: [does the Macarena]

ohhhh yikes

“It seems... she now believes that she herself is the Holy Mother.”

oh boy.

“Whyd she try to kill her sister??”

bro,,,,, it

never mind. also, Inga was actually going to stage a coup??

wow this is just misty and morgan on a gargantuan scale isn't it

OH! THEY MIGHT EXPLAIN THIS

“why did amara even listen to garan in the first place?”

“My mother is a gentle soul who loves her sister. So when Ga’ran told her to hide because Dhurke was out to kill her, she believed it.”

...

“What’s more, she did not wish to tarnish the name of her beloved sister...”

.......

“That is why she acquiesced so obediently to Ga’rans request to keep channeling for her.”

.............

“Until she fled with Dhurke and was told the truth, that is.”

wh––

“But since Rayfa was being held captive... I imagine Amara had no choice but to help cover up the truth behind Inga’s murder.”

THAT DOESN’T ACCOUNT FOR THE TIME BEFORE AND DURING HER PREGNANCY. WHAT THE FUCK WAS SHE DOING THEN!?

AMARA.

“Well, that was a trial for the ages.” You said it, K-judge.

“Dhurke... I hope you’re watching...” well you retconned people being conscious in the spirit world so no, he isn’t.

“Nah, it was all you.”

baw, nick.

here we go. here’s the phoenix/apollo interaction we’ve always wanted. its just a shame it has to be in this game...

maya: :D PRAISE ME TOO

phoenix: trucy!? how'd you get here?

trucy: its maaaagic :D

edgeworth: i was nearly arrested at the airport for suspected human trafficking.

D: RAYFA NO SAD

tbh rayfa is the best character here.

I'm literally actually smiling with genuine joy as she steps up to the queenly plate. may the Holy Mom bless and keep her.

“Big B...B...”

BABY

“Buh..?”

“B-B-B... Br...”

SHES TRYING SO HARD

YOU CAN DO IT BABE

(cries)

“straight through without doing any serious damage”

wow lucky shot

i wonder if this was the same guy who “sniped” the phantom

you know... on one hand, I'm glad Apollo’s come into his own. But I also hate that he’s leaving the series this way.

It’s not the fact that Apollo is getting his own office, even in a different country– that’s not half bad. But the way they’ve left everything unfinished, and the way they’ve tossed his character around like a hacky-sack... I just can’t accept this as a “happy” ending for the character.

wait why is the revolution still being spoken about– isn’t it over, technically..? i mean, they won... the rebuilding part isn’t really a revolution, is it?

well anyway. I’m happy for Apollo, but not for Apollo Justice. you know what I mean?

“I... I’m sorry guys... Capcom just can’t be bothered with me anymore. I’ll remember you fondly...”

Klavier, from the Capcom storehouse: he WHAT

“But someday... I’ll return to the US!”

[squints]

heh... goodbye, Man Cub. you’re off to the human village. and as for us, it’s back to the jungle.

“We must never stagnate, but continue to grow and change.”

phoenix: uh huh!!

god the voice acting... its so bad...

Dhurke: hello son... I'm a butterfly now!

oh no you dont– dont you dare play us out on a jazzy version of apollos theme >:T

HEY I JUST REMEMBERED

NOBODY CHANNELED GOD.

I WANTED TO SEE GOD DAMN IT

baby Faith.

Datz: Faith! Grow up to be a horrible guy like me!

Faith: [tiny baby middle finger extends]

good child. he takes after his mum

haha eat shit dickquill

..also who are you calling “old chum”

aww pearly you can wear as many city girl outfits as you want ;w;

.......just no slim white dresses

Sadmad: I know I’m a total fuckwad in court but does she have to call me a silly name :’(

sadmad... youre getting off so, so easy

oh hey. this game didn’t end with an OBJECTION!

“Don’t you think it’s about time we told them the truth?”

ohhh you mother fuckers. you absolute asswipes.

huh... an after scene??

“Case backlog” jesus

...ohhh here’s the huh huh huh OBJECTION

“From legal advice to investigating extramarital affaires– even yak milking!”

uhh

DJF ITS FREE

HAHA

heh. i like it when you can use the mic for that.

well, it looks like that’s the end. i made it through SOJ. I gotta say, I don’t feel anywhere near as soul crushingly miserable as i thought I would. I’ve got a lot to think about for my final thoughts... guess i’ll get to that tomorrow morning.

anyway– it’s been a pleasure writing all this shit and going through this whole thing with you guys– err, whoever reads these, haha.

I may come off like a dick, but honestly it comes from a place of deep, deep love for a series that's helped me in so many ways. Here’s hoping AA7 will bring us a new, crazy adventure.

so, i’ll seeya next time. possibly with a much more lighthearted play by play of PL VS AA :)

[deep inhale]

#soj spoilers #sulking over SOJ #iiiiits long #but not as mean as you might think #finally finished guys]#seeya in the next one!]

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royaltyjunk · 7 years ago

Text

Enemy, Ally, and Nothing More [T, FE7]

Summary:

After the campaign, Heath settles in Ilia, because he cannot find it in his heart to return to the country he had once called home.

Author's Ideas: I started this back in June 2016 and just now dug it out of the pile of WIPs in my Google Drive

Whoops? Thus begins Avi's campaign of 4k word fics and hopefully I can climb up to 5k but probably not lol

I kinda really like Heath so I wrote a thing where I make him suffer. So yeah. Have it

So like in case you didn't know I REALLY LIKE HEATH YOU CANNOT KEEP ME FROM LOVING THIS MAN

Also happy Thanksgiving y'all, here's your Thanksgiving gift because I'm horrible and put deadlines for myself and force myself to overwork :^)

I'm fine, I promise

As always, readable on FF.net and AO3.

Disclaimer: Gosh I wish I owned Fire Emblem (not really)

After the campaign, Heath settles in Ilia, because he cannot find it in his heart to return to the country he had once called home. Hyperion has no complaints - he doesn't act strangely when Heath suddenly steers him away from the high mountains and grassy plains of Bern and doesn't hate the snow that now greets him every morning.

The three pegasi riders, Florina, Farina, and Fiora, escort him into Ilia and enroll him into the mercenary guild.

"Wyvern riders aren't commonplace in Ilia, but we've had plenty of riders from Bern in the past," Fiora explains as they walk through the halls of the large building. Heath nods, ignoring the strange stares that he gets, the whispers that follow the people who walk away. Sometimes, nervous giggles erupt from young girls, but a simple glare from Fiora is enough to shut them up.

"I'm sorry. Those are the girls training here. They're trainees."

"It's okay," Heath says. "They'll grow up." His voice has a rasp to it that he's never heard, a lowness that he's never noticed.

Fiora looks at him worriedly, but he shakes his head, and she smiles, a happiness in her eyes.

"It's nice to see you're getting better, Heath."

"I…" he trails off, turning his head and looking at his feet. His long green hair falls from the back of his head, blocking the side of his face from Fiora's eyes.

"I'm sorry," Fiora rests her hand on his arm, and he swallows.

"It's fine. I… I am not looking into the past anymore."

Fiora gives his arm a reassuring squeeze before hurrying down the stairs. He follows, brushing his green hair out of his eyes.

There's a large table lit with candles, and a group of people sit around it. Some are polishing weapons, some have quills in hand, scribbling across papers, and some make small talk amongst themselves. They all look up when the group of four files in.

"Commander Fiora," one of the women greets. "Commander Farina, Trainee Florina."

"Mother," Fiora murmurs, bowing. "I have a request for you."

"Does it include this man?" she asks, gesturing to Heath. He lowers his head respectfully.

"Yes," Fiora responds. "His name is Heath. He is a wyvern rider."

"I see," Fiora's mother murmurs, but they can all see the look of disinterest in her eyes. "Very well. We will register him in." She begins to write on a piece of parchment, and then looks up. "You are dismissed."

"Thank you, First Major," Heath says respectfully.

She nods curtly in response, and then Fiora pulls him away. They stay silent on the way up the stairs.

"Um… I'm sorry about the way our mother acts…" Florina pipes up. Heath blinks in surprise, turning to look at her as her voice trails off.

"Why? There's no need. I'm not offended."

"Oh… but…"

"Just leave it, Florina," Farina mumbles tiredly. "If he's not bothered by it, don't bother him about it."

The lavender-haired girl nods hesitantly.

"Would you like to stay in the Guild? Or find an inn in town?" Fiora asks Heath.

"Either is fine. Whichever is more convenient."

"The Guild it is," Farina says, and Fiora turns to look at her sister.

"Farina, can I leave you to find a room for him? I must… run some errands."

"Where are you going, Sis?" Farina asks.

"In town," she responds. "I have to meet someone."

Farina gives her a slightly curious look, but Fiora walks away, and Farina throws up her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay." She turns to look at Heath. "Let's go. Florina, you can go back to your room, or train, or something."

Heath nods in agreement. "I can tell I'm making you uncomfortable. Please, do whatever makes you comfortable again."

"Oh…" Florina blinks, then nods. "Thank you, Heath… you're… a good man."

He doesn't respond as she walks away, because he knows if he says something, it's going to be about how he's not a good man, he's a traitor, a horrible person -

"Hey, Heath! Hello!?"

He starts, and looks up to find Farina's already dashed ahead of him. She's waving at him from down the hallway. He hurries to her side, a guilty look on his face.

"Sorry."

"It's okay," she says, and leads him up a flight of stairs. "The third, fourth, and fifth floor are living quarters. The higher your rank, the higher floor you'll live, and the better your room will be. Of course, it's all meaningless if you don't live in the Guild."

"I see," Heath murmurs. "So my room will be on the third floor."

"Yeah. Actually, one of my friends just moved to a new unit, so she's not living in the Guild anymore. Why don't you take her room?"

"Oh… alright," he nods. She leads him through a seemingly endless hallway until she suddenly stop. Heath looks at the door. There's a blank slate of wood, and Farina procures a dagger from her pouch.

"Carve your name in."

He takes it and carves his name into the wood.

"There. Now it's yours."

"Thank you, Farina. For everything," he thanks, smiling. "I never would've been able to join the Guild if it weren't for you."

At that, Farina bites her thumb and an anguished look overcomes her. Heath stays put, and Farina sighs, looking up at him.

"Why?" she finally blurts out. "Why'd you join us? You're not looking for fame, or fortune, so why Ilia?"

"I wish to bring Ilia the justice that Bern never had," Heath murmurs, and Farina props a hand on her waist.

"What a noble cause."

And so he becomes known as the Lance of Justice, the man who climbs to the rank of a Commander faster than anyone else, and even if he knows he'll never truly feel at home in Ilia, he can serve them better than he served Bern.

~ / . / . / ~

It's some five years after the Campaign of Fire ended, and he runs into an old companion.

It happens in the deep mountains of the Western Isles, when Heath is flying through the clouded skies surrounding the tumbling cliffs of the mountains that tower over the Isles. There's something soothing about the wind against his face, whipping through his hair and opposing him, until his eyes catch a man dressed in dark blue with lavender hair, sitting beneath a large crevice.

He descends in a spiral, a sensation in his heart that he's familiar with, but has never experienced.

The man makes no move to run, and Heath lands in front of him. In the darkness of the crevice is a single small lantern, placed carefully beside the man. His scar-torn face is illuminated eerily in the candlelight, but the mischievous smirk on his lips has not been stripped from him, even in the harsh conditions he must live in.

"Legault."

"Would you look at that. It really is you."

"Yes," Heath responds softly. "I never expected to find you in a place like this though."

At that, Legault lets out a bitter laugh. "I'll bet."

A silence hangs over them then, and there's something unspeakable in that silence that seems to smother them both. Neither of them dare to speak.

Hyperion twitches, and slowly creeps under the crevice. Raindrops fall, and the first of them catch themselves in Heath's long green hair. Heath steps under the shelter, and Legault is just a step away. Hyperion has curled up in the very corner of the crevice, but even that takes up half of the space under the cliff.

Heath grunts as he clambers on top of Hyperion, and his wyvern doesn't react. He's long grown used to his rider sleeping on top of him, or pressed against his side. It's something they'd had to adapt to when they were on the run, and a hard habit to break at that. There's something nice, in being able to feel that someone is there for you, even if they're not human.

Legault lifts a finger to his lips, and then whispers. A small flame flickers to life, weak and easy to put out. The assassin feeds it to the lantern, and the light grows. There are lanky shadows in the cavern now, Heath's shadow stretched across the wall, and Legault's across the stony floor.

"...You haven't changed," Legault smiles. "I heard you're a mercenary now."

Heath purses his lips. "You've heard correctly. And what about you?"

"A fugitive. I tear down the remainders of the corrupt Black Fang from the inside, and help those being persecuted for standing up and doing the right thing. It's the least I can do for my lost comrades."

"So you're still a fugitive."

Legault chuckles bitterly. "I'm sorry. I said we could be friends as two fugitives. I lied."

Heath tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

"I'm a fugitive, and you're a mercenary," Legault replies, standing and looking at him incredulously. "You really believe we can still be friends?"

"Legault - "

Then the purple-haired assassin disappears into the night veiled with sheets of rain, and Heath realizes that the man has re-taught him the meaning of the word "ally".

~ / . / . / ~

He doesn't say anything throughout the entire meeting, even when they tell him who his client is, who he'll be meeting with, and who will be his enemy.

"Commander Heath?" asks one of the mercenaries under his command as Heath grabs his lance. He grunts, pulling his long green hair into a ponytail.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, it's just… I…" he trails off, then clears her throat. "You were acting rather strange during that meeting. Are you alright? If you wish to not take up arms to protect House Reglay, you should have told the General."

Heath shakes his head wordlessly, and the sellsword blinks in surprise.

"What do you mean? Commander, you were clearly shaken by the job."

"No, it's nothing. It's not anything bad. It's just… a memory… from long, long ago."

The mercenary gives him a dubious look and opens his mouth to try and argue, but the cold look in Heath's eyes indicates the end of that conversation.

No one else in his squadron tries to defy him or turn him away from taking on the mission, and so he leads them to Etruria under the demand of protecting House Reglay's count and countess, but even he cannot predict the surprise that will meet him when he arrives.

Heath blinks in surprise. "A rebellion?"

The servant of House Reglay bows his head. "Yes. A rebellion has broken out in Etruria. Aquelia has been overtaken, and the king has been taken hostage. It appears the only person standing up to the defects of Etruria and the armies of Bern is Mage General Cecilia, and even she is losing. Your protection of the Count and Countess Reglay is of the utmost importance."

"What of you?" Heath asks, frowning. "If we are to escort them to Nabata, where will you and all the servants go?"

"...We will stay here. We cannot endanger our lieges more than we already have."

"But - "

"Why must you care so much of our lives?" the servant retorts suddenly. "We have devoted ourselves to the Count and the Countess. What happens to us matters not."

"Have you not thought about what your lives mean to the Count and the Countess?" Heath blurts out. "Do you think they would want you to sacrifice your lives for them?"

The servant doesn't say anything, and Heath runs a frantic hand through his hair.

"...My apologies. I did not mean to sound so… pretentious." Heath turns, and steps back onto Hyperion's saddle. "However, I hope you will think about what I said."

He leaves afterwards, in search of a Count and Countess running to Nabata, hoping dearly that his old allies have survived.

Yet, when he's looking them over, he knows he shouldn't have been worried. There's nary a scratch on either of them, and even in their later years, they've managed to leap through holes in Bern's army and shoot down the ones who dare oppose them. There's a half-used Elfire tome in Count Reglay's hand, and the Countess hides another tome under her cape, cloaked by the full quiver of arrows she carries and the large Silver Bow in her hands.

"Heath," Louise murmurs, and he bows deeply.

"Countess Reglay. Count Reglay. It is a pleasure to see you both well."

"Stop that, Heath," Pent urges. "Even if we contracted you, it doesn't mean we can't be equals."

Heath doesn't say anything, but straightens himself, standing up. Louise steps forward, gesturing for Heath to walk with her.

"Come. I will show you your room in the manor."

"Countess Reglay, please - "

"I insist. It's the least I can do for you."

Heath nods. "Very well."

They walk through the hallways of the abandoned manor, making small talk among themselves until Louise stops him in front of his room and asks him the questions he's been dreading to hear.

"What will you do after you've escorted us safely to Nabata?" Louise inquires softly.

"I… truly don't know. If I'm hired for Lycia or if I'm hired for Etruria, it matters not what I think. I must serve them. But… I cannot go back to my homeland. It… pains me too much, to see how my great country has fallen so quickly."

"Then please, for my sake, go to the side of the Etrurian army after this."

"If it's what you wish," he murmurs, and goes to close the door.

"Will you not come and see Priscilla after this war?"

The mention of the elephant in the room makes him freeze up, and he looks up at Louise, who is watching with expectant eyes.

"She misses you very much."

"I know," Heath murmurs, licking his dry lips. "But I can't. I… my duty can only be to the ones who pay me."

"Such is the life of a mercenary," Louise murmurs sorrowfully. Heath nods in agreement. "Very well. Would you like me to tell her something then, in your stead?"

"Countess Reglay, I couldn't possibly - "

"I am asking this of you as a friend, not as the countess of Reglay."

Heath pauses, then closes his eyes. They both know there's no guarantee that the words will reach her. After all, war is war. It is not merciful, nor is it kind. Still, he can't stop himself from searching his mind for the right words.

"Tell her I'm sorry. And… that my heart will never waver. She will understand."

Somehow, he knows that Louise has already deciphered the meaning behind his words.

~ / . / . / ~

It's months after the war has begun, when Etruria has been freshly liberated and the Etrurian people are still celebrating late into the night, when he meets her again.

He sits on a balcony railing, Hyperion curled up behind him. His lance is tucked precariously under his arm, and feels the wind blow at his face, lifting his long green hair into the air.

He runs a hand against his scalp frustratingly, pinching a lock of hair and staring at it. He's going to need to cut it as soon as he can. It's starting to get in the way of his vision.

Hyperion sits up then, his head turning frantically. Heath looks over his shoulder at his partner.

"What is it?"

"Please let go of me," a firm female voice drifts in from the open balcony door. Heath immediately turns, the hair on the back of his neck and his arms prickling. Hyperion tugs at his tunic with his teeth, and Heath places his feet on the balcony floor softly.

"Ah, come on," a harsh voice replies. "Why you gotta be so proper and former? You got a pretty face, can't you have a few stands every now and then?"

"Let go of me." She's dropped the formalities now.

Then a redhead steps back in front of the balcony, her wrist grasped by another man, and looks at the figure making his way towards her. Her eyes widen.

Heath narrows his eyes at the man with his fingers wrapped around her wrist.

"Let go of her."

"Why should I?" the man snarls. "She's mine. I saw her first."

Heath's fist connects with his jaw, and the man staggers back. There's no stank of alcohol on the man. Heath's heart grows colder.

"She's not something you can claim, like an object," Heath says, his voice dangerously low. "You ought to rethink your thoughts on humans. They're not toys."

The man stares up at him with terrified eyes, and then darts out of the castle. Heath closes his eyes, taking in deep breaths.

Gentle fingers brush the back of his balled fists, and he turns.

"Heath," she breathes.

"Priscilla," he whispers in response, the anger expelled from him at the sight of the woman he loves. "What are you doing in Etruria?"

She throws herself at him, her arms wrapped tightly around him as she lets out a choked sob. He staggers back, but his hands rest on the small of her back and he rests his head on her shoulder, because it's instinct, it's something that's never left his body even after these long years without her.

"I was captured… They were going to execute me tomorrow… Heath…" she pulls back, cupping his face in her hands. "I never thought I'd see you again…"

"Priscilla, I… I can't stay here," he murmurs. His heart breaks at the look of disappointment on her face, the unhappiness in her eyes. "My contract is over now that Etruria has been liberated. I have no reason to stay here. I must bring my squadron back home."

"Am I not enough of a reason?" she inquires softly.

"I love you," he whispers, "but you can't love me. I can't love you. I'm sorry…"

He kisses her after that, and there's something so guiltily satisfying to know that she'll never love anyone other than him, that he'll always be able to call Priscilla his love.

"You promised you'd come back," Priscilla whispers, clasping his hands in hers. "And when you finally come to me… you must leave again?"

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, his lips barely brushing hers every time he speaks.

"Tomorrow, I must see you off as the Countess Caerleon. Please… allow me this precious moment."

"Yes…" he agrees softly, and she kisses him fervently, her hands in his hair and his hands pulling her closer, ready to love her, appreciate her, treasure her.

So when the morning comes and she sees him off as a countess of Etruria thankful to him for escorting Count and Countess Reglay to a safe place, he can't bear to look her in the eyes, and just bows his head.

~ / . / . / ~

He receives summons from a seemingly lost friend one day, and is in Caelin the next morning.

"Heath," Kent greets rather exhaustingly.

Heath gets a good look at the paladin. His orange hair is less vibrant, dulled with the streaks of gray running through his hair. His eyes are still sharp though, his strength, skill, and speed are still among the best.

Heath bows. "Commander Kent."

"Rise, old friend," Kent responds. "You shouldn't address me like that."

"You're my contracter. I ought to show you some respect."

At that, Kent laughs. "If you want to show me respect, you can do so by not calling me Commander. I almost despise that title now. It's what landed me in this spot of trouble, after all."

"Speaking of, what is this spot of trouble? You hired me on those grounds, didn't you?"

"I did," Kent agrees. "But right now, I'd like you to meet the platoon you'll be commanding."

And so Heath spends the rest of his day extensively training the new squadron he's gained control of. Yet the question that Kent had refused to answer churns in the back of Heath's mind, grinding away even while he's shouting commands and sparring.

So it's not a surprise that, when Heath sees Kent leading his horse into the stables, he calls out and hurries after him.

"Heath," Kent smiles as they walk through the stable hallways. He opens the door to his horse's stable, and his steed trots inside.

"How are you, Kent?" Heath asks, leaning over the stable as the knight releases the reins from his horse and fills the trough with water and food.

Kent steps out of the stable and sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Tired, to say the least. Although, it is something that happens every day, so I cannot say I am not used to it."

Heath nods. "Being Commander can't be easy."

"Make sure you take care of yourself, Heath," Kent murmurs. "You're a commander too."

Heath grunts, and they walk through the castle grounds in ambient silence until Heath breaks it with a single question.

"Why did you call me here?"

Kent takes in a deep breath, and then purses his lips. "Let us sit down. It's… a long story."

So, after Kent takes a detour to grab them each a bottle of ale, they sit in chairs facing each other in Kent's room.

"There's a rebellion. Some people wish for Caelin to be an independent province again, and in the midst of this war, with the Liberation Army away and Etruria too weak to retaliate… they think this would be the best time. By the time the Liberation Army comes back, it will be too late. I… I have no choice but to suppress it."

"So you hired me to help you."

"You… were the only one I could trust that would command a fleet for my sake."

"What of Sain?"

At that, Kent flinches in pain. "Sain… died on the way here. The Sacaens - the Djute - ambushed him. As strong as he was, he was no match for them."

"So Fiora…"

"She is cremating his corpse now. She said she will try to come, but doesn't know if she can. That's why… I needed you here."

"I see."

Heath takes a moment to look around the room then. It's the former Lord Hausen's room, since Kent is the steward of Caelin and Lady Lyndis lives in Ostia with her lord husband, Lord Hector. The curtains are drawn, and there's a cloth of velvet covering a large area of the wall. Heath tilts his head.

"What is that?" he asks curiously.

Kent blinks in confusion, and when Heath points he follows his finger until his eyes meet the red draped across the wall and his eyes become burdened with sadness.

"They're paintings of the marques's lineage. Lord Hausen, Lady Madelyn… and Lady Lyndis." His voice cracks at the last name, and Heath knows what has caused it. It doesn't take him much to figure it out.

"You loved her," he murmurs. Kent bows his head in shame and guilt.

"I did. Yet she could never be mine. She was too perfect. Too beautiful, too powerful, too aggressive and loud to be mine. She was made for Lord Hector. Brash, but calming. Never hesitant, but careful. Two halves of a whole. Her heart never held a place for me." Kent pauses, then glances at Heath. "I'm sorry. That was inconsiderate of me. I can't even begin to imagine the pain you went through."

Heath folds his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. He purses his lips, suppressing the feelings he's told himself never to feel again, and it's as if Kent can tell because he lets out a shaky breath and his eyes brush over with an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry, Heath."

"No… I've been lying to myself, and to everyone around me. I love her. That's something I can't deny. It's no use trying to suppress these feelings, is it?"

So Kent stays by his side as he holds his face in his hands, letting the silent tears dripping down his face express everything he couldn't.

"I'm sorry I never joined," he murmurs eventually. Kent shakes his head.

"You never were meant to be duty-bound to one person. You are the lance of justice, Heath. Continue to serve us all in the ways you wish to."

Heath smiles, bowing his head, face sticky with dried tears. "As you say, Commander Kent."

~ / . / . / ~

He returns to Bern on a cold winter night, a blonde-haired woman beside him.

Vaida had found him on the road back to Ilia from Caelin, and had recruited him to join her in Bern. He couldn't find it in himself to refuse the commander he'd once made a promise to, and so agreed to travel with her, even against his heart - the thing he's listened to for years - screaming at him to never return to the monstrous country he had once lived in.

"There," Vaida points at the castle in the distance.

"Mm," Heath murmurs. "It has been a long time since I last saw this castle."

"It has," Vaida agrees gruffly. There's a hint of weakness in her voice, but she shakes her head, and it's gone. "Come."

They glide to the front of the castle, and the guards call out, "Who goes there?"

"Apologies," Heath answers, swooping down in front of the soldiers standing in front of the doorway. "We went flying, and didn't expect to come back so late."

"What's your name, soldier?"

"Hea - "

"Heanius," Vaida interrupts, coming up behind him. He purses his lips, cursing himself for his carelessness. "My name is Valter."

Heath blinks, and notices that she's pulled her cloak loosely around herself. She never had many womanly features, so he supposes it's easy for her to masquerade as a man.

"Heanius and Valter… Very well. I will not report this to the king, but be on your guard."

"We will. Thank you," Heath thanks, nodding his head before guiding Hyperion to the stables. Sure, he might not have been in the castle for a long time, but he stills knows the place like the back of the head. There are upsides to having nightmares of this place, after all.

After putting Hyperion away, Vaida leaves him to find a free room for himself, and so he stumbles into the first unoccupied room he finds, removes his armor, and falls onto the bed, hoping that the nightmares will go away because he's finally back and there's nothing to be scared about.

Yet the nightmares are still there, even stronger than before, and he wakes up in the middle of the night with heavy sweat beading his forehead and arms and body.

He closes his eyes, attempting to wash them away, but all it does it bring them back. His friends, his comrades, all slaughtered beneath axes and lances and swords and magic, shot down by arrows that were should never have been meant to shoot them down if their army's commander hadn't been such a weak man and a reputation hogger.

He can't do it anymore, he knows, and so he sits up abruptly, his blankets sliding off of his bed.

"Screw this," he hisses under his breath, and pulls on his armor, slowly tiptoeing from this room to the stables.

When Hyperion sees him, slipping through the alleys of the stables with a lance in hand and his saddle and reins in the other, Hyperion's jaw stretches up in something similar to a smirk, and Heath can't help but smile too.

When he looks back at the castle, Hyperion screeches, and Heath looks away.

The last time anyone sees him is when Hyperion flies away from the mountains and into the tall looming sky, flies away from Vaida and Bern, the country he loves but can't fight for, away from his love, away from those allies he'd thought he'd had and the ones he'd thought he lost.

In his life, there could only be enemies, allies, and nothing more.

#fire emblem #fire emblem 6 #fire emblem 7 #fe6 #fe7 #fire emblem: blazing sword #fire emblem: binding blade #Heath #Florina #Farina #Fiora #Legault #Louise #Priscilla #Kent #Vaida #Elibe #avietta writes fire emblem

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crookedmediatranscripts · 7 years ago

Text

Pod Save America - Episode 80

9.18.2017 “Sean Spicer is good now.”

“The GOP makes one last run at repealing ObamaCare, Democrats look for a message that works, and Trump delivers his first United Nations speech. Then HuffPost editor-in-chief Lydia Polgreen joins Jon, Jon, and Tommy to talk about the state of American democracy and the media, and DeRay McKesson discusses the protest against police violence in St. Louis.” (01:10:11)

[MUSIC]

Jon Favreau: The presenting sponsor of Pod Save America is Blue Apron.

Jon Lovett: Blue Apron.

Tommy Vietor: Blue Apron.

JF: They now offer 30 minute meals, which are meals every week that take 30 minutes or less to cook.

TV: Oh, I was confused by that.

JF: Designed with your busy schedule in mind and made with the same flavor and farm fresh ingredients you know and love.

JL: I thought it was 30 tiny meals.

[Laughter]

TV: Oh no, you thought it was ‘minute’ meals?

JL: I thought it was 30 ‘minute’ meals.

[Laughter]

JF: Get 30 dollars off your first meal free with free shipping by going to blueapron.com/crooked. I think I threw an extra ‘free’ in there. Blue Apron, a better way to…

JL: Sean Spicer is good now.

JF: Cook.

0:00:35

[MUSIC]

0:00:43

TV: [Quietly] We are still in Hillary Clinton’s basement.

[Laughter]

TV: If someone could send some food and water.

JF: Welcome to Pod Save America. I’m Jon Favreau.

JL: I’m Jon Lovett.

TV: I’m Tommy Vietor.

JF: On the pod today, in studio, we’ll talk to the editor-in-chief of the Huffington Post, Lydia Polgreen. And later we’ll call the host of Crooked Media’s Pod Save the People, DeRay McKesson. Lovett, how was Lovett or Leave It on Friday? Good?

JL: It was a great episode.

JF: Should people download it, or no?

JL: People should download it.

JF: Great.

JL: We had Guy Branum. We had Erin Ryan, who was hilarious. We had Julissa Arce. We had Cyrus Habib-

JF: All the Crooked Media friends.

JL: Lieutenant Governor of Washington.

TV: He’s really funny.

JL: He is really funny, I like Cyrus a lot. He’s a friend of mine and I was excited for people to hear what he’s like.

JF: Cool. Tommy, who’s on Pod Save the World this week?

TV: I do an episode on some pretty horrible things going on in Myanmar. There is in fact what’s been called an ethnic cleansing, or potentially genocide, of a group of people called the Rohingya who are a Muslim minority group. It is one of those issues that is, the more you read about it, the more brutally hard it is to comprehend that this is actually happen. But I do think it’s important not to look away from this stuff and see if you can bring attention to it and maybe get the international community to do something. So, tune in.

JF: Great. Glad you’re bringing some attention to that. Okay, so before we get into real stuff. A lot of people on Twitter have been asking for a quick Lovett rant on Sean Spicer at the Emmys last night.

JL: Well I almost- I almost didn’t make it in today cause I’m still laughing so hard.

[Laughter]

JL: Cause it’s so funny. Sean Spicer. Remember when he lied? He’s hilarious.

TV: Colbert is so well equipped to have Sean Spicer on and rake him over the coals for being a guy who had no morals and for being a huge liar. Just to like, have him come out and joke about lying at the podium from day one. I didn’t think- I don’t think it’s funny. I don’t think he should get, like, that glossed over on his resume going forward.

JF: Yeah, what’s weird about it to me is that Colbert was on Kimmel last week and Kimmel brought up Spicer, cause Kimmel had Spicer on, and Colbert was very tough on him.

TV: Yeah.

JF: And said he doesn’t seem to want redemption. He doesn’t want it, he didn’t seem to want to apologize.

TV: That’s exactly right.

JF: So, I figured that, you know, that Colbert would- would not do that. But, it’s just weird. Like we’re gonna- like there’s gonna be no penalty now.

TV: We have some agency in this whole penalty question so let’s keep at it.

JF: Yeah.

JL: Oh, by the way, I booked Sean.

[Laughter]

JL: But, no, but it’s like, honestly you know, an anti-Trump Emmys where Spicer comes on stage. I don’t- doesn’t really care. I don’t think it’s funny. What bothered me more was the deluge of selfies, kind of, coming over the Twitter all night, of like, “Here’s Sean Spicer at the Governor’s Ball! And here he is here and here he is there! What a good time he’s having! Getting-” All these sel- you know-

TV: I didn’t look at a single one of those.

JL: I didn’t care for it.

TV: Enough about this.

JF: No, it’s- you know, it’s, one more thing about that. Because everyone’s like “Spicer lied about crowd size and that’s why he’s bad.” Spicer lied about crowd size and that was the joke. That wasn’t, let’s remember, that’s not the biggest lie. Like, the worse- the more damaging lie is, he defended Trump’s lie about 3 million people voting illegally in this country. He defended Trump saying that Barack Obama committed a felony by-

JF and TV: wiretapping him.

JF: Like we just, we forget these things and now we’re just like, you know.

TV: Well, yeah, and he also-

JF: These aren’t small lies.

TV: He thought Donald Trump was a disgusting person until he was in charge, then he went and worked for him. He’s the worst of D.C.

JF: He told all the reporters in D.C. before he worked for Trump how awful Trump was. Every reporter knows it, every reporter’s told the stories about it. And then he went to work for him anyway.

JL: Sean Spicer doesn’t get to be in on the fucking joke.

TV: He’s gross.

JL: That’s it.

TV: He is the joke.

JF: Alright. Okay, so now, Graham-Cassidy. The Republicans in the Senate are making one last ditch effort on making health insurance unaffordable for tens of millions of Americans. They have until September 30th to pass a bill through the reconciliation process, which means they only need 50 votes. After that date, they need 60. The bill is Graham-Cassidy. I am wearing my ‘repeal and go fuck yourself’ t-shirt today to show how…

JL: Your resolve.

JF: My resolve.

[Laughter]

JF: And how dangerous this is.

TV: That’s leadership.

JF: We talked a little bit about what the bill would do on Thursday. But just to review: eliminates the individual mandate -- which would immediately drive up premiums, send the individual insurance market into a death spiral. It would allow states to eliminate essential benefits like chemo coverage, maternity coverage, prescription drugs. Eliminate protections for preexisting conditions. And then basically, it eliminates the Affordable Care Act subsidies and the Medicaid expansion, gives that money to states minus 400 billion dollars over the next 10 years. And then eliminates all funding by 2026. That’s the deal.

JL: So, it’s radical.

JF: Radical.

JL: It’s radical.

JF: It is full- it is a full repeal effort.

JL: It is a full repeal. It’s certainly not a compromise. We’re protected a little bit by the fact that this is kind of their fall back, third, final attempt at something because we were dealing with ultimately a repeal effort that was rooted in the structure of Obamacare this entire time, right. All the different versions we saw, but for skinny repeal which was that crazy last-ditch effort just to get to the House bill three months ago -- or two months ago, the last time we were dealing with this -- but this is a fundamentally different thing and, had they actually done this through a regular process, could’ve been something that they could’ve really rallied people behind in this significant way because it basically takes Obamacare and it turns it into less generous block grants. And basically puts it on the states to figure out what they do with healthcare. The many problems with this are, one, the way they deal with the Medicaid expansion is fucking nuts. So basically, 30 states expanded Medicaid and 20 states didn’t. Those were a lot of rural states and conservative states that refused to do it even though the money was basically free, which punished a lot of their voters. Well, what happens in this bill? Well, it takes all the money that went to Medicaid expansion that went to states that expanded and states that doesn’t- didn’t and just divides it up evenly as if no expansion had ever taken place. Which is just a giant wealth transfer from states like California and New York and even Kentucky, states that did the right thing, and transfers it to all the states where their governors and legislatures didn’t care enough about their poor and minority population to do anything about it to get their healthcare. It would be devastating.

TV: That is awful. Right now, we’re short of 50 votes, right? But I think the thing that makes a lot of people nervous is that this is a bill sponsored by Lindsay Graham in part. McCain’s waffling about it. Dean Heller’s already on board. What I don’t get is, McCain’s whole argument against the last round is that it didn’t go through regular order. There were no amendments, there were no committee process. There was nothing done the way it’s supposed to be done in the Senate. I don’t get how he could make that big, bold stand and then jump on board this thing.

JF: So if you listen to him on Sunday -- he was on Face the Nation -- and John Dickerson asked him about this, and he said on Face the Nation, “We should have a bill go through regular order- “

TV: I heard that.

JF: “There should be a bipartisan process. And I think the bipartisan effort being undertaken by Lamar Alexander and Patti Murray should come to the floor for a vote.” That’s what- he just said that yesterday, on Sunday. Now in other statements he said he likes Graham-Cassidy and he said ultimately, he’ll do what his governor tells him to do, Governor Ducey of Arizona. You should note that, after what Lovett was just saying, under this plan Arizona loses about a billion dollars. Arizona’s another state that would get hurt. You wouldn’t imagine that Ducey would do it unless of course they pay him off. But –

[Laughter]

JF: There’s a lot of focus on McCain here. [TV: Yeah] But here’s the deal, Cassidy’s running around saying they have 49 votes. That’s one short of 50 so that’s very scary. Rand Paul seems like a hard no. You never wanna count on Rand Paul because he’s upset from the right. But he’s now, over the last couple days, tweeted nine times about this proposal. Including one where he says it’s bad because it keeps Obamacare and redistributes money from Democratic states to Republican states. Which is an argument that people from the left are making, too and it’s a correct argument.

JL: Yeah! Correct.

JF: But it’s like, if Rand Paul was gonna flip, you wouldn’t imagine that he’d just keep tweeting every day about horrible this is. But of course, we all remember Rand Paul was a hard no last time around and then McConnell promised him a vote on clean repeal, so that’s why he voted for skinny repeal.

JL: Yeah, I mean we have seen Republican Senators say things that should make it impossible for them to flip, and then they flip.

JF: And they do.

JL: I mean, that’s what Dean Hiller- Dean Heller did. Rand Paul’s done that in the past. Ted Cruz. All these guys make these grand statements to try to help them in the negosiatio- negotiation and then- I almost said ‘negosiation.”

TV: I know. I think you also left out Dean’s honorific.

JL: Oh, Dirty Dean Heller?

JF: Yeah, what’s going on?

JL: He’s a dirty politician.

TV: He’s Dirty Dean Heller.

JL: He’s a dirty politician, Dean Heller.

JF: But basically, we need- if Collins and- Collins and Murkowski have been very quiet. It’s hard to imagine that they’d say yes. But if we have Collins and Murkowski and Paul, it doesn’t matter what McCain does. We need three ‘no’s. So- and Alaska’s also one of the states that loses a bunch of money over the next 10 years. And nothing has really changed for the two of them since when they stood against the last proposal, which was on substance not on process, like McCain. So, you would hope that Collins and Murkowski are in there. We need one more, Paul’s a possibility. But that’s- basically is this is all to say, it’s scary again and everyone’s got to get to the phones. I know that’s annoying to hear, but it’s true.

JL: It is. But it’s, you know-

JF: We have to do it.

TV: We hate ourselves for saying it.

JF: It’s a constant struggle, people. So, what’s gonna happen here. McConnell will not call this for a vote unless he’s got 50. They’ve- he has pressed the CBO to give a score for this thing, even though the CBO was busy was working on extending Children’s Health Insurance Program.

JL: [Laughing] The CBO, man. There’s some guy deep within the CBO who is exhausted, he’s got an ashtray with tons of cigarettes, like every- every month he gets a call from McConnell who says, “You need to do six months of analysis in two fucking days.”

JF: Well, here’s what- here’s what’s truly scary about it. They think that- the CBO only is required to come up with a score about how much it costs. And they may not have time to figure out what the coverage loss is for this bill. So, they might give a CBO score that’s just about how much it costs without any coverage numbers. Which is truly fucked up and if you are voting-

TV: It’s unconscionable to vote for this.

JF: If you are voting for a bill- especially for McCain, talking about regular order. You’re gonna vote for a bill where you don’t know the impact?

JL: He can’t! He just can’t. Once again- it’s the same fucking- like, the bill is bad. It’s a bad bill. It’s yet another bad replacement bill. Once again, it’s like, they can’t- they don’t care about their conservative principles to even put something together that achieves some kind of an end while being- you wanna turn it into a block grant, you want the states to be in charge? You come up with this crazy, jury rigged, dumb fucking way to do it that’ll- that could never become law. Fine. The bill is bad. But once again, reforming a sixth of the economy, tens of millions of people’s lives, and they’re like, “We think we can get it done the last week of September. We got two days! We got two days!”

JF: Well it shows that they’re trying to-

JL: Ride or die!

JF: They’re trying to sneak it through because they know that if they had a public debate about it, they would lose. Which, again, this is a reminder, you know, Trump’s bad. We all- everything’s about Trump. This is not about Trump. This is a bunch of, you know, Republicans who’ve even called out Trump, like Lindsay Graham. And they are doing this very bad thing. So, when you go vote, it’s not all about Trump. It’s about these fucking Republicans in Congress.

JL: One story as a proof point for how serious this effort was, I think it was the Politico story, it said that Trump was asking about the bill at Bedminster. Which I just think is like, the lowest- he’s like, what’s happening? I think there might be some kind of a health care thing.

TV: He’s seized with this. He’s seized with this challenge to the point where he’s just first inquiring about it while on- while playing golf.

JF: Yeah, so, anyway. Indivisibleguide.com. You can go there and find ways you can help. Most of it’s gonna be phone calls, but there are gonna be some events as well. Also follow Ben Wikler from moveon.org on Twitter. He’s got a couple long threads on everything you can do and steps you can take. So, everybody make a few phone calls and then- here’s the thing, once we get to September 30th, if this doesn’t pass, then we can finally celebrate in a way we couldn’t even celebrate in the summer.

TV: Until McConnell changes the rules.

JL: Yeah, until they change the rules and do it anyway. [crosstalk] Look killing this thing, it’s harder than killing the clown from fucking It and it’s gonna keep crawling out of that well until-

TV: I will not be watching the remake of that movie. It ruined my life as a child.

JF: Nor will I. Nor will I watch mother! Which sounds really fucking awful. Lovett’s excited.

JL: I’m gonna go see it.

JF: Emily wants to see it, too.

JL: Emily and I are gonna go see it- oh we talk- Emily and I have already been texting. Don’t even worry about it.

JF: Great. Alright, let’s talk about what the fuck’s going on with Donald Trump. Over the weekend our bipartisan, independent, deal making president had quite a Sunday morning tweetstorm. Which culminated in him retweeting a gif [dear god he pronounced it with a soft G how DARE HE BETRAY ME LIKE THIS] of Trump’s golf ball hitting Hillary Clinton [this literally feels like it happened a million years ago and it was only?? Two weeks?? WTH.] which was originally tweeted by someone who’s tweeted racist and anti-Semitic garbage in the past. Of course.

TV: What a surprise! Course it is.

JF: I just- I wanted to bring this up because…it’s like, no one’s talking about it today. We’re all sort of moved past it. I mean, that is a crazy thing to do. It is- it is like fantasizing about political violence by the President of the United States against his former female political opponent. What?

TV: He’s a moron.

JL: It’s just like, the kind of thing that makes the dumbest person laugh. Like, “Hahaha a golf ball hit her. Hah.”

JF: But it’s the kind of thing that makes the dumbest person laugh if it’s like, shared on Facebook by your crazy uncle.

JL: Yeah, it’s a crazy uncle thing.

JF: You know, it’s just - there’s just no thought that this is the President of the United States and that there’s all kinds of other implications. Right.

JL: Yeah, I mean what else is there to say-

JF: I know there’s nothing else to say.

JL: Like it’s not even – it’s not a new low. Like, he’s joked about her being fucking killed during the election. He does this all the time. He- you know, this is who he is. Like it’s now- yeah, he tweeted about her getting hit in the back with a golf ball and falling down cause he thinks it’s hilarious cause he’s a dumb, mean spirited, fucking dotty old racist. What do you want? That’s what he is. He thinks it’s funny! He doesn’t- we’ve never even seen him fucking laugh! He’s never laughed! He’s never laughed! The one thing, maybe he chuckled to himself.

JF: He laughs. Yeah, he laughs when he like mocks people and he laughs about it.

TV: When Sessions cries.

JF: This brings up a Politico piece from last week that we didn’t have time to cover, but it’s relevant. It’s called “Teflon Don confounds Democrats.” It basically digs into a series of private focus groups and internal polls conducted by Democratic strategists in campaigns. Polls of swing voters, independents. So, there’s good news and bad news in this poll, start with the bad news. Bad news is, Trump is still viewed as an outsider shaking up the system. They think he’s bringing about change. He’s getting some credit on the economy. People are unimpressed about the fact that he lies. They’re not so much into the Russia investigation. They don’t think Charlottesville is as big of a problem as we think. And there’s some bad news in the Democratic policies that people have been proposing: free college didn’t poll so well, 15-dollar minimum wage didn’t poll great. Medicare for all tests better, but there’s some skepticism. What do we think about this?

JL: You know, I-

JF: It’s a good level set because we all-

JL: Yeah, I think a dose of skepticism is needed. Like I think that’s important. You know, the piece makes this point that like, if Democrats think they’re on a walk because of Trump to, like, taking back the House and making these big gains, then they should think otherwise. The truth is, I don’t think a lot of Democrats think that. I don’t think we’re all feeling super great in how easy it’s gonna be to win the House. I think everybody recognizes that it’s really hard. And at the same time, it is one of those Politico pieces that you can just feel a conclusion searching for evidence as it goes along, to kind of tell a story about how Donald Trump is, is- you know, “Teflon Don” is usually- isn’t really what you would call somebody who has a 35% approval rating, right? It’s sort of- that’s somebody to whom everything has stuck. That’s a cast iron pot with a lot of stuff grilled to it. You made a grilled cheese and didn’t flip it early enough.

TV: That was my take too, like I think that, I think that was Bill Burton’s quote in- the final quote of the piece was Bill Burton being like, “The guy’s at 38%. It’s not going well.”

JF: He said everything’s working.

TV: Yeah, taking back the House is not gonna be won or lost just based on Donald Trump’s approval rating. Like, that is the mood music that will allow us to fundraise, to recruit great candidates, and to put together a message to counter Trump and tie all these other Republicans to it. So, it’s a piece of a puzzle. I feel pretty good about Donald Trump being at like, 38, 40%. Like, that’s not good. And he has not done anything to get him out of this hole, including with this short-term debt ceiling debate. But it is a reminder that politics are- it’s all about choices and we need to put forward an alternative to Donald Trump that people like more than him, or like more than the Republican that’s running on his party. So, we have a lot of work to do.

JF: Yeah, I do think that we have to also decide, what is the message that we go out with? Not just on our side, but what we wanna say about Donald Trump. And, we always say this here, but there’s like- he gives us 50 targets a day and you call him a liar, you call him this. So, some of the good news was, the voters did seem exhausted about the chaos surrounding Trump and there was a lot of interest in electing a Congress that can act as a check on him. And then the other message that seemed to really work with a lot of these people in the focus groups and polls were, Trump is out to make his rich friends richer at your expense. This is about stripping regulations, corporate tax breaks, the healthcare- like him trying to repeal Obamacare was effective too. And on ‘fights for people like me,’ Democrats have now pulled ahead of Trump. They were even with him in February.

JL: By a lot, too.

JF: By a lot.

JL: Yeah, I think because Trump scrambles so many of the rules and he does give us so many different directions to go, we kind of forget some of the basics. And even though he’s gonna do so many different and disparate crazy things over the next year, we do need to start getting behind a sentence, like, I don’t know if rich friends richer- fine, whatever it is, but it’s like, you know, “Donald Trump is out for himself and making his rich friends richer. That’s why he’s trying to distract you with a golf ball hitting Hillary Clinton” or all this other stuff. Whatever it is, we need to get to some place where the first part of the sentence is the same. And that’s been really hard and that didn’t happen in 2016.

TV: Yeah, there needs to be a core criticism that is repeated every day.

JF: It’s funny I heard someone- Bernie Sanders was interviewed the other day and someone interviewed about, what do you think about Donald Trump so far and everything he’s done? And he’s like, “Not only is he someone that wants to give tax cuts to millionaires and billionaires.” Like, first thing out of his mouth. And then he went talk about Charlottesville and racism and everything else. But that’s- there is a message discipline going forward and I think this piece is good for that.

TV: Especially as the Mueller stuff continues to leak out every day.

JF: Exactly.

JL: And winning the House is gonna be really hard. Donald Trump being unique doesn’t make the race to win the House unique. It’s not- it may look like a Bush thing, you know, we may be able to pick up a bunch of seats. But it’s not gonna be easy and we’re gonna have to fight for every seat, that’s all.

JF: I wanna talk about what’s going on this week. On Tuesday Donald Trump will deliver his first speech to the annual United Nations general assembly in New York. Which brings together the leaders of the 193 members nations for a week of meetings and speeches. Major topics will be Iran, Syria, terrorism, and maybe the most pressing, North Korea. Tommy, you went to all of these when Obama was president. They’re called UNGA. It’s called UNGA for short, that’s the acronym.

TV: UNGA. UN General Assembly.

JF: Yeah, what can we expect there? What usually happens there?

TV: So- I mean it’s a place for the member nations to convene for a week. There’s a lot of speeches, there’s meeting to discuss global security challenges. The focus changes every year, but it’s been, you know, the Middle East, Syria, Iran -- like some of the hot button issues. I think the focus this year is gonna be figuring out Donald Trump. They wanna figure out what ‘America First’ really means. We’re coming off previous visits that were defined by Trump refusing to reaffirm the most important part of NATO, shoving the Prime Minister of Montenegro for no reason-

JF: I forgot about that.

JL: Leader of the free world!

TV: Driving around by himself in a golf cart while all the other leaders hang out. He’s also described the UN as quote, a club for people to get together, talk, and have a good time that’s sort of useless. So I do think, like, North Korea is gonna be front a center and trying to figure out the next steps as they continue to flaunt [I think he means ‘flout?’] the international community. This’ll be made harder by the fact that Chinese leader Xi Jinping won’t be there, so there’s- it’s hard to see where real progress will come from. Trump has been making a lot of noise about pulling out of the Iran deal. A whole bunch of people are gonna lobby him not to do that, including François Hollande, leader of France. They also are really gonna be focused on Venezuela, Myanmar, like why did you pull out of the Paris climate accords. I think U.S. journalists are also gonna be really focused on Rex Tillerson, because he has been about as irrelevant a Secretary of State as we’ve ever had. And people are also gonna focus on Nikki Haley because she’s sort of stepped into the breach and some of the leadership void that he’s created. So, you know, we’ll see what happens. You know, Trump’s there for like three or four days. It is like the worst kind of diplomatic speed dating you could ever imagine. You have major speeches, you have to like, know what say in the bi-lat with Qatar and the lunch with the Japanese PM and the South Korean PM about North Korea’s nuclear program. So-

JL: Okay, quick question.

TV: Not up for it.

JL: Yeah, he’s not gonna do that. So, then what happens?

TV: I mean I don’t know that there’s like- the expectations game has gotten run down so low. But I do think-

JF: I’ve noticed that with the- they’re like, what is he gonna get up there and scream at everyone in his speech and say that he hates the world? It’s like, no, he’s probably gonna give a normal fucking speech.

TV: Right.

JF: I mean, let’s not-

TV: I mean, it’s just hard because summits like this where all the leaders are together, usually you do a whole ton of work leading up to it to try to get to some deliverable. Some big accomplishment. Something to announce. And when you have a State Department that is essentially not staffed it’s very hard to have the team in place to do that and to, like, get to the place where we have accomplishments so we can say, “You know what? Venezuela is a disaster and we’re gonna ratchet up political pressure on them until they stop doing x, y, or z.” Or like, “There is an ethnic cleansing in Burma. We are focused on it. This is the money that’s going towards helping refugees who are fleeing to Bangladesh.” It’s just like, I have no confidence that any of that is prepped. [Phone dings]

JF: It really feels like they’re, [TV: Sorry] they’re so reactive. Like they don’t- like you never- like, what is Rex Tillerson’s agenda? Like they’ve pulled out of Paris, they’re dealing with North Korea, they’re trying to seem as though they’re competent. It seems like everything about what Nikki Haley does, what Rex Tillerson does, is about doing this first level thing of just demonstrating that we have a competent and working, functioning diplomatic effort in place. Which is the threshold entry for actually doing- doing something in those jobs.

TV: Rex Tillerson has spent nine months reviewing the staffing levels of the State Department for some reorg that he wants to put forward. Meanwhile, like he has no assistant secretaries of state. Like, there’s no management reorg where you’re gonna say, “You know what? We don’t need someone in charge of Europe [Laughter] or the Middle East.” Like there’s some things he’s done that, yeah, actually kind of make sense. Like he’s gotten rid of these special envoys that deal with challenges that kind of aren’t really a big deal anymore. So, that’s fine. The State Department could be shrunk down a bit and made more efficient. But, it’s just- I don’t think there’s a single Cabinet member that is more of a disappointment than Rex Tillerson. Like, even Rick Perry found religion and was like, “Oh god, the energy department. Like, we should have that around.”

JF: “Oh, I will take guarding our nation’s nukes seriously.”

TV: [Laughs] Yeah, right!

JL: “I’m gonna show up to work.”

JF: So, I’m a little scared about North Korea.

JL: Oh, you’re the one.

JF: I was reading Axios last night, they had some reporting on this, that the Trump administration is down to basically two paths. One, continue to put more pressure on China, economic pressure, particularly. And like, two, preparing for a preemptive ground war. I mean, what. What’s gonna happen here?

JL: Seems great.

TV: Hell if I know. I mean it does- I mean hopefully what they’re doing is posturing [JF: Okay] and trying to fix Steve Bannon coming out [JF: Yeah] and telling some progressive journalist that-

JF: We’re in checkmate.

TV: That we’re in checkmate, that we’re screwed, that there is no military solution. They want to get the Chinese to ratchet down on imports of fuel, they’re- David Sanger of the New York Times did a big piece today about there’s very specific deadly rocket fuel that China’s allowing the North Koreans to purchase that’s fueling their missile programs. So there’s all these- there’s a lot of things you can do on the pressure track in terms of sanctions, but it requires support from places like Russia and China, members of the UN Security Council. Actually- it also requires them to actually enforce things that are going on in their own country. Like, Chinese companies selling fuel.

JL: Yeah, I saw McMaster talking about this over the weekend. And it is true that as part of this negotiation, it seems like they need to convey that they have a reasonable military option. [TV: Yes] That that part of their messaging and part of what they’re doing with their press office at Axios is to try to convey that they actually believe they have a military option to give them a stronger negotiating hand. Cause McMaster was like, “There are people that are saying we don’t have a military option and that’s not true.” Maybe pushing back at Bannon kind of giving away the game in that interview he gave that we forgot about cause it’s two weeks ago.

TV: I mean it is a different situation but it is analogous to what we did to Iran, which was say, we will blow the shit out of your military facilities [JF: Yeah] and your nuclear program unless you take these steps we demanding you do, and in the interim we increased sanctions. Speaking of Iran, it is very frightening that Trump has previewed that he might pull out of the Iran deal as early as October. That has in place a diplomatic process to oversee, to monitor their nuclear program. It’s not perfect. There’s- we need access to military sites that we’re not getting, like, enforcement could be improved. But, it’s just when you look at North Korea and you see this program just spiraling out of control versus Iran where it feels managed by the international community to a great extent. I cannot fathom why they would do that.

JF: Also, this is a choice between, like you just said, enforcement could be improved or, if you pull out of the deal, no enforcement. Right?

TV: And the Europeans will just roll on without us. We’ll be more isolated.

JF: That’s so- tt’s like, if we pull out of this deal Iran’s gonna go- of course they’re gonna go pursue nuclear weapons again and they’re gonna have an easier time doing it than they right now.

TV: It’s just like, think of the things we’re not even talking about. Like, right now. The only story I read about Middle East peace, he’s gonna meet with Netanyahu.

JF: He just tweeted about it.

TV: Yeah, I mean it’s just, there’s no real process in place to push them forward. Not that there’s an easy solution on the table, or even a hard solution on the table. There’s just no work getting done there. There’s ethnic cleansing in Myanmar. There’s all these issues and areas- there’s all these global development and, like, food security goals that are really important to places where people are struggling, that don’t even seem to be on the agenda.

JF: Yeah, I mean, I was asking about North Korea because over the weekend he tweeted, he called the- Kim Jong Un “rocket man.”

JL: What was that?

JF: And then all the stories were about, “He’s got a nickname for Kim Jong Un, it’s rocket man, blah, blah, blah." And I’m just sitting there like, oh, this is a funny little topic, you know. And then last night I read the Axios report about the actual military options that they’re considering. I was like, this seems like the bigger deal right here. Not so much the rocket man nickname. It’s- this is the stuff you wanna pay attention to.

TV: Calling- why are we calling Kim Jong Un rocket man? Is that an insult, first of all? That was a fine movie from the 90 or, early 2000s. And we’re calling terrorists losers. He’s really stuck with that one. It’s just childish.

JL: He thinks that one’s good messaging point. He thinks that one’s a good messaging point. I’m not totally, totally against that one. It’s- the rocket man one is silly.

JF: He’s also, like, ruined two Elton john songs. Rocket man.

TV: That’s probably it.

JF: Tiny Dancers always at the- he plays that at his rallies.

JL: When we went to NASA at the White House and Buzz Aldrin almost punched me in the face, before that he handed me his business card and it says, “Buzz Aldrin: Rocket Hero.”

TV: That’s awesome.

JL: Which is cool.

JF: That’s great.

[Quiet laughter]

JL: But, even like just, you know, Trump tweets that he’s rocket man… what? What’s so funny?

JF: Quick story about me and Buzz Aldrin-

TV: Yeah, yeah, and then if Lovett or Leave It gets televised, you’ll probably have the same card.

JF: Very good- very good friend.

JL: Close personal friend, Buzz Aldrin, and I were at the Palm- the-

TV: And then Charlie Rose came up.

JF: Then I took a selfie with Spicer.

JL: Spicer, Buzz Aldrin, and I getting a quick lobster cob at the Ivy.

[Laughter]

JL: But no, but that- even just people reacting to it is exhausting. Like, he calls him rocket man. Like it’s not funny, it’s not appropriate, it’s strange. It’s not even worth your outrage, like, “Uh Trump thinks he’s gonna solve this with a nickname.” No- like who knows why Trump does what he does? It’s just.

JF: It’s frustrating.

TV: He’s just…it’s a very hard problem. It’s not his fault. It does seem like Tillerson, to a lesser extent H.R. McMaster, Mattis, Nikki Haley, are seized with the challenge. They get it. They’re focused on it. The rest of the world is wondering what the hell Donald Trump’s gonna do and if he’s gonna make things worse instead of better. And that’s not a great place to be.

JL: Well, look-

JF: Yeah. I always wanna check in with you from time to time on this cause I try to think to myself, is this something that’s a uniquely Trump administration strategy, or what would be- what would we be doing if it was the Obama administration right now? Knowing that it is a really hard challenge, no matter who’s president. That’s always the tough thing reading this stuff about North Korea.

TV: Yeah. We would be pushing for more sanctions, for more enforcement. We’d probably be doing a lot more to reassure the South Koreans. We’d probably be thinking long and hard about increasing our missile defense systems in the region, which I think they’re also doing.

JL: But it doesn’t look that different.

TV: It doesn’t look that different except for the fact that the North Korean strategy is to try to divide the alliance.

JL: Right.

TV: To try to divide the Japanese and the- and South Koreans from us.

JL: And Trump is into that.

TV: And he’s- he’s leaning into it without really realizing he’s doing that.

JF: He’s also trying to divide the alliance.

TV: Yeah.

JL: Finally, though, it’ll be okay because Stephen Miller is at that computer figuring out the perfect words for Donald Trump to say at UNGA.

JF: C+ Santa Monica fascist.

TV: Yeah, I mean- can you imagine?

JF: Stephen Miller.

TV: I guess the funny thing is, he does give this big speech to the UN General Assembly on Tuesday. It will be very weird and jarring, I think even now, for us to watch that and see him in that role-

JF: I won’t be watching.

TV: But he will be reading from a teleprompter. It will probably go fine. The thing that I really worry about is like, what’s he gonna say in the meeting with the King of Jordan or the PA -- Palestinian authority -- or the leaders of Egypt? Or his working lunch with the African leaders? It’s like, you know- these are- he doesn’t know-

JF: At his Bedminster hotel?

TV: A thing about what’s gonna be discussed.

JL: I would say a full 75% about what Donald Trump will know on foreign policy on Friday, he does not currently know. He will learn it in these meetings and he’s gonna be fascinated. He’s gonna say something like, “You know many people didn’t know that there were more than five countries in Africa. More and more people are finding this out.”

JF: So, this is basically an international relations course for Donald Trump.

JL: Oh, yeah, it’s-

JF: Crash course.

TV: And they’re doing a long version. I mean Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday? Like by the end of the Obama administration, we were out of there in 36 hours.

JL: The great courses: UNGA.

[Laughter]

JF: He gets to chill out in New York for a couple days, that’s what- he doesn’t want- he hates Washington. He’s doing most of it from Bedminster.

TV: I gotta say, I’m with him on that one.

JF: Oh, that’s fun. Okay, when we come back we will be talking to the editor-in-chief of HuffPo, Lydia Polgreen.

0:31:00

[MUSIC]

0:31:06

JF: Pod Save America is brought to you by Sonos.

TV and JL: Sonos.

JF: Speak freely about your love of Sonos.

JL: Okay.

TV: I went down to Orange County yesterday to visit a friend of all of ours, Nikki, who lives there. We saw her amazing puppy Stanley, who Lovett yelled at during Game of Thrones several times.

JF: Yeah, Lovett’s very anti-Stanley.

TV: And we’re getting her a house warming gift-

JL: I’m not anti-Stanley.

TV: And we’re gonna get her a Sonos.

JF: Does she know that or is this, like- did we just…?

JL: I’m not anti-Stanley.

TV: She’s learning about it right now.

JF: Oh ho!

TV: The reason we’re doing it is because it’s a great way to listen to music.

JF: You know how long it’s gonna take Nikki to set up that Sonos?

TV: 11 seconds.

JF: That’s right. I was gonna-

TV: I counted.

JF: Yeah that’s right. Exactly 11 seconds.

JL: I like it.

[Laughter]

JL: I have one set up in my dining room. We play music during game night.

TV: By the way, it’s nice down there.

JL: Sonos!

JF: Kick out some Republican representatives down there.

TV: Yeah! You’re out!

JF: Sonos! For the first time-

JL: Yeah, maybe Darrell Issa can listen to some music, beautifully crisp, on the veranda when he’s not a Congress person anymore. Or the roof.

JF: Yeah, when he’s- becomes a lobbyist. For the first time ever, Sonos is offering the listeners of Pod Save America 10% off one order of 1,000 dollars or less on any product on sonos.com. This offer is available for a limited time only and cannot be combined with other discounts or promotions. Use the promo code PSA10. That’s capital “P-S-A” one zero at sonos.com to receive this exclusive offer.

TV: Exclusive.

JL: Do you know who else might enjoy some crisp, lifelike sound on their Sonos? Ted Cruz. End of thought.

[Laughter]

JF: Like.

[Laughter]

0:32:26

JF: Pod Save America is also brought to you by Texture. We’ve been telling you about Texture for months.

TV: Months.

JF: It’s a great app giving you unlimited access to over 200 premium magazines. They have content that is fresh and new each month, unlike the same script they’ve asked us to read over and over and over again.

TV: Ohhh!

JL: Fresh content.

JF: This is meta.

JL: What?

JF: That was in the script.

TV: That was in the script?

JF: The funny script line was in the usually boring script.

JL: What’s happening?

TV: The call is coming from inside the house.

JF: Texture’s amazing.

TV: They’re listening.

JF: We love you Texture. So they took away the script and asked us to tell you about a story we read on the Texture app.

TV: Ooh.

JF: So, one of the magazines that’s on texture is the Atlantic.

TV: Yes.

JF: We haven’t talked about this on the pod yet, because hopefully we’ll talk to him about it at some point, but Ta-Nehisi Coates’ “First White President.” Incredible piece.

JL: Yeah. We talked about it on Lovett or Leave It the other day.

TV: That whole- that whole issue of that magazine is amazing.

JL: Yeah.

TV: Elliot Cohen has an entire article about Trump’s foreign policy so far and all the things he’s fallen short on. And he’s a right-wing Republican writing this, criticizing Trump.

JF: The Atlantic does great work.

TV: Yeah. And you know what-

JL: Yeah.

JF: Little highlight of the Atlantic here.

TV: I don’t know the last time I saw a hard copy of almost any magazine. That’s why you need Texture.

JF: You can access all your favorite magazines and their back issues in a single app so you can enjoy them any time, anywhere. Tommy, we’re just crushing the segues there. That was great.

TV: Crushing.

JF: Texture is normally 15 dollars a month. But our listeners can get Texture for just 6.99 a month.

JL: The Atlantic is very old.

[Laughter]

JL: It’s been around for a long time. I think that it’s been around since, like, Lincoln. Or maybe before.

JF: Listen- yeah.

TV: 6.99 a month! That’s amazing! That’s over 50% off their standard price!

JF: You also get a free-

JL: It probably used to have an old timey type.

JF: You also get a free trial so you can try Texture first. Get over 200 top magazines such as People, Vanity Fair, Time, Cosmo, and the Atlantic for just- we just did an ad for the Atlantic today.

JL: Yeah, what the hell.

JF: Jeff Goldberg, come see us.

TV: Yeah. The invoice is in the mail, Jeff.

[Laughter]

JF: Go to texture.com/crooked. That’s texture.com/crooked. Texture, a better way to read magazines. That’s-

TV: Also in the copy.

JF: That’s them, yeah, sorry.

JL: Okay, cool.

JF: You guys can have it out with each other.

0:34:16

[MUSIC]

0:34:20

JF: We’re very fortunate to have, in studio, the editor-in-chief of the Huffington Post, Lydia Polgreen.

Lydia Polgreen: We’re HuffPost now.

JF: HuffPost- I said it earlier in the program correctly.

LP: It’s okay.

[Laughter]

TV: We can do it again.

JF: Yeah, let’s do it again.

LP: No, no, no!

JL: No, I think-

LP: I want-

JL: I think it should stay in, guys.

JF: Okay.

LP: Yeah.

TV: It’s a learning- it’s a learning moment.

LP: I think so, too. I think so, too.

JF: Now we’re gonna remember.

JL: It’ll stick with people.

LP: I’m a big believer in transparency and showing your work, so, there we go.

JF: We’re- that’s perfect then.

[Laughter]

TV: Before you were the editor-in-chief of HuffPost, you were also a foreign correspondent for the New York Times focused on Africa. The UN General Assembly’s this week. How do you sense the world is viewing Donald Trump nine months into this adventure we’re all on? Have people started to figure him out? Or is he still this big question mark that is creating anxiety?

LP: Well, I think both, right? I mean, they’ve figured- they’ve started to figure him out and that is provoking even more anxiety.

JF: Okay.

TV: Great.

LP: You know, it’s been a really interesting- I mean I spent most of my career covering, you know, developing nations that…were sort of transitioning to democracy, but often in a deeply complicated way. They were not necessarily, you know, ideally representative or, you know, perfect in their expression of democracy. And, you know, when I was in places like Zimbabwe or Congo or Nigeria or India, you know, the U.S. for many democracy advocates was seen as a kind of beacon. And you know, when I talk to my friends in those places now, they- they see things very differently. I had a conversation, this is like such a Tom Friedman thing to say, but, you know, I was- we’ve been going around the country on our Listen to America Tour that HuffPost is doing, visiting 25 cities. And I was in St. Louis for the kick off and I had this conversation with a Lyft driver going back to my hotel, who’s originally from Uganda. And he’s lived in the St. Louis area for 13 years, he’s a nurse and, you know, drives Lyft on the weekends. And he said- we had a, you know, pretty in-depth conversation about the situation in Uganda. They’ve had a strong man president, you know, for the past 30 years. And he said, “You know, I used to call Uganda to check up on people there and now people are calling to check up on me.”

TV: Great.

LP: And that, to me, really encapsulates how a lot people, you know, from the- the world that I used to spend most of my time covering, feel about what’s unfolding in the United States right now. It’s a mix of horror, you know, but also, you know, it feels very familiar. You know, having a leader who’s using fear, antipathy- I mean in Uganda for example, it wasn’t Muslims, but it was actually gays who were used as a kind of- a way to whip up antipathy to the opponents of the president. So, you know, I think it’s really useful to look and see how the rest of the world is digesting and seeing you know, the Trump presidency. And you’re seeing, you know, don’t forget that Trump is part of a wave, you know. I covered India and, you know, Trump is of a piece with figures like Narendra Modi. So you know, I think the global lens is really important in thinking about what’s unfolding in America right now.

JF: So you were covering countries transitioning into democracy and now you’re covering one transitioning out.

[Laughter]

JF: So, you- you became editor-in-chief of one of the largest left-leaning media organizations right as Trump was elected president. We’re now eight months in. What’s been the biggest challenge of journalism in the Trump era? What’s surprised you?

LP: Yeah, I mean, it’s really interesting. I mean, I think, you know, HuffPost has traditionally been described as a left-leaning news organization and I suppose there are some ways in which it’s true. I’d like to think of us as progressive. But I think, like, this is a moment where the traditional poles of left and right feel so scrambled. And, you know, you’ve got these two giant forces, you know, globalization on the one hand and technological on the other, converging to really, to really re-architect how power works in the world. And so, I think of us- the best way to describe our identity is, you know, we’re for people who earn a paycheck and live on that paycheck. And that’s actually not an ideological point of view.

JF: What does that mean in practice?

LP: Well it means that, you know, we’re pretty critical of everyone. You know, who’s powerful.

JF: Would you say it’s more populism than ideology now?

LP: Yeah, and I think populism has become a dirty word in our, in our current political climate because it’s been used in so many negative ways. And the history of populism in the United States is not a happy one. But it’s hard to ignore the fact that there, you know, huge parts of the country, and frankly the world, that feel alienated from the most powerful institutions that govern our lives. Whether it’s, you know, politics, whether it’s media, you know, technology. There’re just so many things that fell, I think, fundamentally alien. And I think you know, one of the things we’re trying to accomplish with this listening tour is sort of get beyond the divisive tactics that have divided people, and help people, particularly working people, see the things that they share and that they have in common. And, you know, once you get past, you know, the kind of Fox News framing around political correctness and, you know, transgender bathrooms and things like that, and get people having a real conversation, I think they often find that- that they share much more than divides them.

JL: I just wanna follow up. You say- so taking on both sides, right? Or sort of viewing- not being easy on the liberal side, right, and that would be a difference than what, say a more liberal publication would do. Where do you think more liberal leaning places are falling down on the job in holding Democrats and progressives accountable?

LP: It’s a great question. I mean, I think, you know, we’re- you know, Democrats love nothing more than a circular firing squad. So, you know, there’s- there’s a lot of kind of interlacing battles going on right now. It feels like we’re gonna replay the 2016 primary, you know, probably well into our grandchildren’s, you know, lives. But you know I think that, you know, the relationship of the Democratic party in particular to big institutions, financial institutions, to the technology industry, I actually think that, you know, you’re seeing an emerging set of voices that are asking really, really hard questions around these issues. So we’re definitely not alone in that. You know, I’ve been super encouraged to see a huge emphasis on the questions around technological monopolies. I think that, you know, the battle over identity politics is pretty uninteresting to me. But, it’s good that it’s a conversation that we’re having. So, I’m not gonna criticize any sort of left leaning publication for doing this or not doing that, but I do think that anybody who cares about these issues needs to be putting real pressure on the political leadership. And also the sort of big institutions like unions, you know, as much as they remain a force, to really be kind of like foot soldiers in this battle. And putting that pressure on and continuing to advocate for these issues is extremely important.

JL: I guess, yeah, I just- it seems like, to me, that those are critiques and access points from the left as well, right?

LP: Sure.

JL: That like, a desire for a stronger, you know, union force, a desire to take on big technology companies that are monopolistic. I guess I just- to me I ,like, see MSNBC at a moment where there’s incredible liberal activism, kind of going out and trying to find conservatives to kind of level the playing field and I- I guess I wonder why this would be a moment to come at these issues.

LP: Oh, I totally agree and I think like, you know, to me the thing that’s dismaying is that the conservatives that you see, you know, rising up in places like MSNBC and, like the, you know, opinion pages of the New York Times, actually represent, like, exactly the same world view as the liberals. You know, they may have differences on policy issues and things like that, but they represent, you know, upper middle class elites consensus-

JF: Establishment.

LP: Establishment, you know. I mean, you know, Brett Stevens is an incredibly stylish writer and I think, you know, an interesting thinker. But, you know, there’s not that much difference in terms of the broader, kind of, poles that we’re seeing in our world right now, between him and Tom Friedman. Or him and Nick Kristof, you know. They essentially come out of the same milieu and they go to the same cocktail parties. They have had the same lived experience and, so to me it’s less of a critique about ideology and to me it feels like, weirdly more like a sorta cover your ass than a genuine attempt to grapple with ideological diversity.

TV: Yeah, I mean, and Hugh Hewitt is an intellectually dishonest individual who came to support Trump when it became economically and socially acceptable, or viable for him to do so. And low and behold, he’s rewarded with a show on MSNBC.

LP: Yeah, I mean, I think that’s right. I think we’re seeing people- it’s very comfortable for establishment institutions to embrace never-Trump conservatives. It’s- that’s like a gimme. It’s so easy.

TV: Shout out to Miller.

[Laughter]

LP: On, I mean, exactly. It’s like, it’s, you know, so nobody gets any points for ideological diversity from my- in my book from embracing a GOP never-Trumper. It’s like, yawn.

JF: I was thinking about this last night and you were tweeting about it as well, with Spicer on the Emmys. Which is, like, so supposedly liberal Hollywood, Harvard now, is like embracing these former Trump figures like Spicer and Corey Lewandowski, you know my mind-

LP: But not Chelsea Manning, God forbid.

JF: Well it’s like, in my mind I’m like, this is ironically one of the points that Trump’s campaign was making, which is there’s this clubby elitism and it really doesn’t matter which, whether you’re a Democrat or Republican, because all these people end up together.

LP: No, of course-

JF: Cause it’s the money and fame that sort of drives it.

LP: No, that’s exactly right. And I think like, you know, it’s been kind of a rough time for Harvard. I didn’t go to Harvard, I don’t know if any of you guys did.

JF: No.

JL: Boo hoo.

[Laughter]

JL: When’s the vigil.

[Laughter]

LP: I mean, I’ll- look it’s not like I went to a state school. I actually went to a small liberal arts college in Maryland that had a lot of conservatives at it. You know, I think that this ability of establishment institutions to re-assimilate noxious figures is a very old story, you know? I mean,

JF: You pointed out Kissinger last night.

LP: Exactly. I mean Henry Kissinger, you know, is- remains hailed by statesmen. Including like, people like Hillary Clinton. So, you know. I think this has been a factor in our public life and really says something, like, deeply troubling about Washington. That there’s essentially nothing-

JF: Absolutely.

LP: There’s nothing you can do that makes you a persona non-grata.

JL: Yeah, well I found myself thinking of it. That it’s even worse. Which is, it’s about the enemies you’re allowed to have. You know, because had Sean Spicer stood up there and defended things like a Muslim ban, but had Trump done something anti-gay in a way that led Spicer to forgive it at the podium, he’d be much less forgiven by people at the Emmys.

LP: I think that’s absolutely right. I mean, and that goes to, like, the kinda hierarchy of otherness, you know. And, look, you know, you look at things like the transgender ban -- and look I don’t remember if Sean Spicer specifically stood up and defended the transgender ban -- but like, you know we’ve seen this, like, change sweeping through Hollywood but it remains somewhat on the fringe. And you know, I think that the question of, like, who it’s okay to bash and who it’s not remains like a really important one.

TV: Yeah. So you’re leading a media company at a time of massive change in media.

JL: We are, too.

TV: We are, as well. So I was actually just gonna get some advice.

[Laughter]

LP: Oh, wait. I’m here to ask the questions.

TV: So, Ben Smith- Advice -- put your office in a soundproof studio on La Cienaga. You’ll never hear a motorcycle go by. Ben Smith at Buzzfeed wrote a piece about Facebook and how it’s time for big technology companies to sort of have their time in the barrel. And they’re starting to get attacked. You’re hearing about anti-trust. Media companies have long viewed Facebook as a frenemy. They give you extraordinary reach, but they cut into revenues. Like, what do you think the future is for these massive technology companies, like Facebook, like Twitter, that are so important to the way the news is disseminated and consumed now.

LP: I think they’re in trouble. I mean, I think that you’re seeing on the left and in certain parts of the right, a consensus around the overwhelming power that these platforms have. You know, the New York Times story about what happened at their New America foundation with the Open Markets Institute I think was a real wake up call. And you know it remains unclear if that’s actually what Google wanted or if it was, you know, the overzealous reaction of the people that run New America. But, you know, it’s clear to me that news organizations, you know, really let themselves be dealt a bad hand. And I think about the way in which you know, for example, Taylor Swift has neg- managed her relationship with Spotify, you know. I take it away, I give it back and, you know. I remember right before her- right before her album came out, there was a massive advertisement that Spotify paid for as kind of a takeover on the New York Times home page and it was clear that she had extracted, like, extraordinary concessions from Spotify and said, you as a platform, you need to have this album. Now, can news do that, I think is a really interesting question. And the fact is, like, we trained our readers to expect our content to be free and- but that, in a way, is like not nearly as bad as the second sin, which was training platforms to expect that we would just give them our content and let them build their businesses on the back of it. I mean this is particularly poignant for HuffPost, right. Because, you know, one of the most powerful critiques of HuffPost was that we destroyed the journalism industry by having unpaid bloggers and by aggregating people’s stories and things like that. I mean, we are all unpaid workers, you know, toiling in the mines of the- in the data mines of Facebook, right?

TV: Yeah.

LP: We really are!

JF: Yeah.

TV: Yeah.

JL: We’re all Twitter interns.

TV: A lot of nice houses in San Francisco have been built on the- on your labor.

LP: Yeah, exactly. And so I think like, you know, now running, like, a small scrappy, I mean, not that small but, you know, scrappy newsroom that’s really devoted to creating- it’s sort of ironic that, you know, there was a time when people to us and thought of us as, you know, the enemy of journalism. I mean, my God.

JF: Yeah. I mean it seems like the other thing that Facebook touches on is this dissemination of propaganda during the 2016 race, which I don’t- I don’t think we’ve had a good enough or serious enough discussion in this country about how to counter propaganda.

TV: Yeah, or even a full accounting of what happened.

JF: Or a full accounting of what happened. But I was- I kept looking at this- these studies after the 2016 election that shows the media coverage, you know, mainstream media was overwhelmingly negative on- for both candidates.

LP: Yep.

JF: And there was remarkably little about policy for both candidates among the mainstream media coverage. But Trump benefits from these right-wing media outlets – Breitbart, Fox, everything – that were actually talking a lot about his policy positions-

LP: Yep.

JF: And so his policy broke through in a favorable way on the right. Hillary never had anything like that on the left.

LP: And not just broke through in a favorable way on the right, but they- they broke through without any interference, right?

JF: Right. No filters.

LP: I mean without any scrutiny. And so I think, like, you know, I think that a lot of the anger that you’re seeing from President Clinton, from Hillary Clinton on the- against the media is really kind of like, speaking to this in that, you know, you had these big institutions that saw it as their job to do their job as they’ve always done their job. And meanwhile, kind of off to the side, there was this other media that was much more savvy and plugged in to how people are actually getting information, that was telling a really different story. And, look, you know, I mean, one of the basic things- I mean, there’s absolutely like, you know, progressive, you know, I wouldn’t quite call it fake news, but there’s progressive, you know, kind of manipulative media. I know because my mother bombards me with it every single day on Facebook. But, you know, there also doesn’t seem to be the receptiveness to that-

JF: Right.

LP: Among- you know, on the left. I think that there is a more questioning, less likely to sort of accept this kind of simplistic framing that we were seeing on the right. And so, you know, so I think that you’re seeing efforts on the left to try and replicate the Breitbarts and others. I don’t think they’ll succeed.

TV: No,

JF: I don’t think we want to.

LP: No!

JF: I mean, it’s always bothered me because people- when people bring up fox and breitbart, they’ll say, oh and then on the left you have MSNBC and HuffPost.

LP: There’s just- no.

TV: Not equivalent.

JF: It’s not like that, there’s no comparison.

JL: We would be- we would be in much better shape if there was a Rachel Maddow of the right. If that’s who people were tuning into on Fox News it’d be like, you know, it’d be great.

LP: Yeah.

JF: My question- I don’t think we want to replicate that. But so what do we do on the left? I mean, like, you know, you guys must struggle with that, right?

LP: We do all the time. And I think like, you know, I mean it’s not to say that, I mean if you read Breitbart on any given day, which I do read every single day. They are absolutely writing about divisions within the right, you know, so it’s not like a, you know, a kind of aim and corner for the GOP. And so I think, like, our kind of fratricidal coverage of the left is- is not dissimilar from what you see.

TV: Yes, certainly now with Bannon back.

LP: Certainly now with Bannon back, you’re seeing that. But I think that there has been this like really skillful kind of transmission of memes on the right, that just would never work on the left.

TV: I agree. And you know I’ve been thinking about this a lot as we learn more and more about Russian propaganda at first because, it’s not like they were more technologically effective, or better funded than say Hillary Clinton’s team or the DNC’s team. There had to have been something about the content that people were more willing to believe. And I think it’s because they’re willing to lie. They’re willing to say, “Hillary Clinton murdered people and here’s the list.” And like when that shit gets in your head, it’s hard to get it out. And I don’t think that’s something we ever wanna replicate on the left. At least I hope not. But on the right, it’s like, we saw this about Obama from day one. The birther garbage was exactly that.

LP: Right. I mean I think it really has to do with, like, your relationship to truth and fact, right? I mean if you have any sense of decency and care about, you know, the actual world in which we live. I mean, that’s why I think, you know, people who are shocked that, you know, Trump and Schumer- that you know, Chuck and Nancy and Donald Trump are, you know, making deals. I mean, you know, at the end of the day I think that for the Democrats, saving DACA is like, not a joke, you know. They’re not gonna sell out, you know, 800 thousand people who came to America as children for the sake of not giving Donald Trump a win. I mean agree or disagree with the Democrats, like, you know, that was not the case with the Republicans under Obama, right. I mean they were- they were willing to do almost anything to prevent him from getting almost anything and- and what we’re seeing right now is the Democratic party that’s, you know, behaving like adults. And I think that’s…that’s just the reality that we need to live with. That at the end of the day, people like Chuck Schumer and Nancy Pelosi are- are gonna make deals with Trump because, you know, it’s just too important.

JF: Yeah. So, last question and then we’ll let you go. Because you’ve covered so many countries transitioning into democracy, how do you think that our institutions are holding up so far under the Trump presidency? Or how concerned are you that he’s doing lasting damage?

LP: I mean, I think that our institutions are holding up, actually, pretty well. I think, you know, for all the criticism of the media, like, you know, there’s so much great journalism out there right now and you know, people are not intimidated. And I think that that’s really powerful. I worry a lot about the courts. I think that, you know, something that people are probably not paying enough attention to is just how much power the President has to shape the courts and given ort current you know, our current set up in the Senate, this is gonna have profound and lasting impact. If the Republicans achieved only one thing, denying a Supreme Court justice to President Obama and handing a seat to Neil Gorsuch-

TV: Yeah.

LP: Is a generational win that will not soon be undone. You know, and so- so you know, I think that’s one area where we have to be like, really, really be watching closely. You know, I’m an optimist by nature and I think that, you know, particularly traveling around the country on tis bus tour, I’m going to Birmingham from here. You know, I just have to believe that you know, the sort of the real stuff of the country, which is people in their communities, like making changes in their lives and in their political institutions and their civic institutions. That that’s the thing that’s going to keep us from going off the rails.

TV: Yeah.

LP: I mean, look, there are countries that have perfect elections under the, the auspices of the United Nations like, for example I covered one of the first elections in Congo after the civil war. And that was a beautiful election. Everyone, you know, cast their ballots peacefully, the ballots were counted correctly. That country has no institutions, you know, and so it’s just been a mess ever since. In Nigeria, they can’t hold an election to save their lives. You know, there’s like open ballot stuffing, you know, all kinds of shenanigans that go on, but it’s judiciary almost always gets it right. And it’s institutions, you know, sort of hold the country in place and that’s why, despite everyone thinking Nigeria’s a mess, it’s actually held together all these years. And so when I think about the United States I think about us as being, you know, there are parts of our- of the mechanics and the furniture of our democracy that are vulnerable. But they’re are sort of deep, institutional reasons why I think we have reasons to be optimistic.

TV: We also need Trump’s lawyer to keep going to steak lunches and just talking loudly about their strategies.

[Laughter]

JF: Next to Ken Vogel.

JL: Getting a pop over and talking about a safe with secret documents. Keep it up, Matt.

[Laughter]

LP: Read about it in the New York Times.

JF: Yeah. Lydia Polgreen, thank you so much for joining us. And please come back again soon.

TV: Yeah.

LP: It’s a pleasure. Thanks, guys.

TV: Good luck on the bus tour.

JF: Yeah.

LP: Thank you.

JF: It’ll be fun.

0:57:06

[MUSIC]

0:57:11

JF: Pod Save America is brought to you by Movement.

TV: Movement.

JL: Guys, I want to put some content in the ad. This comes from the Emmys, about Sean Spicer. Friend of mine says, “The reaction in our section was very negative, people all around us were angry he was there and afterwards when we were leaving, he was up ahead of us so my husband went up and shook his hand and told him to go fuck himself.”

[Laughter]

TV: Where’s that- which ad is that going in?

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[Laughter]

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[Laughter]

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TV: If Sean asks you what time it is, say it’s time to go-

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[Laughter]

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0:58:41

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TV and JL: The Cash app!

JF: Anyone have anything interesting to say about the Cash app.

JL: You know, I did.

[Laughter]

JF: I paid someone just this weekend with the Cash app.

JL: Oh! I was just thinking that, I can’t remember what it was about, but it had to do with an escape room and paying Spencer for something. And I was thinking, I’m gonna do this with the Cash app. Oh! You know what it was, I went to see It last night and-

TV: Oh, too scary.

JL: No, it was great. But, like, we bought movie tickets, then we went for conveyor belt sushi, then we saw the movie, we got candy, then we got a pizza after. It was a great night.

JF: Oh, I know, I-

JL: It was a great night, but it was hard to settle up!

JF: Saturday morning, Tommy and Emily and Hannah and I all went to Cantor’s Deli and-

TV: Oh, yeah.

JF: And Tommy- instead of splitting the check, Tommy paid for it and I paid him with the Cash app and then I said, this is so that we have content for the ad on Monday. And here’s the content.

TV: I was full until the next day cause Cantor’s is delicious.

JF: Cantor’s deli.

JL: I ate alone.

[Laughter]

TV: Any details about the Cash app that we should share?

JL: So, now uh…

JF: Yeah, if you download it and you put in the code PODSAVE-

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[Laughter]

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JL: Guess you guys are cool with going back to Cantor’s even though they had like a D on the health inspection like half an hour ago.

TV: I was- I was hanging out with a new friend on Saturday who is also a friend of the pod and she said, “Was Lovett really mad about that bottle of wine?” And I said, “Yes, he’s a fucking lunatic. He was very, very angry.”

JL That’s what we’re saying now? You wanna bring that back up? You wanna say that I’m crazy?

TV: Total lunatic.

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TV: [Laughing] Yeah.

JF: Come at me with that.

TV: Why don’t you read me another anecdote from your friend at the Emmys, you fucking populist hero!

JF: [Laughing]

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[Laughter]

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JL: Cash app! It’s the simplest and easy way to pay people back who you thought were your friends.

[Laughter]

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1:00:34

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JL: Postmates.

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TV: Yeah, look, if your friends went out to breakfast without you and you’re by yourself and looking for something to eat-

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TV: Postmates is basically the only way we can eat here at Crooked Media, cause they closed down everything.

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TV: Yes.

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TV: What day was that?

JL: That was in August because it was before I started my new contest with Spencer.

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JF: Postmates!

1:01:35

[MUSIC]

1:01:39

JF: On the pod today, we have the host of Pod Save the People, DeRay McKesson. DeRay, how are you?

DeRay McKesson: I’m good, I’m good. How are you guys doing?

JF: Pretty good.

JL: Great!

JF: Who’s on the show this week?

DM: We have Tennessee state legislator Lee Harris talking about drug free school zones. There’s so much you don’t know that I didn’t know about drug free school zones. And then we have Tom Dart, the sheriff of the Cook County jail, the largest jail in America.

JF: What did you talk to him about?

DM: You know, actually- ye- you know today? On Monday, Monday of this week, which is, today.

[Laughter]

DM: Today is Monday?

JF: I know, man, it’s hard.

TV: I know the feeling.

DM: Today is Monday, right? Yeah. My podcast’s on Tuesday. Ah, today! Today there is an order that goes into effect by the chief judge in Chicago that should fundamentally change money bail there. So we talk about that and we talk about, like what does it look- what does it mean to lead a jail, the biggest jail in this country. You know, people don’t realize that the three largest mental health facilities in America are jails. So we talk about that and what is wrong with it and what’s on the horizon. So, that was interesting. And then the conversation about what’s happening in Tennessee to the drug-free school zones are something that, like, I thought was sort of an issue until we talked and I, like, understood it so much better afterwards.

TV: DeRay, in the course of your activism, I think you’ve probably become, unfortunately, you know, an expert on the St. Louis police force and all its…challenges. What did you think about the verdict that came down recently and the protests that have reemerged over the last several days.

DM: You know, we talk about this a little bit on Pod Save the People. But you know, he- the officer, Jason Stockley yelled “I’m gonna kill this mother-f***er” and shot Anthony Lamar Smith five times. And his lawyer dismissed his statement as sort of like a small matter. And you see that he got acquitted and people in the street. And, you know, it’s a reminder that like we have no seen justice in so many places in this country, definitely not in St. Louis where the police kill citizens at a rate unlike any other place in America. People are still in the streets and they should be in the streets. What is sort of wild is last night, the police chanted “Who’s streets? Our streets” as they arrested like 80 people. And it’s that sort of like, gang mentality from the police that leads people to protest. Like, when have you seen the police yell “Whose streets? Our streets.” They don’t own the streets. They’re supposed to be public servants. But we’ve seen that not be true time and time again.

TV: Literally taunting activists from Black Lives Matter, right? Who would- they’re reprising a chant that they had heard previously.

DM: Yeah, a chant that we made popular- all of us made popular in the street in Ferguson in 2014. And there’s a movie that just came out about the protests in Ferguson. So I’m sure they have seen that, or heard of it, and they definitely know the chant and they were trying to use it to show that they own the streets. That its’s theirs. And it’s like, that’s not what democracy is, that’s not what is should be.

TV: No, it’s not.

JF: DeRay, as an organizer, how do you shape the way these protests are covered? So, it’s- it seems like it’s a constant struggle between getting out information like what we were just talking about when you were saying, you know, the police chanting that and the police antagonizing protestors, and people who’ll cover, you know, a couple protestors, you know, throwing something at a house or something. So, like, how do you- is that something that’s on your mind when you’re organizing these protests? Is it just, you know- it’s beyond your control, so what are you gonna do? Or, what are your thoughts on that?

DM: Yeah, so, that’s also what’s interesting about what’s happening in St. Louis is that they’re using social media as a way to sort of put out propaganda in a way that we’ve not seen and that the city did- and then those police officers definitely didn’t do that three years ago.

JF: Yeah.

DM: And as an organizer, you know I had 800 followers in 2014, I have 900 thousand now. And try to be really thoughtful by using the platform to help people like, feel and see and smell what was happening. And you know, in the digital space that’s really important because most of the people that care are not physically with you so the more that you can help people like understand how many people, what’s the mood like, what does it feel like, in a consistent way, that goes a long way.

JF: What else do you think has changed with regards to police violence and resulting protests since, you know, you first went to Ferguson three years ago?

DM: Yeah, you know, people thought there was a crisis in Ferguson, they didn’t think there was a crisis in America in 2014. And now that has completely changed. Like people understand that there’s a crisis all across the country. I think now, like with most issues, people are like what can we do, right? They’re looking for what the solutions are. And there’s some places that have been more resistant than others. I think where we’ve not seen change is the FOP. That the police unions, have almost wholly been against any change at the national level, for sure. And with this administration we don’t see the DOJ any longer pushing for reform or any substantive change in the system.

TV: DeRay one of the most outspoken protests against police violence and the treatment of African Americans in the country was Colin Kaepernick and his refusal to stand during the national anthem. It has been interesting to me to watch the way his leadership has been covered over the course of the last several years and I think anyone who read Rembert Browne’s piece in Bleacher Report recently, you know, have seen the way he’s brought people along with him. I’m wondering what- what you think about Kaepernick’s stand against police violence and where- where that effort is.

DM: Yeah, I just- I was just with Colin the other day. We were together for a couple hours and, and then Jack joined, Jack here at Twitter who’s great and a friend. And then they were together for the rest of the morning. You know, Colin is very kind. He’s kinder than I think people sort of get the impression of on, with, you know when they see him on TV. He’s really dedicated to these issues both here and globally. And the reality is that nothing that Colin is saying about race and justice is controversial, right? He’s saying the police shouldn’t be killing people. And like that is true.

TV: Yes.

DM: And he’s saying that this country was founded on racism. That is true. Like, these aren’t controversial things. You know, he still trains five days a week. He’s ready at any moment if he gets signed by a team. It’s also wild to see the owners almost seemingly joined together to block him. And that, you know, isn’t fair, isn’t right. So hopefully we’ll see an owner step up and not bow down to the peer pressure of the rest of the owners and do what’s right.

TV: 32 owners who are old, wealthy, white men, I believe.

JL: Many Trump donors.

TV: Yeah, many Trump donors.

JF: Yeah.

DM: Yeah, do you guys have any idea of who is a strong owner who won’t- isn’t susceptible to peer pressure?

TV: Lovett? Lovett?

JL: Yeah, you know DeRay, as you know I sort of- I’m a encyclopedia of knowledge around- about the National Football League.

[Laughter]

JL: I have no idea.

TV: Yeah, to be honest I don’t either but he’s obviously good enough to play on a lot of teams. It- I mean the question early on was, whether he was holding out for a starting job and didn’t wanna be a backup. Well clearly that was not the case and that it was other issues that kept teams from picking him up, so hopefully a team will show some courage and bring on a very good player.

JF: DeRay, thanks for joining us. I know you gotta run. But everyone, download Pod Save the People. It’ll be out tomorrow. And, thanks for calling in.

DM: Awesome. Talk to you guys later.

JF: Alright, man. Take care.

TV: Bye, DeRay.

JL: Bye.

DM: Okay, goodbye.

1:09:00

[MUSIC]

JF: Okay, that’s all the time we have for today. Thanks to Lydia Polgreen and DeRay for stopping by. I think we’ve hit- we’ve hit it all.

JL: We’ve talked about Spicer, healthcare, UNGA…

JF: A little index

TV: I would like to come back at some time to the fact that the entire Trump legal defense team despises one another and are openly fighting-

JL: We didn’t talk about that at all!

TV: And screaming in public places.

JF: Ty Cobb…

TV: [Laughing] Ty Cobb

JF: Versus Donn McGahn.

TV: Absurd.

JF: Over-

JL: Well, Don McGahn wasn’t at the BLT lunch.

JF: No, you’re right, right, right.

TV: Right.

JL: He just heard about it later. He just got a call about it.

JF: He wasn’t able to enjoy their delicious popover.

JL: If- I just would love to have had a camera on McGahn, the White House counsel, when he gets a call from the New York Times that said “Hi, I just got lunch at BLT and the two other lawyers were talking about the whole strategy-”

JF: “I heard you have documents locked up in a safe.”

TV: Imagine if Kathy Ruemmler had gotten that call. She would’ve slit his throat.

[Laughter]

JF: Yes. Yes, that’s true. Okay, everyone.

TV: Great episode, bye!

JF: Great episode, see you later.

JL: End of podcast.

[MUSIC]

1:10:11

#podsa #September 2017 #podsa transcripts

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sprnklersplashes · 8 years ago

Text

The Future Is Forever (1/?)

AU-Emma runs away on her first night in a new foster home and it just so happens that Killian, one of the other kids, decides to do the same on the same night. They agree to have each other’s backs as they navigate the streets together in search of a future.

Emma knew the drill by now.

Her social worker practically shoved her over the threshold of the three story house that was her new foster home. Inside she was greeted by a crowd of four or five kids, the oldest of which was her age and the youngest of which was 11. Two of them, around 13, both with cruel sparks in their eyes and long pale faces, shared a sly grin that made Emma suppress a shudder and her stomach did an uneasy twist.

"You must be Emma." A tall dark haired woman in a tight red dress and thin black heels pushed aside a few kids to reach her. Her hands touched Emma's shoulders but kept her at arm's length like she carried some infectious disease. "Welcome to our home dear."

"Emma, this is Regina," her social worker said behind her. "Your new foster mom."

"I'm very glad you could join us here, Emma," Regina said ina voice that dripped with false sweetness to the point where Emma could feel herself getting queasy, giving her a too wide smile and even going for an affectionate hair pat (although Emma noticed her hand barely brushed her hair). This woman had clearly done her homework. "Is everything in place?"

"Yes, if we could just have your signature here," her social worker chirped. Regina scribbled on the dotted line while Emma scanned her new housemates once more. Once the social worker was out the door Regina grabbed Emma's shoulders with such abruptness she jumped.

"Now why don't I show you to your room?" Before Emma could respond, she was being ushered up the white carpeted spiral staircase, down an impeccably spotless hall and into a room at the very end. She had noticed how bare it was; no clothes, toys or books left lying around. It was like children didn't even live here. The bedroom was equally clean, not so much as a hair out of place with ironed and pressed pale blue bedclothes, a white carpet that made Emma shift nervously in her less than clean shoes and a shining white wooden wardrobe. "What do you think?"

"It's very nice," Emma muttered, perching on the edge of the bed. She got a tiny satisfaction out of watching Regina's eye twitch.

"I'll leave you to unpack." Regina stepped out and closed the door behind her.

With a sigh, Emma realised that her case was still downstairs; she hadn't had time to grab it before she was whisked up here, meaning she'd have to face her new foster family and go get it. Hopefully they'd have dispersed and ignored it.

Emma crept down the hallway, checking to make sure she wasn't tracking dirt over the carpet. She didn't want to get into that kind of trouble. Downstairs, she heard Regina's heels against the hardwood floor as she marched down the hall and the quiet whispers of kids as they scurried away, along with some giggles.

Damn it Emma thought. They must have peeked inside her case. Not like there was much in it, but there was some stuff she didn't want them to see.

When she reached the stairs Emma halted whens she found the oldest kid in the home, a dark haired boy around her 16, struggling up the stairs with her case, which was likely due to the fact that there was a black brace and small metal hook where his left hand should have been. That was the last thing she needed, some smartass looking at her stuff. She panicked slightly when she realised he might have had the intuition to look a bit deeper into her bag. He stopped a few steps from the top and looked up at her. He opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish, which made Emma's mouth twitch into a small smile, before pushing the case towards her.

"You left this downstairs," he said. He was English, his voice light and musical. She could have, in another life, be possibly into him.

Emma nodded and took it off him, bracing herself for the teasing. Maybe he could "lose his balance and fall down the stairs". Instead he simply extended his hand towards her.

"Killian Jones," he introduced, extending his hand. Emma looked at it warily and slowly returned the handshake.

"Emma," she mumbled. "Emma Swan." She was still waiting on the joke. He gave her a smile instead, a real smile that makes you think they're glad to be with you.

"That's a lovely name," he said. He shifted awkwardly after she withdrew her hand. "I'll leave you to unpack then." He nodded at her and trotted back down the stairs.

Maybe life here wouldn't be totally horrible. ***** Killian Jones appeared again while she was in the middle of unpacking, bursting into her bedroom and causing her to jump.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he stammered as he saw Emma putting her clothes on hangers.

"Don't they knock where you come from?" Emma asked, raising her eyebrows in exasperation. "Or in this house for that matter?"

"No we do, well we usually do, I just forgot to. This time." He then smirked and quirked an eyebrow. "I usually am an extraordinary gentleman."

Emma rolled her eyes. Of course the kind shy kid act on the stairs was just a front. She cast a glance at her suitcase, again worrying that he'd peeked inside it before looking back at him and raising her eyebrows.

"Seriously?" she scoffed. "You're hitting on me?"

"Hitting on you?" he asked in mock innocence. "Of course not."

"Anyway," she sighed. "What do you want?"

"Dinner's ready." He stepped aside, allowing her to walk out first and followed her. They walked in step and in silence.

"So what's it like here?" she asked in a low voice. Killian winced slightly at the question. He looked around cautiously before leaning closer to her, like this was some top secret information.

"After dinner meet me in my room. Two doors up from yours. I'll explain everything there." Emma was intrigued to say the least. Killian gave her a small nod that told her not to tell anyone.

Dinner was lasange, which Emma did like. She was pushed aside by the other kids as she fought for a seat but got one at the end of the table, opposite Regina.

"So where are you from?" one of the kids asked through a mouthful of lasange.

"Um, I was found in Maine," she answered, putting on a smile. Who knew, maybe this could be her chance at making friends. She seemed on her way to having one.

"Found you?" another one asked. "Who found you?"

"Um....." Her voice trailed off. She felt her throat dry and took a quick drink of water. Why didn't she just say 'Maine'? "Um a kid found me on a roadside in Maine." She held her breath. Maybe her tragic backstory would earn her some real sympathy and they'd all flock to be her friend.

Nope. Instead one of them giggled, an incredibly high pitched giggle that made Emma's fists clench. Other kids were smirking and sending glances at each other across the table. Even Regina snickered as she sipped her red wine. Emma started trembling as her eyes grew hot. She was not going to cry god damn it. She gripped the table in an attempt to stop her hands from shaking.

"May I be excused?" she asked in a slow voice. Regina lifted her head and cast a glance at Emma's still half full plate. Slowly, she shook her head.

"Emma, you've hardly touched your food," she scolded her in a slow voice, like she was a toddler. "And I made that lasagne specially for your first day. Finish it off at least." Emma shot Regina a glare, which she returned with a sly, triumphant grin and began shoveling lasange in her mouth. "I'm assuming they didn't teach table manners in your previous home."

Emma didn't care what Regina had told her, she got up, threw her napkin down onto the plate for good measure and stormed upstairs before anyone could see her cry. She made sure to slam every door she passed for good measure.

Once in her room, she did what she'd always done; crawled into the wardrobe, pressed herself against the back and cried with her head in her knees. She was quiet as she could be, but in her mind she was so loud the whole house could hear her.

Look at yourself she thought. Sitting alone in a dark wardrobe crying over a comment on her table manners. She cursed them under her breath, cursed Regina, those freaking kids, even Killian Jones. He had probably been messing with her.

She sat there for a while, long enough for her legs to go numb and her back to ache. She didn't know how long she was in there exactly.

When she was a kid, she used to think about her parents at these kind of awful, hopeless moments. She'd think up impossible daydreams about why they gave her up. They didn't want to give her up. They loved her. They had to have loved her, otherwise they wouldn't have gone through the trouble of a personalised blanket, would they? She would think of wild and ridiculous reasons for giving her up. Maybe they were spies and this was Emma's only chance to live a safe life, and when she was 18 they'd come back for her and teach her all the tricks. Or they were Hollywood film stars and Emma was given away to cover up a scandal, and if they hadn't that would mean the end of their careers. Then they'd come back and have a tear filled reunion which would be broadcast on TV and she'd live the high life and everyone who hurt her would sit at her golden gates and beg for her attention. Her favourite was they were the King and Queen of some tiny country which was at war, so they had to send the princess away for her own protection. Once the war was over, which was soon, she always told herself, they'd come running back for her. Emma scoffed at herself. She was too old for fairytales now.

Her reverie was broken by the sound of her bedroom door creaking open. She tensed, knowing what normally followed someone coming into her room, especially after such a show of anger, wasn't pleasant. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she tried to make herself even smaller. Surely once they realised no one was here they'd leave. She prayed over and over in her mind for whoever it was to go away as her mouth ran dry.

"Swan?" The voice was whispered, but she'd know that accent. "Swan are you in here?" She waited, holding her breath until she heard the door click shut. "Swan, I'm alone. Swear."

Emma took a few breaths to compose herself and slowly rose to her feet, her muscles aching. Her heart was going at almost double speed as her trembling hand pushed the door open and stepped down, wobbling slightly on her head legs. Killian was standing in the middle of the room, holding a small plate with a slice of cheesecake on it and a fork. He gaped at her for a while before breaking out into a nervous smile.

"I got you this," he said, holding the plate out to her. "I figured since you missed dinner you might want a bit." Emma wanted to turn it away and kick him out, but she was hungry and it looked heavenly. She accepted it and motioned for him to sit on her bed.

"Thank you," she mumbled, easing herself down next to him.

"It was nothing," he replied. "And if you still want to talk about..... you know..." He raised his eyebrow. "That...." he whispered dramatically, making her giggle despite herself. "We can."

"Okay," she said softly. She figured if she was going to survive, she might as well learn the tricks. "What's it like here?"

"Okay, first thing you need to learn to survive is be fast," he told her. "You might think you're fast but they're faster. Be downstairs while Regina's making dinner and get to that table as soon as possible. We might be the oldest but that doesn't stop them." Emma nodded, although it was nothing she didn't already know. "Second, if you want on Regina's good side, stay out of her way. Especially when she has her friends over."

"What's her deal?" Emma asked.

"Haven't you worked it out, Princess?" The 'princess' nickname sent a warm sensation running through her stomach and a pink bush creep up onto her cheeks which she tried so hard to ignore. He was just playing.

"We're just numbers on a bank account to her?" Her heart sank when Killian nodded solemnly, although she wasn't surprised. The majority of her foster homes had taken her in purely for the money. They didn't care about her.

"So when her friends are over," he continued. "Just take some food and hide in your room. She doesn't like them to see us." He gave her a smile and nudged her gently. "We can be buddies if you want."

"Buddies?" she echoed.

"Yeah, we can hide in each others rooms. Play board games, charades, share food. It would be fun."

"I'll think about it," she replied. She intended to leave the offer where it was. She did better on her own anyway. "What else?"

"Be careful with your stuff around here. It can mysteriously go missing and wind up in their grubby little paws. Don't get in Regina's way unless you want a royal verbal ass whooping." He winced and Emma couldn't blame him; she'd been on the wrong end of those far too many times. "Step out of line and you go to bed hungry." He then leaned in closer. "Well only if you're bad at getting caught. And something tells me you aren't that kind of girl." She smiled at him. He leaned back and continued. "Don't show weakness. This place is a dog eat dog world. They smell blood they'll come for you. And finally...." His voice trailed off as he searched for the right way to say this. "If you're upset, don't bother with Regina."

"Thanks," Emma muttered. If her new home seemed gloomy before, it seemed totally terrible now. Maybe Killian's presence would be the one perk. The who knew how long it was before he left and she was alone. He patted her knee with a small smile.

"Anytime," he replied. "Us misfits have to stick together." They got up and Emma led him to the door.

"Hey," she said, grasping his arm softly. "One more thing.... do you like living here?" Killian looked down, avoiding her eyes. His hand wrapped around his brace. "Know what? Nevermind it-"

"It's not the worst," he mumbled, shrugging. "Definitely not the worst." He gave her a nod and slipped out, closing her door behind him.

***** She was leaving. One day in this house was one day too many. She couldn't take Regina's artificial smiles and the other kids' torment they no doubt had planned. And if Killian's answer was anything to go by, it was only downhill from here.

She'd stayed in her room all night, debating the plan in her mind. She'd ran away before and lived on the streets for months until she was caught. And now she'd learned from her mistakes.

Regina came up to tell her lights out. As Emma went to the bathroom, Regina caught her by the shoulder and dragged her backwards, stumbling over her feet.

"I'm going to give you a pass because it's your first day," she told her. "But disrespect me like that again and I won't be so lenient. Understood, Miss Swan?" Regina let her go after she mumbled yes.

If she wasn't gone before, she sure as hell was now.

She waited until the noise had died down and all lights were switched off. The she slid otu of bed and dumped the contents of her schoolbag into the wardrobe. She pulled on a shirt, jeans, boots and trusted khaki jacket, as well as a woolen hat she'd gotten last year. She carefully looked through her suitcase before finding her baby blanket and pulled it out. It was white wool with a line of purple ribbon running around the edges and a ptach with her name carefully stitched on near the bottom. She'd held onto this in every home she went to and wasn't about to leave it here. She held it close for a moment, breathing in its smell, before carefully placing it in the bottom of her bag. She then put in shorts, a sweater, her wallet with the $120 she'd saved, a wind up torch from her Girl Scout days, toothbrush, toothpaste and hairbrush.

Content with what was in her bag, she slowly pulled the door open and cautiously stepped out, thankful for the lack of creaking floorboards that had caused her problems before. She tiptoed downstairs and down the dark hall into the kitchen. She flipped on her torch and looked carefully through the cupboards. She pinched three granola bars, two bottles of water, a candy bar and three bags of dried fruit. Surely they wouldn't be missed?

Then the kitchen light switched on and she dropped her torch in terror, her stomach feeling like it had fallen through the floor. She tensed, dreading to think of what was about to happen to her.

"Swan?" She whirled round to see Killian in a black leather jacket with a backpack swung over his shoulder, looking just as shocked as she was. "What are you doing?" she hissed, looking up to the ceiling and praying no one had heard them.

"I could ask you the same," he said.

"I asked you first."

"Escaping," he sighed. He smirked as he took in her backpack and torch. "And I'm guessing you're doing the same."

"Shut up," she snapped. "So what if I am?" She bent down and picked up her torch, shoving it into her pocket.

"Remember how I said we could be 'buddies'?" he asked.

"Yeah. So?"

"So, why not be buddies now?" he suggested. "I'll have your back, you have mine."

Emma was tempted. She liked him and knew that being on the run with him was better than being on her own. She was still wary. She hadn't done the whole double act thing before. She may have trusted him but she wasn't completely sure he'd fulfill his part of the bargain. Even if those big blue eyes were full of hope and told a promise.

"What do you say, Princess?" he asked, extending his hand.

What did she have to lose?

"Okay." She took his hand. "We're partners."

#cs ff #captain swan #emma swan #killian jones #otp: until i met you #the future is forever

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lillaxtrigger · 4 years ago

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Faded land: Chapter 19

Perched high above the midnight sky, the moon’s pale white glow glistens down upon a steel Canadian highway; the road halfway filled with passing hovering cars that stretch along the country side as far as the eye could perceive. Beside the highway the floating automobiles drives orderly through, the contrasting site of the dense, lush forest brushes up against the glass barrier separating the cars from the unkempt nature. From the far end of the white steel highway, a hovering car held together with a faded body weaves itself through the mild traffic plaguing the midnight highway; the speeding hover car fleeing from the two mountie police cruisers pursuing from behind. Within the fleeting hover car’s cockpit, the driving scientist adjust its mirror to find the two cop cruisers feverishly chasing after slowly beginning to close the distance; their maple leave shaped sirens perched atop their roof’s glowing brighter the closer they get. Shifting her gaze back to the road ahead, the young woman comes to discover a blockade constructed of several floating mountie cars set on the road ahead; barricading any way from continuing through the steel highway. With very little time and choice on her hands, Clara pulls the square wheel of her hover car as high as she possibly can; the vehicle she pilots quickly floating up from the white steel roads beneath it. In her rapid ascension above the highway, the young woman rockets high over the white steel highway and veers off to the side; the entire car gliding right over the safety glass and delving straight down into the forest beyond.

Diving straight through the lush woodlands, Clara attempts to swerve around the dense clusters of trees as she races away from the steel highway; holes being torn into her car as she scrapes against the sides and branches of the pine trees. In her daring race through the forest, her sudden nature drive swiftly comes to violent stop; ramming the front side of her vehicle right into a hard rock sitting in the way. The harsh impact causes the scientist’s vehicle to spin out of control, careening through the forest until violently crashing its side straight into a thick pine tree; the airbags equip within deploying just in time to spar the young woman from taking the grizzly impact.

As the airbags of the vehicle start to deflate, Clara begins to pry herself out from the cockpit; squeezing her body through the shards of glass and bent chrome. Once she fall to the rough forest ground, the scientist rises from the dead pine littered ground to gaze back towards her ride to assess the damage; finding the poor car to be in worse shape than she thought. The body being so bent and broken to the point that repairs seem like a wasted effort, the buttons, screens, and switches broken and popped out all over, the seats so torn and full of metal shards; the entire site making a dreading sense of despair crawl through Clara’s spine. The hard work, sweat, tears, and soul put into this high tech vehicle of repaired dreams just...destroyed...just like that…Winny...

In her lament for the freshly wrecked vehicle, the scientist approaches the bent front as she picks a stick off the ground; shoving the wooden sticks broken tip between the hood cover and starts to pry the bent front open. When she finally pops the hood wide open, the young woman looks to the inside to find the condition much worse than the outside; over half of the parts bent and broken beyond repair. Though none of them seem to weigh on her mind as much as the personal one she had installed; searching within in hopes of finding her little green powerhouse. A relieved breath escapes her mouth when she find her nuclear battery spared from the horrible crash, its glowing green veil housing not a single crack along its glass; pulling out its led case from her backpack and unhooking the battery to whatever wires might still be attached. Putting away her powerhouse in the case and back into her bag, the scientist ears catch the distant sound of a voice swiftly coming her way; someone from the depth of the woods claiming that: “I saw it land right around here! Come on!” With the voice being a clear sigh to abscond from the crash site, Clara takes one last glance to the scene of the tragedy; soon breaking it the fuck out into the rest of the woods.

The young scientist continues to race through the darkened pine forest, the pale light of the moon being her only reliable light source as she pushes aside any branches that stretch out in her way; the voices of the mounties beginning to dissolve the further she runs. Her swift trek through the dense forest soon has her discover an opening ahead of her, with the lunar glow on the other side growing its brightest; Clara picking up the pace as soon as she views the light. The scientist’s rushing escapes takes her out of lush pine forest, her eyes adjusting to the moonlight glow to discover herself standing atop a massive cliff; the rest of the forest awaiting at the bottom of the tall rocky side. Failing to find a safe way down from where she stands, the young woman attempts to turn back towards the woods she came out from in hopes of finding another path, glancing back to find a lone Canadian mountie standing in her way. Wielding a strange looking rifle in her arms, the officer aim’s the pointed tip of its barrel straight as she demands for the scientist to: “Put your hands up now!” Complying with the armed cop, Clara raises her hands high in the air as she starts backing away towards the cliffs edge; the officer further ordering her to: “Get on the ground, now!” The scientist partially complies with the mounties demands, crouching upon the grassy grounds as she continues to shuffle towards the edge; the cop fiercely repeating: “I said get on the damn ground!” Clara refuses to obey the officers orders as she finally rolls off the tall cliff; the mountie rushing out to the side and glancing down to witness her suspect plummeting down to the woods below. While she still has site of the perp, the officer fires out a volley of small pieces of light down towards the descending young woman; the raining light piercing all over the scientists body. In a mess of ruby red blood, the scientist body falls upon dozens and dozens of pine branches in her violent descent; soon dropping right onto the hard pine needle covered ground awaiting below.

As the officer atop the cliff attempts to search for where her perp had fallen, the rest of the mounties squad comes out from the woods to join her side; one of them asking how: “We heard gunfire echo out from over here, what happened?” “The subject was attempting to escape by jumping off the cliff, but I shot at her while she dropping down...Doubt she could survive a fall like that with all those holes in her.” “Still, you know protocol, Amy. Can’t be certain til we find the body.” another officer reminds her. Their fellow mountie mentioning such, all of them race back into the woods in hopes of finding a safe way down. At the bottom of the cliff side, their suspect lies unconscious on the cold hard ground as the blood of her wounds stain the pine needles littering the ground around her. As she can do little but await to bleed to death in the darkened lush pine forest, a large shadow blankets under the few pieces of moonlight that shine on her body; a pair of arms lifting the young woman off the ground and taking her away.

The horribly cold feeling of death plaguing what’s left of Clara subconscious begins to retreat back from the depths of the abyss, soon feeling with the warm vigor of life once again coursing through her very being. Its with this revival that she feels her consciousness beginning to return to her, yet the scientist awakens to find herself remaining within darkness; soon feeling her surroundings to discover herself trapped. Discovering that’s she encapsulated in something akin to a coffin, the scientist confusion swiftly starts to transform into worrying panic; the worrying thought of being trapped underground making her pound what she faces. Her ceaseless beating eventually make the lid of the coffin pop right off, glimmers of light pouring out from the loose edges of the face; the young woman pushing the lid aside and rising into the glow before her.

Once her eyes adjust to the luminescence, Clara comes to find herself held within what seemed to be small cozy room; fitted with furnishings and décor quite similar to the ones she used to have. The wall making up the room made from genuine wood rather than cold metallic chromium; hung one of the walls be a lone picture frame depicting a family of three, two men and a little girl. The entire aesthetic of the scene reminds the scientist of her own time, back before she was unwillingly swept into this nightmare of nuclear disaster and futuristic oddities...Nightmare? This...this is what the brain does as its dying to ease the shock of trauma, right? It releases the same chemical that make someone dream...So that must mean...Oh god… Before her mind could spiral on this gruesome theory, Clara hear the sound of approaching footsteps closing in; glancing to the wooden door as the steps echoing out from beyond the other side. With very little time on her hands, the young woman frantically looks around the room for wherever she could hide.

A few moments pass before the lone door quietly creaks open, a single burly man with a mildly kept beard entering with a drink of water in hand; the first thing his orange eyes behold is the site of the open coffin. “Oh, I thought I heard the chamber open up...But where did the woman that was inside go?” In the middle of questioning this does the woman in question leap out from behind the open door, swiftly taking the man in a choke hold from behind and demanding to know: “Who are you? Where the hell am I?” The burly man’s choking echoing beyond the doorway, the sound of rushing footsteps sound of as another voice calls out from within the hallway. “Gall!?” Dashing inside with a pumping shotgun, a skinnier, clean shaven man aims the barrel of his firearms to the woman’s back and harshly orders her to: “Let go of him, now!” “Benny, wait! The poor girl’s just scared! She needs to know that we don’t mean her any harm! Just put the gun down!” the burly man orders the skinnier one in between his breaths. It takes a couple moments before the lanky man complies with his other and slowly puts the shotgun down on the floor; Clara in turn slowly letting go of the bearded man’s neck and then asking: “So, any of you wanna tell me where I’m at?” Taking in a much needed breath of fresh air, the burly man turns over to the scientist and starts to explain how: “Well, that’s easy, young lady. Your-” “You should be thankful that you’re still alive right now!” Benny interrupts. “Benny!” “We manage to save you from bleeding to death out in the middle of the woods and you choose to repay us with your rash hostility!?” “Just calm down there, Benny. Screaming ain’t gonna help anyone here.” the bearded man states. “Gall, just how can you be so calm after being choked by her?”

“Wai-wai-wait! Hold up a sec...What’s this about me bleeding to death!?” the young woman question. “Yep. Heard laser fire during one of my late night nature hikes and found you bleeding out at the bottom of a cliff.” Gall claims. Its in hearing this statement does she brush her hand against the front of her long sleeved shirt, feeling the rough, burnt holes where she had felt the beams pierce through her body; this realization making her state that: “So I really was shot...Bu-but I felt the life drain out of me. How am I still alive?” “All those holes that were all over you were patched all up by the bed you just woke up in.” the burly gent answers, his finger pointing out to the coffin laying behind the scientist. “Something made a decade back called a restorative chamber. Used to help ail physical stuff like broken legs, twisted arms, gashes and cuts, even with something as severe as a gunshot wound.” Brushing the palm of her hand through the clean, sleek edges of the bed, Clara can’t help but wonder aloud: “How did you guys get your hands on something as extraordinary as this?” Letting out a small snort, Benny goes on to rudely explain how: “Extraordinary my ass. Stuff like that’s practically a common middle class appliance.” “And it just so happens to look like a coffin because?...” Clara follows up with. “It was the only model we could find. Somebody out there’s got a pretty damn dark sense of humor.” Gall answers.

With these discoveries fresh in her mind, Clara moves away from the coffin she had risen out from and turns back to the two men to then question: “So...where exactly did you drag me to? Some hospital or Canadian government facility?” Before Gall could begin to answer the young woman’s curious question, his skinny other lets out an offended huff and marches out out of the room. “Uh...nothing like that, no. Just a tiny little farm out in the country side near Smithville. Nothing to fancy.” The country side? How far did that old dream car wind up going in one drive? “Aaaand what do you guys grow out here?” she then questions. “Nothing too special. Just some fruits and vegetables.” “And livestock?” “Not a single one here.” Hearing this particular statement causes the young scientist to let out a relieved sigh, her relief soon offset when her stomach grumbles out a demanding roar. “He he, I figured you’d be hungry after your long night in the restorative chamber. Lucky for you, you woke up just in time for lunch. You wanna join us for a little bite?” the man offers. “Hmm, Maybe...Where’d you set my stuff?” “You mean your backpack? Don’t worry, set it right at the end of the coffin there. Just say when you wanna eat.” Gall points out as he waltz’s towards the door.

Once the bearded man takes his leave, Clara strolls over to the end of the coffin she risen out from to find her trusty backpack lying on the ground; a couple drops of crimson staining the worn stitching. Picking her worn pack off the floor, the scientist starts perusing through her bags contents in checking to see if everything is in order; shifting through the few canned foods she has within to find all of her tools right where they should be. Compass, matches, Led case holding the battery, a few bags of tea, even her glasses set snug between the couple cans of beans; the young woman reaching for her pair of glasses and putting them right on. Almost immediately does she notice her vision being blurred with her prescription glasses on, taking them back off to compare her naked eyes to them. From eye to eye, she could literally see the difference as plain as day; her trusty glasses now proving to hinder her vision more than it helps. With this recent discovery does the scientist clear eyes gaze back to the coffin she had climbed out from; pondering if it had healed more than her fatal wounds.

Hearing her stomach rumble out in protest once more, Clara turns her eyes back to the inside of her backpack; understanding how a measly two cans of beans ain’t gonna get her far in her travels through the eastern parts of the Maple leaved countryside. Maybe lunch ain’t that bad of an idea after all. Just hoping that it doesn’t have any radioactive preserves.

After the scientist finally gets herself pulled together, she strolls out of the room she had escaped the claws of death and finds herself within the comforting familiar scenery of a small, wooden, cubic hallway; devoid of even a single piece of metallic finish anywhere. Never though that a normal looking hallway would give such a relieving feeling.

Waltzing through the cozy hallway does she soon come right into the kitchen; the design seemed rather similar to the room that she had awakened in, boasting appliances and furnishings akin to her own natural time. Along the sides of the kitchen, both of her host stand to the counter and grill; Gall chopping some vegetables up while Benny flips pieces of chicken from a cooking pan. A rather whiplashingly jarring site after discovering kind of wonders that Canadian technology had brought into the world. The odd blast from the past nonetheless proves to be nostalgically relaxing to her, like something taken for granted before turning into a fond memory years later. Its in distracted by the entire aesthetic before her does she soon feel something push at her side; a lone little girl streaking past and knocking Clara off balance; sending her tumbling towards the polished kitchen tile. Moments before the scientist could feel herself smack against the hard marble floor, she feels somebody catch her just in the nick of time; glancing up from the floor to find herself caught in her bearded host arms. “You alright?” he asks. “Uh, yeah.” After pulling his young host back on her feet, Gall turns over to the little girl running around the dinning room table and starts to scolds her with: “Sammy, how many times did I tell you not run in the house? You nearly made our guest fall flat on her face.” From the man’s scolding, the little girl stops right in her tracks and tells him: “Sorry dad.” Gazing back to the young scientist, the bearded gentleman in turn apologizes with: “And I’m truly sorry for that.” “No, no, thanks for the quick catch there. I never really saw anyone with as fast reflexes as yours.” Clara compliments. “Whelp, that’s what years of coordination train will do for ya.” “Coordination? Aren’t you guys farmers?” When hearing his guest wonder this, a nervous chuckle escapes from Gall as little drops of sweat drip from the side of his head; Benny aiming a slight glance to the questioning young woman. In that swift awkwardly tense moment does the entire room hear Clara’s stomach growl out in hungry protest, the bearded man taking the noise to quickly change the subject with: “S-sounds like your stomach is thinking about that little offer to lunch, what about you?” “Eh, maybe I should.” “Great! Why don’t ya take a seat while we sprinkle the finishing touches on our little late lunch.” the scientist’s host offers, guiding the young woman right to one of the open chairs along the dinning table.

Plopping her ass down onto the wooden dinning seat, Clara soon feels a chilling shudder crawl along her back; taking a quick glance behind to find her host’s partner’s ire stare. Upon the site of the piercing gaze, the young woman averts her eyes away to the side; soon witnessing the young girl that had nearly knocked her down onto the floor. Despite being a bit startled by the little girls unexpected appearance, the scientist nonetheless greets her with: “Oh, um...Sammy, right? Nice to meet ya. I’m-” “You have such pretty blue eyes.” the little girl suddenly complements. Um, I...thank you. I got them from my-” “Where did you come from?” “I...Well...” Once Gall takes his seat on the opposite side of the dinning table, the man gets after his daughter with: “Sammy, quit badgering our guest. She’s probably had a rough time and doesn’t want to get into it right now. Now take your seat so we can eat.” “Okay...”

As the young girl backs away to the seat set on the side, Clara looks to the plate of food just served before her; staring to the steamed vegetables and cooked chicken with a twinkle in her eye, all of it topped off with a tall glass of milk set to the side. Average size, no discoloring, normal texture, regular scent...Yep, these are normal ass vegetables. Thank god. Finding the meal presented free from any sort of strange genetic mutagens, Clara wastes not one more moment to start digging in; swiping the silverware set beside the plates and starts to literally shovel the food in her mouth. Her hosts can’t help but stare to the site in a mesmerized bafflement, Benny breaking the silence and speaking over the loud scarfing with: “Perhaps your condition was worse than we thought if our little restorative chamber made you that hungry.” Taking the time to swallow what food she has stuffed in her mouth, Clara responds to her hosts little comment with: “Is-is that bad?” “Oh, no no no no. Were just glad that we made lunch just in time for ya.” Gall swiftly rebuttles. “Right….So you said something about that coffin I was in being a common appliance?” “Oh yeah, it was an indicative part of Canadian technology made to help doctors and researcher focus their efforts on more aggressive cancers that is out of modern medicines reach. Practically have at least a thousand of them in each country around the world by now.” “Really? I asked cause almost everything else doesn’t really look all that...uh...” “Modern.” Benny finishes. “Right.” “Well, I’m sure you’ve figured by now that were more a rural family just getting by on farming rather than anything fancy. We only buy what we need, nothing more.”

“Speaking of needing, how much time do you think you’ll need to get back on your feet and hit the road.” “Benny!” the bearded gent snaps. “I’m not really too sure, honestly. I only got a couple of cans to left in my bag. Not really much to only me over til the next town.” “Well, if that’s all you got, then why don’t ya take a couple of our crops to hold you over on your little trip.” “What?” the lanky gent utters. “Oh, no. I couldn’t just take part of your livelihood like that, especially with how low income you guys are.” the scientist denies. “Oh don’t think nothing of it. It’ll only be around a tiny fraction compared to our entire stock. They only got a few more days to ripen anyway. I insist.” “Gall.” he hears his partner snap. As soon as the burly man turns back to his partner, Benny starts fiercely speak to his husband in some sort of foreign language; Gall speaking back the same kind of language in a more gentle tone. The scientist can do little but watch as the two debate back and forth from one another, all the while understanding little of what either of them are saying. In hopes of even getting a single hint of what they say, Clara glances to their daughter at her side; but alas, their daughter shrugs from their bickering. Neither of them have no idea what the hell the two of them are talking about.

Right at the very end of the conversation, Benny suddenly picks his half full plate off the table and starts to leave the kitchen; Clara watching as he storms off into the hallway. “Uh, is he still mad about me choking you?” the scientist questions. “Uh kind of...He just has a hard time when it comes to trusting strangers.” “Yeah, so about the crops...” “Yes, uh. You’re free to stay with us til they’re ripe enough to pick. All you really gotta do during your stay is help us out with some chores we all do around the farm.” “Oh, just that doesn’t sound so bad.” “Happy to hear it, cause the first chore we got on the list is one of the hardest.” Her host claiming such, the young woman’s expression suddenly drains away; the prospect of grueling labor not exactly being ideal for her. Oh sure, with as much shit as she’s gone through, she more than capable, though not really as willing.

Once the heavy lunch was finally over, the scientist is lead outside the comforting farmhouse and into the bright outdoors; the young woman covering her eyes as they adjust to the warm sunlight. When Clara’s eyes soon get used to the bright outside, she finds spread before her small fields and gardens of fruits and vegetables as far as her freshly healed eyes could see; the woman’s jaw going agap upon the lush site of crops cultivated around this little farm house. As the scientist admires the massive collection of natural grown food, her bearded host comes to her side and claims how: “Yep. We spent a hell of a long time cultivating this whole spread; all while enduring every single spit, storm, and wind that mother natures bitchy temper tantrums throw at us. But it’ll be all worth it to nurture and harvest her bountiful spoils.” Explaining such does the burly gent put his hand on his guest shoulder and further mentions how: “And the first thing on the list we gotta do is spray them with pesticide.” Breaking away from her gaping shock, the scientist turn to her host and questions his statement with: “Wa-wait! So, we’re spraying all of this? All by ourselves?” “Yep.” “Don’t you guys have any kind of planes that can just fly over it all and spray from above?” Hearing the scientist question him of such, Gall can’t help but let out a small chuckle as he walks off towards the side of his abode; her hosts laughter drawing a little worry from the young woman.

Its soon that the scientist finds herself donning a face mask and a pair of gloves before strapping a sizable can of pesticide on her back; grasping the sprayer attached to the can as she wonders into the field of crops. The first fruit that the scientist comes to spray be the plump tomato’s hanging down from their stalks, their bright red skin reflecting the afternoon sun as she sprays them down. While she at it, the scientist decides to take a closer look at the kind of produce she’s spraying; hoping to ease the worrying concerns dwelling in the back of her head. A close inspection of the fruit reveals the texture of its surface to be as smooth as any other tomato; nothing really unusual to make it stand out from any other. No abnormalities, no discoloring, no mutations. Just regular ass tomato’s here, site which the young scientist could not be happier to discover.

After the scientist sprays the insect killing pesticide onto the blooming fruit, she next head over to the lines of fresh green lettuce planted in the soil; their green veiny leaves being an easing site to the young woman. Seems like these vegies don’t seems that bad either, looking as green and fresh as any other piece of lettuce. Checking the quality of the nearly ripe greens, Clara doses the vegetables in a coat of vermin repelling pesticide; the chemical scent of the liquid being the only real thing that bothers the young woman.

Its in her trip through the rest of the farmland does she take closer looks of the kinds of produce her hosts are farming from the fresh earthy soil; finding them free from any sort of misshapen bodies or mutagens. Carrots cleans, cabbages cleansed, watermelons washed, and beetroots brushed of any sort of spoilage; every single piece of produce she comes across proving as clean and healthy as the next. Given Galls brief statement of their being next to no farm animals on their property, there might not be as much to worry about after all. All that’s really left now is to check on the corn.

In her spraying trip through the dense corn fields does the scientist scan through the standing stalks housing the corn; gauging a close look to the kernels across the ears. And just like every other produce that Clara had inspected, she finds them free from any abnormal properties or mutations, cementing her ease once and for all of nothing strange happening on the farm. That is until she manages to stumble upon a small open space among the cluster of corn, the young woman stepping out from the stalks to come to some patches of towering grass planted right in the middle of the cornfield; the tall grass proving long enough to reach up to her forehead. A rather unusual site to come across on a farm full of consumable produce; especially given the fact that these patches of grass don’t look like they could be consumed by regular people. Unless their a new kind of fruit or vegetable that’s grown around her; but if that’s the case, then why hide deliberately plant them right in the middle of the cornfield. A rather bizarre fact to think about, making one ponder of why they would go through the trouble of hiding as something as simple as tall grass.

Before the young scientist could ponder any further on the matter, a familiar voice calls out to her from close behind; Clara jumping from sound and backing away from the corn behind her. “Hi!” Emerging from the shadows of the corn be only her host’s daughter, the site of the little girl making the young woman let loose a relieved breath before she suggest to her to: “Stop scaring me like that, kid. Ya practically just pop outta nowhere with how quiet you are.” “What are you doing?” “Ah, your dads told me to spray the crops with pesticide. That’s it.” “No, no. I mean what are you doing here. In this part of the field.” “Um...What are you on about?” “Both of my dads tell me to never come out to this part of the field, saying that they grow “special” plants out here. I don’t know what they mean by that, it’s just grass.” “Did they tell you why they’re so special?” “Not really. They always just tell me that its special. They never explain what they mean by that. But I guess I can’t really complain too much. Would’ve still been wondering around homeless if they didn’t take me in.”

“Sammy! I know you’re out here! Come on out!” both of them hear Gall call across the field. Upon her fathers call, the little girl swiftly turns back towards the scientist and states to: “Don’t worry. I’ll keep this little meeting of ours a secret.” Claiming such to the scientist, Sammy races away from the secret grass garden and back through the tall stalks of corn; all the while responding to her dad with: “Coming dad.”

When her host’s little girl takes her leave, the curious scientist glances back to the planted patches of grass behind her; the fact of them being hidden among the countless edible produce perking her interests. They don’t seems to be any kind of medicinal herbs…at least ones that are familiar anyway; those weird stalks in the middle of the patch’s don’t give that off. None of them can be poisonous, they wouldn’t carelessly just plant them right next to the corn if they were. It still begs the question however, that if nothing is particularly special about these patches, then why try and hide what they are from even they’re daughter.

Before Clara could ponder to herself any further on the curious matter, hears catch the voice of her host calling out for her with: “Clara, have you gotten that part of the fields sprayed yet!?” “Uh, sure. Just hang on!” she calls back, swiftly making her exits from the secret garden and dashing through the stalks of corn.

In her race through the cornfield, Clara attempts to approach her burly host from an another side to attempt and discourage suspicion; still using Gall’s voice to find where he stands as he further informs how: “I managed to get around to the pomegranates and onions! How much did you get!” Upon hearing her host mention this does she finally see him among the side of the small cornfield; coming out from the side and answering her bearded host with: “I got the tomato’s, lettuce, and cabbages.” “Glancing in his guests direction, the bearded gent compliment her efforts with: “Nice work there...Uh, what were you doing back there?” “Ah, just spraying the last of the corn over here. Nothing big.” “That’s mighty kind of you. But maybe you don’t worry about getting the corn anymore. Just leave that to me and Benny, alright?” “Uh, okay….So is this the last of the fields we have to spray or…?” Hearing his guest wonder such makes the burly gent let out a small chuckle like before; his reaction not doing much to reassure her hopes. “Afraid not, young lady. We just finished up the west part of the farm. There’s still the north, south, and east parts we gotta spray down and water, pick off any dead produce hanging on. Still got a lotta work on our hands. Good thing you woke up just in time to help us out with all this, isn’t it?” “Eh he, yeah...” the scientist weakly agrees, attempting to hide her discouraging disappointment.

And so, the rest of the afternoon starts to burn away as Clara and her host work on spraying the rest of the farm with insect pesticide; the scientist finding not a single piece of fruit or vegetable to hold any sort of bizarre qualities. From spraying the plants do they move on to water them, the scientist and her host spending hours raining their drink throughout the fields; the water they spray out creating little rainbows as they squirt. As they give the produce their much needed water, everyone searches around them for any kind of rotting stragglers left to die; uprooting the rotted plants from the rest of the healthy ones. The time it takes to finish all of this quickly eats the day away, the clear blue sky soon turning a more orange hue as the sun starts to crawl down into the horizon.

Once the half of the sun is covered by the mountainside, Clara and her hosts start strolling back to the farmhouse; Sammy skipping ahead towards the front as they venture back with Gall stating how he: “Can’t believe its already sundown. Today went by fast.” “Really? It felt long and grueling for me.” Clara responds. “Usually for the two of us, it feels like a couple hours more.” “Catching our little guest up on things after her little nap might burnt some of our time.” Benny then mentions. “I uh. I’m sorry.” “Oh no no no no. Think nothing of it; it’s our pleasure. You paying us back by helping us more than makes up for it.” the young woman’s bearded host claims.

While venturing back towards her host’s cozy abode, her mind still ponders on the tall patches of grass she managed to find hidden among the corn; still questioning what end they could have in not only growing, but hiding something so seemingly harmless on a farm meant for produce. They didn’t seem to be anything that people could even consume, much less use for medicinal purposes; seem more like something you’d feed livestock. Gall insisted that they didn’t have anything like that here. Didn’t seem a barn anywhere on this whole farm anywhere in site; no pigs, cows, sheep, chickens, nothing. So what could they be using that grass for… … You know what, maybe its not the best time to ask about that right now. From the way their daughter framed it, all that seems like a particular sensitive subject; so it might not be smart to rock the boat. At least not until the crops they can give are nice and ripe.

The sun soon is swallowed by the mountainside horizon, the orange twilight sky soon replace with a blanket of stars. During the hour of night fall, the burly farm man opens a door within his home; presenting to the young scientist with: “And this here is the room where you’ll be sleeping.” Clara strolls past her bearded host to soon enter into the darkened room; its shadows soon dissolved when Gall flips a small switch set along the side of the door. The lamp set above quickly illuminates the entire room in its artificial glow, pulling back the darkness to reveal to the scientist a plain simple bedroom; complete with furnishings such as a drawer, nightstand, and a single bed. “It’s pretty...Plain.” Clara comments. “Oh I know. We can’t really have that much in the guest room other than the basics. I’ve been wanting to get a couple of pictures and décor to spruce it up a bit; you know, make it more homey. But eh, Benny’s pretty strict when it comes to unwanted spending. Oh well.” Witnessing the soft, inviting bed stand before her, the young woman doesn’t hesitate a single moment to jump right onto its comforting plush top; Clara letting a relaxed breath escape from her muffled lips as she faceplants the sheets. “Ha ha, glad to see you getting yourself comfortable. Hope you’ll get as much rest as you can, cause the get up time is 7 sharp.” Hearing her host mention the time she has to start the day, Clara raises her head from the freshly washed sheets; turning back to the burly man and uttering: “Wait, huh.” “Okay, goodnight.” Gall wishes as he retreats from the guest room, shutting the door behind him with a soft pull.

Upon being left within the guest room, the scientist climbs off the silky sheets of her bed and wanders over to the window; drifting her eyes through the glistening sky above. The change in scenery compared to the drab, cruel, and lifeless wastelands still be a rather jarring change to the scientist; having been so used to the smoggy, irradiated sky that no star could pierce through. Its no wonder a lot of U.S. survivors want to risk crossing the border just to get a glimpse of this place; going from those hopeless wastes to this lush, life filled lands must be a utopia compared to where they are. Something that this scientist can surely testify. It really is a wonder to behold in person.

While mesmerized by the enchanted site of the night sky, the young woman soon hears her door creak back open; the light from the hallway flooding in and reflecting off the glass window. “Hey, you forget to mentio-” Clara questions as she turns towards the door. The scientist stops herself short when discovering for her visitor to not be one of her hosts, but rather their own daughter; little Sammy standing in the doorway. “Oh, hey kid. Isn’t like past 10? What’re you doing up?” “Can...Can you read me a bedtime story?” “I...what? Can’t one of your dads read to ya?” “They spend almost every night down in the basement and don’t come back up until morning.” “What? So they just leave you up here alone?” “Pretty much. It can get kinda scary at time. But I learned how to be brave and pull through.” Hearing this come out of such a little girl draws out sympathy from the young scientist, soon approaching the girl and kneeling down to answer with: “Why not. I guess one story won’t hurt.” Clara agrees to; an eager smile forms between the little girls cheeks upon the woman’s request.

From within the little girls comforting and decorated room, Clara sits right beside the young Sammy’s side as she lays in her comforting and fluffy bed; the scientist reading the last sentence of the book in her hands with: “And that’s how the two princess’s were reunited. The end.” Finishing the final sentence of the story, Clara gently shuts the book and glances to her hosts daughter; a warm smile drawn on the scientist face when finding her left sound asleep. It’s in seeing the little girl slumber does the young woman start to gently tip toe out of her room; gently shutting the door behind her as she exits.

Once finally out of Sammy’s nightlight lit bedroom, the scientist warm smile starts to form into an accusing scowl; her eyes aimed out towards the rest of the hallway ahead. Pretty shitty of those two to spend their nights down in the basement while their daughter is left alone like this. Somebody could easily just break in here and kidnap the poor little girl like this; and they’d probably wouldn’t even notice until morning. You know what, somebody outta beat them over the head with that. Good host’s or not, that’s fucking unacceptable.

With all this in mind, the scientist wanders deeper through the hallway in hopes of finding the door to the basement; checking through every door on her way through. From the bathroom to the hall closet, Clara soon faces a single door boasting a second lock; the one of which seemed the suggest it was installed rather than it being what came on the door. It doesn’t really look all that advanced though, just being a simple key lock; it probably could be picked open with improvising the right tools. Maybe something in the kitchen could work.

Formulating this plan in her head, the young woman swiftly returns to the oddly retro kitchen for anything she could use to pick the lock; the silverware drawer being the first place she checks. Pulling the drawer, she finds it filled with forks, spoons, straws, and knives; their silver surface shining from the light of the kitchen. Suppose using a knife to hold the lock might do the trick, though something thinner might have to be used to pick at it. Doubt anything in here would do the job, forks and spoons way too thick and bent to squeeze through the hole. In hopes of finding her second tool needed to break in, Clara checks through every drawer and cabinet making up her hosts kitchen; rummaging through dishes and cutlery in her search. Bowl, pans, plates, bots, cutters, spatulas, cups...dammit. Can’t find anything in here. Okay, Clara think. What else could be thin enough to slip into a lock? Pondering this does her mind start drifting all that she had seen during her time here; the spark of an idea going on in her head when thinking back to the chicken that she ate when first waking up. Its in thinking this does she waltz over to the trash can next to the backdoor, delving her hands through the pieces of garbage and thrown out food while keeping herself from gagging. Its soon in her dig through the depths of the garbage that she manages to pull out a couple of small chicken bones; a couple bits of chicken still left on it. This outta be just thin enough to squeeze through that lock. With both the kitchen knife and discarded chicken bone in hand, Clara waltz’s back through the hallway and towards the locked door; eager to see if her little makeshift tools could help break inside.

Returning to the door in question, the young lady kneels down to the simple key lock attacked to its wood; shoving her kitchen knife and thin piece of chicken bone straight into the hole. While gently twisting the lock with the knife, the scientist fidgets with the inside of the mechanism with the leftover bone; her constant picking eventually making the lock within make an audible snap. From this sudden snap does Clara swiftly pull both of her makeshift tools right out from the hole, grasping hold of the doorknob and gently twisting its steel. Just one turn is all it takes for the wooden door to cleanly open for the young scientist, revealing to her a descending stairwell that stretch deep down into an awaiting lightless void.

Hot damn! That looks like a long way down. Can’t even see a single bit of the bottom from up here. Anybody with a working cerebrum wouldn’t think about just rushing down those steps without something to light the way. It’d probably be the quickest way to break almost every bone in your body. Doubt even the restoration chamber in the other room could help piece them all back together; probably have to be dragged out to a hospital to get the one’s out that are piercing through vital organs like the stomach or lungs. Dear god, a fractured rib piercing your lungs must hurt like the absolute worst hell imaginable. It doesn’t look like there’s much of a light switch anywhere near the door, not that one would probably help in lighting the way down; those stairs look so deep, it practically seems endless. Perhaps a personal light would fair to be a more useful tool in such a void descent, it at the very least illuminate the steps to keep from tripping like some kind of clumsy dumbass. But what to use as a light source? …

With the perfect light source in mind, the young scientist wanders back into the cozy confines of the guest room; reaching out for her backpack on the side of the bed. Opening her little pack up, Clara quickly rummages through the cans and tools she had held within; soon pulling out from its depths the led case that contains her little nuclear powerhouse. Knew pulling this power puppy out from the hood of the car wouldn’t be a waste of time. Between crashing into the tree’s and rocks, its pretty damn lucky that it remained in tact as well as it did; god knows that a single crack in this thing would’ve practically turned those woods into a nuclear danger zone. Just a shame that the same can’t be said about the car it came in. All that hard work, reduce to nothing but an abandoned wreck in the middle of the forest.

After that sentimental moment, Clara quickly returns to the open door leading into the darkened stairwell with her little battery in hand; staring down into the pitch black abyss awaiting down the spiral steps. While beginning her descent down the darkened steps, the young woman slowly starts to open the led case containing her nuclear battery; simply cracking it open a smidgen lets its bright emerald glow pierces through the blanketing void and lighting the way down further into the black depths. Jesus, how far do these stairs go down to? Even with a light as strong as this, still can’t even see a single bit of the bottom. Seems like its 100 foot drop at least. What the hell could these guys even have down something this deep? Knowing only one way to answer such a curious question, the scientist continues her climb down the seemingly endless steps leading down to the abyss awaiting below; descending down through the stairwell one step at a time while lighting the way down with her little battery.

It takes the young scientist a fair few minutes before her light could glimmer down upon something awaiting below; descending further down to discover a sizable pile of junk and scrap littering the bottom of the well. Before she could even ponder what all this junk even doing down here, her nose catches an insanely fowl odor that drifts through the basement air; the eye watering stench forcing Clara to pinch her nose as she steps down onto the bottom of the stairs. Dear god, that’s fucking fowl. What the hell do these guys even have down here to make a smell that horridly awful. A question that she hopes to answer when discovering a short hallway near the bottom of the stretching stairwell; the hall leading straight to single steel door barring a lone window.

Approaching from the stairwell, the young lady starts to venture down towards the steel door set on the far end of the hall; slowly shutting the led case holding her radioactive glow stick as she approaches the door. With the last of the battery’s light retreating into the case, the only glow left to light through the darkness be the one shining from the window of the door; the scientist’s freshly fixed eyes squinting as they adjust to the glow. Once finally peaking through the window, Clara beholds on the other side of the door a set of iron cages and pens lining the sides of the room beyond; the kind of pens being big enough to hold livestock. But why would they have something like this if they said they didn’t have any kind of animals on their farm? Why keep them all the way down here? And why lie about it in the first place?

Before she could get the chance to even wonder on these questions, the young woman is forced to put them all on hold when hearing a couple of familiar voices speaking a foreign language from the other side of the door; the sounds of her two hosts growing closer each passing second. This proves to be enough of an encouragement for her to start sprinting back down the hall and race up the steps; the young woman's rushing climb causing her to accidentally trip on one of the steps and loose grip of her battery. Realizing her little powerhouse having slipped from her grasp, the scientist glances down the steps to witness the led case containing it drop down into the pile of metal and scrape surrounded by the stairwell. Thought she’s very tempted to race down and grab it, hearing the metal door at the end of the hall squeaking open swiftly discourages her from doing such; resuming her dash up the steps as she hears her pair of host voices growing louder. In her fleeting escape back up the stairs, the young scientist starts to feel her legs ache from the constant climbing; the voices tailing her from behind being urging her to hurry up nonetheless. Her rapid ascent up the spiraling steps soon has her approaching the open doorway she had come down from, swiftly slamming the door shut behind her as she leaps back up the hallway.

Even when back above ground, the scientist refuses to stop her rushing sprint for even a moment; racing through the hall and back inside the guest room. After shutting the door to the guest room, Clara leaps onto the empty mattress and quickly covers herself in its warm soft sheets. While the young woman conceals herself under the blankets of her bed, the guest room door is quietly cracked open; a pair of eyes peering into the darkened room and towards the bed. Once seeing his guest turn underneath the covers, the pair of peepers retreat back into the hall; Clara climbing out from under her beds sheets once the door shuts to let out an exhausted breath. A painful hiss escapes from between the scientist teeth as she sits up on the side of the bed, gently rubbing the sides of her pulsing legs.

Holy hell on earth, all that must’ve been close to a mile long marathon climb all at once; haven’t been forced to do that much exercise since climbing that tower back in Louisville. Even worse is the battery still being down there among all that junked scrape; it shouldn’t be that bad of a problem so long as it remains in its case and neither Gall and Benny stumble onto it. Still, its a priority to get the battery back up here and back into the pack before they find it; or worse, crack the veil holding the radioactive power and having it leak out into the open air. With how much power that little thing packs, it’d be nuclear disaster. Even with all of this dwelling in her head, all that the young woman could do now is attempt to sleep off the sore feeling in her legs; Clara slumping herself onto the plush mattress and letting her heavy eyes drift off into comforting slumber.

The starry night slowly begins to fade when the morning sun starts to rise from the eastern horizon; the darkened sky filling with the suns relaxing twilight glow. Its light starts breaching through the farmhouse’s guest bedroom window, spreading itself across Clara’s bed sheets; the young woman feeling the relaxing warmth through her blankets. Comforted by the morning light, the scientist can’t help but let out an eased sigh as she snuggles between the bed sheets; basking in the euphoric warmth that the sun bestows upon her.

Her relaxed morning slumber is instantly shattered on a dime when the door to the guest room swings wide open; the sudden slam making the young woman jump out of bed and fall to the hard polished wood floor. Laying face first onto the floor, the young woman lets out a painful groan as her burly host enters; Gall glancing down to his fallen guest with: “There you are. I’m glad to see you outta bed first thing in the morning. You woke up just in time for breakfast. You’re gonna love what we got to serve this morning, its my own little recipe. Better hurry up though. Sammy sure isn’t a picky eater.” Having announced all of this to his waking guest, Gall quickly shuts the door as she leaves the young woman to get up; Clara letting out another groan as she still feels the soreness in her legs from last night.

Wandering out from the guest room, the scientist slowly waltz’s through the wooden hallway towards the kitchen; attempting to hide the painful grunts she makes with every step she takes. Despite the pain coursing through her legs, the young lady forces herself to walk right into the kitchen; where upon she’s met with the shocking site of a fluffy, oozing breakfast meal that she had long forgotten about. “Pancakes!?” Her bearded host over the stove glances over to the startled scientist at the end of the kitchen; a bright smile forming between his beard as he confirms that: “Yep. My own little recipe that my mom shared with me back home. Why don’t you take yourself a little seat and you’ll see how-” Clara doesn’t even let her host finish stating his offer before rushing to the dinning table and plopping her ass down on one of the seats. The very moment that the young woman sits herself down, Clara swipes the silverware set to the side and stabs her fork straight through the breakfast meal set before her; pulling a part of the syrupy pancakes right off and shoving it straight into her watering maw.

As soon as the mixture of fluffy goodness enters her mouth, its sweet, syrupy concoction overwhelming her taste buds with their gooey and fluffy goodness; the young woman shuttering from the incredible flavor swirling in her maw. Oh god. This tastes just divine. These pancakes are just the best. Come to think of it, I haven’t had pancakes since I got to the future...How long have I been in this time?

“I’m guessing that you like them?” Gall questions. His guest nodding smile his all the burly gentleman need to confirm her satisfaction, going on to state how: “Yeah, mom’s old recipe’s been making people smile like that since I left home.” Its while claiming such does his skinnier husband takes his seat right beside the bearded gent; Benny flashing him a swift glare while his eyes shift back and forth between him and his guest. His husbands gaze prompts Gall to look over to the young woman enjoying her meal and ask: “Hey Clara, mind if I ask you something?” Finally swallowing the delicious mixture of batter and syrup, the scientist glances over to her burly host sitting on the other side of the table; answering him with: “Sure, fire away.” “Did you happen to be up last night?” Hearing her host question this to her causes Clara’s heart almost immediately sink; hiding her shaky breath as she admits how: “Uh...Yeah...Sammy asked me to read her a bedtime story.” “It’s true!” the little girl testifies for, jumping into her seat to stuff herself with pancake. Aiming a suspicious glare to the young lady, Benny further questions her with: “Really? Because while we were making breakfast this morning, we noticed one of our knives was missing. Did you happen to be anywhere in the kitchen last night?” “Nn, yeah. I went in to get myself a little midnight snack. Had to use one to chop the green parts off of a carrot. I I must’ve been so tired from yesterday that I took the knife back to my room by accident. Le-let me go and get for you guys.” While Clara attempts to use the excuse to retreat back into the guest room, her burly hosts voice makes her stop before she could even stand; hearing Gall go: “Nah, don’t worry about. Just enjoy what you’re eating for now. You’ll need it for what we’ll be doing today.”

“More chores?” Clara utters. “Kind of. Once we finish breakfast and get ourselves dressed, we’ll all pack in the truck and do some stuff around town. Pick up some groceries, drop off some tools that need fixing, pick up a package of seeds we’re expecting. Just stuff like that.” “Oh, and you want me to do something here while you’re gone?” “You are going to be coming with us to help?” Benny then inserts, cutting between his guest and husbands conversation. “Eh...excuse me? Don’t you think it be a little odd to take a stranger that’s staying with you that you just met yesterday to town?” the scientist questions. “Oh, we don’t mind. With how much you helped us out on the farm the other day, why your practically like a friend of the family already.” “Um, wouldn’t it be better if I just watch your daughter while you two go and do things?’ “You mean to say how you, a stranger that we had dragged out from the woods just the other day, want to take care of a little girl, out in a lone house in the middle of the country, while the adults who look after her are away? Is that what I’m really hearing out of you?” Benny harshly reviews. “Nnn...nevermind...Esh...” Once she finishes the last of her pancakes, Clara stands from the dinning table and shuffles back towards the guest room, hearing her lanky host state how: “You should be lucky that we’re letting you stay here at all!” “Benny!”

Its in after getting herself up and dressed does she soon find herself being driven through the gray cloudy countryside inside a paint faded wheel bound truck; placed in the back alongside her host’s daughter as both the men in the front discuss something in a foreign language. Left with no determinate way to understand what her hosts are discussing in front of her, all that Clara could do was drift her gaze out the window to behold the passing majestic pastures; the site of the tall meadow grass flowing in the wind being the perfect backdrop for her mind to wonder.

Almost immediately do her thoughts drift back to what she had discovered beyond the door in the basement; all of the empty animal pens deep below the farmhouse, the foul stench that practically spoils the underground air, the pile of miscellaneous scrap littering the bottom of the stairwell, just what could it all possibly mean? What manner of diabolical construction could those two possibly be attempting to build from deep underneath the earth that would require metal parts and to be kept in pens, robotic farm animals? Whatever kind of mysterious bullshit they might be doing with all of it, none don’t even come close to the pressing issue right now; that being the nuclear little powerhouse they got hidden among their scrap. Judging from their moods this morning, they likely don’t even know it’s still down there; the way they raced up the steps last night makes it seem that they hardly noticed. Can’t exactly straight up say that there’s a dangerous nuclear battery stashed in there, that’d be flat out admitting that their basement was broken into; they probably already suspect the lock’s been tampered with already. Only got a day left before their crops are ripe enough to pick; once they are, there won’t be much of an excuse left to stay. Even if they are getting worried, there still has to be a way back down there and get the battery; else who knows what might happen if they find it.

While in the midst of pondering on how to get back down into her hosts basement, her eyes drift off to the steel white road ahead; alarms going off in her head when spotting the glistening polish of an mountie cruiser floating on the opposite side of the road. Shit, they’re here!? Need to hide! Got to think of something fast without seeming suspicious… In her swift attempt to hide from the approaching cruiser, the scientist takes a quick breath and fakes a huge audible sneeze; ducking down underneath the window while making it look like she’s recoiling. Clara keeps her head down long enough for the police vehicle to zoom right on by without a single hitch; the young woman slowly rising back up and peeking back to the retreating cruiser, with a relieved sigh passing through her lips. “He he, allergies getting to you?” “Uh, yeah. A bit.” “Well, I hope they calm down when we cross into Smithville here.”

Gazing out to the white roads ahead, the scientist comes to witness the city limits of a small town coming up; already discovering half of the simple town being modernized with technology seemingly on the verge of scientist fiction. Holographic signs and advertisements boasting 3D images, colorful and curving buildings and businesses that fuse into eachother, all models hovering cars gliding through the roads like a river stream; each and every detail giving the scientist a small taste of how far Canadian civilization had advance since her time. The first taste she had been given of their technological boom once crossing the wall was practically humble crumbs compared to what lays before her; that was just a small suburb, this is a whole town. If something as tiny as these countryside towns have been given such a dramatic technological increase, its almost impossible to imagine how far the central city have changed.

Driving through the futuristic town, the old wheelbound truck takes a sharp turn through a crossing intersection; soon to enter the hover car filled parking lot of what looked to be a supermarket. While cruising through the parking lot in hopes of securing a spot, the old fashioned truck passes by a couple of hovering vehicles that honk their horn as they float by; a couple of their driver flipping them the bird as they streak past. Their stroll through the white parking lot has them eventually has them come across an open spot between a couple of grounded hover cars; Gall carefully squeezing his faded truck in between the two vehicles.

Once the trucks engine goes silent, everyone inside starts to climb out of the inside to step out onto the white steel of the parking lot; feeling the hard iron underneath their feet. “Right then. I suppose while you go out to take our tools to be fixed, I’ll take Sammy with me and head into the grocery store.” the skinnier of the two purposes. “Sound like a plan to me.” his burly husband mentions. “Hey uh, what do you want me to do?” their young guest wonders. Upon hearing his guest question him on such, Gall strolls over to the other side of his truck and starts digging through his pockets; suggesting to her that: “Why don’t you go over to the post office and pick up some seeds were expecting. Here’s something to show them so they know that I sent ya.” From the depths of his denim pants pockets, Clara’s burly host pulls out a piece of paper with a map written and small card to give to the young woman; handing over a Canadian citizen ID with Gall’s smiling mug on the front. “Oh, and one more thing. When you get to the front desk. Tell them that Mr. Marvis is a pretty busy officer.” “Um, okay...why?” “Oh, you ‘ll understand why.” From telling his guest this does his lanky husband start speaking to him in their foreign language, all while glaring to Gall with a concerned stare; the bearded gent strolling over to him and responding back in a more relaxed tone. “Hmm...Just be careful, alright.” Benny then suggests in English. “Don’t you worry, you know I will.” After exchanging a small smooch, the couple go their separate way; Benny taking their daughter with him inside the store as the little girl waves goodbye to their guest. With both of her host having split, a worrying sense of tension dwelling withing Clara’s head; darting her eyes through her surroundings as she proceeds towards the rest of the town.

Following the directions from the map that her host had bestowed her, the scientist weaves through the stretching steel streets of the small commute town; waltzing past several oddly shaped buildings that all looked to be joined together from several points of their sides. The structure are not the only thing that the young woman notices, several of the street goers she passes by all seems to garbed in rather sleek and sharp outfits; seemingly normal pedestrian clothing like hers seeming like a rare occurrence to the rest of the passing citizens. A fact of which draws several fleeting glares in the scientist’s direction, their passing stares urging Clara to hurry through the streets; hastily jogging along as she takes a quick glance to the map to the post office.

As droplet of rain begin to trickle down from the darkened skies; Clara takes a few more turns through Smithville’s streets, the map that Gall had given to her soon leads the scientist right to the front of a white circular building decorated with paintings of people with packages. A holographic sign above the doorframe reading out: “Maple leaf postal service: Dashing deliveries that denizens can depend upon.” Even taking in the postal buildings bizarre structural choice, what puzzles Clara the most of its design choice be the lack of a proper door; the doorframe housing only a white slab of wall with the drops of rain splashing onto the wall as expected. Where...where the hell is the door? It’s got windows that you can see through as clear as day, but not even one way in to speak of. It doesn’t look like any kind of hologram, the rain is clearly bouncing off. So, why did they design it with a doorframe, but not a single damn way inside. How in the ever confusing and absurd naming convention of the Pythagorean theorem do they expect anybody to waltz in to get their mail.

Right in the middle of questioning the design choices of the post office do a pair of woman waltz by the pondering scientist; Clara taken aback when both of their entire bodies phase around the frame and through the seemingly solid blank white wall. “What!?” Holy shit! What just happened!? They just went straight through the wall like a couple of god damn specters! Like, like “pssewt”. How do the physics to pass through solid matter like that even begin to make any scientific sense!? It’s like bullshit sci fi magic that some asshole would make up on the spot as some poor attempt at lore.

In the midst of attempting to make sense of the phenomenon she had just witness, the scientist starts noticing the people along the street beginning to stare right at her; their gazes urging the young woman to calm herself down from her scientific excitement. Right, just relax. If they found some way to do this, then there must be some scientific reason for it to be possible; it doesn’t seem to look like any kind of hologram. Maybe they have some sort of outside molecular vibrator to render the wall incorporeal the moment it senses biological matter on its surface; it could explain why the rain isn’t getting in. While pondering on how to make sense of the way the intangible wall could work, Clara takes another glance to find the people around still focused on her; their stares making an irritated groan escape from her throat. Right, priorities. Damn this suspicious crowd. To only have an hour or two to study this. Brushing her scientific curiosity aside, the young woman slowly begins to approach the front of the spherical post office, carefully reaching her arm out towards the seemingly solid doorless frame. From simply touching the solid wall within the frame, Clara’s fingers phase straight through as effortlessly as pushing through air; soon dunking her arm through along with the rest of her entire body.

Once breaching through the incorporeal wall, the scientist comes to find herself within the circular inside of the Canadian post office; her eyes adjusting to the office’s white inside. When her site is used to the bright inner confines of the postal building, the young woman finds curving sides of the office lined with tall white desks that protrude out from the floor; holographic screens with sign in screens projecting out from the surfaces of the tables. While strolling out towards the front desk, the scientist glances to the side desks manned with people standing before them; the patrons writing upon the holographic screens much like a touchpad. Once the one of them finish writing their information onto the screens, they place the parchments right onto the desks surface and soon watch as the cardboard box vanishes into thin air; a couple of packages appearing from other desks as she walks on through. Its honestly not much of a shock at this point. Seems like a given that they would have teleportation technology up and running by now.

Finally reaching the office’s front desk, the scientist is confronted by a woman in a postal service uniform; the tall lady dressed in white and red greeting her with: “Hey there. Welcome to the Maple leaf postal service. How can I help you today?” “Uh...A friend of mine was expecting a package here today and asked me to come and get it.” Clara responds with, handing over her burly Canadian ID card to the post woman. Taking a good glance to the card in question, the woman constantly shifts her gaze to it and the young lady standing before the front desk; a faux innocent smile painted across the scientist’s cheeks. “Mmmm,kay. Just gimme a second to process your request.”

Requesting such out from her customer, the post woman steps away from the front desk and goes through the door set right behind it; Clara witnessing her dig through several packages lined up along the back walls. “So...You heard the news about Mr.Marvis recently?” From the post woman asking of such does Clara suddenly put two and two together, realizing that the phrase that her host had wanted her to say wasn’t just some sort of random piece of news; rather, it was a code phrase. Understanding this, the scientist responds back with: “Yeah, I hear he’s a pretty busy officer nowadays.” Hearing the customer behind the front desk claim such, the post woman’s entire body suddenly goes utterly stiff from those words; Clara proving further concerned as she stays still for several seconds. Once the post woman finally starts moving again, she continues to dig through the back room for the package in mind; stating on the subject how: “I hear the man is due for a promotion any day now.” “Right, hope he gets it.” Clara responds with, attempting to hide the deeply threatened worry dwelling in the back of her head as she questions to herself what the hell she had just triggered

Its soon enough that the postal employee finally starts to come out of the back room; returning to the front desk with a small cardboard box in hand. With her hosts ID right on top of the package, the scientist watches the post woman place the parchment on the front desk; keeping one hand on its cardboard as the employee claims: “And here we are. One pack of seeds for Gall and Benny. Hope those two make it through the season.” The young woman grasps the parchment before her with both hands as she accepts with: “Thanks a bunch. I was kinda worried for a minute there that-” Just before the scientist could finish her statement, she feels the package she holds being pulled over the front desk; forcing Clara to lean in close to the post woman to the point where her feet leave the polished floor. Dragged over to the side of the employee’s head, the postal lady starts to speak to the scientist in a foreign language; realizing it be the same language that her hosts use when speaking to one another. After unloading all that she has to say, the post woman lets go of the young lady and lets her back down onto the white floor; wishing for Clara to: “Have a nice day.” Witnessing the postal employee act as if nothing happened, Clara begins to back out towards the door frame; left at an utterly frightened lose on what had just transpired.

Phasing right through the post office’s incorporeal doorway, Clara strolls through the lightly raining streets as she ponders what might really be in the package that woman might’ve given her; gazing upon its simply cardboard with a worrying curiousness. Gall claims that they ordered nothing but seeds, but the way that post woman talked makes it sound like its something else; something...more. Ditching it ain’t an option either, the way Gall instructed to say that specific phrase means he’s expecting it; so they’ll obviously start asking questions if it doesn’t get to him. If their fragile trust is broken now, then getting the battery back ain’t gonna happen Let’s just hope that whatever’s in here doesn’t decide to up and explode...Oh god, is that racist to assume?

As the scientist begins to question all of this, her attention is baited over to the steel white roads she walks by; gazing a ways back to discover a mountie cruiser floating her way. Clara’s eyes desperately dart through the streets surrounding her, hoping to find somewhere to hide from the nearing police; her site locked to a spiraling building with a holographic woman in a dress perched at the top. With a place to hide in mind, the young woman sprint out towards the small shop ahead; leaping towards the doorframe and phasing right through its seemingly solid wall.

Passing right through the intangible doorway, the scientist feels the soft rug at her back as she rolls right along the shops red velvet carpeted floor; quickly pulling herself back up to discover that she had jumped inside a small dress boutique. It might take a short while for Gall and Benny to finish running their errands, not to mention the fuzz outside still lurking around; might as well take a little look at what passes for Canadian fashion in the future.

Taking the brief chance to see what’s in store, Clara tours through the small, humble boutique to glimpse at what is displayed; gazing at the fine garbs the store has available. Shirts, pants, accessories, jackets and dresses, all of which sporting odd and unusual designs; a couple of standing mannequin’s wearing dress’s and outfits akin to pieces of fine art. Brushing her hands through the finely knitted clothing, she feels the soft and firm fabric across her fingertips; the scientist imagining what it would feel across her body. In her little tour across the boutique, the young woman takes a peek at a couple of the dresses that the mannequin’s display; the outfits boasting odd structure and designs with several pointed ends through its fabric. Glancing to the platform that the mannequin stand upon, the scientist notices a small plaque made of gold on the side; its inscription reading out how its a: “An original Ralimush. The fashion from northern Russia.” Staring at these rather unusual and fancy dresses causes her to ponder of what these people would see in designer fashion; particularly in the kind of wears they can come up with.

Its obviously more of an artistic venture than a practical one, the very passions that drive these designers is an obvious familiar one; to strive and be better than what you are now. But there must come a time in everyone’s life where they question their current endeavors; the thought echoing through their heads being: “Am I going to overboard with this shit?” Otherwise, you might end up with horrible accidents such as this.

While the scientist attempts to ponder the thought processes of these foreign dress makers, her ears catch the distinct sound somebody phasing through the doorway; Clara glancing back towards the entrance to witness a couple of police officers walking inside. Stricken in terror upon the site of the two mounties, the young woman silently dashes towards the back of the clothing boutique and ducks right underneath a whole rack full of clearance clothes; hearing one of them approach while saying to the other that: “I’m just wondering what kind of dress my little daughter could want.” When coming to the clearance clothing, the policeman take a single frilly dress from the rack; unknowingly uncovering the concealed scientist while questioning his partner if: “You think this might work?” “Eh, I don’t know.” Noticing the couple of cops failing to spot her, the young woman quietly sneaks away from the perusing police while they’re distracted; the scientist prowling over and squeezing herself underneath the tight shelf of discount pants. Just as she scrunches every part of herself under the shelf, Clara glances over to find the other officer waltzing in her direction; recoiling deeper to the wall as she hears the police woman mention how: “I’ve been running a little low on casual jeans. One’s they got here go for about 5 bucks.” “Nice. We can get them alongside the dress I’m getting Maddy.” Taking a couple of fresh denim jeans from the shelf, the other officer strolls away with the pairs of pants in her arms; failing to realize the young woman hiding right beneath her. A quiet sigh escapes from the scientist lungs as she sees the two officers waltzing away; her worry rising once more when reaching for her little parchment, only to discover that her host’s package is not with her anymore. Panic begins to spread through her mind as she searches for where the little cardboard box’s may have wound up, soon to find her little package left at the bottom of one of the mannequin displays; a frustrated hiss seeping between her teeth as the scientist starts to crawl out of the pants shelf and towards her misplaced package.

The young scientist soon crawls out from under the discount pants shelf and sneaks towards the mannequin display her little parchment lies, concealing herself behind the racks and walls of modern Canadian clothing to evade the site of the mounties; hearing the policeman consult on how: “I don’t know, Debra. It seems like Maddy is just losing interest in the things we used to do together.” “Like.” the police woman questions. “We’d spent all day watching kids shows, drink tea, play soccer, dress up, all that stuff dads and daughters do. Nowadays, she’d rather be with her online friends and be on social media than to spend time with her dear old daddy.” “Hey, hey, hey, hey. It ain’t like that Danny, believe me. Your little girls just spreading her wings and forging her own path in this world; ya know, growing up.” “But I feel like we’ve been growing so apart lately. I don’t know if its something I said to her, but she barely even talks to me these days. All these new things that she’s going through...I’m just so scared.” “Stop talking like that. Nothing about this is your fault. Even if you two are miles apart, your still her dad. As long you don’t suffocate and helicopter her, then she won’t move away from you. She’ll still love you like her dear old dad.” His partners advice makes the police officers gaze drift down to the frilly dress in his hands, the tears rolling from his eyes dripping down onto the fabric. With a heartwarming smile stretching across his face, the cop sets the frilly dress down upon a random shelf; venturing over to the shirts and skirts of the same size and confirming to his partner that: “You’re right. It’s about time my little girl gets a taste of the real world.”

Witnessing the mountie wandering over towards her direction, Clara acts fast and leaps within another one of the racks filled with teen girl shirts; ducking down into the clothing rack to hide herself from the nearing officer. Once the police man reaches the rack that the scientist hides behind, he begins to browse through the many shirts left hanging on the steel bar; quickly dwindling what space the scientist has left to hide behind it all. Desperate to make the browsing mountie leave, the young woman picks out a specific shirt from the selection behind her; hanging the garment with the other clothes that the officer searches through. When the humble mountie comes to uncover the shirt that the scientist had planted, the officer picks the dress off the rack to get a good look at it; inspecting the logo plastered onto the front of the dress. “This is...perfect!” Wandering away from the rack that Clara hides behind, the officer finds his partner approaching with a fresh pair of small jeans; the policewoman claiming how: “Nice choice. I bet these puppies would pair well with a shirt like that.” Watching both of the mounties retreating back to the front of the boutique, Clara wastes not another moment to stealthily proceed to the mannequin display; soon snatching her little package from the bottom of the platform.

“Wait, almost forgot something.” Her ears catching the voice of the officer, the scientist glances back to find one of the officers returning to the back of the store. Left desperate for somewhere to hide from the approaching mountie, the young woman swiftly climbs up on one of the displays and conceals herself from behind one of the standing mannequin; mimicking its pose to a tee in order to hide every inch of her body. Without even so much as a noticing glance, the cop passes right by the young woman and wanders over to the rack filled with hanging necklaces; the policeman perusing through each of the unique designs as the woman right behind him remains as motionless as a statue. As the mountie continues to browse through the selection of necklaces, Clara limbs start to grow stiff and tired from maintaining the same pose as the doll she hides behind; trying to keep the small grunts that escape from her teeth at a minimum. The young woman’s persistance soon pays off when the policeman finally picks out a necklace from the rack, who races right past the hiding scientist and back towards the checkout while exclaiming how he: “Found it! Maddy’s gonna love this.” Once the cops races past, Clara breaks from the mannequin’s pose and ducks right under the platform it stand on; peeking out from behind to watch as the two officers take their clothes and finally depart. When the pair of police finally phase through the front doorway, Clara stands back up from the base of the display and lets out a relaxing sigh; the boutique employee manning the checkout counter glancing in her direction and asking if: “So, you gonna buy anything or just stalk around like a damn creep?”

Soon coming out of the dress shop herself, the light drizzle that she had seen beforehand has grown a bit bigger from the young ladies time in the boutique; the rain pouring down faster than ever. In hopes of remaining as dry as she can, Clara races through the pouring streets towards the direction of the parking lot where her host’s truck resides; one of the police that had been shopping for clothes glancing back to witness the scientist dashing around the corner. From seeing the woman rush around the turn, a skeptical glare forms upon the policewoman; her partner wondering: “You see something Debra?”

Racing through the rainy Smithville streets, Clara finally makes it back to the steel white parking lot where they parked; soon finding her pair of host’s awaiting inside the truck. Approaching the truck, she readies to hope on inside and escape from the rain; something written on the side of the passenger door making her stop just inches from the hatch. Left on the aluminum door of the truck was a spiteful message scratched onto its surface; the pouring rain dropping through the cuts scarred on the door reading out: “Go back to India.” Gazing beside the door, the scientist discover more engravings spread along the side of the truck; all of them being hateful and borderline racist comments. In reading all of them does she finally hear one of her host bait her attention, glancing back to see Benny peeking out the window to ask: “You going to just stand there soaking up water like a sponge, or are you getting in!?” The lanky gent’s insistence to get in makes her finally open the passenger and jump right on inside, plopping her ass right next to her hosts little girl; her wet clothes soaking that side of the passenger seat.

“So, how did your little trip to the post office go?” her burly host kindly asks. “Smoothly.” the scientist responds with, thinking back to the post woman who had spoken to her. “Did you get our little delivery?” her skinnier host then questions. Upon being questioned of such, the young woman feels through her entire body for the package Benny asks for; soon pulling from her backside the small parchment that her host’s had requested. “There we go. See Benny. Told ya we could depend on her.” Gall claims to his husband. “Thanks. Hey, mind if we get to leaving...Like right now?” Its in suggesting this does Sammy start to let out a little whine, reminding them that: “But you said we would stop for ice cream while we were here.” “Sorry Sammy, but we still have some work to do back home.” Gall softly respond. “That’s not fair, you two promised!” “We got you ice cream at the store. It’s practically the same thing.” Benny rebukes.

Driving right out of the parking lot, all of them soon pass the Smithville’s town limit; leaving behind the modern technological town and down towards the country roads. While cruising out into the countryside, Clara takes a small peek back towards the town she departs from; gazing out to see if any of the fuzz were pursuing her. Thankfully, she finds not a single mountie vehicle in pursuit of them anywhere in site; the fact that she had evaded the eyes of the Canadian authority making her slump back into her seat.

Making it back to her hosts humble little farm, the scientist burns the rest of the day away by doing chores and tasks at the request of her hosts; the honest labor making the sun quickly drift out behind the mountainside until the twilight sky begins to darken. Once the day is all spent and done, Clara and her host gather in the kitchen to sit and enjoy their steaming, well earned dinner; the young woman presented with the spoils of corn, mashed potato’s and fish. A rather odd combination to be sure, but something that the scientist can’t complain about; so long as it isn’t from a can she could give much else of a shit. Her mouth watering from the fully cooked meal, the scientist wastes not another moment to dig right on in; cutting a piece of the fish and taking the first bite. Delecting in the salty and savory taste of the fish swirling in her mouth makes the young woman letting a satisfied moan; her bearded host giving her a small chuckle before asking if: “You like the fish?” While enjoying the meal in her mouth, Clara faces her burly host and shakes her head to confirm; Gall further adding how: “Yep, the fish they sell around here might just be the best in the country. Add that with Benny’s excellent cooking and you got a little slice of heaven on your plate.”

“The chicken and fish we got at the grocery should pair well with some of the vegetables that’ll be ripe tomorrow.” Benny then states, the mention of the fact causing Clara to stop chewing her meal. Finally swallowing the savory fish in her mouth, the young woman responds to her host’s claim with: “Really.” “Indeed they will. How much you think you’ll need for your trip?” Gall asks her. “Oh, I don’t really think I need all that much, just-” “We’ll give you just enough to make it to the next town over. No more. No less.” the lanky gent cements. “Benny, our guest here helped us out with so much. Least we can do is give her some extra carrots for the road.” his burly husband rebuttals with. “Gall, were running off a low budget as is. Giving out more than what she needs might cripple our finances for next year.” “I know. I know. Not to mention that we still got the stuff in the basement to worry about.” “Don’t mention that in front of them!”

As both of them start to argue among themselves, Clara glances over to their little girl to find her getting increasingly upset; Sammy finally piping up and cutting through her fathers argument with: “Its not fair!” The little girls sudden outburst grabs the entire kitchens attention, both of her dads stopping their arguing and gazing to their daughter as she continues with: “You two always spend almost every night down in that stupid basement and leave me up here in the dark all by myself! All during the thunderstorms, the darkest night, even with the all the wolves howling! Just what could you two even be doing down there that you can’t come back up until morning!?” A exhausted sigh leaving his lungs, Gall responds to his daughters outcry with: “Sammy, dear. We already talked about all of this. You’re not old enough to see what were working on down there yet.” “Well when will I be? I’ve been with you two for about 3 years now and you still haven’t shown me anything down there. I’m about to turn ten next month and neither of you will even mention what you have down under us.” Slamming the palms of his hands onto the dinning table, Benny snaps back at the little girl with: “That’s because what were doing down there is incredibly important, More important then any of us could ever be; and we can’t bear to have you messing around in there and ruining all that we’ve worked for!”

Being berated by her father’s harsh word draw forth tears from the little girls eyes, Benny withdrawing from his harsh demeanor upon the site of his daughter crying. “Sammy, I-” Before she could let her dad finish speaking, the little girl leaps out of her chair and races down the hallway; her tears dripping down onto the tile as she runs off. Glancing over to his husband, the lanky gentleman find him wearing a disappointed glare; the site making Benny let out a sorrowing breath as he laments on how: “I know...I was too harsh with her. I...I just-” Witnessing his husband on the cusp of tears, Gall scoots his seat to Benny’s side and gives his skinny lover a warm embrace; insuring that: “I know, Benny. But we can’t be like that with her. One day, she’ll be old enough to join in our little project; and help not only us, but the entire world.” “Its just that we’ve spent so many years to make our it all come true, and she’s so young. We can’t risk anybody finding out, Not abou-” Stopping himself short from speaking out, Benny’s eyes glare over to their guest sitting on the other side of the table; the scientist letting out a nervous giggle upon being met with his stare. Taking the scowl as her queue to leave the room, Clara gets up from the table with the rest of her dinner in hand; backing away into the awaiting hallway behind her.

The last of the orange sky above begins to fade into the darkness of the night; the country stars spreading out above as the hour of the wolf encroaches. When the clock above finally strikes midnight, Clara arises from the comforting relief that the guest bed offers and moves towards the door; walking out into the hallway and back towards the kitchen for the tools she had previously used before.

Pulling out the silverware drawer, the scientist searches through the unorganized cluster of metal for the crucial part of her lockpicking tools; a startling worry creeping through her back as she discovering not a single knife among the countless forks and spoons. Right, they must know that somebody broke into their basement last night and took precautions; snatching away anything that could be used as a lock pick. Still, they have to have a spare key stashed around here somewhere; they wouldn’t just have one and potentially get themselves stuck down there. Maybe in their bedroom.

Set beside the locked basement door, the young woman comes to the last door at the very end of the hallway; the only means of keeping people out be a single paper sign taped to the face reading out: “Stay out Sammy.” With not much else in terms of security to stop her, the scientist simply barges right on inside; the light of the hallway flooding into the room and unveiling to her an array of foreign décor. The sheets of the beds, the cushions of the chairs, the drapes hanging on the window, even the very walls boasted exotic circular patterns with dark, blending colors; legs of the table and the bedframe all made from carved, twisted, and shining wood. The plants and decorations set throughout the bedroom proved to be like nothing she ever seen before; the statue atop the drawer being a finely dressed elephant with several arms in a crossing sit, its jewels reflecting the hallway light. Throughout the entire exotic bedroom, Clara peeks through every single nook and cranny that she could; checking in the drawers, underneath the bed, between the mattresses, inside the statue, and behind the furniture. Alas, the young woman fails to find a single glimmer of a spare key anywhere within her hosts bedroom; the scientist wondering where the hell they could’ve stashed it.

“What are you looking for?” she hears a familiar voice from behind question. The young woman quickly turns back towards the bedroom door to discover her hosts daughter standing right in the doorway; Clara jumping back from the little girls unexpected appearance. “Jesus, kid! Ya keep scaring me. W-what are you even doing up this late?” “I could ask you the same thing.” “Me-I, uh. I was just in here seeing w-what sort of décor your dads-” “Your looking for this, aren’t you?” the little girl assumes, pulling out a shining key from her backside. Caught off guard from the little girl having the key, she attempts to ask her: “How did you-” “I sometimes find it and open the basement door to try and find my dads. But every time I do, all I see down the stairs is just the swirling, neverending darkness below. I can’t even see the bottom, its so deep. Last night, I saw you bravely go down there without even so much as stopping…Could you tell my dads something when you go back down there?” “What is it?” “...I’m...tired of spending every night all by myself...I’m tired of being left out of their important work...I want to be alongside them like…Like a real family.” Hearing the little girl plead of something so simple and touching draws out sympathy from the scientist; Clara kneeling down to her level and claiming how: “If, I see them. I’ll let them know. Kay?” With her guests confirmation does Sammy hand her the key to the basement; Clara stepping out of her hosts bedroom and leaving the little girl behind.

Inserting the key into the lock and unlocking the way to the basement, Clara opens the door to be greeted by the familiar site of the swirling stairwell leading down into the pitch black abyss; the scientist slowly descending down into the darkness. Without a single light source to illuminate her way down, the young woman realizes all too well that a single misstep could spell her end; and so takes every step down as carefully as she possibly could. Further distancing from the basement door and making her way down into the pitch black staircase, her freshly healed eyes begin to adjust to the lightless void that surrounds her; soon able to clearly see the very steps she walks down upon. Even with her site having adjusted to the surrounding darkness, the scientist keeps caution in mind when descending down the stairs; the lack of a guard rail keeping her hugging the left wall.

Her cautious climb down the stairwell eventually leads back to its very base, the young woman’s eyes first noticing the short hallway leading to a lone steel door; the window of such letting out a particular glow. With the glow the furthest from her mind, Clara gazes down to find the miscellaneous pile of metal and scrap awaiting at the bottom of the stairwell that her precious little powerhouse had fallen into. Once climbing down the very last step, the scientist delves straight into the heap of junk surrounded by the stairs; digging through the countless bits and pieces of metal, wires, gears, and apparatuses in searching for her battery. God, they better not have found it. Her dig through the junk soon has her uncover the little led box that her battery had been held in; Clara pulls the case right from under the countless set of scrap to find it lined with small scratches set along its surface. The young woman places her hand onto its lid and slowly starts to open the case; a bright green glow leaking out from the crack piercing through the darkness surrounding her. When seeing her battery still in its case, the scientist swiftly closes the lid to invite the black void to surround her; the only light left to dispel it being the glow from the door across the hall as she puts the battery back into her bag. Right, now that the battery is back; its time to bail. Don’t want them to know that someone was down here.

When she finally readies to climb back up the stairs, a loud animal moan halts her from taking the first step; turning to the source of the cry and gazing out towards the glowing door at the end of the hallway. Left curious from what could’ve made such a moaning, the scientist moves away from the spiraling stairwell and out towards the ominous glowing doorway; the light from the window beginning to clear the closer she approaches. Once she finally reaches the door, the young woman peeks through the window as her eyes fully adjust to the glow; finding the same steel pens set up along the sides like before. This time around however, Clara could witness something moving from within the metal holds; catching only a glimpse of its metallic head out from the top of the cage. Just what the hell could those two be keeping down here?

In questioning this does the door that the scientist leans on crack wide open, causing the young woman to stumble through the doorway and fall flat onto the cold concrete floor. While picking herself off of the hard pavement; her nose is invaded by the same putrid scent she had smelled the night before; a small moan invading her ears as she pinches her nose. Gazing over to the source of the cry, she starts to pass the console full of buttons and to one of the enclosed pens set along the side of the room; discovering the metallic head that she had seen through the window to be attached to a cows hide. The closer the young woman nears the pen in question, she comes to find the more of the bovine graphed with metal limbs and steel skin; the beast suddenly turning to reveal its cyborg infused head. The unexpected finding causes the scientist to jump from the pen and back away from the robotic bovine and into the side of another pen; swiftly turning back to the cage she had bumped into witness another cyborg cow let out a frightened digitized moo. The call makes the rest of the pens to furiously rumble, the scientist frantically looking around to find an entire heard of cyborg cows trapped within; their clanging metallic parts echoing alongside their cries. “What is this? What’s all this supposed to be!?”

“It was meant to be our little secret.” she hear someone answer with. Hearing this, the scientist swiftly turns back to face one of her host baring his firearms; the barrel of Benny’s shotgun aimed directly at Clara’s head. “I knew you’d stick your nosey little ass in here eventually, just waiting to find all that we worked for so that you could tear it all down.” the lanky gent claims. “No no no no, that ain’t the case here. I swear.” the scientist attempts to refute. “Then what are you doing here?” The familiar voice reaching her ears, Clara turns back once more to witness her other host appearing out from the shadows; the burly gent gazing upon the woman with a stern glare. “I...was just down here trying to find something that I dropped.” “You mean from your little trip down here from last night?” When her skinny host claims such, a guilty silents strikes the young woman; unable to speak a single word as Gall further says: “Clara, Clara, Clara. Here I was thinking that you knew better than to stick your nose where it don’t belong; but I guess we all can all be wrong something.” “I know bett-?...What the fuck kind of sick and twisted operations are you two even concocting down here; graphing metal and technology onto bovine and replacing their body parts with mechanical apparatuses!? Just what are you planning on doing with all of these cyborg cows, huh; start an army, destroy a city, take over an entire country!? Answer me!?” Clara furiously demands. “You can answer those questions from beyond the grave.” Benny claims, his finger itching at the trigger. Her attention focused on the firearms aimed right at her, the scientist starts to sweat bullets as she prepares to anticipate her hosts shot.

Just moments before the man could fire his weapon, a lone voice cuts through the tension; the sound of a little girl calling out: “Dads?” From the soft call, everyone glances over to the door to witness Sammy standing in the doorway; Benny hesitating to pull the trigger as he utters out: “Sammy? What are-” “Is this what you guys have been doing every night, turning cows into robots?” the little girl questions. In that moment does Gall step before the confused young girl, calmly suggesting to her to: “Sammy? Just go back upstairs and we’ll talk about this, right after we-” “After you what, murder our guest!? Even after she helped us around the farm!?” “She saw too much! If she walks out knowing all of this, it would put all of our work at incredible risk.” Benny argues. “So did I...Does that mean you’re gonna kill me too?” the little girl questions, tears of sorrow rolling down her face. Listening to his little girl ask of such causes the skinny gentleman to lower his firearms, Benny tense glare going soft as he assures to her that: “Oh, Sammy. We...we would never do that to you. We love you.” Kneeling down to his little girls level, Gall places his hand on his daughter’s shoulder and states how: “Sammy, we’re doing this for the greater good...For the world.” “I just don’t understand how turning cows into robots can help the world…Is what she said true? Are you going to hurt people with them all?” “We would never do that...” “Then why are you turning all of them into monsters!?” “So that they may have the strength live on.” she hears Benny answer.

“W-what do you mean?” the little girl curiously questions. “You see sweetie. There aren’t as many cows left in the world as there once was.” Gall states. “What happened to all of them?” “A massive nuclear war happened. All of the destructive violence and carnage wiped out a good chunk of their population. From the worlds rapid technological grow, the common cow was left to be slaughtered on the alter of human development; the Canadian government buying out and closing down countless farms from around the world. The only one’s who refused to give into their demands be the people of our home country. The noble people of India refused to let these maple leaved monster bring our sacred animal to the brink of extinction. But simply leaving it all at that wasn’t enough for them. No...Their insatiable greed urged them to terrorize our country in order to pilfering more of our cows forbidden beef.”

From where his husband left off, Gall continues to explain to his little girl on how: “You see honey; in hopes of saving the bovines that Canada has locked away and waiting to slaughter, both of your dear dads have liberated them from the farmlands and have gifted them with a fighting chance in the form of technological weaponry.” “But...Isn’t it against the law to make cyborg animals?” his little girl points out. “Indeed it is. It was set in place because of two reason. So that the meat and byproducts of animals are not tainted by the mechanisms and oil of the machinery, and so that they’re not a danger to mankind. But with how careless and greedy the Canadian government has been concerning the bovines overall population, we’ve been given very little choice. With our help, we can at least give them the fighting chance to live on.”

Fresh from explaining all of this to the little girl, all of them soon hear a sharp alarm blare through the basement; the noise causing Gall to quickly rise from his daughters level and race over to the console along the side. Pressing a couple of buttons laying bare on the computer turns on the screen perched at the top, showing a camera feed planted on the front of the farm; a mountie van pulling up in front of the home with several officers jumping out from the back. “Th-the police! Why are they here!?” Raising his firearms towards his guest once again, Benny aims his shotgun to Clara’s head and accuses her with: “It’s her fault! She was probably a spy that lead them right to us!” Right as the skinny gent aims his gun to the scientist, his young daughter jumps right in the way; demanding that he: “Don’t shoot!” “Wait wait! I don’t think they’re here for you guys!” Clara rebuttals. “Oh really? Like they all gathered here on a plain looking farm in the middle of nowhere just for little old you?” “Ehh...eh he...”

Hearing his guests nervous chuckle causes the lank gentlemen to lower his firearms as astonishment slowly forms upon his face; Gall turning towards the young woman and questioning her with: “What do you mean by that?” “I...may have conveniently forgotten to mention the fact that I’m kind of an illegal U.S. immigrant.” The scientist unveiling this piece of news to her hosts, both of them men proved stunned by this revealed truth; the little girl in front of her left in awe by her words as she glances back to her with curious eyes. Re-aiming his shotgun to the young woman’s head, Benny goes on to accuse his guest of: “I knew you were nothing but a runaway criminal. I told Gall it was bad idea, but he didn’t listen. I bet if we just hand her over to the cops, then they’ll leave all of us well enough alone.” “No! She’s not just some random thug! If she really were that bad, then she wouldn’t have helped us out at the farm and would’ve stolen all of our food the first chance she got.” his little girl objects. “Sammy’s right, Ben. She would’ve done far worse by now if that was the case.” Gall then adds. “Even so, she still led the cops right our door. If they bust their way down here, all of our work this past decade will be for nothing. They’ll take everything from us and leave us to rot in a detention center. Everything! Our home, our cows, our livelyhood, even little Sammy...I don’t want our family to be destroyed because of this bitch...” Benny rants, tears rolling down his cheeks as he speaks. Seeing his husband on the verge of bursting into tears, Gall moves away from the monitor displaying the outside and over to the whimpering man; wrapping his burly arms around his skinny lover and comforts him with: “Ben...That isn’t going to happen. I won’t let it happen. Because I have the perfect plan that’ll will cover all of our backs.”

Deeper in another part of the pair of farmers secret basement, all of them are lead to massively long hallway leading out to on open cliffside; Benny leading in with them a single cyborg bovine with them as Gall explains how: “While you no doubt know where we equip the cattle we take and give the state of the art machinery and robot parts, you might’ve been wondering what we do with them when we’re done suiting them all up. This little hanger we built here is where we send off into the wild once we’re done with them.” Once pulling the bovine he brought beside his host, Benny finishes his husbands explanation with: “And you’re gonna use one of them to fly out of our hair.” “I...I’m sorry, can you repeat that fact about flying?” the young woman can’t help but request. “You heard right, young lady. We outfitted these here bovine with the latest in hovercraft technology that car manufacturers use to produce today’s modern vehicles” “That sounds incredible, like a really chubby Pegasus, but with jet propulsion instead of wings.” their daughter remarks. “Well, I can’t take all the credit here. It was mostly Benny’s idea.” Listening to his lover complimenting his work on the cows flying capabilities, the skinny gent’s face blushes a deep red from the praise; quickly snapping out of it to turn over to their guest and instruct how: “And you’re going to ride our freshly made oxen here as far as it’ll take you, lead the cops far away from our humble home and never, ever return. Do you understand?” Oh believe me. I won’t.” Clara assures as she approaches the cyborg bovine.

After his guest perches herself onto the back of robotic cow, Gall walks over to the scientist side with her roughed up backpack and apologizes with: “Sorry we couldn’t give you as much as I promised. All we got on us were a couple of vegies.” Grabbing her pack from her burly host, Clara takes a little peek inside to find a some carrots, potato’s, and a head of lettuce; all of which nuzzled with her stuff in a clear bag. “This should be just enough to get me to the next city.” From messing with a little bit of wiring next to the bovines thruster equipped backside, Benny slams the lid shut and claims that: “Alright, you’re ready to take off.” Waltzing over to the other side of the robotic beast, Sammy grabs Clara’s attention with: “Thank you for helping us these past few days...I’ll miss you.” “He he...I’ll miss you too.”

Once the goodbyes are all said and done, the entire family stands back from the cyborg bovine as the thrusters start to blast out from its shiny metal ass; Clara waving farewell to the three who took her in before the beast she rides takes off towards the opening of the hanger. The scientist takes a tight grasp of the cows organic skin as it speed off towards the hole; hanging on against the force of the sudden take off.

Outside the seemingly humble farmhouse, the Canadian police finally surround every single side of the entire home; their futuristic weapons and firearms aimed on all side as one of them shout into a megaphone: “Were giving all of ya 10 seconds to get yer asses lined up and out here. We know you’re harboring a dangerous illegal immigrant in there, so just come out quietly right now.” “Sir! Sir!”: one of the officers beside the other repeatedly shouts. Lowering his megaphone, the captain glances over to the officer grabbing his attention and screams: “What is it!?” “Look there, up in the sky!” the officer urges as he points his finger to the starry space above. The captain along with the rest of the squad avert their eyes to the midnight stars hanging above to discover a bewildering site; all of them witness the perp they’re all after riding through the stars on the back of what looked to be a metal cow. “Is that her?” “Just what the hell is she riding on?” “I think it might be a cow?” “Why the fuck is it flying!?” Letting out a furious growl, the captain throws his megaphone on the cold dirt ground and orders his entire squad with: “Everyone back inside! We got an immigrant to catch!” “But sir, what about the home.” “Later! Our suspect is getting away!” Under their commanders orders, the entire team of Mounties starts to pile themselves into the back of the squad van; soon to speed off in the direction of the soaring bovine. Gazing out into the night valley from the edge of the hanger leading out from the cliffside, Benny, Gall, and Sammy watch as the police that once threatened to uncover their plans be lead away from their home by the escaping scientist; the family’s glimmer of hope for all of bovine kind left burning bright.

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Hey, thanks so much for waiting for this next chapter. I know it was a little longer of a wait then what all of you are used too, and that is because I need more time to finish up the remaining chapters of this series. I know how upsetting that must sound to people waiting for the next Chapters, but its because I'm wanting each of these chapters to be as good as I can possibly make them. I don't want the overall quality to hindered by the schedule I have set for myself. I just hope that the few people that actually read my stuff aren't angry with the kind of schedule change being longer than just bi weekly. If they aren't, then I want to thank you all for being so patient with my bull and hope that any future stories that i come up with will entertain you all the same.

#faded land #lillaxtrigger

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